Saturday, August 23, 2003
Oh. My. God.
I just checked out the site meter. Someone got here searching for the lobster couple. ?!?!? The only lobster couple I know of is Ross and Rachael from 'Friends'. Then, someone came here from usmc.mil. I gotta MARINE readin' this! And, it can't be my brother, because he's home. So, "Hi, Sir/guy", whichever you are. ('Sir' would be for an officer, I guess and 'guy' for a not-an-officer Marine.) (Watch-it'll turn out to be a female...who'll be none to pleased to have been called either thing.)
Sometimes you feel like a nut...
In response to a psychiatric examination, in which he was found to be a passive-aggressive paranoid personality with schizophrenic tendencies, Charles Manson replied: "Sure, I'm paranoid. I've had reason to be ever since I can remember. And now, I have to be, just to stay alive. As for schizophrenia, take anybody off the street and put them in the middle of a prison and you'll see all kinds of split personalities. I've got a thousand faces, so that makes me five hundred schizophrenics." That last sentence....it made me laugh the other day. I knew what he meant. This was smack in the middle of all the shit I was dealing with in the previous post. Which, I haven't covered completely, yet. I just substituted 'my life' for 'prison' in the sentence before the last one and it made sense. As far as I know...only I could find humor in a quote from Manson. This does, however, remind me of a joke. What do ya get when you cut 500 bras in half? 1000 beanies with chin straps.
Friday, August 22, 2003
Yes, I'm still alive...
Which is more than I can say for one of my cats..damn it. Briefly...on the 19th, Dale went downhill again. Fast. He left me on the evening of the 20th. I spent every minute with him I could. He died in my arms. I died on the spot. Late on the 21st, I decided to get back online....and couldn't. Verizon had been here, installing a new phone line for the new hire. They killed everybody else's service at the same time. Oooh, cool- multitasking. I called them yesterday and they FINALLY fixed it today. So, I've got a ton of catching up to do and some stuff to write about. Before I wander off into the reading room, I do want to say a coupla things... Thank you all for the comments I got while I was....so ceremoniously 'unplugged'. That was the best part about finally getting back here. Dad isn't mad about anything. He was just runnin' over more chickens...oops, I mean not paying attention. Normal Norman...two words I NEVER thought I'd find a way to use together in a sentence. My brother is graduated from bootcamp and home...YEA! And, I've had to take Eric to the Doctor, twice so far, for an ear infection. Sigh. I also got crapped on, verbally, by some dillhole Dad works with. So...plenty to say....later, that is. I'll be back...
Monday, August 18, 2003
Thank you, RJ
You were the first to save me from being forced to bore boxes of macaroni and cheese to tears. The one thing that made me laugh the most is that it was all email. Not one lil 'ol comment. (sigh) Oh, well.... Can't have everything....where would I put it? (And, y'all can keep your smart suggestions to yo'selves....lol)
Sunday, August 17, 2003
If it's after 2:00pm EST
Or if you'd like the last (next) post to make sense, ya might want to scroll down to the post titled "Look out" and start from there. Then read the next one called "ello, 'ello,'ello." That's some background. The last one "But wait...there's more" ends with a question. (Which, if no one answers, I'll just assume Dad is right, I'm shit and I'll just talk to boxes of macaroni and cheese from now on...) On the other hand, if you've been catching this as it was posted-or worse, came into it in the middle somewhere-let me know how many aspirin you're gonna require.
But, wait....there's more
During these last 22 years, the thought has crossed my mind several times (roughly at the speed of light, mind you) that DAD IS LETTING THIS HAPPEN. Kim wouldn't be able to do the things she did, treat me the way she did, if Dad would make her stop. But, I always found a way to put the blame back on her. Usually along the lines of "She is an evil bitch, controlled by Satan himself and she is FORCING Dad to let me drift off into the void." Sometimes I'd ask Dad "What IS IT about her? How can you stand her attitude?" And, he'd tell me "Oh, she's cute. (he thinks...remember now, in my opinion, Ann Margret is the standard that I can't even live up to) She's funny, smart, likes sex..." And... "She does NOT hate you. She's very concerned about you. She wants you to be doing good." Right. That's why she backed off enough for me to stay close to Dad. That's why she has never once called, written or tried to talk to me about this crap. That's why I am where I am in my head right now. And, in my Dad's life. And, my brother's. Which brings me to what's making me go through all this now... My brother is graduating Marine boot camp here soon. Or maybe he already has. It's sometime in the middle of August. (Ain't it nice I know so much?) At any rate, when he went in, my Dad gave me his address down there. Now, I haven't been allowed to be very much a part of Norman's life ever. In his whole life, if I've spent the equivalent of a month with him, I'd be surprised. That was NOT-NOT, Dad...do ya hear? NOT-my choice. In spite of this, Norman and I get along great and I know we love each other. WE will be fine. Some fuckin' day when I can develope a solid relationship with him outside of that particular 'family' unit. (Read: When what he does is HIS and not Kim's business and choice.) However, because of that, I haven't written to him. Also, because of that, I didn't go to his "going in the Marines" party. I figured I wouldn't be missed and I knew I was welcome to stay home, anyway, so I did. Now, a bit of background, in-the-meantime-type information...I moved to Pa. in April, 2002. My Dad did not once come here, having been asked to 2000 times, until I had been here over a year. In addition, since then, I have emailed him twice, with "ACK! What the hell do ya do now?" situations involving Eric Jr., which I've recounted here. The first one was when he shaved his head. I'm STILL waiting for ANY answer AT ALL from Dad about that. Let alone whatever the second one was. Nothing. De nada. BUT-ah, the inevitable 'but'-the couple of times I talked to him after Norman went to bootcamp and before Eric Jr. lost his mind as well as his hair, Dad has asked me "Write to Norman yet?" "DAMN. I keep forgetting about that. Geez, Dad, I never got to see him anyway, so for me, nothing's changed. I keep fuckin' forgetting he's in there..." It may be stupid, but, I swear, it's the truth. I DO keep forgetting. Well, it's slowly dawned on me (no pun intended) that Dad must be pissed at me for not writing to Norman. Could that be why I've gotten no response, not even an email? He and Kim, together and seperately, can run all over the continental U.S. for any reason at all. But, he can't come here. The one time he finally did, he said he'd come back. We'd go do karaoke. He'd bring Kim. (I was so fuckin' happy he finally came here, he could've said he was coming back with Eric's ex and I'd have said "Great.") Ummm....I don't see him. I haven't seen him recently, either. Sooo. After allowing me to be excluded from his family for (say it with me...22 years...very good), not staying Dad/daughter, not coming to even see where I live for over a year, not calling, not responding to email...he's gonna get pissed at me like this for not writing to Norman? Jesus H. Baldheaded Christ. If bootcamp is anything like "Full Metal Jacket", I'm sure Norman didn't miss letters from me. And, Dad and Kim will be or already have gone to Norman's graduation IN SOUTH CAROLINA. Which, the last time I saw a map, is further away from where they live than I am. I know...graduating from the Marines is important. So important, in fact, I didn't even get asked if I'd want to go. Yawn...no surprise there. Now, IF Dad is mad me for not writing to Norman, to the extent that he can't even answer an email, I must have some kinda problem here. With myself and the way I see people, that is. I know I did for a while when it came to Eric Sr. (And Jr. Who am I trying to kid?) I fully realize, too, that my Dad is not the most observant person on the planet. When I lived in Jersey, and would pass him on the road, I'd be hangin' out the frickin' window, waving both arms and he'd just drive on by, never seeing a thing. Duh. He runs over things a lot, too. He swears he does not, but, yes, he does. He used to run over a chicken every time we'd go to his parent's house. There was a little farm at the beginning of their dirt road and some poor, stupid chicken would be crossing the road and we could never find out why because Dad would run them over. Anyway.... This has all led me to do some thinking. After all the shit I've been through over the last years (fuck that number), he'd better NOT be pissed at me. So, if he is, then he's...what? Say it, girl... He's....wrong. Eeep. Dad? Wrong? Yep. I think. I don't know for sure. Standing here with my forehead glued to this particular tree, it's rather difficult to see the forrest, ya now? But, if he is pissed and if he is wrong about this, then he could have been wrong in the way he handled the whole thing with me in regard to Kim. Or handled the whole thing with HER in regard to me. Whatever. What a can of worms this leads to. For instance, he always stressed "Job first, personal life, having a boyfriend-all that shit-comes AFTER the job." I never did get that. And, look at us now. He's worked for Uncle Dupy (DuPont) my entire life. He retired from there when Dow-Merck bought it and started working for them He lives in a house that looks like it belongs on Coloumbo-one of the huge places he always was, cracking boiled eggs and asking "Just one more question, Ma'am." Yet, his relationship with his firstborn is nearly non-existant. I, on the other hand, am as broke as hell (I find it amusing to say that I'm so broke I can't even pay attention. I find it amusing to SAY this, not BE it, by the way) yet, I have the best relationship I ever even seen, let alone been a part of, with Eric. So, who's right, here? Even if he's not pissed, even if this is just typical Norman-not-paying-attention-stuff, at what point, or better yet-how- do I get to get past this? I'm sick of going through this shit every few months. It'll build up and build up, til I can't take it anymore and I call Dad and vent and we talk and it all stays the same. Except when it gets worse and I start feeling like if I don't matter to my own Dad, who could I matter to? and shit like that. Or now, went it's weighin' on me AGAIN and this time, I don't even wanna call Dad 'cause he's just gonna frickin' ask me if I wrote to Norman yet, AGAIN. Gawd. I'm also sick to DEATH of knowing what the problem is (half the solution MY ASS) and never knowing what to do ABOUT or WITH it. (That last remark in parenthesis-People are always sayin' "Knowing there is a problem is half the battle." Horseshit. I know there's a problem and most of what it is. What I do NOT know is what to do with or about it...damn it.) So......do any of you? I'd love to hear ANYTHING you think about this. Even if ya think I'm just nuts. (Yeah...now tell me something I DON'T know. Like why.)
