caughtintheXfire

December 03, 2006

Guess what I found while I was digging out my Barry White CD that I'd totally forgotten I bought recently....

seger.jpg

This gorgeous hunk's Greatest Hits.

I'm listenin' to it now.
Night Moves...

Still goin' on the house.

It's about to be warm enough to just put the roosters outside while I do their cages and, Donnie, I'll put in the tub for a swim.

And, the two guys who're off (Sr. and George) are about to go to Home Depot and maybe Virginia then too, if not later, for cigarettes.

So...
Soon, I'll be able to load alla these CDs in the "big" player.
If I want.
I might not "want", though, because this one's sound is so much better...

Either way... back to it.

Posted by: Stevie at 11:01 AM | Comments (13) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

News flash...

After several weeks straight of Def Lep, I have finally put Guns-n-Roses in the CD player.

Guns-n-Roses kicked ass, man.
Shame what's happened to Axl.
What'd he do?
Go nuts or something?

He was fuckin' gorgeous back in the day.
Even that retarded little dance he did was sexy.
I loved his hair.
And his face.
And his chest.
And his abs.
And his waist.
And... his pants, when he wasn't wearing friggin' skirts.

Oh, Jesus... wouldja take a fuckin' look at this?
I just found it...

axlebach.jpg

Not a word of lie (and this is one of those times I probably should lie, or say nothing, rather than admit this, but... fuck it. It's the truth...), this picture, because it has Axl and Sebastian in it is literally making my heart race and I can't stop bouncing my leg, either.
And, I've got "Sweet Child of Mine" playing right now, too.
Loud.
That's the one Axl did that dance to....

And, ya wnaa know what else?
Eric can and has looked just about like that.

*sits, with chin on fist, and dopey grin, daydreaming*

God.
Just listening to this stuff again, after so long, makes me feel like I could be that young again with just a little effort.

Axl-Rose--C10050290.jpeg

axl-rose-003-img.jpg

Listening to G-n-R for the first time in a while, while seeing these pictures for the first time ever is having a profound impact on me.
Much like Stevie Ray has recently.
And, Barry White.
God, that guy's voice...
*whew*

By the way, who is the guy in G-n-R who has that deeeep voice and sings backup on Sweet Child?
I'd never really noticed his voice before, but with this CD player BlogDog sent me, I heard him today and I like his voice.
Sounds like Don, from the Statler Bros., or Richard, if that was his name, I just remember he was gorgeous, from the Oak Ridge Boys.

Well, anyway... time to take alla this Axl-Rose-generated excess energy and apply it to cleaning.
I'm gettin' there with that.
And, who knows?
If I ever get done and have any energy left, after having listened to G-n-R for a while, I could get a shower, wash my hair, shave my legs and whatnot and get Eric upstairs.
He is off today.
It's about time, too.
And...
I also have Barry White's Greatest Hits on CD.
*grin*

All I hafta do is survive cleaning the house.
And, me.
*giggle*

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

Peace

Posted by: Stevie at 08:43 AM | Comments (8) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

My eye sight is goin' to hell...

Can't be glaucoma.
I'm already "preventive maintenence-ing" that and have been for years.

Lem'me frickin' guess... another inevitability of advanced aging, right?
Or advancing age.
Or, in plain English... becoming a "*get the hell off my lawn" old fart.
(*FARK cliche alert)

Or, in my personal case... a myopic old cat lady.

Great.
*rolls defective eyes*

All I know is, anymore, sitting here trying to read or type without Rob's cheaters is an excercise in eye strain and squinting til I'm blind.
Truth be told, I really oughta be using them when I read before I fall asleep, too.

Do they make these things bi-focal, does anybody know?
Looking over the top of these glasses (because looking through them at a distance is worse), the TV is also blurry and the more tired my eyes get, the worse the blurriness gets.

As it is, I keep them halfway down my nose and when I'm looking at the keyboard or monitor, my head is at a normal angle.
When I look at the TV, or anything else far away, I tilt my head down and look over the top of 'em.
This works fine, except when I do that backwards, 'cause then I can't see shit, near or far.

Okay, so here's the deal... (What? You thought I was gonna do a post solely dedicated to my astigmatism? Puh-lease. What the hell have I ever stuck to one subject per post?)

This is to be my motivation... my public declaration of intent so I have to follow through or look like a smacked ass.

It's a list...
(I hear Mike giggling with glee...)
A list of the shit that needs to be done, that I haven't had the energy to get to lately due to expending all my energy becoming bloated (thank you, terrorist buddy... asshole) and then having to heft that shit around every goddamned place I went.

I swear, when you get that way, it feels like you're wearing a fat suit.
If I really was as bulky as I felt, I'd look like Roseanne... at the beginning of her sitcom, too.
It's that... restrictive, stifling... annoying.

And, I get worn out so much faster, too...
I hate that.

But, it's glorious when it goes away.

It's going away for me as I type.
I feel better than I have.
Lighter, less tired.
The swollen ankles and feet are receding like the tide again.
Left leg and foot faster than the right, whatever that may mean.

Anyway... tonight's the night.
Gonna clean this frickin' house and everything in it.

The list I wrote out by hand is just what I need to do without the gory details.
You, my loves, get the list with the gory details and explanations of just what certain of these "chores" entails.
And, that's because I just love ya's all so much and there might be, probably will be... had better be some humor in it (or I shall hurt myself severely) and I'm all about making y'all (and myself) laugh.

So, without further ado, incoherent ramblin', excessive explanations, elaborate lead-ins... huh, what?... oh, sorry...

THE LIST

Living room first, 'cause it's the easiest... and a little "sidenote" before I even start (also known as "a tangent")...
Normally, when I have a buncha shit to do, I do the hardest shit first to get it done and outta my face. When I clean the house, I do the opposite. I'll do the easiest room first and work my way to the worst one. That way, if I get tired or sick of fuckin' around with it all or whatever, I can go into a finished room and get inspired again.
I sit in the clean room and give myself a pep talk and it usually works.
So anyway... easy room first...

Living room
Trash patrol (empty trash cans)
Pick catboxes (just did this two days ago, so it should be a snap)
Straighten up (remove everything that doesn't belong in this room)
Vacuum (And I use a small shop vac for this, always.)

Front room
Re-bed and feed the duck, rabbit and two roosters (clean out cages, put in fresh hay, feed and water and figure out what to do about Donnie's eggs, damn it. Take 'em or put 'em back? *sigh*)
Catboxes (need to be picked and/or dumped)
Straighten (same as in living room)
Vacuum

Kitchen
Dishes
Clean out fridge (we're talkin' turkey here, too... literally. I've gotta get all the leftover Turkey Day shit outta there)
Dishes again (from the fridge)
Wipe down every surface and the cabinet fronts
Catboxes
Sweep (broom), vacuum, then mop floor

Bathroom
Finish laundry (as if that'll ever actually happen...)
Cat boxes
Vacuum (which includes vacuuming the stairs and both landings, since I hafta drag the damned shop vac up there anyway to do the bathroom floor)

Sounds like fun, huh?
Is it any wonder I wanna do this shit when nobody else is around?
No sense in having anybody around.
Not like I'd get HELP with any of it.
*sam elliot look*

It's just easier to do without extra bodies in the way.
Not to mention, some of the things I have to do and the way I have to do 'em could be... complicated. Maybe even work out badly and be embarassing. Who knows?
I don't need an audience or any witnesses.

But, I do need to involve you guys (also while most of you are probably asleep, that way by the time you get up and read this a lot of this shit will have been striken off the list. Clever, ain't I? *grin*) so I'll actually DO IT.

So.
Off to clean.
Kill me now?

