November 22, 2006
By the way...
Anybody know where Chablis is, how she is or anything?
Posted by: Stevie at 04:08 AM | Comments (12) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
I hope Meatloaf is right, that "two outta three ain't bad"...
'cause I only got two outta the three kinds of cookies done.
But... I did get the laundry finished...
By the time I get 'em all done, everybody'll be gone to work, so maybe after that, after I "do" GR, I'll soak in the tub... with candles... and a good book.
Yeah... I like that idea.
Make the cookies, tweak the house, take care of Rob, take care of me. Sounds like a plan.
(And, lem'me say it here before I forget... part of "tweaking" the house needs to be moving that blanket from where it is to where it's going out in the mudroom. I've been meaning to move it for weeks and keep forgetting...)
(Also, so I won't forget next time... when you find yourself needing a pulley system to get out of the waterbed, adding water will help, dumbass. Da fuck do ya think the big 'ol airbubbles have been about lately? *rolls eyes at self*) Anyway... At the risk of sounding like (even more of) a retard, I have a question... I looked up phosphoric acid and lycopodium, two things it has been said would stem hair loss.
I got Wikipedia articles both times and according to them, phosphoric acid is found in soda and shit like that, which is ironic because I never used to drink much soda, but since I've been back from Ga., I drink diet rootbeer a lot now and it's since then, too, that the hair shit's been going on.
And, they said lycopodium is, basically, ground pine. Sooooo... what? I'm supposed to eat ground pine and wash it down with soda? I am soooo confused....
Posted by: Stevie at 04:03 AM | Comments (30) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
November 21, 2006
Hey, Surfie... lookit what I just found...
The Guitar Face I was playing along on my Telecaster to a couple of CDs tonight and I was really tearing out some licks. I was cooking. Just sitting here all by myself in my living room and accompanying an invisible band, I got The Guitar Face. I don't know what it is about playing guitar that causes it, but it damn sure happens. Your mouth hangs funny--kinda half-open and semi-frowning. Your tongue sticks out--just the tip, but it's tongue just the same. Your eyes squint almost-shut as if you just took a big bite of fresh lemon. You wanna throw your head back and expose the engorged veins in your neck. You rock back and forth as if you're dizzy. It feels GOOD!!! You wimmen have probably seen this expression before. That's the same kind of ridiculous face a guy makes when he's having an orgasm. That's a Guitar Face. I made one tonight with no woman around. What a waste.Wanna take a wild guess who wrote it? Wanna also take a wild guess at how hard I'm trying to keep the "new" way of thinking about SRV, his facial expressions and hands and their collective effect on me exclusive to SRV now? God help me. *lmao*
Posted by: Stevie at 03:47 PM | Comments (10) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
So, I'm doing laundry and putting together the ingredients for oatmeal raisin cookies...
and I get to where I need the vanilla.
I found it, but there was hardly any left.
Maybe just exactly what the recipe calls for.
(I like to be liberal with that stuff, so I tend to use more than one teaspoon...)
Like porkchops, which I made for dinner along with mac and cheese and garlic-n-butter lima beans.
Had whomp biscuits, too... Now, I'm washin' the dishes and starting over with half of those ingredients I had waitin' for the vanilla.
The brown sugar seems to have melted and egg congealed, so... blech. If I follow through to the bitter end with this cookie project, I'll have made oatmeal raisin, peanut butter and toll house before I go to sleep, whenever the hell that turns out to be.
Probably next Thursday, if I do bake all these freakin' cookies. Plus, I have walnuts and two brownie mixes.
One walnut and one "special", maybe?
*weg*
Hmmm...
That could be fun...
*raised eyebrow and smirk* Oh, and I started the Amish Friendship bread, too. And, there's a cake mix or two out there, too. If I can get alla this shit baked and eaten without me touching any of it, not only will I lose weight from the physical strain of holding myself back, I'll have the guys well on their way to "fat farmer-dom"... a goal of mine since the day I figured out that it'd be easier to pork them up than for me to lose weight without ephedra.
The flat-bellied bastards... Anyway...
Back to the last of the dishes.
I just needed to sit down because the cats keep stealing my chairs out in the kitchen.
It always starts out with just one of the wooden dining room chairs in the kitchen.
I have it in front of both the stove and the TV.
There's also a little wooden fold-up tray/desk that I have the remotes, my ashtray, coffee cups and other shit sittin' on. When I spend a lot of time in the kitchen, eventually most of the cats will stop by, some will fall asleep in various "crash positions" on the floor and always some hairy smartass hasta take my goddamned chair and fall alseep, all cute and undisturbable. So, I go drag another one of the wooden chairs out there.
I get to use that for about 15 minutes, maybe, then I get up for some reason and can't sit back down because another got-damned cat claimed my chair. So, off I go again to drag yet another of the chairs out there. Seeing a pattern here? Eventually, I wind up with all four chairs out there and me havin' to sit in here because all four chairs are occupied by passed out puddy tats. They especially appreciate the new, super-puffy and comfortable seat cushions I just got, too...
*sarcastic grin* Man, I need another one of those seat cushions for this chair....
*shifts uncomfortably*
This one's seat has no "cushion" of it's own left.
I always get up from here and my first few steps make me hear the Sanford & Son theme song in my head because I'm walkin' like Fred, all bent over and bow-legged.
I've usually got it together by the time I get to the doorway between this room and the front room, but I still think a cushy seat on this chair might help some. *coupla minutes later* Okay then... back to the laundry... and dishes... and cookies. I'll be back later. Peace
Posted by: Stevie at 12:14 AM | Comments (9) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
November 20, 2006
Ach... grow the fuck up already.
Censorship is censorship, I don't give a rat's ass what "reasons" you use to do it.
Censorship is wrong.
What a lying, using, opportunistic piece of trash cunt she is.
I mean, seriously... if it's a part of God's Grand Plan that one of those sisters in that family had to die like that, I'd have chosen Denise to have her empty head nearly cut off over Nicole, but... whatever. Ya know... I don't give a fuck one way or the other about OJ's guilt or innocence.
I really don't.
But, I do have my doubts that he did it, thanks to the LAPD and the those utterly incompetant prosecutors and that horrible charade, that PARODY of proper prosecution, that they put on. I just don't see it.
I can't fathom one arthitic old football player knife murdering two dipshits by himself.
His young, strong, son maybe, but not him himself. That's number one.