'ello, 'ello, 'ello
Did ya miss me? While I was in there, reading Helter Skelter (yes, AGAIN), another part of my mind was remembering all things that were Dad. (BTW, that sentence alone leads me to believe that a psychoanaylist would have a field day with my head...strange shit in there, man...lol) My very first memory of anything ever is my Dad. I don't know how many months old I was, but it happened in the house they lived in when they were first married and living in Woodstown. (We moved to Alloway when I was just under a year old I've been told.) Dad was sitting in his white vinyl/plastic/leather-whatever-lounge chair eating dinner and I was in my highchair next to him in the living room. He was watching T.V. and feeding me bites off his plate. I distinctly remember him giving me big, soft, warm, delicious lima beans. I still love them. (And him-no matter how annoyed I may get...) Then I have just TONS of memories of him when I was a small kid-before kindergarten. I remember he used to be able to kick a ball sooo high up in the air, God coulda caught it if He'd wanted to. It looked like a pencil point, it was so small all the way up there. And, he'd pick me up in his big, strong hands and spin me around at arms length, going up and down, as well as around so my hair would waft up and down EVERY SINGLE TIME I ASKED HIM TO. I loved that. I remember he and mommiedearest would go over to Dad's brother's house (Uncle Jim, the bible thumpin', in-your-face one-Dad was the cool one with his wire framed glasses, long-ish hair and beard) and they'd all play cards and talk til midnight or so. We kids-me and my cousins-would be up in their rooms, fuckin' around and eventually fall asleep somewhere...Then I'd wake up a little and realize that I was in my favorite place in the world to be...Dad's arms. He'd be holding me, asleep with my head on his shoulder, while he yakked at Uncle Jim and Aunt Elizabeth on their front porch for another hour or so. I would feel, more than hear, his voice and the rumble always made me feel safe and would lull me back to sleep. I remember going squirrel hunting with him once. It was cold, so he gave me his scarf. I wrapped up in it and fell asleep. I don't remember whether or not he got any squirrels that time, but I do remember just BEING WITH DAD. I remember holding his hand while we walked from home to "uptown" (about a half a mile or so) for the Alloway Halloween Parade. I remember him taking me trick-or-treating. Swimming at the lake. Fishing at the spillway. Crabbing down in Canton. I remember every Christmas morning until I was about 14 or 15, Dad waking me up at 3:00 or 3:30am. At first it was because Santa Claus had just left. After that, it was just what we did. We'd all open our presents and stuff, then we'd get into the (freezing ass COLD) VW Bug and go to Mom-Mom and Pop-pop's house. Mom's Mom and Dad. The five of us would open presents, drink coffee (yes, me too. I've been drinking coffee my whole life. Seriously. My mom used to give it to me, lukewarm, in my bottle...) and eventually, I'd fall asleep and someone would take me upstairs and deposit my sleeping butt in Mom-mom's bed. I'd wake up later to the sound of voices coming through the heater grate. I'd hear Uncle Donny's bass rumble, his wife's lilting murmurs, other voices...I'd smell the coffee and head back down there to see those people and my cousins and get some more of Pop-pop's coffee. (I'd keep 'sipping' his, 'til he'd get me my own cup...*grinning*) Throughout the rest of the morning, other relatives would show up until the house was full. Then we'd have a big afternoon dinner and open all those presents. Eventually, Mom, Dad and I would go to Dad's parents house. God, I loved that place. There'd be a whole shitload of other Aunts, Uncles and cousins over there. And, best of all, Pop-pop was there! God, give me strength, how I loved my Dad's Dad. When he died....man. Let me just put it this way: To this day, whenever I hear "Amazing Grace" I wind up on my knees in tears. I'm still not over Pop-pop dying. (10 minutes later...) I remember the two of them, Dad and his Dad, watching the Phillies play on T.V. They'd put a towel or two over key windows to block glare, pop some popcorn and sit there together watching the Phillies (probably lose). Sooner or later, one or both of them would light up a Swisher Sweet cigar. Aaahhh...I love the smell of them, too. (I kept the stub of the one Dad had the one time he's been here...) I remember a lot of laughter and love when I think about those times in my life. Dad was (I think he still is) a member of the Moose. He used to take me there sometimes when I was a kid. That place was sooo cool. It had a tiny bar with a T.V. and a bartender who loved to give me Cokes and peanuts. There was also a huge, beautiful pool table that I was allowed to play on. (I knew to be careful without even being told.) Before we'd leave, I'd get Dad to pick me up so I could pet the stuffed moose head on the wall. God, I wanted that thing. I also remember Dad letting me cruch CrackerJacks right into his ear when we were there. I got to be "Miss Moose 1969" in a parade in Woodstown because of all that. Pretty cool. Except for the hairsprayed-beyond-all-reason helmet-headed hairdo my mom did on me. (BTW, home perms shoulda been against the law...) It's Dad I remember going to Cowtown with. That's a huge indoor/outdoor flea market in Salem County. He'd always get those to-die-for roasted peanuts on our way to the livestock auction barn. Dad wasn't there to buy animals, he just took me so I could see 'em all. He'd always buy me a .45 or two of Donny Osmond or Michael Jackson-back when he used to be a black kid. (I shouldn't pick on Mike. I loved him then, I bought "Thriller" and I still think he's got talent. But, I just mostly feel sorry for the poor little confused dude these days...) While Dad was in the Army, he was stationed in Germany. He and mom used to go there for vacation every 4 or 5 years. I got to go the last time. It is BEAUTIFUL. Nowdays, when I watch "The Sound of Music", it takes me straight back there and I wind up in tears every time Capt. Von Trapp sings "Edleweiss". I can hear Dad singing it. I remember one time, when I was about 9 or so, going to Mom's parent's house with Dad. We went past this garage called "Garton's" and I said to Dad "Dad, did you know that Gartons spelled backwards is snotrag?" He almost drove off the road laughing. I remember being in the showring on my horse, walking, trotting and cantering past my Dad in the front row...shelling lima beans while he watched. I remember finding all kinds of bizarre aquatic-animal-life parts (fish, a snapping turtle or two, the occaisional eel and once even octopus) parts waaaay out back in the yard, left for whatever wanted a free, exotic dinner. Dad was always the one I talked to about EVERYTHING. Guys, boobs (or the lack thereof), losing my virginity (after the boobage had indeed arrived just like he said it would), getting arrested (!),...I mean everything. He taught me to drive. Let me drive the VW around the horse pasture endlessly, then down the road after I got my license. One time, after spending untold hours driving around the horse pasture, I announced to him that I had finally put two whole miles on the VW out there. He asked me how I knew that. And, I told him I'd been keeping an eye on the odometer and it had finally moved the second number from the right, up two. He said, dryly, "That's 20 miles, not two. There is no tenths measurement on that one." Oh. Okay. Then there was the time, while I was in high school, that I spent 7 hours and 59 minutes on the phone with my boyfriend. Who was in the Army. In the 82nd Airborne Division in North Carolina. All Dad said when he got the phone bill was "Well, fer Chrissake. Why didn't you just stay on the phone one more minute and make it an even eight hours?" Dad didn't kill me when I totalled his Ford pickup at the unheard-of speed of 15 miles an hour. That's right Fifteen miles an hour...if that. He even let me drive home from the dentist's office the same day. With him in the car! I have a couple or few more memories of Dad that aren't as fun, but still huge. Like the day my mom announced her intention to get a divorce when I was nine. She had a habit of telling me ALL the time, "Either go in your room, or go outside." Well, this particular day she yelled my name and I said "Yeah, I know. Either in my room or outside. I'm going outside." She said "No, come here." Then, with no preamble, she said "Your father and I are getting divorced." Boom. Just like that. I didn't know whether to cry or puke. Or both. I just kept running from the bathroom to Dad. Later that night, after she had gone with her stupid boyfriend, Dad was talking to the asshole on the phone. Just as I was getting ready to go to my friends house to spend the night, Dad fell off the chair he was sitting on and hit the floor, having a convulsion. I FREAKED. Thank God Himself that my Aunt Carol and Uncle Pat lived upstairs. I got them, they got an ambulance and away Dad went to the hospital. I spent the next few weeks?....months?.....forevers?...being shuttled around to various relatives until Dad got out of the hospital and mom managed to yank her head out of her ass for a few more years. I was always terrified that something was going to happen to him-especially when they went to Germany-and I'd be stuck with her. Dad was always one of my best friends when I was growing up. I wish he woud be again, while I finish. Yeah, he was one of my closet confidants, most fun people to hang with, my best parent. He was a lotta things to me. He still is. He always HAS been. The only thing he hasn't been to me, for the last 22 years, is accessable. Or close, any more. And, there is no other way to put this: That changed when Kim came along. So, if it changed when she came along, another way to see it is that it changed BECAUSE OF her...understand? So, I blamed her and myself, sometimes, that I lost Dad. And, believe me...I did LOSE him. I don't know where the guy is who was my Dad, but I do know this really funny, cool old dude in New Jersey named Norman, whom, if I can get him on the phone at work, is pretty cool to talk to once in a while. Ain't that just GREAT? Right.