Posted by: Stevie at 01:36 AM | Comments (9) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

December 02, 2006

I love FARK...

My hand to God, it's my single biggest source of news anymore.
Plus, those submitters find the oddest shit, then write the funniest headlines...

The forums are lively and funny, too... I always picture mostly college kids, sitting around in various campus settings, typing away, commenting there.
(The ones in dorms are mostly guys and mostly in their underwear, by the way.)

Anyway, I found two pretty cool things over there today.

This one is a list of the top ten "bad" things that're good for ya.
(Wish Rob coulda seen the one they say helps with alcoholism. He'd have loved that... *grin*)

This one is just too cute.
I just hope it loads faster for ya'll then it has for me.
(In fact, it's still loading as I type and I think I'm just gonna go grab the URL and make the link now, before it finishes, so... if it doesn't work right, let me, okay?)

Have fun, Hon(s)...

Peace

Posted by: Stevie at 03:27 PM | Comments (14) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

I've had this as my desktop background for a month or more...

061027_spacestar_hmed1p.hmedium.jpg

And, now I see a face in it.

It's a profile, with the face looking to the left.
There's an ear, a little farther back, maybe, than it would be on a real human head, but it's there.
And, the eyes and very short (or pug) nose is there too, contained within the the colors on the left.
And, if you want to include that one star, it could be the end of the nose, which would make it a more realistic size.

It's hard to describe this without being able to see it as I say it, but, it's a profile to the left, there's a well-defined neck, an ear above and to the right of the neck and a face all the way to the left of the ear, with a big black, blank space that could be a cheek in between.

I see a chin, a mouth and even two or three "teeth" in the appropriate spot.

I noticed this yesterday, while I was pacing around a few feet from the computer, talking to George about that "check shit".

He sees it, too...
(thank Gawd)

So far, it's not bothering me, but now, every time I do see the desktop, I can't help but see the face.

If it does start buggin' me, I'll switch back to Bret Hart.
Or the "pig sign" from Lonesome Dove.
Or this...

m8_sherick.jpg

Can ya tell I like pictures of exploding stars and space even if they are filled in with "fake" color?
I got both of these off of FARK links.

And, ya know?
I'd forgotten just how pretty that second one is.
Maybe I'll go on and switch back to that... after I show Sr. that face.

I have this one 8X10 photo... a guy named Butch Denny, from back in my Fire Service Training days 20+ years ago (I usedta be a fireman, yeah, among other things), gave to me.
It's a still from a video shot at an oil refinery fire/explosion.
Happened in Texas, I think...
Anyway, a video was shot of the fire.
In reviewing the video, to edit it for training purposes, apparently they were going frame-by-frame and whoever was doing the editing made one frame into a picture.

It's a skull.
A perfect skull, with eye sockets, teeth, the whole nine.
And, the fucker's huge, too.
There are a coupla telephone poles in front of the flames and they look like toothpicks by comparison.

And, this was waaay before PhotoShop or any of that shit.
This thing is real.
It's also a real photograph.
A copy of the original, yes, but real nonetheless.

I oughta take that one someplace and get it scanned so I can post it.
I hear I can do that kinda thing at certain places... if I could only remember where.

Well anyway... it's almost 4am.
I just got up a coupla hours ago, if that, but I think I'm gonna go back to sleep for a while.

I'm bored.

Gut Rumbles is taken care of.
I'm posting here, now.
I miss Vizsladog...

*siiigh*

I swear, between the void the blogosphere becomes on the weekends and the fact that Saturday morning programming on TV sucks ass these days (remember when Saturday mornings used to be filled with Looney Toons, the Pink Panther and Sid & Marty Krofft?), I could learn to hate weekends.

Posted by: Stevie at 03:39 AM | Comments (9) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

December 01, 2006

And... we're screwed 'til Tuesday (and this shit has got to stop)...

See this?

bull_e0.gif

This is me, right now.

I am SO annoyed.

Thanks to the person who does payroll, and was ONCE AGAIN LATE GETTING THE CHECKS OUT, we won't have any money available til Tuesday.
Instead of tomorrow like it woulda been had I been given any kinda fair chance to get to the bank before three, which I WAS NOT.

Twelve goddamned minutes...
WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?
In the rain, on "E" and y'all expect me to be able to get to the bank in TWELVE MINUTES???
And, that includes time spent getting both checks signed?

Pfft.
Yeah.
Okay.

Well, tell ya what.
I only missed it by ONE FUCKIN' MINUTE, but missed it I did.

Goddamnfuckit.

And, then, the only teller available was that bitch, Shirley, so I said fuck it and came home without doing the deposit AT ALL.
Already missed the 3pm deadline thanks to a buncha dickbrains, so what fuckin' difference does it make NOW what time I make the damned deposit, as long as I don't hafta deal with that Shirley-naggin'-pain-right-in-my-ass.

God, I hate this shit.
I am so pissed...

If the payroll punkass coulda gotten her shit in one sock even TEN MINUTES sooner, I woulda made it.
But, noooooooooooooo.
We can't DO that.
FUCK!!!!!!!!

*a bare minute later*
*disgusted sigh*

Well, I suppose if every single person who comes here were to thank GOD for George, it might be enough.
Barely.
'Cause, if not for him, we'd be so fucked it wouldn't be funny.
(Not that it's particularly amusing this way, either...)

I suppose also that this can be called my fault for at least two reasons.

I'm the one who took the large chunka change outta the bank yesterday.
If it was still in there, the payroll punkass woulda never fucked up today.

Then, there's the whole "if you had this shit right, it wouldn't matter if the checks cleared in one day or FOUR" arguement, which you can just get in line to say.
But, lem'me run this by ya first...

99% of the time the way I'm able to "finance" things around here is only a teaspoon short of a miracle.
I do a pretty good job for what I have to work with and where we started from, ya know.
But, let somebody else have a brain fart and the whole thing collapses like a house of cards in a tornado and suddenly, it's MY fault.

Psh.

Whatever.
(And, if you're picturin' me goin' "Talk to the hand", you're about right...)

*coupla minutes later*
Okay.
Just got an update from Sr. as to what the fuck happened here.
Apparently, it was the entity BEYOND the payroll punkass who fucked up.
Some entity that she uses for something to do with payroll.
A bank, no doubt and like it matters.
We're still screwed.
Only difference now is, I know whose dick to nail to a board.
Or, whose not to.
WHATEVER.

Okay.
I jusr re-read this and told George the story and now I'mina smoke a bowl cigarette and finish this cuppa coffee, collect myself, the grocery list, all the bank shit and try this AGAIN.

I'll be back later, unless I wind up in jail for beating the shit out of something or someBODY with my Pusser Club.

Posted by: Stevie at 04:05 PM | Comments (11) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

November 30, 2006

*exhales through nose with the patented "Sam Elliot" sidelong look*

(Before I even start this... remember when I went to Bucks a week or two ago and I said then that I wasn't sure what had compelled me to do that, but, no doubt, it was gonna be something "not good" that I'd be glad I had the herbage to face?
Uh-huh, yeah. Well... here 'tis.)

Now I know why my little terrorist friend showed up early today.
So he'll be gone by Wednesday at 11:45am when I go back to the dentist for the EXTRACTION and "gross" cleaning, an appropriate dental term if I've ever heard one, to be done prior to the casting of the partial.

This guy is gooood and I canNOT believe what I just agreed to.

Jesus.

I go in there hoping he can just glue the damned tooth to the original three tooth partial or something simple like that.
I mighta known....

But, he's such a no bullshit guy and he's cutting me such a deal, I'd be worse than a lazy-assed, chickenshit moron not to do it.