Add to that that bullshit trial and Marcia Clark and Chris Darden and ya get not only my "number two", but my increasing annoyance with the whole subject. Then, add to that the fact that it's just so. much. FUN. pissin' off assholes like the Goldmans and the Denise Brown, Professional Peripheral Victims-types and seeing the scandalized looks on their faces about it all and you get to my "number three" reason why I enjoy going around saying "I think OJ's innocent", or "I don't think OJ did it" and ending any thought I speak along those lines with ".... and I don't care if he IS guilty, anyway. I'm still glad he's free." Hell, I like the guy, myself. He's funny when he gets going, he's kinda nice-lookin', especially for as old as he is, and I just don't have a problem with him. In fact, when all this shit went down, I made a little sign and stuck it in the back window of my pickup.
It was a headshot of OJ with the legend "Turn Loose the Juice" under it. I thought that was clever.
(Starburst Fruit Chews didn't. They changed their slogan within a week of that usage of the "old" one by the media... wusses that they are. They who would deny a child his favorite flavors like they did... Yes, Maeve. I remember what they did to your kid... bastards.) That sign got me pulled over by a State cop once, too. I had all my shit ready for him when he walked up to my window and he saw it and waved it off. "I don't want that", he said. "I just had to stop you and ask you... do you really think he's innocent?" "Yep", I said.
"I'm just not convinced." The trooper looked at me with a thoughtful expression, nodded his head and simply said, "Okay. Just wanted to ask..." and wandered on back to his car and we both went on our way. And, when I saw the verdict, I was one of the probably less than 10 white people to cheer it.
I came up offa that couch in a leap to the ceiling, with my fist up, screaming "Yessss!!.
I'll never forget that poleaxed look on Kardashian's face.
Made me laugh, it did. Maybe that response of mine has something to do with the many people I know who've been wrongfully accused and even convicted of shit.
Like ME.
(Among myriad others...) Fuck justice, just like in our cases, ya know? Ya win some, ya lose some and if EVER a case deserved to be lost by the lying, manipulating sacks of monkey shit in charge of the prosecution, it was this one. It may not have been "justice", but it was karma. And, I found it to be amusing.
Still do. And, for whatever it's worth, I'd rather have OJ here for dinner than that dickhead Fred Goldman.
At least with OJ, whatcha see is whatcha get.
Unlike Dickhead Fred who is more parasitic in his feeding on his son's corpse than even that idiotic Cindy Sheehan.
Goldman is hiding his money grubbin', fame-seeking ways behind a "My poor son" bullshit shield.
All that asshole cares about is staying in the limelight and making money from this any way he has to. I hope he ends up homeless, living in a cardboard box, if the only alternative is that he get one damned DIME from OJ. God, he makes me SICK. And, how is it that that looney-toon maggot piece of shit Fred Phelps gets to go around to soldiers funerals with his sheeple, holding up those signs that they do and saying the shit they say? Why is THAT "okay", but OJ should be dragged off and shot for this? Give my ACHIN' ASS a break, wouldja?
Jeesuz. Nicole knew exactly what she was getting into when she got involved with a guy who cheated on his wife to be with her.
But, like most other STUPID BITCHES, she thought she was "special", that she could "change him", that he wasn't a gonna be a douchebag to HER, after seeing what he did to his first wife. She didn't give a shit.
She decided the money was worth the risk.
Which is why I don't care about what happened to her. Ya play with fire, and especially "you know how fire is gonna react, yet you continually dump gas on it" and yer gonna get burnt.
End of story.
So...
fuck her, too. Whatever happened that night, happened.
And, since NOT ONE of us was there and SAW what happened and KNOW he did it and since he was tried and acquitted, it's about time to get the fuck over it, already. Let him speak his piece.
Who gives a shit?
He HAS THAT RIGHT, ya know. And, tell ya's the truth... I was only thinking about buying his book til I saw this article.
Now, I'm definitely gonna buy it.
So, good goin' there, Big Brother and Dickhead Fred.
The more you and your ilk try to pull this kinda shit, the more compelled I am to try to do whatever I can to counteract it. And, now, before one more minute passes, I'm heading on over to Amazon and ordering OJ's book if for no other reason than to bump up the number of copies "pre-ordered" before it even comes out. Of course, there is another reason or two that I'm gonna do this... I LIKE THE GUY and I do wanna see what he has to say about this.
It oughta be interesting, to say the least.
And, maybe MY purchase of OJ's book willl flip the numbers to that magic one that'll cause Dickhead Fred's head to explode. And, everybody oughta have something to hope for, don'tcha think?
*wink* Peace, out...
Posted by: Stevie at 02:15 PM | Comments (11) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
I'm supposed to be cooking....
But, noooooo.
I had to check my email.(Truth? Okay, truth. The first thing I hafta do to start the whole cooking machine in motion this time is peel a buncha got-damned potatos, so sitting here instead, doing a post about nail tips among other things, is really understandable, no?) Anyway...
I got some really cool pictures of the SRV statue from Surfie.
One in particular has got me going in both a good way, and a way that is completely new to me as far as Stevie Ray I mean, he's evoked similar feelings in certain ways before... like when I watch him play and see his facial expressions and watch his hands which are just so powerful and masterful and sexy that they can increase my heart rate just talkin' about it.
But, to think of him, himself, in that context... Woo, baby.
(Is it hot in here? *looks around*) Wanna see what I'm talkin' about?
Wanna see how far astray this shit has led me now?
Instead of doing the June Cleaver "potato salad and cookies from scratch" shit that I've been meaning to do for days now, I'm sittin' here looking up this kinda stuff. Pay particular attention to the memorial's shadow there. Impressive, ain't
*giggles* The email I got had a similar, even better, picture like that, but it is soooo big, I hafta figure out how to make it smaller so I can upload it in less than 9 straight days.
(I hate this goddamned dialup...)
(No, DSL is not available in my area. Now do ya see why I was so surprised by the road stripe?) Anyway...
I got my nails done, so now I can't type two words without misspelling three because I hafta get used to 'em all over again.
But, it is nice to have 'em back. Between them and the POW bracelet, I feel so much better. I know that sounds nuts and believe me, I am, but it 's true. If ya think about it, the average person's perspective of themselves is pretty much limited to their arms and hands and down the front of 'em unless when they look down, all they see is boobs.
*grin*
In that case, your legs and feet become like yer face in that you hafta be lookin' to see them to see them.
(Yes, I know what I just said... )
Like your face in a mirror.
That's the only way you get to see it, right?
And, if you can't see past your boobs, you hafta want to see your legs, too.
So, by default, arms and hands kinda win out.
(Win what, exactly, I don't know, but you can see wy they'd be important to a bent-headed person such as myself, don'tcha?)
(Okay then.) So, I feel more like the "myself" I actually like a little. Which is good, except there's a possibility that this hair issue is related to grief.
If this is the case, I can understand it, but... I'm also gonna be completely bald before I ever even believe this... this "thing" about Rob dying, let alone get past it. "This thing".
Indeed.