I have all kinds of random shit in my head-none of it great, none of it horrifying...but, it's gotta go, nonetheless. I'm tired of it. First things first...No matter who else could care less that I'm alive, who wishes I weren't or who wants to help me get that way....I know my animals love me. And, to be honest, I value their opinions more than I do most peoples. Hell, they are nicer about things, they don't judge or misjudge, they form their own decisions-in a more intelligent way than do most people I've dealt with in person in my life. (Which is a real long way of saying that what I'm saying is NOT about you guys...there IS one blog-type thing in my mind, but it's about two female bloggers and a kid. Or, actually a better way to put it is a blogger and TWO children. More about that later...maybe. It's juvenile and stupid and I really don't care about it except for the "Now.....theres your karma..ha ha with an eye roll" thing I feel. WHATEVER... back to the point...) My animals don't use other people's inaccurate, malformed, uninformed, biased, jealous, juvenile and purely self-ego-inflating opinions to form their own. They use their own minds and experience with me to decide whether or not I'm worthy. And, to them...I am. Even after I've fed everyone. Even when I feel like a loaded and cocked pistol just waiting to go off. Even when I look like hell. Even when I feel like hell. Even if I don't keep up with the house. Even if I do. No matter WHAT.....they still love me (or at least they act like it...which is a lot more than I can say for some people I know.) I believe that's called 'unconditional love'. Right? The kind you're supposed to find with certain people...like parents. Yeah.... Ah, parents. The wunnerful people who bring you here. Then drive you up the fuckin' wall for about 18-20 years, then one runs off with your boyfriend and the other one marries some chick who's the same age as you. (I guess I should be grateful they at least fucked up correctly-mom ran off with the boyfriend and Dad married the chick..it coulda been worse....but ya gotta really want to believe that.) I have believed that....for a long time. I don't anymore and I'm sick of excusing outrageous behavior that way. It's easy to blame my mom for everything. She was the one who was so obvious about being NUTS. But, I've finally realized my Dad ain't the 'hero' I had to believe he was. Hell, I've probably known for a while. Again, it was easier to blame the chick-Kim, for that because she was the one who was so obvious in her dislike of me. I used to just get pissed at her and blow it off as not having anything to do with my Dad. NEVER BLAME THE PERFECT ONE. Horse hockey. The simple truth is that when Dad married Kim I could have (actually SHOULD have) DIED and it would have just been perfect for them. At least they would have had one less thing to have argued about. The thing is (and this just makes me nauseous) I can actually, intellectually understand my mom and Kim's problem. It is, was and probably always would have been the same thing with both of them. Their age. And, their heads. Both of them were too young to handle me at their respective times. My mother was 17 when she got married, then pregnant (and believe me, I've done the math...I was lookin' for a reasonable reason why Dad would have married her. That wasn't it...he's just NUTS!). She had no idea where babies even came out...and I don't think she was any happier after she found out. She should NOT have been married to anybody, NOT been allowed to have kids (yet-if ever) and she sure as HELL should not have been allowed to perpetrate her insanity for as long as she did. (NORMAN!) Thanks to my mother, I now do not trust women, do not have or ever want kids and am still sitting here at the age of 40 feeling like an orphan. That's because when I figured out (by the time I was about 4 years old) that mom was a fruit loop, I put all my heart into my Dad. Only to have it thrown away when Kim came along. Another (fuckin') Gemini who was pregnant (not by Dad) and too young and insecure to deal with anything extra. Like a lover who might just marry and thus LEGITIMIZE her's daughter. Can't let anything or anyONE fuck up that chance...can we? Hell no! So, she over-acted and cutsied her way into Dad's life and muscled me out. Permanantly. Completely. With malice aforethought and overkill. Acrimony. Broken hearts, hurt feelings, exclusion, shitty attitudes and the like. BUT-who cares? She saved her own ass and her stupid baby's. She did it. SHE'S safe now. Who CARES what it cost to get there? Not her. Or my Dad. He did really like (love-gag!) her and he wasn't going to just leave her poor little put-upon, picked on, fucked-with-by-her-family ass sitting there after he too had slept with her. "I'm going to be DIFFERENT. I'm not going to be like everybody else and just leave. Her family doesn't believe that I'm getting divorced anyway and that I'd marry her. Well, I'll show them...and myself that I am too a GOOD GUY." Uh-huh. Okay, Dad. MOM was the asshole who couldn't face responsibility and having a family, right? SHE was the one who had little or no regard for how her actions impacted me, right? SHE'S the one who threw me (and everything else) away by moving to Florida with JIMMY MILLER, right? SHE didn't ever want me in the first place and you were all I had, right DAD? GOD DAMN RIGHT!!! You WERE all I had. Wanna know what it was that I had, Dad? I had your shirts to fall asleep with so I'd feel like you were there while you were workin' shift work at the plant. I had the occaisional times alone with you to just BE. I had fun with you and hell with her. I had my Dad and some insane banshee in my life. I had you and I had HELL. Then, I didn't even have you anymore. I had one wish...that mom would go the fuck away somewhere, or drop dead-I wasn't picky-and I wished I could have been raised by you alone. All I ever wanted was to be "you, Jr." I wanted to be as much like you as humanly possible. I totally resented the fact that I was the same sex as the lunatic. I FUCKIN' WELL KNEW THAT IF I HAD BEEN A BOY, I'D HAVE MATTERED MORE. Well, maybe it would have been easier for you to keep her off my back if I had been a son, but daughters need their Daddies more than boys do. More emotionally, I mean. We ( us girls) are practically in love with our Daddies and we use you (dolts) to try to figure out what kind of guy to wind up with. At least, that's the way it is when you've got a Daddy worth wanting to be around. Like you were. (Like you still are-to Norman the Third and Kim's daughter.) BUT, damn it, Dad...what about me? And, I mean 'what about me since day ONE when you met Kim?' Fuck that. I damn well do mean "What about me now, too?" You're not dead. Neither am I-unfortunely for you and several other people who spring to mind. Believe me, I'd rather be dead than spend one more minute trying to figure out what happened to my excuse for a life. And, how to change it. I can't fuckin' change it, can I? NO. I'll forever be the person who was birthed and 'raised' by two goofballs. Mom was a mean, dangerous, hurtful bitch-goofball, but, you're a goofball, too. You're just nicer and funny (sometimes) about it. Mom did not love me. You did. DID. Did ya catch that? DID. I used to know it. I used to FEEL it. I don't anymore and haven't for about...oh...22 YEARS. Oh, I think you still had love for me in your heart and room for me in your life when you first met Kim, but it lessened more and more every time her and I scrapped. With Kim's heartfelt and thoroughly enthusiastic approval. And, once she ran me completely outta the house and your day-to-day life, then got pregnant with Norman, we ALL woulda been better off if I had just had the courtesy to cease to exist, huh? And, except for wishing I was him, no I'm not bitter at, to or about Norman the third. He's a great guy. For what the fuck I've been allowed to know of him. You keep telling me time and again how alike we are. Well, if we're so ALIKE, why don't I rate as worthy of spending any time with by you? You admitted to me once, when you were tired and sipping brandy, that Kim never did want me around so I wouldn't be a bad influence on "her" kids. You deny that all to hell and gone NOW, but you did tell me that. I was relieved to finally be told the TRUTH, remember? No, of course ya don't, because you never said that. Bullshit. Dad....WHY DID YOU LET HER DO THAT? Who's god-damned fault was it that I was so...rough, or not finished, or crazy? Who had me? Who raised me? Who made me that way? You and mommie dearest, that's who. Jesus, man, mom never taught me anything I needed to know. I didn't even get the "pre-feminist bullshit" method of being a homemaker lessons from her. Let alone anything about how to be 'feminist-like' and figure out how to do it alone. All she taught me was that kids suck and never have any. Never anything about being a (fuckin') female, how to sew, cook, clean, be a smart girlfriend (as in 'not getting used like a tissue-snotted on , then thrown away') or a good wife. These days, I just do the opposite of what I watched her do. You made yourself scarce-between shift work and the Moose, the Eagles , hunting trips to Pa...shit like that. I didn't blame you then for escaping. I just wished you had taken me with you. But, the fact remains...Mom was not just dropping the ball, but throwing it away and becoming more disgusted every time it bounced back and you didn't pick it up, either. Then, when Kim showed up with her (brass) balls, you flattened mine. You decided that since I was 18, I was ready. You ACTUALLY expect me to believe that you, the lab technician, Jeopardy board answering, crossword puzzle in INK doing, intelligent person that you are-YOU-couldn't tell the difference between a marriage and an escape? You tell me "Well, you and Charlie were getting married. I thought everything was fine." Right. You also tell me how much like mommiedearest I have been, then you allow me to be forced into a position, by your insecure girlfriend, to start out my life making the exact same mistake mom did when you two got married. It's no secret that she did it to get away from Pop-pop. I did it to get away from KIM. You want me to believe you didn't know that? Well, I don't. You can, if it makes it bearable for you to think about...or if it justifies for you what has been my life...but, I'm about facing shit right now. I hate, more than you'll ever understand, to admit it, but Dad- ya fucked up. Which I can easily forgive-to a point. Everybody makes mistakes...ya don't get to know it's a mistake until it's too late, usually and all that sorta shit. Fine. But, what about NOW? NOW, a.k.a. 'Part Two' will resume momentarily. Or, maybe, next week. (It'll be in a mnute...relax.) I've gotta do a coupla things that require leaving the computer, but...I WILL BE BACK. (Any kind of heavy-Godfather-type music could be inserted here...) (Truth? I gotta go to the bathroom and I don't want Blogsplat to breakfast on any one huge post...)