For a thousand bucks, he's gonna pull one tooth (no charge), do this major "gross cleaning", then, a coupla days later, he's gonna make another impression of my bottom jaw (oh, fun) and make me a six tooth bridge.
The four in the front, the one he's yanking and one that's been gone for years.

I haven't chewed on the left side of my mouth in YEARS.
I'll be able to after this.
My three tooth partial sat weird. It wasn't straight across, like teeth are supposed to be.
It will be now.

All of this for a thousand bucks because, in his words, "It's the right thing to do, to hell with the money."

Just wow, ya know?

His name is Brian.
He's very nice.
Married, as evidenced by the wedding band and pictures of his two sons, one of whom bears a striking resemblence to Alfred E. Neuman, but still cute enough that I don't wanna bite him, barf on him or disappoint him.

He doesn't have nitrous, though.
S'okay.
I simply warned him of what happened the last time I got numbed without it.

As that doc stuck me, I raised my arm and clenched my fist... right around his right ass cheek.

Oops.

I told Brian as long as he's aware of the risks of stabbing me sans nitrous, we're cool.

He and the one dental hygenist chick both think I'm completely gonzo now, but... they get it, too.
They know I'm a good kid, just a little bent-headed.

In the 45 minutes I was in there, I made 'em both laugh... a lot.
And, I managed to tell the Doc that I wasn't too interested in sinking scads of money into my teeth as my mother died of a massive MI at the age of 43 and 11 months and I'm 43 and about 5 months, soooo....
And, I managed to make them both aware of my Cheech and Chong proclivities.

It happened with Doc when we're discussing the "no nitrous" situation.
He said he could 'script me for Valium, but, for as simple as this extraction will be, thanks to the advanced periodontal disease I have goin' on, it'd hardly be worth it.
I countered with "Well, I do have God's version of Valium at home. I can get myself calm, if that's all it's for... It's not a pill, but it is organic..."
He grinned and said, "That'll work. Whatever helps you..."

Have I mentioned that I actually LIKE this guy?

Then, with the hygenist, I was telling her what he'd come up with and that it's such a good deal, I'd be an idiot not to do it. I said, "I may be blonde. I may be a career stoner. But I'm not retarded, ya know?"
She almost fell down, laughing.

And, she was jammin' to my DefLep CD while she made my impressions.
(OhhellYES, I took the band with me... They were my testicular support, screw "moral support"...)

Not too bad for having picked the guy outta the yellow pages, huh?
The cool part is that the office is right across the street from my insurance agent's office.
The "not s'cool" part is that, evey time I hafta go to the insurance agent's office, I hafta call for directions because it's off the circular "square" in the center of G'burg and I always go to the wrong place.
Instead of Buford Ave., I wind up on Steinwehr Ave.
They look so similar, too. Both are just "bear off to the right"'s, as opposed to "stop and make a 45 degree angle turn", like at a crossroads.

But, after this, these multiple visits to the dentist, I don't s'pose I'll continue to need to call for directions each time for long.

Hell, I even came home a different way from the one I took to get there, almost as if I know where I'm going or something.

So.

*siiigh*

A stabbing is to take place.
Crap.
I hate when that happens.

But, at least I'll have what almost amounts to a brand new mouth.

Til my jaw falls off from the periodontal disease anyway.
God he'p me.

Peace

Posted by: Stevie at 03:53 PM | Comments (9670) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

Further proof of God's special brand of bent-headed humor reserved just for me... *OR*... Me and my big mouth...

Often, when trying to describe just exactly how icky something I have to do is, like having anybody from Jersey except my Dad at my house, or me having to drive to Jersey, I'll say, "The only thing that could possibly be worse than this is if I had back-to-back gynecological and dental visits instead."

Well, today, at 1:30pm, I'll be in a dentist's chair, having a curved plastic thing fulla Play-Doh jammed onto my lower jaw.

And... guess what showed up just before I went to bed (this morning at 4am)?

Yeah.
THAT.

*rolls eyes and shakes head*

God is a funny, funny Little Man, is he not?
*golf-clapping at the sheer evil genius*

Posted by: Stevie at 12:06 PM | Comments (10) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

November 29, 2006

Okay, question....

Say you've seen a person around, or know his screen name, you've never spoken or written to the guy, but you've seen in him a place you consider your second home and, while you recognize the name, and he seems okay, you just don't know him that well.

Okay?

And, considering where it is you know him from, you kinda think he's at least got to have an idea who you are.

That he's seen you there, too.

And that, while you were there, you were often... vehement... about certain things.
You were known for it and some people even had the sense not to do stupid shit when you were there and others made a hobby out of fuckin' with ya for the way you were when you were there, but, it was for a real reason and it's still effective to this day at keeping people's shit in one sock for them when they don't seem to be able to do it otherwise.

Okay? Still with me?

You know of a guy and ya think he may know of you, too, but yer not sure what it is he knows, or thinks, or whatever.

Then, say yer cruisin' around the blogosphere and happen to stumble over the guy's blog.
Again.
You start reading and, much like Lay's potato chips, you can't consume just one (post).
So, you find yourself reading all kindsa good stuff and liking the guy.
A lot.
You blogroll him.
After you do, you read his front page, too.

About halfway down the page, you see something that you know is about as wrong as a word can get. He's used the word "offices" instead of "auspices".
Like, he said a celebrity is gonna rehab his recently wrecked reputation "through the good offices of [a well known rehab]..."

Now, ya KNOW he meant "auspices".

And, the guy's not a boob.
If his writing is any indication (and I believe it is), this guy is intelligent, funny, articulate, well-spoken, writes well and the more you read, the more you like him.
He reminds you of Danny Bonaduce in a way too, so add in that "intimidation factor" as well... (because Danny has always been your favorite "Partridge" and you still have a crush on him to this day and you just hate his wife because she's a whiny gold-diggin' cuntbag who treats him like shit and it just makes you wanna take care of him and cook for him and give him hugs and make him feel better and... oh, wait. Different post altogether... sorry. Anyway...)
(Plus, there's the whole "What if he already thinks I'm some kinda of a vigilante, ninja-wannabe nutjob?")

My question is this...

Do you write the guy and tell him of the goof? And, if ya do, how do you bring it up? Whaddaya say?

I mean, I like this guy.
It's killin' me that such a huge, noticable goof is right there, forever available to be seen in black on gray.
And, I just know that if he knew it was wrong in the first place, he'd have already fixed it.
What if he thinks "offices" is the right word?
The two words do sound awfully similar....

How do you teach a person you don't know a new vocabulary word then he still likes ya after that, especially if he might already think you're a fuckin' NUT?

Posted by: Stevie at 10:12 PM | Comments (13) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

This is awesome...

Want to really do something cool for a deployed, million-miles-from-home-for-the-holidays military-type person?

Well than, go here and see who these people are and what they're about and if you wanna help, go here and do it.

They've currently got requests for 60+ tickets and "only" 10 grand (wish I had "only" 10 grand, but anyway...) and, apparently, that's not enough.
Hell, it won't be enough even if they get alla those tickets paid for if there's even one guy left over there who wanted to be and coulda been home if he'd known soon enough about this, or these people could bought one more ticket, ya know? It'd be cool if they got so swamped with donations that they could get everybody home for Christmas.... especially those guy who YOU KNOW had the chance to come home and gave it someone else that they thought needed it more for whatever reason.

Now, if we could only come up with some sure-fire way to KEEP them home once they get here....
Maybe take the coil-wire off all the jets that're to take them back?
Sugar in the fuel tanks, maybe?
Steal the keys?
Superglue in the ignition keyhole?
Anybody with me here?

Hello, hello...

*crickets*

Well, fine then.
Leave the criminal mischief to me.
Y'all go do whatcha can to help these guys.

I'll be over here, thinking of ways to keep 'em here once y'all get 'em here.