"This reality (that I cannot accept yet)". *coupla minutes later spent staring at the blinking cursor* See?
Bald. Meanwhile, I've gotta go find my SRV CD's and get cooking.
(And, make potato salad and cookies and shit... *snerk*) Peace, y'all...
Posted by: Stevie at 02:34 AM | Comments (12) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
November 19, 2006
I made it, again...
Only five people knew where I was going, so I know nobody here (at Xfire) knew I was going anywhere in the first place.
But, still... I'm back.
Make sense?
Does to me.
'Low me to a'splain. I know what I went to Bucks to do.
I'm just not sure what it was that compelled me to do that. Yet.
*rolls eyes* All I know is that if you'da asked me yesterday if I was going there, I'd have looked atcha like you were goofy and said "No".
Had not ONE plan to do this. But... While I was cleaning the house... or, actually, sittin' here, smokin' a cigarette while taking a break from cleaning the house, I happened to see Tommy Chong on VH-1 in "The Drug Years".
It was the episode about... that. And, yes, he did make me wanna, but I see Tommy every night, just about, on "That 70's Show" and the sight of him doesn't compell me to do this then. Besides, as soon as Mr. Jones(-in') spoke up in my head, I changed the frickin' channel. Then, the thought/feeling just wouldn't leave me be to call my friend back there. So, I did.
Got his v-mail.
Decided it was on God at that point.
If he called back in time, fine.
If not... there's always Tuesday (when he's working again). He called. I cleaned almost at the speed of light (at least as compared to my normal "speed" at getting this shit done sometimes).
Got a shower.
Left at 7pm.
Got back at 2am. Safely.
In one piece and without any problems at all.
For which I thank God Himself. And now, I'm sitting here in my flannel jammies with alla my fingernail crap laid out, soooo... I think I might be getting ready to do that little chore, finally. Ooo, and on the way home, I heard Jimmy Buffet.
*and dopey grin* Now, I can quit trying to inhale my TV and just shotgun the little shits. And, ya know... at first, I was wondering what awful thing is gonna happen that this trip happened at all, let alone came together so smoothly.
But, now that I've mentioned that I'm wondering, hence ready, for whatever evil is to befall my ass, it probably won't. Anything I'm actually prepared for doesn't happen, usually. So, maybe I should buy a wig....
Cause, if I was ready for my hair to be coming out at an alarming rate, but mostly in the shower when I wring it after washing it, then... maybe it would QUIT. IT. Any idears, anybody, what da hail's up widdat? Could it be *duhn, duhn, duuuhnnn* hormones?
Caaause they could be being a little screwy lately. My lil' terrorist buddy hasn't been by in a while.
(And, no, I'm not pregnant. I have cystic ovaries (praise Jesus 'cause they kept me from even getting pregnant in the first place) and... Eric is... "neutered". And, that wasn't my doin', in either of the ways that particular idea can be taken. He did that before I met him, thanks.) Anyway, he (my terrorist buddy, not Eric) seems to have flaked off and "for good" would be just that... GOOD. But, could the two be related and is there anything I can do to make it stop?
(My hair, I'm back to now. Do up your seatbelt, man...) In spite of the fact that I kiss my hair's ass because it's one of the very few things I like about myself, there is probably lotsa room for improvement of this situation. Like... I don't take vitamins, for instance.
And, I'm completely clueless about what vitamins, or herbal supplements (OTC kind, not "my" kind), are good for what thing. And, all I do to it is wash it with Pantene, use the same conditioner and slide the wet ponytail through my fist when I wring it out.
Then, I wrap it in a towel, use a large toothed comb to comb it out wet, dry it (not fry it) and I don't even use anything in or on it.
No mousse, gel, hairspray, nuttin'.
I brush it when it's dry, with a big, round medium bristled brush. Not one of those stupid and painful "spike" brushes, either.
Regular bristles. It's been mostly when I pull the wet ponytail through my fist that I end up with more strands than I care to count.
And, honestly, I have noticed lately that I'm "shedding" more than I used to, too (damn it).
Hair on my pillow, my shirt, stuck uder my boob, stuck across my eyelid... it's just loverly.
Not. So, any opinions, here?
Please?
(Don't think I won't leave this post up here for a week, if I have to, waitin' for answers, okay? *lol*) *coupla seconds later*
There was another thing, but, hell if I can remember it now.
I think it may be something that's buggin' me, but what, I don't know.
Can't be too bad then, can it? *several minutes later* Whew-ee, Jethro. I've sat here so long, now I'm hungry. And, no, it's not just munchies.
I haven't eaten anything since.... probably yesterday afternoon and my coffee cups been empty for pert near an hour, so I'm gonna find something to eat and, hopefully, do these damned fingernails, finally.
(If finally eating doesn't make me fall asleep... *giggle* Peace, y'all...
Posted by: Stevie at 04:02 AM | Comments (16) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
November 17, 2006
Hello...
I'm fine.
Just haven't updated here because I wanted that last post to have plenty of exposure time.
I do like that Nam Vet story and those checks... *grin*
Otherwise, it's just me being weird or somethin'. Much like you can tell how close to death I am when I'm sick by my not wanting coffee or Mickey D's, if something was wrong, Gut Rumbles will not have been updated for a coupla days.
If I have to choose, if I have only a thimble full of energy left in any given day, I will give it to Rob, or take care of Gut Rumbles first. ANYway...
I've got two or three (if not more) random things to letcha's know. First off, I'm nearly traumatized here after what happened in the road outside my house today. THEY PAINTED A "LANES" LINE ON IT!!!!
Ick, man.
All this time, there's not been any lines on our road.
It was just a two-car wide stretch of asphalt.
But, they had to go and paint lines on it.
What's next?
Street lights?
God forbid...
What really needs to be next is a "HEY, ASSHOLE! Yer drivin' through the middle of a farm heah. Wanna slow the fuck DOWN?" sign. Hell, I'll paint that for 'em my own self.
All they'd hafta do is LET ME. And, actually, I'd patrol the road, too, if I could.
I have the car for it.
All's I need is a ticket book.
Or a hundred... Next up is another "find" I discovered, thanks to Rob.
He's the one who got me hooked on Gunsmoke.
Gunsmoke kinda leads to Bonanza.
And, on Bonanza today, there's this guy who is GORGEOUS.
His name was Cal Boulder.
He played a character today named Arnie Guthrie and that led me to lookin' him up on IMDb.
He was 6'4", 240 pounds, with a 52" chest and a 32" waist, blonde hair and arm muscles to kill a bitch to get to for.
(To for? Aw, ya'll know what I mean.)
(Which, by the way, oughta scare ya.) Anyway, unfortunately, Cal died last January.
But, good gol-DAMN, he was nice lookin'.