Friday, August 15, 2003
About Bush....and Vince McMahon
I don't know what it is about these two people. But...EEERRRGGGHHH. Just thinking about how to word this is annoying. Because of them. Earlier, I let go about Bush and 9/11. It was in my "What am I?" post. (BTW, I am actually an existential, disenfranchised Libertarian, according to a trusted source.) In fact, Tiger said he agreed with me about everything, except the 'Bush-bashing'. Now, I can hardly deny that I bashed Bush..."mealy-mouth maggot" is not a compliment, after all. I commented on Tig's comment to that effect and I just want to clear it up here...'cause I feel bad about bashing a Texan. Kinda. What I said in my comment was: I love Texas. I'd move there if I could. They say every rule has an exception, right? Well, let's say the rule is that 'Texas is perfect'. And, Bush is the exception that proves the rule. Now, for the 'clearing up' part...I don't know why but Bush and that ugly, monkey-faced, walks like he's got a corn cob crammed up his ass, Bret Hart stabbin' in the back, jerk-off Vince McMahon just make me ill. (And, no..I do not watch wrestling. I caught Bret's story on A&E "Wrestling with Shadows". And, I fell deeply in lust. That dude is AWESOME. *wipes chin*) As soon as I even see Bush or McMahon, I just get instantly pissed. Then, as they draw a breath to speak, I leave the room. If I don't, I end up screaming at the T.V. like a friggin' lunatic. It's a damn good thing I don't have ready access to a pistol at those times, or I'd be Elvis, Jr., shooting their faces offa my T.V. I believe that this has something to do with the kind of people they are. Bush is a politician...in other words- a lying sack of shit, sooner or later. Not one of those asswits do I trust as far as I could fling a handful of feathers. And Vince? Well, if ya know what he did to Bret, ya know he's a piece of sub-human shit that should be dragged off to a slow, lingering, horrible, public death. If it's any consolation to Texans everywhere, I do detest McMahon more than Bush. With Bush, you combine being a politician with looking like he fell offa the cover of Mad magazine and I just have to shudder and say "Thanks, but NO." So, there ya have it. Don't exactly know why...just is.
Well, damn. I got my 1000th hit tonight at 9:28pm...someone from adelphia.net. Whomever you are, thank you! Mookie was #999amd #1001... Thanks to everybody who got me here- links from Kevin, Ted, Dax, Rob, Mookie, Tiger, Sage One...and anyone else who did it. I swear, when I get linking down pat, all of you are going to get gratuitously linked ta death! Then, thanks to the "unknown" people who read me, too. And, I also want to thank Stevie Brock for all the Popdex hits I get from people looking for him. Apparently, he's the 2003 version of Donny Osmond or something. To be honest, I always thought Tony DeFranco was waaay cuter. "Heatbeat, it's a love beat and when we meet, it's a good sensation...listen to my heart pound, listen to my love sounds....feelin's gettin' stronger (feel it, feel it), can't hold back any longer 'cuz a heatbeat it's a love beat...". I used to know every word on the whole album. ANYWAY... Thank you all for gettin' me over a thousand and I'm really sorry I got that song stuck in your heads. (And-in my own...)
Bear with me here, folks
This post is to explain the next five posts and the one after them. What you'll be reading are my questions from Tiger. The reasons that they are in five seperate posts is in the sixth one. Notice, now, I did the questions in reverse order so at least they'd be right...you'll see what I mean. Read. Enjoy. Tig, Honey, you do ask some interesting questions...
You come home and discover a break in. You look around to assess what has been taken and find that the only thing missing is that someone has taken every one of your undergarments, even the soiled ones in the hamper. Who do you suspect and why? This is hard to answer because 'I see London, I see France. I see no point in underpants' and I already told ya about me and bras in your comments. So, the only person who could swipe 'em is some super sleuth who could find 'em in the first place. Which lets out anybody I know...most of the people around here have a hard enough time finding their own asses with both hands in broad daylight. Besides which, even when I did used ta wear 'em, I didn't soil them. I don't eat big ole breakfasts at Shoney's (or wherever) then go golfing, like some people I know of. Nor did I ever eat large amounts of Mexican food with loads of Tequila and sit there soiling them when I thought I was only farting, like someone else I read about...rotf.
Which Arnold Schwarzenegger film best identifies his qualifications for the post of Governor of California: Kindergarten Cop, Red Heat or Herucles in New York? Why? Kindergarten Cop. Because California is full of goofy, child-like people who need to be brought along slowly.
You arrived timely for your doctor's appointment to find an empty waiting room, no one at the receptionists window and hear the distinctive sounds of passion coming from somewhere in the interior. Three magazines are sitting on the table: a copy of November 1988 Guns & Ammo; October 15, 1999's Newsweek and the July 2001 edition of Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition. Which do you pick up to read? First of all, the reason the doctor and the receptionist are goin' at it is because they know I am ALWAYS late. I was due to be born on April 15th and my birthday is actually the 30th so, I was born two weeks late and I haven't caught up yet. So, if they were still busy when I did get there, I'd take the Newsweek outside to read while I smoke a cigarette or two. If they still weren't done, I'd grab the Guns & Ammo. If they STILL weren't done....I'd go back there and say "Look...either let me get this appointment done or join you two or I'm leaving. I do NOT feel like reading that stupid S.I. Swimsuit Edition, damn it."
You wake up in France and all the people seem to be running away from something approaching from the south. It turns out to be a marching troop of Swiss Boy Scouts cleaning their nails with their Swiss Army Knives. How do you convince the French population to stand and defend their homeland against this aggressive invasion? First of all, if I woke up in France, I'd be more concerned with gettin' the hell outta there than anything else. Besides, who besides those snail eating, not letting our planes fly over, Disney booing pansies would consider a troop of Swiss Boy Scouts with or without the Swiss Army knives an 'aggressive invasion'? Let 'em all piss up the Eiffel Tower.
You just won a contest at a local radio station by correctly naming all four membrs of Devo after an extensive internet search and won your choice of cars on the lot down at Honest Hank's Used Car Emporium at the corner of Main and Elm across from the Pineland United Bank. You run right down to Honest Hank's Used Car Emporium and see three cars on the lot: a yellow 1977 AMC Pacer with two flats; a rusty brown 1979 Ford Pinto with fuzzy dice hanging on the mirror; and a black 1951 Studebaker Hawk with a Grateful Dead T-shirt pulled over the drivers side seat to conceal the exposed seat springs. Which do you choose and why? The Studebaker for several reasons. I will not drive a yellow car. It's embarrassing. I won't drive a Pacer. It's worse than embarrassing. So that's as out as it can get. I've already had a Ford Pinto and an interesting experience with it and a deer. (See my previous post entitled "If ya don't believe me, ask the NJSP-Woodstown Barracks.) I don't wanna go there again, either. So that leaves the Stude. It's the right color. I'd take it just for the Dead T-shirt, anyway. There may be something interesting in the ashtray. Besides, I know several people who would probably trade me it for a Ford pickup.