Posted by: Stevie at 03:59 PM | Comments (11) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

"Essence Of NYC: A Play in One Act"

Bimbo tourist #1: Anyway, so when he pulled it out of me it made this farting noise, and I know it wasn't a fart because it didn't smell, and... It was just really embarrassing.
Bimbo tourist #2: Quip.
Bimbo tourist #1: What?
Bimbo tourist #2: A quip. The farting noise, it's called a 'quip.'
Bimbo tourist #1: Oh, they have a name for it? Wow.
Bimbo tourist #2: Oh, totally. It happens to a lot of people.
Stranger: Um, that's not right.
Bimbo tourist #2: Excuse me, sir?
Stranger: No, it's 'queef.'
Bimbo tourist #2: Wait, what?
Bimbo tourist #1: I think he's saying his name is 'Queef' or something.
Bimbo tourist #2: Oh, sorry. Excuse me, Queef?
Stranger: No... Oh, lord. The sound, it's 'queef.'
Bimbo tourist #2: Who's a 'queef?' What's going on?
Bimbo tourist #1: I think he's one of those crazy subway guys you hear about. I think he's telling us he's gay.
Stranger: I can hear you, and I'm not... What? That's 'queer,' you ingrate!
Bimbo tourist #1: Here's some money for you, sir. Buy your boyfriend a nice grocery cart or something.
Stranger: What?! Does it look like I'm homeless to you? I'm wearing fucking YSL over here... I ain't queer and I ain't homeless. You ignorant, you skinny, Paris Hilton-wannabe whores. All I was saying to you was that when your sleazy-ass friend over here pulled her boyfriend's dick out of her STD-ridden pussy, the word...
Bimbo tourist #1: I'm not following... Is he speaking Cockney or something?
Bimbo tourist #2: I don't know. Are you allowed to mace crazy hobos?
Stranger: ...I'm not fucking crazy!
Bimbo tourist #2: Of course you aren't, sir.
Passenger: Oh, shut your mouth, both of ya, or I'm gonna whoop both your scrawny asses, you hear?
Stranger: Thank you. All I was saying was...
Old lady: Ah, hell no! Can't you see this conversation has gone past anyone in this damn subway's comprehension? Know when to drop it, brother. Know when to drop it.
Bimbo tourist #2: [Mouthing] Oh my god.
Bimbo tourist #1: I know. That was intense.
Stranger, muttering to himself: ... Last time I ever take a subway... Unbelievable shit I put up with... Fucking Civics... Unreliable fuckers.

OiNY

Posted by: Stevie at 04:02 AM | Comments (10) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

November 28, 2006

I'mina have such snit-fit in a minnit...

Chapter 2,497 in the saga of the rotating Nextel phones...

Our story begins with the self-satisfied grin of our heroine, Stevie, as she finished putting all of Sr.'s contacts into his "new" i700+ yesterday afternoon....

.......so, I take it out to him and all is well.

For abooooout 6 hours.
Maybe.

Last night, after Sr. had had the phone for a half a day, he'd come in from work and set it on his endtable by his chair and I happened to be standing there at one point and I noticed his phone coming back on.
And, going off.
And, coming back on.
Etc.

I was like, "What the fuck, man?" (/whine) and started futzin' around with it to see if I could make it behave.

Charging it, switching batteries and even ratting it out to Nextal didn't work.
And, neither did that phone, all of a sudden.

Fucker worked FINE FOR ME, but now?
Now, ya can't turn it on at all without it being plugged in and, even then, it'd just shut off again for no known reason.

So, while I had Nextel on the phone anyway, I dug out two more of these motley fuckin' phones and had them checked out as to "availability" (when you've had as many of these damned things in yer life as I have and from as varied sources, you learn to check out where it came from and whose name it's in...) and one was free and clear and available to use... so we did.

Me and the Nextel chick switched Sr. YET AGAIN to yet another i700+.

Which brings me to the point in time a minnit before my snit-fit.
'Cause while it's all well and good that I do have alla these "spare" phones all over God's created Earth and even finer that, indeed, one is good to go and all, what it all boils down to is that I hafta sit here again, for another hour or so, and delete all the shit that's in the "new" phone from over a year ago and re-re-enter alla Sr.'s contacts into his "new" phone... again.

If this one also developes a mystery illness within 24 hours, it's gonna be the world's first walkie-talkie enabled SUPPOSITORY, I swear ta Gawd, it will.

(And, God no! What are you thinking? Let him enter his own contact info? Puh-leeze. The man can refurb/rebuild or service any kinda valve you care to name, he can drive a car, operate a microwave (sorta) and a VCR. But, if you think for one minute that he's got the patience, time or coordination to do data entry... fugedaboudit. Not even. Besides, this is how I'm makin' my point that can't/won't be proved til I'm dead... how cool a g/f I am by doin' alla this shit that he doesn't even think about (anymore) and won't til he hasta do it all for himself. THEN he'll see how cool I was/am... how worth putting up with 6700 cats I am... he'll see. Great plan, huh? *grin* Got'ny better ideas?)

Anyway... off to go enter about 15 direct-connect contacts and God-only-knows-how-many-'cause-I-quit-countin'-yesterday phone numbers.

If you're a prayerful person, please pray for this phone that it doesn't somehow die, blow up, drown, catch fire, get shit on by a cow, get trampled by a herd of cows, get lost or stolen and/or run through a washer and dryer.
Sr. too, all of the above, okay?
And, also for him that he doesn't end up with the world's only suppository that has a keypad and an antenna.
And walkie-talkie capabilities.

Thanks s'much.

Peace

Posted by: Stevie at 11:08 PM | Comments (8) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

November 27, 2006

Two quick things, then I swear, by all that is Holy, that I will clean this friggin' house...

I woulda already been cleaning the house, except for one thing...

this.

I forget how I found her.
But, if you look on the right side, under her picture, you'll see a block of numbers from 1 to 80.

Go click on #1.

But, before you do, go pee, grab your smokes and get a fresh cuppa coffee.

Because, I promise you, after you click #1 and read that post, you will click #2, then 3, then 4 and so on til it's a coupla hours later and you're in awe of this woman's life as well as her writing because you just sat there and read all eighty posts.

Like I just did...

Now, I have a question....

In Howard Stern's second book, he says something about people giving him shit for what he'd said about Filipino's in his first book and that if he gave anyone the impression that he hates Filipino's the most, he wanted to apologize because he hates the FRENCH the most.

Okay?
SO, Howard hates the French A LOT.

Now, in his first book (which I am re-reading for about the hundredth time) he has the following:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
HERE'S A LIST OF MY LEAST FAVORITE PEOPLES, IN ASCENDING ORDER

3. The French
2. The Filipino's
1. Everybody else.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now, knowing that Howard hates the French the most, is the way he expressed it here correct?

Somewhere between the word "ascending" (yes, I know what it means), the fact that the French are #3 and the fact that #3 is at the top of the list, yet he hates the French the most, I'm kinda confused.
Something seems wrong about it this way.
Almost like a double negative.... the way a double negative changes the meaning of what is said, if not the intent. (In other words, double negative or not, you know what the person means...)

Anyway, is that right up there?
It could just be me.
It does involve numbers and I do hate math.

And now, because I've sat here long enough, and to escape one of the few episodes of All in the Family that I don't really like, followed by another one that starts out a downer too (the ones about Beverly LaSalle getting killed), I'm outta here.