(He was also a Marine and then a cop when he was "discovered".)
(By Hollywood, not me.) This little info-mining expedition led me to this site, the most comprehensive, well-written Bonanza site I've ever seen. Did y'all know that Lorne Greene and James Arness rode the same horse?
Yep.
That Buckskin they each rode was the same one.
And, didja know that the first Paint horse Michael Landon used in Bonanaza was stabbed to death by some nutjob in his stall at the ranch he was rented from?
I didn't either...
Michael Landon put up a reward for the asshole who did that, but they never caught him. While I was finding all this out, I got a phone call, which requires a bit of background information. Back on September 29th, the day before that tractor battery blew up on the two Erics, we had gone to the Tractor Supply store in Hanover and gotten those two some winter/outer work clothes.
Jr.'s jacket saved his ASS when that stupid battery blew up, too, lem'me tell ya. Anyhoo, part of what we got for Sr. was a pair of CE Schmidt insulated biballs.
He prefers the biballs and a jacket, as opposed to the big one-piece deals because he can take off the coat if he gets too warm and he can move around better in the bibs and coat than he can in the one-piece suits. Well, about three weeks after we got those bibs, I had washed them (again) for him and when he went to put 'em on the next morning, there was a problem.
(Here's where we hafta go into (excruciating) detail for a minute...) On a pair of bibs, there are shoulder straps that have bent metal things on them that you slip the button on the front of the bibs into and slide it down to secure them.
Okay.Ya see that metal clip-thing hangin' in midair, there?
Look closely at it.
Ya notice how it's all one solid piece, not two "ends" coming together (that would need to be held together by some stupid clippy-thing)?
That there's nothing in the bottom of it, where the button on the bib rests when you have it clipped (holding said "ends" together)? Well, the ones we got Sr. have this little thing in there, at the bottom, that holds the two ends of the big metal clip-thing together.
It doesn't interfere with the button on the bib-front, it's just there to keep the whole clip together. This was the problem when he went to put the coveralls on that morning.
That clip that holds the whole metal thing together had fallen off, thereby pretty much rendering the coveralls themselves halfway useless because, without the stupid little clippy-thing to hold the ends together, the bib button pulled right through the clip and the strap snapped back over his shoulder. He wrapped about a yard of tape around the two ends and then, that night, I got involved and fixed them somewhat better with a piece of coathanger. Three weeks or so go by... Night before last, I washed those coveralls again.
When I pulled 'em out of the dryer, I noticed that the second clip-thing on the other strap had also fallen off. *exhales hard enough through nose to nearly blow boogers down the front of my shirt* I fixed it again with another piece of coathanger and fired off an angry email to the company that makes 'em. The email was sent through a form at their website, so I don't have a copy of it, but, basically, I told them... "Hi,
I bought a pair of your coveralls on September 29, 2006 and I have no idea where the receipt is so I don't expect much to be done about this, but..." Then, I told them the whole story I just told you and I added that, due to the stupid little clippy-thing and the fact that they had pretty much fallen apart in about six weeks, I was going to go get Sr. another pair of coveralls, probably CARHARTTS this time, and that, if asked about it by any other farmers or workers around here, I was gonna tell them the truth about what had happened with theirs and steer those people to the Carhartt section. I really didn't think anything would come of it.
I just wanted to vent because I was pissed when that second clip broke. Which brings us back to me perusing the Bonanza site when my phone rings with it's "you've got voicemail" ring.
(I'd turned it on while reading the Bonanza page to beep Sr. and tell him about that "Lorne and James rode the same horse" thing...) I get the v-mails and it's two different people, one the buyer for Tractor Supply and the other a guy from the company that actually manufactures the CE Schmidt brand of work clothes and each guy wanted to rectify the situation for me. *jaw drops and bounces offa desktop* Way too late to make a long story short BUT, in the interest of time as I do hafta get to the bank before 3pm, I'm gonna skip the details of the 45 minute conversation I had with the guy who works for the manufacturer and just, FINALLY, get to the (friggin') POINT (already, fer Chris'sakes, woman).
(Yeah, I hear ya's talkin' at me... *giggle*) Instead of having us return the coathanger-wire rigged bibs to the store, the guy is sending Sr. a new, more heavily insulated, pair of bibs AND, if the same thing happens again, he's gonna send us a check for what they cost. The cool part about that is that Sr. gets to keep the pair he has now and still get a new pair.
And, between the two of us, me and the guy on the phone, we pretty much figured out what was wrong with the pair he has now and the chances of the clips breaking again seem pretty slim.
Apparently, the little clippy-thing that holds the big metal thing together wasn't crimped correctly when they were made. It's unbelievable how far this guy went and is still gonna be going over this.
I'd mentioned in my email to them that, while at Wally-world, I went to show George that little clippy-thing on a pair of coveralls in there and that those coveralls didn't have that, leading me to the conclusion that they were better-made coveralls than the CE Schmidt's because the bottom of the metal clip was one solid piece. The guy I talked to had just gotten back from his local Wal-Mart, checkin' this out, when I called him. Can you believe that shit? My saying the ones in Wal-Mart are better got him so curious that he WENT THERE to see for himself.
*lmao* Then, when I told him how the clip thing broke, where it had failed, what area of it had snapped, he asked me for the "cut number" off the tag and is now gonna go audit the rest of the ones made at the same time as these to check the clippy-thing and MAKE SURE it got crimped correctly.
And, he's also gonna contact the designer/engineer/whatever people who make those big metal clip things and see about having the necessary break in the metal moved to the top of the metal thing, inside the shoulder strap, as opposed to the way they're made now.
It would be harder to pull that metal thing apart up there.
The stress would be more widely distributed and less likely to cause it to fail that way.
And, it wouldn't even need a stupid little clippy-thing that way. So, I guess this makes me two-fer-two in the Officially Saying "Hey, wait a got-damned minute here. Do WHAT?" Speech to the *HHWBIC's Responsible For Dumb Shit That Don't Need to be Happenin' in the First Place".
Liiiike... Giant discontinuing my frickin' cat litter and coveralls fallin' apart in less than two months.
*big grin*
(*Head Honchos What Be In Charge) I have never in my life officially bitched about stuff like this before.
All I ever did was rant-n-rave verbally and bitch my fingers off here, at Xfire.
And, while that did do me, personally, some good, it didn't produce these kinda results. I'm rather amazed by all this.
And no, I don't plan to make a career outta "officially bitchin' about shit" just because it works, either.
But... you kin betcher sweet bippy I will when it's for a good reason. And, on that note, I'm outta here.
I have got to git my ass to the bank.
Then, when I get back, there's a house that needs cleanin' and got-damned cookies still waiting to be baked and more potato and macaroni salad needin' to be made again and on and on and on.