I cheated and now my hand is crippled
Awright, perv's...quit giggling. And, don't even say it.."That's not cheating...", because that ain't what I'm talking about. Here's what happened...I was reading Tiger's blog the other night. I saw he had done the five question interview and needed someone to question, himself. I volunteered because it was fun the first time and all. So, he let me know my questions were ready. I went to get 'em and...my Gawd. I couldn't even get 'em to all turn blue at the same time, so I just wrote 'em longhand to type here myself. And, now my right hand is a useless claw. I swear to you, the muscles in the underside of my arm are tingling. Wait til you see them. They're cool as hell! But...they're long ones. Because they are such looong, eloquent, imaginative questions and deserve equally as long, eloquent and imaginative answers and because I don't trust Blogsplat not to eat one huge post, I'm gonna answer them one post at a time. Ya might as well go get a fresh cuppa coffee and a new pack of smokes....ready? (Oh, fer christmas sakes...it just occured to me that this explanatory post is going to wind up UNDER the other five. Sigh. Well, I'll just have to try to remember to at least post a post about this post after the other five. Got that?) (If you do, you should be worried...very worried.) Here we go. Please keep your hands inside the car at all times and do not try to escape the restraints.....
Now for something completely different...
Two jokes just popped in to my head. What has horns and balls and goes "Nort, nort"? A bull with a ceft palate.... What goes "Mark, mark"? A dog with a harelip. I know...they are putrid. Capital "P", capital "U", capital "TRID". But, I was reading this joke book, and... Hey, I've got worse...
An existential, disenfranchised Democrat
That's me. I've thought about this for a looong time and I'm pretty sure that's the best way to put my ass in a nutshell. The only part I'm not certain about is the Democrat part. I ran some stuff that I think past my Dad and he said "Knowing you...you're probably a Democrat." Some places in this blogosphere, that'd be an insult. But, it doesn't bother me. Whatever. But, I would like to be sure. So, here are some things I think...you tell me. What am I...and I don't need to be told 'fucked up'. I know that. I hate liars. Stupidity enrages me. Incompetence is inexcusable. (As these things begin to need explanation, I'll give it...) I usually want to cut through the bullshit and red tape and get to the point and the solution. TSTB. (The sooner, the better.) 99% of 'political correct-ness' is bullshit. Which is why I'm about to (probably) not be very P.C. for a few minutes... Outlawing guns is stupid. Yeah, let's keep guns out of the hands of responsible citizens. I'm sure once we're all unarmed and defenseless, the criminals will give theirs up, too. Right. Smoke some more crack, dipstick. On the other hand, you'll never convince me that hunters need armor piercing bullets. (And, btw, if you really want deer hunting to be a sport-leave home the guns, scopes, doe piss, bait, fake deer, three wheelers and shit. Go on out there and git yo'self a deer mano a mano. Strangle the sumbitch. Or, arm the deer. I'm kidding, but it does seem a bit more fair that way...) Don't bother outlawing abortions, either. For one thing, what a person does to their own body-up to and including suicide- is their own business. Besides, it's gonna keep happening, anyway. And, there are even times it's necessary. The victim of a rape, for instance. Or, a person who knows they don't want the kid...what kind of life is that child going to have with a parent like that? On the other hand-abortion is not and should never be birth control. After the same skank has had about 3 or 4 abortions in less than six months, sterilize her stupid ass. If it's not for a valid reason, then fuck 'em. But, ya make it illegal, women are going to be forced to do worse. And, possibly die. Speaking of dying-if you murder someone, kiss your ass goodbye. You're dead. No if, ands, or buts. Murder is murder and one sure way to make sure your ignorant ass is 'rehabilitated' and you'll never do it again is to kill you. And, I think if we were to do that, instead of just threatening it, it damn well would become a deterrant. No fuckin' appeals to keep your ass alive for another 15 years, either. That person is dead, you did it, you die too. End of story. Weed should be decriminalized. It's a fuckin' WEED, people. We're wasting resourses, cops, money, time, effort and everything else to fight a war on WEEDS. If ya don't want to mess with it, get yourself a sprayer of weed killer, keep it outta your yard along with the dandilions and shut the fuck up. It has it's good points...medical uses...relaxation..God knows what else it could be used for if people would grow up about it. God made weed. God made life. God made weed because he knows life sucks. And, really now-when was the last time you heard of a pothead mugging anyone for weed money? Jesus. NEWSFLASH! There IS a difference between child abuse and discipline. I think the government should keep the hell out of people's disciplining of their kids. If their ABUSING the kid, that's different. It doesn't take rocket science to know the got-damn difference. Maybe, if people were allowed to discipline their kids, we'd be having less trouble with gangs and juvenile delinquents...ya think? And, George Dubbya pisses me off. And, he look like Alfred E. Neuman's twin. (Sorry, Mr. Gaines. Stop that spinning in your grave, now...) Starting on about 9-12-01, I began to wonder WHEN we were going to do something about 9-11. I mean...DAMN. Why weren't we bombing the shit outta those towel-headed pricks the day after 9-11? Somebody said to me back then "Well, (duh) we wouldn't want to kill the wrong people..." FUCKIN' WHAT??? What, exactly, is the definition of 'killing the wrong terrorists'? The longer it took for that Mad magazine coverboy to react, the more pissed I got. Then, I heard him whining something about somebody "tryin' ta kill ma Daddy...". Oh Pee-uke. You mealy-mouthed maggot-do you know how many people's Daddies DID die in the WTC? It's no wonder these terrorist types keep targeting us. You can kill thousands of us, we'll just sit around bitching about it. As a matter of fact, we'll be too busy doing that for about a year to be bothered bombing you to oblivion...so, have fun and don't worry about us. That man who said "Let's roll." on that plane that crashed out in Shanksville had 10 times the balls Bush will ever have. And, if anyone did know about it beforehand and allowed it to happen anyway, they should be shot right in the face on national T.V. Opinionated little shit today, ain't I? I'm not saying that the way I feel about things is right or wrong or that anyone has to share my opinions or they're a communist doo-doo head or anything. These are just my opinions about some stuff. So, what am I? A Democrat, a Republican, a Liberal or an enitity unto myself? I discovered that if I did have a claimed religon, I'd be a Methodist, in this manner. I decided what my thoughts and feelings were about religion in general, then asked around until I found a religion that agreed with me. I don't go to church, but it is nice to know. This is more about me defining myself than it is an attempt to piss off a bunch of people or change anyone's opinions. So, let me know. Please?
Dear Stupid, Bobble-headed Newscasters...
I've got a newsflash for you dillholes. Ready? There is no reason to disrupt "Scrubs" over some stupid blackout that started at 4:30pm...okay? Forget the fact that "Scrubs" is a damn good show and isn't even on half the time for God-only-knows what reason, yeah, we'll just put THAT aside. First of all, dipshits, the people affected by the blackout DON'T HAVE ELECTRICITY. How the hell do you expect them to be watching you? Secondly, people whose electric is not off don't really care THAT much. (Especially when it's a localized outage caused by a lightening strike or something.) Once it was ascertained that the outage tonight was caused by a fire at a power plant, not terrorists, you COULD have let it go. But, noooo. You stupid shit stains had to mess with "Scrubs" by having the President comment on it. Well, damn, I had a lightbulb that needed to be changed in my kitchen not five minutes ago. Could I have an hour or so of news coverage, please? Criminy. I'm sure it gave all those asswits who want to terrorize us the giggles that we're so paranoid. Hell, they don't need to fuck with us, look what we do to ourselves. Bullies love it when they get you in this type of mind-set. And, while I'm on newscasts, let me give you empty-headed weather forecasters a bit of advice: When you are standing there, predicting snow ass deep to an elephant or torrential rain for three friggin' weeks or some other fucked up excuse for weather-get that smarmy, stupid-looking, fake, makes-me-want-to-beat-the-everlovin'-SHIT-outta-you grin offa your ugly faces. Assholes. People have to be out WORKING in this shit. WORKING-do you overpaid-for-a-job-that-amounts-to-lookin'-out-freakin'-window drones know the meaning of that word? Do you not realize, or care, that this shit is NOT fuckin' funny? I like to see even one of you sonsa-bitches spend a day working on this farm in the weather you find so amusing. You'd die. You'd either drown, bake or freeze to death. Which would be just fine. Because then I'd never have to watch you giggle your way through another weather forecast. (And I'm not even pissed off, in a bad mood or anything. I just hate it when this shit happens.)
