One, two, three, four, five....
Five times in 60 seconds I gotta putcher ass back on the floor til ya finally get it, huh?
Yer gettin' better, Cat.
*shakes head*
Still...
Cut.
It.
Out. Lemme 'lone and let me concentrate. Ain't easy to type and sing with Stevie, ya know. "What about the neighbors?
What they gonna say?
Better stop, Little Sister,
gettin' carried away.
Hey, hey, hey,
Look at Little Sister...." "Ain't gone-n-give up on love.
Love ain't gone-n-give up on meeeeee...
Every tear that I've cried
Only washed away the fear inside.
Ain't gone-n-give up on love...." Man.
What have I been DOING that I've not played Stevie for so long?
Am I stupid?
Shure as hell am.... I sat here, two nights ago and sang damned near every song of his I have.
Out of all the people I sing with, his is the easiest voice for mine to become.
I love it. Do it enough, I can keep it up by myself, too.
That's when I get... how do I put it? I get.... gone, is the best way to say it. Either ya understand that, or ya don't and I don't think I can describe it any better.
I'm just gone.... so's the world.
All there is, is Stevie.
Both of us.
It's awesome. So is he. Anyway....
Still ain't found nor heard from Paul. Called twice. Next time, I suppose I oughta leave a message... *giggle* I've also had another thought about getting bitten on the ass by anything I've said....
First off, most of the vitriolic, hateful shit is pretty old by now. (So am I, by the way... *shudder*) Second, I can already deal with the idea of explaining it, if need be, and making the person in question (or do the questioning..) understand that, yes, I most certainly DID feel that way and isn't it a GOOD thing I don't now? kinda thing.... See how I've changed-type of deal....
With work, I haven't said enough to really worry about. Drafted what I was worried about....
With the other dude... I'll just make him aware of the fact that all I did was type, when what I wanted at times was wholesale destruction and make him GLAD I wrote insteada HIT.
Know what I mean? That's about all that was concerning me. I mean, I've gone on about a million different people, but what? Drew Carey is gonna read me and not like that I love him? John Cusack gonna give me hell for the Joey Coyle references? I doubt it. Is Bret Hart ever gonna read me or use my cell number or is he gonna run the fuck off and marry some Italian bitch?!??! AAAARRRRGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!! Oops.
Sorry.
Got a little off the point there, didn't I? "Tell me, Pretty Baby
if you gonna try.
If you'll stay, Baby
Hang on, Baby, til the day I die.
Yes it's true.
I love you.
I don't care
Whatchoo do.
Honey, I'll
be your love.
You'll be mine.
You'll be mine..." Thank you Stevie.
That in no way is directed to Bret, by the way.
Just a timing thing....
*ahem* Back to the point (as if I even HAD one)... I'm slowly getting my arm back.
I can straighten it reeeeal slow, now.
I spent all day at work yesterday squishin' the muscles. Bicep and forearm, forearm and bicep.
Now my left arm is tired. I also fed the fng last night. ("fgn"- fuckin' new guy. I remember Nam. *wry grin* We call all the new hires here that, til they last a week.)
He's actually really sweet. He's older than I expected. Maybe even a little older than me. From Poland. Been in the US for four years. He and the other guy who works here came over for chicken potpie, which I swear I fucked up this time. I use cream of chicken, chicken gravy and chicken bullion as well as real chicken and the "noodles". (How many times can YOU use the word "chicken" in one sentence?) Makes for a full pot. So, last night, I removed two big cans of water to make room.
Well.
Apparently, the dumplings, noodles or whatever the hell ya call 'em don't absorb thick, gravy-like liquid as well as they do water.
My bad.
Eric loved it. He likes 'em thick anyway.
HEY.
Is THAT why he "likes" me so much?
*raised eyebrow*
Anyway, he liked it, they both liked it (the fng and the fog- fuckin' old guy) and I also made 'em mashed potatoes and corn muffins. Whomp biscuits. The kind ya "whomp" on the counter to open.
And, Lord, don't I hate opening them damned things. I don't mind whackin' 'em on the counter... it's when they explode in my hand that I have the heart attack.
The corn ones don't do that, Bless their lil hearts.
And, spare mine.... Eric helped me get the house into "semi" people readiness. Gave me a good running start on it is what he really did. And, since my arm has decided to start cooperating again, I think that's what I'mina do. Finally and for real. Clean. This. House.
Completely. Hell, it IS March 2nd. SPRING cleaning time.
Long as I don't look out a window, I can believe that.
The hyacinths I'm getting again help too.
Damn, they smell so gooood.
Thank you and God Bless you too, Canada.
Now...
What the HELL'D ya's do wit' PAUL???? *several minutes later* Whew. I just "previewed" and fixed alla this. I also stuck Waylon in for that job.
Now, I hafta pee like a race horse, I need coffee and Waylon's makin' me wanna dance..... Or maybe that's having to pee so bad.
Hmmm....
I swear, I oughta just pee in a coffee cup and save myself all the "middleman" shit. Gotta go... (gotta go, gotta go, gotta go right now....) Peace, y'all.....
(Or maybe "pees"?)
Comments
Posted by: Mad William Flint at March 02, 2005 02:39 PM (/j9KS)
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