*biiiiig breath* Meanwhile, y'all take care and I'll be back later. Peace Update @ 2:52pm
I made it.
In fact, not only did I make it to the bank before 3pm (no thanks WHATsoever to the fuckin' FOSSIL drving the stupid got-damned Subaru), I made it HOME before three.
God bless a Police Intercepter engine.
Posted by: Stevie at 02:21 PM | Comments (12) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
November 14, 2006
This wasn't exactly what I was looking for, but I'm still glad I found it...
I've seen this before.Nam Vets by Bob Scheyer When the Lord was creating Vietnam veterans, he was into His 6th day of overtime when an angel appeared. "You're certainly doing a lot of fiddling around on this one." And God said, "Have you seen the specs on this order? A Nam vet has to be able to run 5 miles through the bush with a full pack on, endure with barely any sleep for days, enter tunnels his higher ups wouldn't consider doing, and keep his weapons clean and operable. He has to be able to sit in his hole all night during an attack, hold his buddies as they die, walk point in unfamiliar territory known to be VC infested, and somehow keep his senses alert for danger. He has to be in top physical condition, existing on c-rats and very little rest. And he has to have 6 pairs of hands." The angel shook his head slowly and said, "6 pair of hands .... no way." "It's not the hands that are causing me problems ... it's the 3 pair of eyes a Nam vet has to have." "That's on the standard model?" asked the angel. The Lord nodded. "One pair that sees through elephant grass, another pair here in the side of his head for his buddies, another pair here in front that can look reassuringly at his bleeding, fellow soldier and say, 'You'll make it...' when he knows he won't." "Lord, rest, and work on this tomorrow." "I can't," said the Lord. "I already have a model that can carry a wounded soldier 1,000 yards during a firefight, calm the fears of the latest FNG, and feed a family of 4 on a grunt's paycheck." The angel walked around the model and said, "Can it think?" "You bet," said the Lord. "It can quote much of the UCMJ, recite all his general orders, and engage in a search and destroy mission in less time than it takes for his fellow Americans back home to discuss the morality of the War, and still keep his sense of humor. This Nam vet also has a phenomenal personal control. He can deal with ambushes from hell, comfort a fallen soldier's family, and then read in his hometown paper how Nam vets are baby killers, psychos, addicts, killers of innocent civilians." The Lord gazed into the future and said, "He will also endure being villified and spit on when he returns home; rejected and crucified by the very ones he fought for." Finally, the angel slowly ran his finger across the vet's cheek, and said, "There's a leak... I told you that you were trying to put too much into this model." "That's not a leak," said the Lord. "That's a tear." "What's the tear for?" asked the angel. "It's for bottled up emotions, for holding fallen soldiers as they die, for commitment to that funny piece of cloth called the American flag, for the terror of living with PTSD for decades after the war, alone with it's demons, with no one to care or help." "You're a genius," said the angel, casting a gaze at the tear. The Lord looked very somber, as if seeing down eternity's distant shores... "I didn't put it there," He said.
In an Erma Bombeck book, about mothers.
Seeing as how my mother didn't even come close to this, it didn't mean much to me.
But, seeing it in this context...
It makes allll the sense in the world now. Found it while I was searching (and searching and searching) online for a replacement Nam bracelet. The one I've had and worn for years is about an inch wide, black with silver letters and it wasn't for any one man, it's for them ALL. It says on it:
AMERICANS WHO NEVER RETURNED 1959~~~~~~ VIETNAM ~~~~~~1975
Broke my heart to take it off, too... I've been looking ever since for another one like it.
Can't find one.
Not even close. I got that one at the Farmer's Market in Delaware over 10 years ago, easily.
The guy who sold the POW/MIA stuff hasn't been there for a while.
I don't know who he was or where he went, but I kinda wish I did so I could find out where he got those bracelets.
His "store" was called "Tom's Mostly Musical T's", or something like that.
Sometimes, he'd wear a rainbow-colored clown wig.
I think he told me a Nam Vet in Florida somewhere made those bracelets. Hell, it was easier to find my Dad's old friend Lonnie Johnson today (only took me about an hour or so) than it has been to find that bracelet. Meanwhile, just to have something around my wrist for those unsung, unappreciated and all-but-forgotten heros, I ordered (and just got today) a different kinda bracelet.
It's as wide and it's for more than one guy again, but... *rolls eyes*... it has "NEW JERSEY" in big, bold letters across it.
Under that, are the names of all the guys from Jersey who are on The Wall.
And, I got one for Eric, too.
Early Christmas present...
(The Jersey one was the only one the place had two of and the only other choice was the same thing, but with Massachusettes on it...) This one has the POW flag on one end and, on the other end, says "American soldiers are still held captive in Southeast Asia... BRING THEM HOME NOW!!!" and has an eagle trying to fly away, but chained by one leg to THE spot on a map of Nam. I like it but, I'd still buy an exact copy of the one I had.
I'd wear it, too.
On my other arm.
Ain't no such thing as "too much support" or "advertising" for these guys. Know what I'm sayin'? In other news...
that potato salad came out pretty good.
If I've ever made it before, I don't remember it.
But, I will again, now that I know I can.
The macaroni salad came out good too, but ya can't hardly mess that up, it's so easy.
Now for all that (damned) baking I've been saying I'm gonna do for the last three days... I might get around to doing my nails by next year sometime...
(IF I ever stop looking for that bracelet, that is...) Peace, y'all... *about 5 minutes later*
I'm back...
If anybody still uses paper checks for anything and wants the best ones ever made, try these.
I've ordered these very checks from this very place before and they're secure and trustworthy and it's said that every time you write a check, by the time it comes back to you 12 people have seen it.
I do most of my banking shit with a card or online these days, but I think I'm gonna order these again in case I ever do need to use paper for something.
Aren't they beautiful?
Like that checkbook cover, too...
Posted by: Stevie at 05:34 PM | Comments (16) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
November 13, 2006
I have a question...
A crockpot question.
I just had to go get a larger crockpot.The one I had was good for cooking for a coupla people, but, for cooking for four... it warn't big 'nuff.
Plus, we did just get a whole buncha chunksa beef from Da Bossman.
So, a bigger crockpot became necessary. I got a nice one.
Six and a half quart-sized.
It's a GE, too.
($25 from the local Wally-world...) Anyway, this one came with two cooking inserts.
A ceramic one, which is what I'm used to and have always known them to have AND an enamel one.
And, nowhere in the lengthy instructions (wherein they tell you not to submerse it, pop popcorn in it, cook in your sleep or insert it into any orafice) do they bother to mention what the enamel one is for. So...
what's it for?
Is it special?
Are ya s'posed to cook only certain things in it?