Wednesday, August 13, 2003
Cool....I got one
Hiya, Rachael... Guess we've waited long enough. Plus, I ain't stupid. I needed a comment, I got a comment and I'm runnin' with it. So, here they is: Rachael's five: 1. Describe your dream date with your favorite famous person. 2. Which Looney Tunes character do you identify with the most and why? 3. Would you trade a walk-on role in a war for a lead role in a cage? (Esoteric Pink Floyd reference...) 4. If you could be on any of the reality T.V. shows, which one would it be and why? 5. What is the most embarrassing thing you've ever been involved in? And, a bonus question that just begs to be asked of someone: Why is my dopey dog lying on the floor, on his back, with all four paws in the air-the front two crossed, no less-wiggling around making noises like Chewbacca from Star Wars? Have fun, Hon!
Tuesday, August 12, 2003
Finally, a search I can help with. Whadda ya wanna know about good ole Alloway? I can tell ya just about anything ya wanna know...I grew up there. I'm related to the Avon Lady and the Village Chimney Sweep, among others. My Dad is the cool one-Norman Vanaman, Jr. His Dad was Dick...SuperDick at DuPont Chambers Works. Wanna know the best fishin' spot? Alloway Creek, behind Parker Hall's house on Water St.- the first right after the feed mill going toward town. Wanna know what Mugsy Funk's mansion was like back in the 70's? I still know every room and fireplace in that house. The Buckley's lived there, then. We used to live in John Seabrook's house right across the street from the old brickyard...right by John Heil when he was mayor. I know Bud's and Glen's and I knew about Jack's-the store that used to be next to the post office. Need the floor plan for the old school when it was a school? Just ask me. I also remember the Alloway Village Inn when it was a GOOD bar...back when Slayer played there. I own an original copy of "Alloway Remembers". I knew Miss Mae Allen. I know Walt Leslie, Mr. Ewen, Al Force...name 'em. My very first serious boyfriend was from Alloway-Michael Steven Robbins. People in Alloway go to the BEST High School EVER- Woodstown High School (Class of '81-Thankyouverymuch). If you're looking for info on Alloway, you sure did come to the right place... But, WHO the hell is Stevie Brock? (The other frequent search that brings people here...)
I dood it, I dood it!
Well, I'll be damned...(probably in the next 5 or 10 minutes.) It actually worked. And, it let me fix a coupla things and still didn't eat it! Hang on...I gotta do the 'Chandler Happy Dance'... Whew...that was fun! Now, I'm gonna go do my rounds. I'll be back shortly...like I have a choice. I'm only 5'7&1/2" tall. Which reminds me-I am NOT heavy for my height. I'm SHORT for my weight...but only an inch or so... Actually, I weigh the same as Dolly Parton...a hunnert 'n plenty.
Monday, August 11, 2003
Five Questions for Stevie 1. Mountains, beach, or desert? Mountains, definitely. Cabin, garden, venison...just me and Eric. A coupla horses, cats, a dog. (A small dish wouldn't hurt my feelings, either)...hot tub, no nearby neighbors...town about, what...an hour away. 2. Whats the best pet you've ever had, and why? I hope ta God I'm not supposed to pick just one... Get ready for an essay answer. The first two that sprang to mind (together) were Diablo and Daisy. Diablo was my Appaloosa. I used to show him in 4H. Together, we won Grand Champion of the Western Division of our county fair and Reserve Champion at the Game Day event the next day. (Game Day is timed events like barrel racing, pole bending, keyhole race, etc.) Now that I think about it, I remember that he (Diablo) was shown on the Channel 6 news doing the Trail Class. He was such a good horse. Neither of us ever had a single training session or riding lesson. Ever. We learned it all together, by ourselves. So, he was way more than a pet in a lotta ways. Daisy was the dog I had then. I got her as a puppy. Actually, my parents got her for me after I had had a flu or something. She as the best dog I ever had. I had her trained to the nth degree. She'd be in a chair and I would call her. She'd get her front paws on the floor, ass still in the chair, I'd say "Stay." and she would. Just like that. When I first got her, I read a book that said it takes days to teach a dog a trick. Well, I didn't believe that, so I trained Daisy to sit, lay down and roll over all in one day. She learned it well, too. Every day, for the rest of her life, when you told her to sit, she would...sit, lay down then roll over. Every where I went on the horse, she was right behind me. My mom used to say her whole name was "Daisy May or Daisy may not...it all depends on whether she wants to". If she did something dumb and knew she was caught, she'd get all embarrassed and start sneezing. She also gave me the very best Christmas present I ever got-PUPPIES!!! I've been blessed with a bunch of good dogs, present ones April the mouth that never sleeps and Ziggy the Wonderdork included, but never one just as wonderful as Daisy. I also had, around then, a goat named Laura, who used to follow the dog following me on the horse. I had one cat who fetched beer caps, another who got more excited about me steaming clams than I did, one who used to eat asparagas with me, one or two who used to like to "relax" with me (actually, I have one who's like that now...more about "relaxing" later...howtoexplainthis?) Hell, all my kids are my favorites and the best one at being who they are, if nothing else. 3. How do you deal with stress? By inhaling and hhhoooollllddding and releasing. Repeat as needed. Then here's cigarettes. After which I read, or sing, or go for a walk, or talk to/hug the piss out of Eric, or get on here. Sitting down with a cuppa coffee helps, too. (And, I hereby promise to give up my first method when I get a 'script for Nitrous Oxide with a lifetime of refills...or stupidity becomes outlawed-whichever happens first) 4. If you could sit down with anyone in the world and talk for 5 minutes, who would it be, and what would you say? My answer to this used to immediately be : Dwight Yoakam and what I would have said was "May I please be your favorite guitar or pair of jeans?" My other top-of-my-head answer is : God and all I wanna know is WHY?!?! to about 9000 things. But...I'm thinking of someone else...who? Hmmmm.... Okay-famous person....Prince Charles. What I'd like to say is: "Alright, look, Charles, the first thing we're gonna do is teach you how to ride right. Enough with this stupid polo shit. Get rid of that cornflake you call a saddle and let's get you a real hunka leather. Once I get you accustomed to staying ON TOP of the horse, we need to talk about this Camilla crap. Are you blind? Eeewww. You are a PRINCE for Chrissake. You think that's the best you can do? Another thing...how old are you? What is with this "Mommy's boy" shit you pull everytime things get tough? Be a MAN! Tell her to piss up a rope when she's wrong. Quit kissin' her butt or you'll never be rid of her. Look, Chuck...I like you, I really do. But, you act like an uncoordinated putz most of the time and it has got to stop. Dude, the biggest reason your mom won't die is 'cause she's scared to death of the idea of you being King. Let's change that. Okay?" (I'd also like to ask Gary Busey one question: May I pleasepleaseplease be on your show "Hangin' with Busey"? We are both a little nuts and I think it would be a blast hanging out with you. I also think you'd be pleasantly surprised at how we'd sound doing Buddy Holley songs.)(And, yes there was too an 'e' in Buddy's last name...) Non-famous....Anderson Wood Harris, aka Andy, aka Dru. And, I'd talk to him about bullriding, heartbreak, himself, love, friendship, soulmates...anything I could think of to keep him in that bar for just 10 or 15 minutes longer. Long enough to let that asshole Olde Dominion driver ignore the junction sign, the 'Stop Ahead' sign, the 'STOP' sign its own damn self and blow through that blind intersection WITHOUT killing Andy like he did. With Andy's blue Chevy pickup wedged to the windshield under his trailer, in front of the back wheels of his trailer. (Quoted from stupid truck driver: "Oooh. I didn't even know I'd hit anything..." Asshole. I guess you didn't see the sparks from where you were dragging Andy sideways up the road AT NIGHT, while grinding his rim into the shape of a capital "D". As in DICKHEAD!) I'll never forgive that Anonymous Asshole and I'll never forget or stop loving my friend, Andy. Rest in Peace, Cowboy....(I wrote him a poem before he was killed called "The Gentleman Cowboy...he knows what I mean, dontcha, Dru?) 5. What is your favorite meal? A pretty piece of sirloin, rare, a well made baked potato and asparagus...or succotash. Gotta have coffee, too. On the other hand, I'll also do Mickey D's any day of the week. Even when I'm sick. As a matter of fact, if/when I am sick, if I don't even want Mickey D's, you need to get me to the hospital or Coroner's office-one or the other. Well, damn...that was FUN! I just hope it all publishes. I was surprised to see the cut & paste worked...hence the title, "Whoa". Now, I guess it's my turn to come up with questions. So, anyone who wants to answer some questions, leave a comment to that effect. (I've been thinking about that. I don't get many comments, lotsa 'lurkers', but mostly silent ones. Soooo, if no one 'volunteers', I'll just go watch "Full Metal Jacket" again to get in the "D.I. Hartman" spirit of things and FIND a volunteer...heh, heh, heh...) C'mon, y'all. Ya don't want to see me whine, do ya's?