I'm gonna go try once again to COMPLETE cleaning the house.
Lately, I keep starting it and not finishing.
I've been going through that whole "look like Fat Elvis" thing again.
Feet, ankles and calves get all puffy, I feel too full all the time, my face looks fuller to me, I hate it.
I get tired really quick, too.
Used to be, I'd go lay down and the swelling would go down quite a bit.
It'll still do that if I lay down, but not as much.
And, my back... jeezus.
Hurts to stand, hurts to bend, hurts to breathe...
Right across the lower back, like where the waistband of jeans would be.

I wish I knew what this shit was... probably remnants of my missing terrorist buddy.
He doesn't come around, but he still makes himself known.
Prick.

That's what's been slowing me down, and stopping me, lately.

My legs and back get to feeling like I've been walking uphill in sand or something and I just say "fuckit".

BUT... it's better today.
Both ankles and my right foot are still a little swelled, but my left foot looks almost normal and my energy level isn't totally sapped by "herbage".

So, it's hair up into a ponytail on the top of my head, some "cool tunes" on the CD player and a clean house by the time I stop this time.
And, woe be unto he who gets in my way, discourages me or otherwise interferes with my forward motion.
(This shit is like getting a fully loaded tractor and trailer goin' up a hill from a full stop... I don't need no dinkweeds messin' with any momentum I manage to gain...)

Peace, y'all

Posted by: Stevie at 12:39 PM | Comments (28) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

November 26, 2006

Ya wanna know sum'thin'?

Nextel i265's are frickin' CURSED.

We got two of those cursed pieces of shit back in February.
Mine died of "natural causes", meaning it suddenly decided to stop reading the SIM card and/or not to receive the signal with any strength whasoever, about two or three months ago.
So, I switched to George's old i700+.
I did that because I could NOT find my own old i550+.
Whatever.
S'long as I have a phone, right?

Well.
Eric, "Mr. I can't keep track of nuttin'" a.k.a. "Mr. Not only do I not plug my phone in to charge at night, half the damned time I don't even know where I left it" left it in his coveralls pocket.
An i265 is a very small phone.
So small, in fact, that I also missed it in his pocket and washed the fuckin' thing.

**Little known fact about Nextel phones: You so much as show them water, let alone actually get 'em wet, and they will cease to function.**

Wanna guess what washin' 'em does to 'em?

I didn't bother drying it...

What I did was tried putting his SIM card in my old i265, just in case it'd healed itself or something.
It hadn't.
Not even Nextel Customer Service could make it work.

At this point, my options were pretty limited and they all had a certain amount of suckatude about them but, I had to choose between:
a.) Sr. not having a phone, period. Not do-able. Not with the danger inherant in his job.
b.) Waiting til tomorrow to call the "super techies" at Nextel and see if they could work some kinda magic.
c.) Fuck around, up in the attic YET AGAIN, and try YET AGAIN to find my old i550+.
*disgusted sigh*

I went with option "c".

ACTUALLY FOUND DA FUCKIN' THING THIS TIME!

Then, I decided that instead of me keeping George's old phone and Sr. getting mine to drown, drop in cow shit, run over or blow up, I'd give him George's old one and use my own again because I just like that phone THAT MUCH.
I've bounced that little fucker offa more walls for giving me shit than hell patch a mile. It survived all that, too.
Hell if I wanna see Sr. kill it, ya know?
Plus, it IS the one I wanted when my i265 died in the first place.

So, here I sit with FIVE PHONES.

My old i265 with Sr.'s SIM card in it so I can get his contact info off of it.
Sr.'s drowned i265 so I can give Nextel the info numbers off of it.
George's old 700+ that I'd been using to put Sr.'s shit into.
My i550+ to put my shit into and Jr.'s phone so I don't hafta be on any of the phones I want Nextel to switch around for me.

I call Nextel and had to repeat about 90 times what I wanted to do and, after about an hour, it happened.
Sr.'s phone is now the i700+ and mine is my own old i550+.

THEN, I hadda sit here and, BY HAND, delete alla the old shit outta i550+ and add about 20 names and numbers for myself and do the same with the i700 for Sr.

But, it's all done now, damn it.

Thank Gawd.

I've already told Jr. to expect his i265 to spontaneously burst into flames or to come up with some other way to not work within about the next six months... (she says dryly.)
And, this nutjob (Jr) just told me he'd be back "tomorrow".
I said, "Oookaay. Where ya gonna be til then?"

"In my tree stand."

"All night?"

"Yep."
*big grin*

First day of some kinda animal murdering season starts tomorrow.
Guns of some kind, I think.
All I know is that we've already got a coupla huge chunks of dead deer in the freezer.
Bow and arrows, maybe?
I dunno.
There's also a dead squirrel.
Now, it's time to once again kill critters with whatever they haven't used to kill 'em yet.
Whatever...

All night in a deer stand....

Can you say "hung like a thirty cent stack of dimes"?
That boy's gonna freeze his boys off.

I will never understand why hunters go through such machinations to kill a deer.
You don't need a deer stand and a hunting license and the orange clothes and alla that shit.
Or even a gun.
Or a bow and arrows.
All ya hafta do is be driving down the road, the more over 55 the better, and be minding your own business and sooner than later a deer is gonna commit suicide using your car.
It's so easy.

They're a lot like stupid women who start out playing hard to get, then it flip-flops on them and they can't you interested anymore at all.
The more you try to avoid them, the more they just HAVE to fling themselves into your path or life or onto the hood of your car, except deer aren't all crying and hysterical when they do it.
They just die.

Hmmm...
maybe we oughta see about getting that flip-flopped around....

Anyway...

I need to go FINISH cleaning the house now.
I've only "started" it about 12 times so far....

Peace, y'all...
(*whispers* and don't buy an i265!)

Posted by: Stevie at 04:28 PM | Comments (10) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

November 25, 2006

Now that it's after Thanksgiving...

thus, "officially" okay to start cramming Christmas down people's throats til they wanna puke coathangers, I bought this.

17778_copy.jpg

It is SO COOL.
It bounces and plays "Lowrider" and there's a green light that shines out from under it.
Santa and the two reindeer wiggle to the music as the car bounces.

Next, I want the Santa in the leather jacket on a Harley.
"Born to be Wild" plays along with engine gunning sounds on that one.

Posted by: Stevie at 05:24 PM | Comments (8) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

To some degree...

every single one of my animals is retarded.

I have a parrot, a red, yellow and orange Conure, whose greatest joy exists in a bag of popcorn... digging through it, slinging it everywhere, muttering to himself the entire time until all you can see of him is the tips of his tail feathers.
Then, if there's any kind of sudden noise, he comes flying out, backwards, and looks around, bitching, til he's satisfied that it was nothing, then, in he goes again.
When he has deemed a bag "finished", he will nag you unto death until you pop him another bag.
We use "Natural" popcorn. No butter, no salt.

Then, there's the blue, black and white parakeet who spends 90% of her time pecking her mirrors.

The black, longhaired hamster with the white front feet is halfway normal.

Tyler, the Jack Russell (mostly white with big black and small tan markings), is just plain goofy.
He loves his tennis balls.
Then, I finally broke out that soccer ball I got a long time ago.
(Had to do with that Pennsylvania Miner's story...)
Anyway...
Tyler gets pissed if you squeak that thing on or near him when he's eatin', or otherwise occupied.
It took him weeks to get to where he'd pick it up in his mouth.
Then, I really messed with his mind by buying him a bigger and furry soccerball.
He's still not too sure about it, yet.
Sometimes, when he's laying on his side in a chair, I start by, stop, put both hands on him and bounce him into the cushions for a while. He just lays there, watchin' me, then, when I stop, he jumps up wagging his tail and stretches.
And, for some weird reason that I am not privy to, he's scared shitless of... silverware.
Yes, spoons, forks and knives... silverware.
You could put an entire ham on a plate on the floor.
Stick a fork in it and it'll be safe forever.
From Ty, anyway.
The cats could give a damn about a fork.