Is it interchangable, pretty much, with the ceramic one and it's just a matter of which one ya feel like cooking any given thing in?
What? I called my Dad, even, and asked him.
What he doesn't know about cooking isn't worth knowing and he had no idea.
*exhales thru nose*
Neither did my brother (yes, I FINALLY got to hear his voice for the first time since he got back from Iraq in AUGUST).
He used to watch damned near every cooking show there was on TV and he didn't know, either. So, I leave it y'all to enlighten me. What I'm doing today is... all the baking I was gonna do yesterday, PLUS a pot roast in said crockpot (I went with the ceramic insert for this) and I'm also about to go make macaroni salad, potato salad and egg salad. I don't know what cookin' bug jumped up my ass, but apparently one did, 'cause I'm just a cookin' FOOL today. I'm gonna do all this "real food" shit first, then, later, all the baking shit. I didn't do it yesterday because everybody was off and around and it was just... I don't know... too crowded or something to get into it.
I know (all too well) I'm weird, but, for some reason, I don't like doing stuff like this, or cleaning, with a buncha people around.
I prefer to do this stuff alone...
(When I'm cleanin' alone, I prefer to be by myse-elf...)
(What? I'm the only one who heard George Thoroughgood in that? Please.)
Cleaning, especially.
The guys'll all go to bed and the house looks like a tornado blew through.
I stay up and clean and then, when they get up, it's like they're waking up in a different house.
And, to a certain extent, I'm the same way with cooking.
I'll do it with people awake and in the livingroom, but I don't necessarily need anybody watchin' me while I do it.
And, I have no more of an idea why I'm like that than I do what an enamel crockpot insert is for. Anyhoo... I only have a coupla more hours til people start coming home/in the house, so I supposed I best in gear. I'll beee bach.
(That's supposed to sound like Schwartz.. Schwartzen... Governor Ah-nold...) Meanwhile...
Peace, y'all.
Posted by: Stevie at 03:49 PM | Comments (18) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
November 12, 2006
Sunday morning in the (other) Animal House...
I think I'mina do some baking today.
Maybe "grow" some instant fingernails later, too.
I 'bout killed myself doing that Friday afternoon, into Saturday (late) morning.
'Course, if I hadn't had to BALE the kitchen and front room, thanks to the cats spreading around about a half a trash bag fulla hay, it mighta been easier....
When I finally went to bed, all that was left was a small load of white socks that severely needed bleaching. *shudder*
I got 'em as far as the washer, then decided "fuck 'em" and dried 'em when I got up. I only slept about 4 hours yesterday.
Went to bed around 11am, got up before 3pm. Staggered on down here (after throwng said socks in the dryer) and gotta cuppa coffee, then cruised around on here with Def Leppard on the CD player/Walkman because Sr. was watching that somehow-unGodly-annoying "Crossroads" movie again.
(Sr. is off this weekend because he wrenched his neck a coupla days ago (like Thursday, I think it was) yanking open a telescoping gate in one of the cow barns. He couldn't turn his head for shit at first, but, after wearing those sticky pain patches that heat up when ya put 'em on, then just being OFF this weekend, it's getting better.) ANYway, he was watching that movie again and it was distracting me.
All that whiny, sounds-like-a-dying-animal harmonica shit and the "so NOT SRV" guitar playing was just tooooo much.
So, it was "Gim'me my DefLep and go 'way." Then, I finally broke out the George Jones CD I got a while back.
Almost made it through "He Stopped Loving Her Today". George got to the "We wondered if she'd show up" part, I happened to glance at the DVD Elisson made and saw Rob and there I went.
*sigh*
Not as badly as I have before, but enough.
I still just canNOT believe it.
Ya know?
I can say it, write it, explain it and know it but I still just can't believe it. Last night, Jr. asked me about Elvis. About whether he's really dead or just run off somewhere.
In explaining the Elvis phenomenon to him, I said that when he died, it was just so hard for people to accept, that some people chose to believe he'd faked his death and ran off someplace, like some people do with Jim Morrison, and the way lots of us would like to believe about Rob.
It's just easier, somewhow, to believe some convoluted theory like that than it is to believe they're really gone.
Hurts less. And, the majority of my heart wishes I could go with "Rob's really in Costa Rica." I think about it a lot, but...
I know better.
(Damn it...) Anyway, after "He Stopped Loving Her Today", I let the CD go on and ya know what?
George Jones has an incredible voice.
I just "discovered" that yesterday.
*rolls eyes at self*
All the years I've known who he is and all, I never really knew just how rich and soulful his voice was til I heard it on those headphones. I don't know about his taste in wimmen... that Tammy Wynette just was NOT a pretty woman and she more whines than sings, but... his voice is awesome.
And, I laugh out loud every time I think about ol' George taking his riding mower to the liquor store after Tammy took all his car keys. After George, I broke out Ronnie Milsap.
I haven't sung with Ronnie for at least ten years but, once I heard the opening notes of each song, all the words were right there.
I missed him and didn't even know it. Somewhere in the beginning of Ronnie's CD, Sr. decided to quit trying to torture me with that (Godawful) movie and changed it to NatLamp's "Family Vacation", so I turned Ronnie down a little and went over and sat on the floor in front of Sr., between his feet, and got kinda snuggley and close and that was cool.
We were laughing at Chevy Chase and could still faintly hear Ronnie singin' and it was just... really nice. After that movie, we decided to run to Giant and get some stuff and that lovely sixty-five cents a gallon gas.
Came home, I made dinner and actually went to bed by 11pm, for a change. Just got up about two hours ago, took care of Gut Rumbles, and here I am.
In my nice, clean house, wearing my nice, soft flannel jammies, about to start baking. Gonna make Oatmeal raisin cookies for my wrenched-necked patient, a cake for whomever and (Mike, you need to catch this shit) I'm also gonna start Amish Friendship Bread. Starting Amish Friendship Bread is easy.
It's ending it that's the problem. Even if you know enough people to not end up with more new "starters" than there were kittens around here before PAWS of Pa. showed up, after the first time you "gift" somebody with one of these starters, they hide like you're a Jehovah's Witness when they see you coming if they think there's even a chance you've got another starter for 'em.
And... I don't blame 'em a damned bit.... To start it, you just throw a cup of flour, a cup of sugar and a cup of milk into a BIG Ziplock baggie and mush it around til it's thoroughly mixed.
Then, just do what it says at linked site above. I also add apple slices and spinkle the top of the loaves with cinnamon sugar before I bake 'em. The most important thing to remember is to NOT EVER USE ANYTHING METAL with this stuff.
And, to make sure you have it well hidden if you're gonna try to give anybody this shit more than one time.
Oh, and don't forget to write out the directions for them.