One of my cats hasn't been feeling too well...so I've been taking care of and watching him. He seems to be feeling a bit better, now... So, here we go again.... The first thing I'm going to do-one way or the other-is RJ's questions. I'll try the linking stuff a few times, then if I have to, I'll just resort to low tech pens and paper. Oh yeah...I'm also waiting for a cake to cool so I can ice it (spice cake with whipped cream cheese frosting) and about to put a top coat on my nails. I've actually painted them for the first time in ages...(deep, frosty burgandy) Off to RJ's...
Sunday, August 10, 2003
'Do damn it' list
This is my personal version of a 'Honey do' list...directed to myself, not Eric. 'Pooter shit I'd like to get done: 1. Conquer linking. 2. Get Geocities page done (which I haven't done because I haven't figured out linking...) 3. Answer RJ's questions (AGAIN with the linking). 4. Send MoodyMama the email I mentioned in her comments. 5. Read every page of 'Autopsy Report'. But first... I'm gonna go do what I did yesterday. I'm gonna grab my shit, slap on the headphones and go take a walk around the fields. singing my lungs out. Maybe hang out in a deer stand for a while. Maybe keep my clothes on while I'm up there, this time. Maybe hang out in the creek for a while-clothing optional, depending on where you are... I never know what I'm liable to do, til I'm doing it. But, whatever it winds up being, I'll have the original Stevie Ray, Charlie Rich, Larry Gatlin and the Bee Gees with me. I'll be back... Peace
Ooh! Ooh,ooh! (a la Horshak)
I just found the coolest site. It's in the third postion on my blogroll-right under the Dax man. Keep in mind-I love forensic pathology...No pictuters, yet. But, graphic all the same.
mmm...by any chance
If you do a post with a link, publish it, see a mistake, edit it and re-publish it...are ya supposed to re-do the link, too? 'Cause, I did and I didn't.
Okay, so either God could not possibly care less about making a deal with me, or this doesn't work when you open the new window from the Blogger page. Ya know that button that let's you "view blog in a new window"? Well, it ain't happenin' with that. I'll try it the way I was told to do it in the first place later...also typical. However, I firmly believe it would be easier to put socks on a rooster. Which reminds me... What's the difference between a rooster and a prostitute? The rooster says "Cock-a-doodle-doo". The prostitute says "Any-cock'll-do". Two prostitutes are standing on a corner, talking. The younger one asks the older one, a bit nervously, "Have you ever been picked up by the fuzz?" The older one said "No...but I've been swung around by my tits a coupla times." With that...I'm outta here. For now... Peace
One more time
In the summertime When all the tree and leaves are green And the red bird sings his blues 'Cause you don't want my love... Oh, sorry..got a little carried away with the Roger Miller, there. Damn, I love that guy. Back to this 'link'....shi....cra...stuff. (Dear God, I was a good kid. I did the dishes. I'm almost done the laundry. I took care of all the animals...so, PLEASE let this work. Thank you. Amen...)
Guess I'd better go read your email again, RJ
While you're waiting.... Two bulls-one young, one old-stood on top hill, looking down over a field of heifers. Young bull turns to the old bull and says "Say, why don't we run down there a screw a cow?" Old bull says "Better still...let's walk down and screw 'em all. And... Why do cows wear bells? 'Cause their horns don't work. (not even one) cricket Okay. Make me think, will ya? There was this truck driver. He'd been on the road for weeks. He was riding down the road one day when he decided that, for a change, he wanted to ride a horse for a few hours. About a week later, he finally saw one. So, he pulls his truck over, jumps on and away he went. He was ridin' his ass off and doing really good. Then, all of a sudden, the cinch slipped and he wound up upside down, under the horse, beating his head on the ground. That poor guy thought he was gonna die. And, he probably would have if the Wal-Mart manager hadn't come outside and unplugged it. Had enough? I don't think so... Why does a dog lick his cajones? A. Because he can. B. Because he knows he's gonna lick your face in about two minutes. Two guys, sitting on the curb, watching a dog lick his nads. One guy says "Man, I wish I could do that." The other guy said "I'd pet him first." And, finally... Why do dogs run in circles? Because it's too hard for them to run in squares.
I meant to do that...
I meant to cut & paste without using the link button...sssuuurrreee I did... sigh and an eye roll(-two bits) And, again... Oh, I can't wait to see what this is.
God help us all, I've got an idea
Time to try a link again...http://rocketjones.blogspot.com/http://rocketjones.blogspot.com/ Oh...something did show up. Question is: Will it survive 'publish'? We shall see...
Saturday, August 09, 2003
Calling Dr. Katz...
I usually read more than one book at a time. About two weeks ago, I remember starting in on "Private Parts", again. Toward the end of that, I started "Christine" again. Halfway through that, "The Exorcist" joined the list. I finished those two about three days ago. Now, I'm reading "The Stand" again. I wonder if this means anything in particular...
I've got these two searches on my Sitemeter referrals page. One is drunk+14+year+old. Okay, so I mentioned a 14 year old. Nobody said anything about drunk. The other one is weird. It's ickenson+xargs. Okay, I also mentioned that title-swiping twat Janice Dickenson. But, wtf is a Xargs? And, I get called 'goofy'.
Bye, bye Birdie...
I love that movie. And, not just because it's a year or two older than me. I also adore Ann Margret. (This post is about sons and Dads, but allow me to expound about AM for a minute...) That woman is, always was and probably always will be gorgeous, sexy, talented, sweet...I've got her biography. Any movie I see her (or Patty Duke's) name on, I watch. Her birthday is two days (and several years) before mine. I swear, if I ever went nuts and got plastic surgery, I'd wanna look like her. The first movie I saw her in was "Bye, bye Birdie." And, before anybody gets to wondering, I also think Bobby Rydell is adorable (still) and he lives right in Philly. (Conrad, however, was a doofus.) Anyway, there's a song in that movie, sung by Paul Lynde called, I believe, "Kids". (I also love Paul Lynde. He cracked me up when I was a kid and he was in the center square. I still watch old Hollywood Squares on the Gameshow Network.) backtothepoint...That song is what I hear in my head every time I see or think about Aaron, Eric Jr.'s best friend here...(as opposed to Jersey.) I already wrote about their exploits during Eric Jr.'s last visit. Well, after Eric had gone home, Aaron stepped in a HUGE bucket of shit all by his lonesome. And, his foot ain't out of it, yet, as far as I'm concerned. While he was on punishment from the original incident, he decided to leave his house at 11:30pm to go to a diner with his sister. They got home at 3:30am. When he was asked if he had retained nothing from the conversation between the two kids and all the adults, including George, he replied "Yeah. I knew I'd get in more trouble, but I wanted to go anyway." Excuse me? What da hell is that, if it ain't one step shy of giving his father the finger right to his face? I can't believe the little shit is still alive. His Dad ain't nobody to mess with. He's a stocky little, self-employed(contractor), Harley riding Teddy Bear with a beard and a belly, just like my Dad. Except waaaay younger. I've seen him pissed off. No way in hell, do I ever want to go there. And, if he was my Dad and I was 12 years old, I'd be in awe. It would never even occur to me to do the shit that got Aaron in trouble in the first place, let alone pull the second stunt. I didn't do that kind of shit to my own Dad, either. Until such time as I understand what was going on in what passes for Aaron's mind when he made that shitty decision, I am not too fond of him. I don't feel like I can trust him not to get Eric Jr. involved in stupid shit. It would be a little easier if Eric Jr. had ever demonstrated one iota of resistance to being led, but....that hasn't happened, yet. To my knowledge, anyway. As much as that bothers me, I think what really is pissing me off, is the utter lack of respect that Aaron showed for his Dad. I am absolutely certain that that is what pissed me off at Eric, Jr., that week. If you can treat your Dad like that, then you must not love him at all, so why don't ya just get away from him intsead of hurting him every day? Brutal, I know, but it's truely how I feel. Not that I'd do anything, but...damn. Sometimes, kids are more brutal, in their ways. My one pitiful defense for feeling that way is that, at least I'm feeling it out of love for and wanting to protect Dad. The kid is just being a selfish, thoughtless little twit. Right? Sure as hell seems like it. I dunno. But, I really do want to know just what Aaron was thinking when he did that. I'd also like to know how I'm supposed to be able to think that he won't do it again and involve Eric Jr. We were discussing some new farm rule one day and Aaron said to Eric Jr. "Wait, wait...did my Grandpop (the Bill who owns this farm that I constantly want to bitch-slap) say that, or just your Dad?" Again...Excuse me?!? You can bet your sweet bippy (yes, I watch Laugh-in, too) that I jumped on that immediately and corrected it-for about an hour. Vociferously. Vehemently. Very loudly. "Just your Dad", indeed. I hear that ever again and we'll be able to add 'violently' to the list. So, anybody got any ideas about this one? Beuller? Anyone? Peace
(This is sooo cool...) At my local grocery store, they have signs on the side of every cash register. They're red, about 6" long by 2 1/2-3" high. They have those letters -D.Y.F.E.Y.W.-on them. I get to mess with a different (teenaged) clerk every time I go in there. I'm usually bullshittin' with Eric anyway, so at some point, I mention the sign to the clerk. It usually goes something like this: Me: Did they tell you what that sign really means? Clerk: (Looks at it to get it 'right') "Uh.. yeah. Did You Find Everything You Wanted..." Me: Yeah...that's what they say. What it really means is Did You Finally Empty Your Wallet..." (grinning) At this point, the guys usually do that Joey Tribiani blank stare thing for a few seconds. The girls seem to be a little quicker....but, it always gets a laugh. I love it! With their empoyee turnover rate, it's endless.