They could, but they don't.

But, wait!
We're not done with "dogs" or "other large and/or miscellaneous critters".
Can't get into the cats yet...

The outside dogs...

Jessie, George's dog (large, golden, medium length hair) is terrified of brushes and towels.
Giving her a bath is a fuckin' trip... to hell!
You can just forget trying to dry her.
And, if you so much as touch her with a brush, she will run right through a wall to get away.
We have no idea why she's like this.
Except that, she too, is insane.

Then there's April... "our dog", who is smaller, dark, long- and thick-haired.
One of our dogs...
This twat... God love 'er... she can be outside for 99 years and the instant you bring her in, she shits on the floor.
Every. frickin'. time.
But, she'll play with a laser light all night long.

Then, there's Ziggy Pigdog.
He's got that name for a reason.
He's also big, looks a LOT like a police dog. Mostly black with a little tan on his face.
You bring his ass in and he WILL eat everything not nailed down or outta reach.
After he'd consumed an entire bag of Cheetos, an entire big baggie of Christmas cookies, whole boxes of cereal and a whole HUGE tub of "I can't Believe it's not Butter" among other things, he became an "outside dog".
To this day, if he'd stand still, you could serve an entire Thanksgiving dinner offa his back, it's so wide.
That dog is a horse.

Speaking of "horse"...
yeah.
They're both goofy, too.

Action, the chestnut Quarter Horse, is just retarded.
He jumps every time I flick my lighter.
He's scared of his own farts.
Catching him in the dark, you'd better bring a fuckin' lunch, 'cause yer gonna be a while.

And, Bo... the black blanket App...
Don't NOT bring his carrots.
If you don't bring his carrots, you WILL see a horse have a temper tantrum.
And, from what I hear, I don't recommend trying to ride him bareback.
Although, nowdays, his back is also broad enough that his withers are no longer a safety issue if ya do ride him bareback.
Being bucked off may not be an issue, either, as fat as his ass has gotten over the summer.
He looks like a mare ready to foal within the week.

Then, there's the roosters.
Cogburn, the red one, will throw himself, feet first, against the screen door when he's been outside long enough in his opinion.
I've never seen a rooster wanna get inside a house, let alone "knock" to do it.
And, Foghorn, the white one... he likes to be held and petted.
He even likes being held upside down, along your arm, like a baby... or most of my cats.

The duck, also white... swims in the bathtub, lays eggs and makes nests for 'em, picks on the roosters and also likes being held. Flat up against your chest, with her legs flat down the front of ya and her beak over your shoulder.
Cute... but weird.

Then, there are the cats...

Ozzy, dark gray tabby... thinks riding on your shoulder, no matter what you're doing, is the coolest thing in the world.
Nevermind the fact that he weighs half a ton and always hasta have at least four claws stickin' in ya.... he loves it.

Erica, light gray tabby with white patches... a total stoner.
Will not allow anything "fun" to be burned without her presence. She also insisits on sitting downwind from the source of the smoke.
You can tell by her eyes that it's working.
And, I swear... she grins.
Likes being patted rapidly on butt.

Lamar, mixture of tabby and large spot markings, mostly white... she literally rears up on her hind legs to meet your hand when you reach to pet her.
She doesn't really like being held, though.
She enjoys beating the shit out of a rug I have on the carpet in the livingroom.
Also likes having behind patted quickly.

RC... RedCat, orange tabby... she simply MUST have each faucet in the house set to dribble so she can get drinks.
You can put 1400 gallons of fresh water down for her and she'll walk right past it to jump up on the sink and beg for the water to be turned on.
She will also, without warning, run right up the front of ya to be held.
Eric found her under the carousel in the parlor.

Clemmy, gray calico... will fight to the DEATH the shop vac.
Hates that thing with a passion, but she won't run from it.
She stands there swattin' the fuck outta the nozzle.
Has only recently decided that being petted is actually a good thing.
Still undecided about being held.

Her son, Tommy, mostly white with gray tabby markings...
Pretty much stays in the kitchen.
Acts like being petted is being assaulted.
Has been known to totally lose his shit if picked up at the wrong minute and only he and maybe God have any idea what minute may be the wrong one at any given time.

Gonzo, white with gray tabby spots and tail... hint: his name says a LOT.
This cat is just nuts.
His favorite place in the whole universe to be is on the handrail at the landing of the stairs where it's wide enough for him to sit or lay there and swat you as you walk by.
He also finds it highly amusing to get on the top of the back of this chair and just freak out.
Drives me right up the fuckin' wall and he knows it.
He just doesn't care.
He thinks it's funny.
Like the butt-smackin' thing, plus being knocked/layed over onto his side.

Then, there are the two huge black guys.
They're brothers.
They both are so dumb, they think it's fine to come up, rear up on your leg, sink their claws in and stretch down.
That is so not cool.
They also fight sometimes and I have to physically impose myself upon them to make 'em stop.
And, one of them thinks it's wonderful to jump Bubba when he's asleep, scaring the shit outta him.
Just now, one of them was laying on the dryer, with his head on the washer which was spinning and bouncing his head about 100 beats a minute.
He seemed to be enjoying it. Kept stretching out one arm and flexing his claws, like he was kneading with one hand.

Bubba, large gray and white tabby... just wants to sleep on the dryer and be scratched between his shoulderblades.
Huge bastid, but a bit timid, all the same.
Also likes having hiney patted really fast.

Squirrelly Shirley, long-haired mostly gray cat with white chest.... now this cat IS brain damaged and I know why. She's the one Erica had that time that she freaked out, bit me and jumped out the window while there was a kitten coming out. Said kitten fell out while Erica was enroute to the countertop to jump out the window and slid under the cabinets and bounced off the bottom of 'em.
So, that explains why she simply MUST throw herself onto her back exactly in the spot she knows your foot is gonna land next and insists on walking down the steps with you BETWEEN YOUR FEET and has a vacant, slightly retarded look on her face most of the time.
She also enjoys racing around, starting shit with the other cats, smacking them on the ass and chasing them and she sounds like an elephant wearing boots when she's flying up and down the stairs.
The last time I went to pee, she was upstairs in the bathroom, laying on this cabinet I have up there. She had her tail under the cat in the window sill, her ass in a basket on top of the cabinet and her body arched like a woman's shoe with her chest on the cabinet top.
Fuckin' weirdo.

Olson, dark brown and gray tabby ... she doesn't like anybody, cat-wise.
Her job is to growl at any cats within a two foot radius.
They all just ignore her these days.
She has a cute, round monkey face.
She takes things way too personally and once, she lost all the hair on her butt.

Then, there are the three kittens...
The orange tabby one. A sweetheart, but can't take a hint for shit.
I keep putting him on the floor and he keeps jumping right back up here.
The gray tabby female... she has only recently decided that being petted is cool. Like in the last coupla days, recently. Now that she likes it, she wants it all the time and if you don't pet her, she grabs your hand with her paw and bites it... ouch.
And, the newest one... a longhaired, black and white furball... such a sweetie. This one hasn't been subject to whatever it is that fries alla my other animals brains (me?) long enough yet, so she's still pretty normal.
So far...

Missy and Spot... sisters, both mostly white, one with big gray spots, the other with big black spots, like a cow. Outside cats, mostly. Ozzy, Bubba, the two black ones and another one I haven't gotten to yet all used to be outside cats. But, since they've all been fixed and the boys don't seem to feel a need to drown the house anymore like they used to, I've let 'em all back in. These two, Missy and Spot, mostly wanna be outside.
They'll come in for a while, but ultimately, always go back out.