"squeezedabagsqueezedabagsqueezedabag..."
(Just don't fuck up and get it confused with his "bag"... *giggle, giggle, snort*) And, on that note, I'm outta here. Peace, y'all....
Posted by: Stevie at 08:25 AM | Comments (11) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
November 11, 2006
Today was the last day...
to redeem gas points at Giant.
Wanna guess what I just got done paying per gallon of gas? 65 cents. I got not one, but TWO receipts.And, you just know one of them is gettin' framed and hung on the fuckin' wall, don'tcha? And... I saw with my own two eyes the Cedarific back on the shelf. Viva la Giant.
Posted by: Stevie at 06:54 PM | Comments (12) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Hmmm...
I don't know much about those guys but... this is good, idinit? I mean, Rob would like that, wouldn't he?
(9th item down...)
*snort*)
Posted by: Stevie at 04:24 PM | Comments (14) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
On this day and every other day as well...
With a special "Thank You" and lotsa love to my personal heros.
Posted by: Stevie at 01:43 AM | Comments (15) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
November 10, 2006
Thirty-one years ago today...
Posted by: Stevie at 11:54 AM | Comments (12) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Well, gol-damn...
After many phone calls and much futzin' around, the Cedarific cat litter is now back in my local Giant.
Not only that, but Mike-the-manager just called to let me know that personally, AND that they're holding a bag for me for FREE for "all the inconvenience". Just wow. He'd called me Wednesday, too, to let me know why it was taking so long to get it back. Something about a changed product code...Anyway, when he called me Wednesday, he said they'd have it back by today, Friday.
This, I already knew.
Wanna know how I knew that with such certainty?
'Cause, when he called, I was on my way home from AGWAY with a 50 pound bag of the stuff.
So, naturally, since I'd already gotten it, they'd have it back for sure.
*rolls eyes* And, ya wanna know something else (and I almost feel bad about this, but only "almost"...)? At the Gaint, it's $3.95 per 7.5 pound bag.
So, let's change those numbers to $4 for a 7 lb. bag, just to make the math easier, okay? Now, what I paid at the Agway for a 50 lb. bag was $14 and change, so let's say $15. So, if I were to get 7 bags (49 lbs) of Cedarific at the Giant, it'd cost $28.
(7X7=49 and 7X4=2
So, basically, I can get it at Agway for half of what I'd pay at the Giant AND, I'd not have figured alla this out if Giant hadn'ta been dumb enough to try to discontinue it and make me go through alla this shit to begin with.
BUT, the same 7.5 lb. bag at Agway is $6-something, so...
I think what I'm gonna do is get the 50 lb. bags at Agway when I buy my horse feed.Then, if I need a bag or two between times, I'll go on and get it at the Giant.
Giant is, like I said before, a 24 hours a day deal and Agway isn't. But, ain't that some shit? Half as much at Agway for a BIG bag, and I do mean b-i-g.
But, the Giant's gonna GIVE me a bag for being a pain in my left ass cheek.
AND, it IS back for sale at the Giant for good now.
Yay that. And, anybody else in the Gettysburg area who uses the stuff, y'all can send your "thanks" and/or cash prizes to me for that.
*bows*
(Unless, of course, y'all too have figured out how much cheaper it is at Agway, in which case Agway can give me a discount on my horse feed for telling everybody for a week that they had it when Giant didn't.) I'll bet I could make Mike-the-manager cry if I told him about how much cheaper it is at Agway.
And how it is I came to know that...
*lmao*
Posted by: Stevie at 10:52 AM | Comments (14) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
Again...
This is NOT NEWS to me.
(I found an article on FARK about it, but that link is borked, so, what I did was searched it myself and whatcha got there (if you click my link) is the Yahoo search results page with a whole assload of links about it.) I swear ta Gawd, I fully expect, any time now, to see a headline that says something like "Rain will get ya wet" or "The sky is UP", or "Eating handfuls of dirt is stupid and it tastes bad". WTF, ya know? I did, however, see another headline on the MSNBC page that gave me pause.Seems there's a 5,000-mile wide "huge penis" storm on Saturn.
"One-eyed monster"...
Indeed. Time for another cuppa coffee, I think.
Before my brain a'splodes.
Posted by: Stevie at 07:02 AM | Comments (10) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
November 09, 2006
No shit. Really?!!?
How in the name of all that is good and Holy does this shit qualify as "news"?
According to my handy dandy American Oxford dictionary, "news" is, and I quote: "information about recent events" Jesus FUCK, I've known for DECADES that Nam Vets were poisoned by Agent Orange.And, shit that's been known for decades is not by any stretch of the imagination "recent".
Nor should this information be "news" to anybody with fuckin' BRAIN FUNCTION. What da fuck's next? A "news" report bearing the headline: VIET NAM VETS FUCKED BY GOVERNMENT IN EVERY WAY HUMANLY POSSIBLE SINCE THEY CAME HOME, NOT TO MENTION WHILE THEY WERE "IN COUNTRY"? My achin' ASS. The only people this could possibly be "news" to are fuckwits who a.) are stupid, b.) don't give a good goddamn about those guys anyway, and c.) never will. Sounds like the guv'mint to me. Dickheads. (And, you'll notice how, in the article, there is NOTHING said about helping them or compensation or even anybody giving a hairy rat's ass about it, goddamn it.)
(And and, I suppose it's just a fuckin' COINCIDENCE that this shit gets trotted out two days before Veteran's Day, right?)
*chewing back teeth in a developing rage* Y'okay.
Need to go find something to do now that doesn't involve putting my fist through a wall.
Posted by: Stevie at 04:05 PM | Comments (11) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
November 08, 2006
Wanna know what's cool?
It's still warm enough here, in spite of the fact that it's raining, and it's rural enough around here that I can, and just did, run out to the barn in my flannel jammies to get a few trash bags fulla "scrap hay" to re-bed the critter cages.
Wanna know what's not so cool? Having four trash bags of "scrap hay" starting to be scattered around the kitchen floor by a bunch shit-headed CATS, like I also have had done.*sigh* Men and cats.
Gotta love 'em 'cause if ya didn't, you'd kick their furry asses.
Posted by: Stevie at 06:52 AM | Comments (10) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
November 07, 2006
Damn it...
Dixie Carter (as Julia Sugarbaker) just made me cry again.
It's not unheard of for this show, Designing Women, to make me do that, but this time... man.
She got me good.
A sub-plot was about Julia singing "How Great Thou Art" and being scared she'd flub the high note at the end, which, of course, she does not. And, it's that song... hearing that song and even trying to write about it now... that just rips my heart out and shows it to me. It reminds me sooo much of my Pop-pop. After he died, years after he died, I was cleaning out the house he died in (after Mom-mom had to be moved into a nursing home) and I found an old reel-to-reel tape.