And, there's the absolutely gorgeous black and white boy whose name I forget... he had one, but damned if I remember it right now.
He feels it is necessary to growl louder than a downshifting truck at any cat in a five-foot radius.
Nobody is even looking at him, but he feels a need to growl anyway.
Other than that, he's a total lovebug.

The gray and white cat who is Shirley's usual victim... again, no name that I can recall, but a cool cat. Sweet, wants to be petted, is always being chased around by Shirley.

Chyna, light gray calico... has a Siamese meow. Meows a lot. Races me up the stairs every time I go up them. Will only eat and drink in the bathroom. Thanks to her, I now have two feeding stations to maintain.

Bret, mostly black with white on neck and paws... again, probably actually brain damaged. Had a huge cast iron and ceramic thing that you put hot pots on fall off a table onto her head. Her pupils were two different sizes for a while and I called the vet and asked him what to do.
Nothing.
She was fine.
He said that pupil thing was "normal" with a conk on the head.
So's her behavior these days, I s'pose.
That, and naming her after Bret Hart....

Ah, and Princess, the longhaired calico... this cat is gonesville, too.
Growls at everybody, wants to be held then growls at YOU for holding her "wrong" whatever the fuck that is, INSISTS on dumping water bowls if at all possible and takes every move that every other cat makes as a personal threat, worthy of hissing at.
Twit.

I think that's all the furry and feathered critters, which brings us to the "bi-ped" ones... the guys.

George... known him the longest and yes, he's a goof. Very cool person, but, sometimes, he melts my brain, he's so strange about shit.
Just refuses to believe that it does TOO work turning a map so it's laid out in the direction you're going.
Knows exactly just how fucked up I am and likes me anyway.
A nice guy... maybe too nice, because his motto seems to be, "Fuck me? No, fuck me harder" because he'll go to great lengths for the wrong people and never completely be done with 'em no matter how shitheaded they are which leaves him open to getting screwed again.
I've been asked by everybody from mutual bosses to Eric at least three times a month, "Why is he like that?" about whatever, like I have any idea.
I don't even think he does.
He just is.
Cleans up his own messes and feeds all the dogs around here.

Then, there's Sr.
Damaged by the BC in Jersey, yes.
Mostly over it, but not completely.
Spoil rotten for real.
Used to help out with house shit, but not anymore unless I specifically ask him to.
In fact, there are three bags of trash all but blocking the front door and they've been there since last night.
While I'm tempted to leave 'em there to see just how got-damned long it'd take him to take 'em out, I won't because I don't wanna hafta live with 'em there for the next week at the very least.
It's insane.
My hand to God, he messes this house up almost as fast as I clean it.
I no sooner get the dirty clothes all upstairs to be washed than he's got a new pair of socks on the floor next to his chair, looking like two withered up snakes.
He drapes his dirty coveralls across the saddles, 'cause that's what they're there for.
Leaves dirty clothes and coffee cups in the barn.
Shoes DIRECTLY in the door- or walkway.
Puts EVERYTHING back in the fridge by placing it on the front six inches of the shelves, thereby making it all but impossible to reach anything in the back.
Couldn't close a cabinet door if his life depended on it.
Cannot EVER remember to plug his radio in to charge before he goes to bed.
He is, as I type, asleep in my lounge chair, completely dressed, up to and including his denim jacket and sneakers.
And... ya wanna know what?
All of this is great to see.
After knowing what his life used to be like, I still see the coolness of this now about him, the fact that he's finally comfortable enough to just be himself, to just be, that he knows he's allowed to be human, to act like a guy, leaving his shit scattered hither and yon and that he can rest assured it'll be taken care of... I like that.
Yeah, sometimes, it makes me kinda crazy and I start to wonder if I don't need to start trying to swing the pendulum back the other way some, but... fuck it.
He had 14 years of that domineering bitch's shit to eat.
Let him have at least 14 years of it being the polar opposite.

Then, there's Jr.
Again, kinda messed around by the BC, but much more able and willing to tell her to go fuck herself than Dad ever was.
Still, a really cool guy.
Has a few strange hobbies, like putting bloody-boomerangs-that-used-to-be-squirrels in my freezer and spending a lot of time in the pursuit of the deaths of several species of wild animals, but, he's still easy to talk to, gets over being pissed pretty easily, can see a mistake when he's made one and he tries not to do it again, he's generous especially with his money and his Dad and I'm glad he's finally here.
I'm glad we all survived long enough for it to happen.
Wish Rob had.

All in all, I'm surrounded.
Surrounded by mostly pretty cool creatures, all with their own idiosyncrasies.

And, me?
I'm fine, considering.
And, I'll stay that way, God willing.

Oh, and about the wide-spread brain damage present in most of these creatures?
The common denominator that they ALL share is... me.
Living with me.

Now the question is, is it me making them like they are, or them being like they are that's making me like I am?
*raised eyebrow*

A question for the ages, innit?

Posted by: Stevie at 04:12 PM | Comments (16) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

November 23, 2006

Had everything ready by 9pm...

and, they were through it and I'd put everything away and was sitting down with a cuppa coffee and a smoke by 10 of 10.

Now all I hafta do is do the dishes (again) and a little "regular straightening" and a load or two of wash.

It'd be nice if I were to get to the cat boxes, too, I s'pose.

And, at some point, I'm takin' my achin' ass up into the bathroom with a coupla candles and a good book and soakin' in that tub for a while.
Wash my hair, shave my legs, have a clean house withh a fridge stuffed with food and, not only will I sleep like a worry-free child, I'll be able to just relax and hang out for a few days if I get alla this shit done tonight.

All I want right now is for Sr to get done talkin' his Mom so I can get him to squish my hurtin'-like-sonsabitches feets.

After that, my legs'll feel better again, enough for me to power through the other "tweaking" crap and carry my hurtin' self up to the tub.
Just laying in hot water will help a lot.
Then, having nice clean, good smellin' hair and hairless legs on freshly washed and dried with a dryer sheet flannel sheets will feel good, too.
So will sleeping for about 12 hours.

Then, waking up and coming down here to a clean house and that first cuppa coffee.... man, that'll rock.

All I hafta do is live long enough to get it all done.

And, Eric's finally gettin' offa da phone, so I'm outta here.

Peace

Posted by: Stevie at 10:48 PM | Comments (9) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

After how many years usage in a row does something become a "tradition"?

happyeverything.jpg3.jpg

('Cause this makes the third or fourth year I've used this. I even remember who I got it from. AND, I also have a slightly more strongly worded version of it, if anyone needs it.)

(**update @ 5:15pm... In fact, I just posted it at Gut Rumbles... *grin*)**

Posted by: Stevie at 10:35 AM | Comments (13) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

Shoulda saved one of the three from last year, I guess. (Updated @ 4:50pm)

Last year, the bosses son who smokes various kinds of meat as kind of a side business gave us a smoked turkey for Thanksgiving.
Then, he gave us another one about two weeks later.
Then, he gave us another one two weeks after that.

We were told he does this every year.
Well, cool.

So, this year (meaning last night) I asked Eric about this and it seems there's been a change in plans.

The son who smokes alla this meat all the time apparently HAD a bear hunting cabin, "had" being the operative word in this sentence.

I was told it burned to the ground in the last day or so and he, the son, is there picking through the wreckage.

Now, I'm torn here... maybe if it hadn't been called a "bear hunting" cabin... but, I feel bad for the son... and for giggling at the thought of a pissed off, revenge-bent bear with a pack of matches.

"Fire at me will ya? I've gotcher "fire", fuckhead..." says the bear who is, coincidentally of course, wearing a "Bite me, Smokey" T-shirt as he pulls a match out of the pack, careful to close the cover securely before striking.

It might take him half the pack of matches, but, finally he gets it to catch... and grow... and now.... I've gotta cook a got-damned turkey.
Because needing to make more potato salad, macaroni salad, devilled eggs and alla the other shit-besides-turkey that any self-respecting Thanksgiving dinner will include just. isn't. ENOUGH.
Not for me, oh nooooo.
I need one more thing to do.
In addition to having to run to the fuckin' grocery store again, of course.

I was just there a few hours ago.
I get home and then discover that I need more eggs.
Like a good two dozen.
And, there was something else clear on the other side of the stupid store from where the eggs are that I could use, too, but fuck if I can remember what that was.
All I can remember is thinking of it being all the way across the store and ugh...

So, here it is, about quarter of two in the morning and I'm about to go get eggs and some other damned thing IF I remember what it is, then, when I get back, it's toll house with walnuts and the brownie mixes, one with and one without walnuts.

While they're baking, I need to be peeling and cutting up potatos.
Get them cooking and start the macaroni.

In between loads of cookies, I'll make the "dressings" for the potato and mac salads.
Get them mixed and put away, which reminds me, I'm gonna have to rearrange and clean out the fridge too.... *siiiigh*

Anyway... get the cookies and the "salads" outta the way and get the turkey in.

Maybe go lay down for a while.
Maybe.

Either way, sooner or later, I'll do the other sides.
Mac and cheese
Au gratin potatoes
Instant mashed
Stuffing
Corn
Sweet potatos
Green beans (maybe with cream of mushroom soup on 'em)
Cranberry sause
Whomp biscuits
Corn bread
Peas, too probably
And, Eric's gonna want his (icky) brussel sprouts
Devilled eggs
And, I've got two Sara Lee pies (apple and pumpkin) to bake, too.

And, I've got an irritating twitch right in the center of my right eyebrow now.
*rolls eyes*
Well great.
I can now be described as "that balding chick with the eye tic..." How quaint.

Now d'ya see why I'd rather do this "going to the store" shit in the middle of the night?

I'll be back...

Peace, y'all

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hello again.
After I got the cookies done, I had to go lay down for a while.

But...

Bird's in the oven, the potatos and macaroni are cooked and waitin'.
Brownies and all variety of cookies are done.
I'm making the last dozen boiled egss right now.

Birdzilla is due out around 7:30 or 8pm.
That'll give Goofball time to mess with the lights again.
He and George bought a coupla strings of colored bulbs and icicle lights.
Just enough to do three quarters of the lower roof.
Just enough so that I hadda go out and buy an assload more lights last night just so it could rain and they'd hafta stop after getting the string of colored bulbs halfway across the top roof and making all the lights go out, somehow.

Anyway, after a tiny organic smoke break, I'm gonna make the salad parts of the potato and macaroni salads.
Get them mixed.
Get the devilled eggs done.
Get alla that into the fridge.

Then, start cooking the veggies.
I have more veggies than pots and pans, so this is gonna be fun, to say the least.
Nothing I enjoy more than washing the same damned dishes 27 times a night.

After the veggies and other shit is done, which, by the way, I'll be coming back by here periodically to strike the shit I've gotten done, all that'll be left is the biscuits, cornbread and cutting up the cranberry sauce.

I think...

Posted by: Stevie at 01:58 AM | Comments (11) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

November 22, 2006

702-818-2458

I don't know who the FUCK these "people" are, but, I do declare, with GAWD!!! as my witness, that if ANY of their moronic minions EVER calls my cell number again, I will go to Las Vegas, Nevada, FIND THEM and KICK SOME ASS!!!

I swear to Sweet Jeezus....
Not only do I have no idea who these numbfucks are, I have no idea how they got my number and they are soooo stupid that they leave two or three voicemails a day that consist of nothing except them saying "hello, hello, hello" and sometimes even copping an attitude after the 15th or 20th "hello" because, apparently, they're too fuckin' BRAINLESS to understand the concept of voicemail as opposed to a live person..

This is fun.
*sam elliot look*
NOT.

Just to see who the hell it is, I called the number back yesterday.
The dumb bitch who (barely) answered the phone was not at all helpful with that.
She acted like me knowing who the fuck keeps calling me is privledged information.
She finally said something about grant searches.
I then explained how utterly uninterested I am in "grant searches" and told her to cut it out.
She seemed highly confused, so I repeated "Stop. Calling. Me. DAMN IT!"

So, I get up today and there's another two "hellohellohellohellohello" messages on my muthafuckin' voicemail....

*Donald Duck "pissed off and on crack"-type response to this repetitious retardation ensues for the next several minutes*

After I quit cussin' and had toweled the spittle off of everything in a two foot radius, I called them again.

This time, I asked to speak to a supervisor.
The little pissant who answered insisted that he might be able to help me before he'd connect me to a supervisor, so I thought to myself, "Okay, asshole... I tried to spare ya..." and, in my best Perry-Cox-reaming-an-intern manner (which is pretty damned impressive even if I do say so myself... I love that guy and getting his verbal mannerisms down is a labor of love... and fun to use), I told little Habeeb that I have no idea who they are, how they got my number or even got JOBS, because it seems that the people at his end of this phone number were all but criminally stupid because they keep leaving voice mails comprised of nothing but "hello" 2,974 times and I want it to STOP. I want them told to NEVER EVER CALL ME AGAIN. EVER!

I waited, not even breathing hard after alla that, for his response.

After several long seconds of silence, he said he'd go on and hook me up with a supervisor.

"Yeah. I thought ya might. Thanks."

So, this woman comes on and says that she's a supervisor and asks how she can help me.

So, I tell her, "Well, you can help me by taking my cell number off of whatever Master List From HELL it's on and making sure the people at your end of the phone are all aware that they are NEVER to call my number again upon pain of DEATH if they do and the reason I asked for a supervisor is that I not only have no interest WHATsoever in whatthehellever they're selling, I have even LESS interest in trying to work this out with any of the OBVIOUSLY moronic shitstains dumbasses who call out from the number I just called and that you're now talking from and I say "obviously moronic" because, so far, all their voicemails have consisted of NOTHING but them saying "hello" repeatedly to THEMSELVES because apparently they're all too stupid to be able to tell the difference between a recorded message and a PERSON. Make. it. STOP. NOW."

Now, during this... tirade, if ya wanna call a spade a spade, I kept hearing little snippets of words... "We...", "ok...", "You...", "ick...", "gick...", "gack...", "but...", "I..."

Give it up, bitch, I ain't stoppin' til I'm CERTAIN you've gotten my point.

Once I did finally get Perry vented enough to be satisfying, I again waited with bated breath for her response.

Once she got done towelling the spittle off the entire side of her head and draining her ear of it (and giggling, I swear, over my refusal to become engaged in a battle of wits with such obviously unarmed people as the ones manning her phone lines), she assured me six ways from Sunday that I'll never be bothered by them again.

Yeah.
Right.
Well, I HOPE I won't be.

'Caaaause, the next time I see that stupid number come up on my cell phone, I WILL answer it and I WILL NOT be held responsible for my actions.

And, this is the LAST time I'm being "nice" about this.

Fuckin' PINHEADS.

The best part of waking up is supposed to be Folger's in yer cup, not chucklefucks in yer voicemail, am I right?

Well, alrighty, then... God bless Perry Cox and my gift of mimicry.
And, g'head, ya fucksticks.
Call me again.
I dare ya's.

*deeeep breath*
Okay.
Off to go make the "toll house with walnuts" this time.
(I made the "regular" toll house first thing this morning. Then, I went back to sleep for a while. Then I woke up and came back down here and found those messages and just sat here and did alla this shit.)
*rolls eyes*

God, gim'me strength.
Ya know?

Posted by: Stevie at 01:46 PM | Comments (21) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)

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