When I was finally able to hear it, it nearly killed me because it was Pop-pop singing that song a capella. He may not have had the range or operatic voice of Julia, but it was powerful and sweet and it was him.
And, now... I can't hear that song without dissolving into a puddle of tears and missing him so intensely that it may as well have been yesterday that I lost him. Makes me miss my Dad and all the time I've lost with him all over again, too. *a snort of laughter through the tears*
Isn't it just insane that a hymn makes me wanna die?
God... Only me, huh? Well, I've said it more'n once in my twisted version of a "life"... God has got one bentheaded sense of humor.... *12 seconds later*
Oh yeah... that's just what the fuck I need now... that goddamned stupid commercial with that bitch whining that "I hope you never lose your sense of wonder" country western SHIT SONG.
I don't know who that is, nor do I care, but I do hope she contracts a severe and PERMANANT case of laryngitis and I don't know what the hell product the damned commercial is for because I refuse to listen to OR watch it, but, I hope whatever it is I don't use it and never will because of the fer-shit way it's advertised. Even more than I hate rap being crammed down my throat by the seemingly deaf "motorists" who seem to favor it, I hate having country slipped in on me, especially when it's purely to evoke strong emotions or "get to you". Don't fuckin' play with me like that. If you have some shit to sell, sell it and leave my bruised up, fucked over and more than halfway broken heart out of it, damn you advertisers. And, it's not that I hate all country.
Just... most of it, I guess. I mean, I love George Jones, Larry Gatlin, Charlie Rich and even Dwight "Chromedome who's too good to speak to his fans" Yoakam. But, to the core of my being, I fuckin' HATE being manipulated. Jesus, man... I happened to stumble across the Judd's movie the other night, "Love Can Build a Bridge" (and I even have Naomi's book) and even those two bitches made me cry, doing that song "Grandpa (Tell me 'Bout the Good Old Days").
I choked-sang it right along with 'em, just like I always do.
Most times, if a song starts making me think of death as a sweet release from the intense pain that is life, I turn it the hell OFF.
But, I can't do that with that one.
It's too much like turning my back on a visit from Pop-pop.
So, I'm trapped.
Can't stand it, can't bear to make it stop.
I just have to sit or stand there and let it have it's way with me. I hate that. I don't want to feel that raw, painful shit anymore.
I've lived enough of my life feeling nothing but that.
I've smoked enough pot in my life trying to MUTE that.
And, it's worked, for the most part. At least I haven't followed all the way through with killing myself.
Yet.
*rolls eyes* Thank GOD for Def Leppard, which I think I shall now go find and shove into that CD player/Walkman and BLAST AT TOP VOLUME to nuke-strike this maudlin BULLSHIT outta my head before it fucks up my whole day. Be right back... Well, that was quick.
The CD player was in the drawer right next to me and the Def Lep CD was already in it, so.... ahhhhh. I'll pour sugar on anything ya want, guys.
Y'all, the floor, my car, my cats... I'll coat the entire WORLD with sugar like a goddamned doughnut.
God knows I owe it to ya's for SAVING ME!!!!
(Sorry to yell, but this is LOUD. I can feel my whole head vibrating.) Pardon me for about 3 minutes whilst I close my eyes, pump my fists and rock OUT to this...
Be right back again.... Gim'me another few.
I've gotta "do" Photograph, too...
("Do", meaning do that head-banger, yank-yer-head-back-and-forth shit...) *I've now got head-to-toe goosebumps goin' on* *and, my ears are ringing* *but, I do feel EVER so much better* "All I've got is a photograph.
I wanna touch you..." *lookin' at Pop-pop and Rob while I write that and NOT CRYING. See how awesome this band is?* *coupla minutes later* *big 'ol deep breath* Man.
I now have the headphones around my neck and I can still hear it very much loudly, thank you.
And, for the record, there might be, probably IS, a small but significant difference between the way these guys mean that "I wanna touch you" part and the way I'm sayin' it about Rob and Pop-pop. Rob and Pop-pop, I want to hug, to bury my face in their chests and just feel them hug me while I breathe in their very essences and hear their hearts beat. Def Lep... yeah. I think they're wantin' to get "jiggy widdit". They ain't wantin' to touch the same places I am. Not that there's necessarily anything wrong with that, it's just that, with Pop-pop that'd be very much twisted and Rob... I've always loved him more than that. Do I wanna get rocked?
OH HELL YEAH!!!! "Love Bites" just finished and now it's "Let's Get Rocked".
Be right back again... This most definitely requires the headphones to be put back on my head.... *coupla minutes later* Uh-oh.
Here comes my "Rob" Def Lep song...
It's ok, if you need to
Well, you can run, but you can never hide
From the shadow that's creeping up beside you
And, there's a magic running through your soul
But you can't have it all Whatever you do I'll be two steps behind you
Wherever you go and I'll be there to remind you
That it only takes a minute of your precious time
To turn around and I'll be two steps behind Take the time to think about it
Walk the line, you know you just can't fight it
Take a look around and see what you can find
Like the fire that's burning up inside me
And there's a magic running through your soul
But you can't have it all Whatever you do I'll be two steps behind you
Wherever you go and I'll be there to remind you
That it only takes a minute of your precious time
To turn around and I'll be two steps behind And there's a magic running through your soul
But you, you can't have it all Whatever you do I'll be two steps behind you
Wherever you go and I'll be there to remind you
That it only takes a minute of your precious time
To turn around and I'll be two steps behind Yeah baby, two steps behind
Oh sugar, two steps behind
That helped.
*another few deep breaths* Rick Allen's drumming on this is the best got-damned drumming I've ever been moved by.
Even better than that drum solo in the middle of "Radar Love". And, I loooove the drum solo in the middle of "Radar Love", lem'me tell ya. Okay.
Eric blew through here a while ago, enroute to "out there to work" and now George is down here and I'm not freakin' or leakin' about the face right this second, sooooo.... I think I'm gonna go find something to do. Hmmm.... I do need to go to the Giant at some point and that is a "take-Def-Lep-in-the-Walkman-so-I-don't-hafta-be-subjected-to-that
crap-they-call-"music"-in-there" kinda thing...
And, if I were to look closely enough around here, I'm sure I can find something that needs to be cleaned. Or, maybe I'll just go back to bed and try this whole "waking up" thing again.
And, NOT watch "Designing Women" this time, lest it be Julia doing this shit to me all over again. Women.
Friggin' drive me NUTS. Peace
or Def Leppard
whichever it is ya need.
Posted by: Stevie at 05:40 AM | Comments (22) | Add Comment | Trackbacks (Suck)
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