Friday, August 08, 2003
A shredded shit day...
Okay, so we can all see that I was driven to the edge of insanity by this stupid computer yesterday....Well, I went to bed, got up to dog trash everywhere AGAIN, tried to get on here about 47 times, couldn't for various "this computer is possessed" reasons, gave up and cooled off for a while. Then, I finally did manage to get on line, read some stuff, answered some stuff and asked some stuff. Then, I went back to bed around 7:00pm. Got up at 2:45am and re-did the interview with Sage and here I am. My little three-day terrorist buddy showed up for real yesterday and I feel like shredded shit. Thank God I got the house clean before it got here. Now, all I have to do is get through one or two more days without killing something or beating the snot outta this computer and all will be well again. 'Til next month. sigh Anyway, I am alive (damn it) and I'll probably post more later today. In the meantime, I'm reading and commenting and wishing I could have an instant hysterectomy. After all, I'm 40, have no kids and no plans to have kids. So, what the HELL do I need this shit for? Fun? Karma? I can think of a few people who deserve this more than I do, ya know? Pray for me, people. I need all the help I can get. (I am smiling as I type that last sentence, by the way....but not lol-ing. Feel too icky to laugh. Except when I say "Fucknoodle"...for which I thank Jett.) Take a tour of my blogroll while I go get to feelin' better and I'll be back. And, thanks for checkin' in. It helps. Peace P.S. One thing y'all should read is the 'customer complaint letter' at the very bottom of my blogroll. It's funnier than hell...
Thursday, August 07, 2003
Motherless, God-forsaken, Son-of-a....
"Cannot find server". LOOK IN THE FUCKIN' BREAK ROOM!!! That's where I always was-smokin' a cigarette. What is the secret, damn it? Now, I am really pissed. So pissed, in fact, that I'm gonna go read Tucker Max and Snopes for a while.... (I sear to God himself that if Eric doesn't shut off that stupid alarm clock- which I can hear CLEARLY-I'm gonna kill something...)
Well HOT DAMN!!!
I don't know whats open wider-my eyes or my mouth. It finally worked. Okay, so now-if I see something somewhere else that I want to link to, how do I do that? Do I have to get the URL off the address bar or do I look up the 'properties' to get that? Is there some one-step way to do this that I'm just too retarded to figure out? I'm gonna try another one. If this works....I'll be very happy. www.wizbangblog.com If this does work, I'll be proud of myself. That'll be two URL's I didn't need to look up.
Alright, now I'm pissed...
And, I have one more idea... www.rocketjones.blogspot.com It showed up again. If it doesn't work this time, I'll finish the "I'm so pissed..." part
I can't do a link in the first place and this asshole thing wants to inform me of a "broken" link?!? WTF is that? KEVIN!!!!!! (Please, psychically hear me and save me from this hell!!!)
That freakin' helped. NOT! I click the link button, the window pops up, I add rocketjones.blogspot.com, click 'okay', it shows up within the post that I'm typing, then I click 'post & publish' and it GDF disappears!!! They give you two other ways to do it-with the keyboard (yeah right) and typing it in manually. I CAN GET IT TO SHOW UP, IT JUST DOESN'T SURVIVE BEING PUBLISHED. Damn it. Just for shits-n-giggles, I'll do it manually: > Just in case it requires the stupid w's: Get ready fer nuthin'. This is soooo like doing the comments....
It shows up in the post, just like the bold things, then when I publish, it disappears. Off to see if Blogger has any hints. One more time...
for me to learn how to use this link thing. God, I hope it's easier to do than setting up comments was. (That was my first italicized try...Oh to not have to use CAPS anymore..) And, I'm setting up a Geocities page for things, on the advice of RJ-Rocketjones. (God- if that worked, I just may have to re-think this whole "I'm a retard" thing...) In case it didn't, I've got another gem for RJ....What's the difference between perverted and kinky? Perverted is when you use a feather. Kinky involves the whole chicken. Well, let's see if this shit works...
Wednesday, August 06, 2003
then I'm going to bed...before someone comes over here and smacks me for this... Two guys walk into a bar. Which was reeeaaallly stupid...you'd think after watching the first guy, the second guy woulda used the DOOR.
And now-a bit 'o humor....
Hey, RJ! Did ya hear about the insomniac, agnostic dyslexic? He sits up all night, wondering if there is a Dog. cricket chirping G'night, y'all. (And everybody BE CAREFUL.) (I tell Eric that almost as often as I tell him I love him-100's of times a day...) Peace
Two questions...totally unrelated to each other...
Except they both deal with death. I'll ask the short one first. Will someone please explain to me why Charles Manson, et al, were not charged with murdering Sharon Polanski's baby? She was eight and a half months pregnant. I don't get that. And- What happens if a blogger dies? How would we know? I worry about that when people suddenly stop blogging for a while with no warning or anything. I realize it could be a ton of other reasons, but I always wonder: If something bad DID happen, how are we gonna know? It may be weird, but I do care about that. That's it about death... for now. I think. (God-I just got the weirdest feeling looking at that word...such a small word for such a huge thing.)
I'm almost done...
I've almost got everything done, cleaning-wise. Dishes, laundry, animals and all their assorted crap...just about everything except the car. Which is a white Firebird that is currently COVERED with brown specks of flyshit. What the hell do flies eat, anyway? Superglue? You can't get that shit off without a sander, fer Chrissake. Anyway... That's where I've been. Cleaning. It's not too bad, though, considering what I'm up against. Let's start with Petey, the parakeet. He's pretty easy to deal with except that he gets feathers EVERYWHERE. Next, we have the cats-Erica, Lamar, Olsen, Dale, Tony, Norman, Wheezer, Ozzy, Buster and Stinkdoodle. Their job is to distribute the feathers to each room, while ram-assing around, knocking stuff over and eating, sleeping and pooping in one of several catboxes I have to pick every 92 seconds. Then we have Mr. Mouse, the rat. He's pretty cool, too except that he feels it's necessary, for some reason, to have litter (cedar shavings) around his whole cage, like a moat, or something. The kittens (the last four) also distribute that to several rooms after having gotten up there to watch him in apparent wonder. Then, there are the two (dumb) dogs. Their job is to shed, scratch themselves, distribute tasty morsels of debris around the house.... like empty cat food cans and empty Cheeto's and cereal bags, after they've eaten the contents and have to go out every 5 (fickin') minutes. They also feel obligated to BARK every time April-the outdoor dog-barks. April barks at everything. People, cars, trucks, grass, trees, wind...and probably her own farts. Then, we get to the people. Currently there are four of us. Myself (the one who should AT LEAST get a maids 'outfit' outta this), Eric- the love of my life, George-the soon to be ex, and Eric Jr. who, by the way hasn't done anything stupid...(yet). Eric-TLOML- can not come in from outside without depositing at least a half a bale of hay and straw all over the floor. He does this by removing clothes. First the big ole barn boots, fulla cow poop, dirt, mud-whatever's out there. They MUST go in the doorway to the mudroom. Not into the room, itself...gotta be the doorway. Sometimes, for added effect, he'll leave his pants there too. Next off are the (most disgusting) socks in the living room. I've finally gotten it through to him to turn the icky damn things right side out. I almost lost a finger in one of 'em once. (I swear I've heard them growl before...) Then, I can pretty much track his movements through the house by the rest of his clothes making a trail to the kitchen. From the kitchen, to the livingroom, where I find the dishes. Heading back to the kitchen with the dishes, I find empty dip cans, half full dip cups (EEEWWW!!!), baseball caps and out of the pockets of his work pants-candy wrappers, nuts, bolts, milker plugs, wrenches, nails and wads of papertowels. All sprinkled liberally with hay and straw. George is pretty low maintenence. He just won't empty an ashtray until he gets the pyramid of butts at least two feet tall. Eric Jr. is no problem either. He has the same grody sock thing as his Dad, though. And, the kid never remembers to hold the handle down on the toilet, so consequently, I have too much information about just how big a turd can get. Sigh. The only way I can get it COMPLETELY done, is to start early. I'm awake all night, almost every night because Eric is so dead tired, he just cannot get up in the morning. Even after I get him out of bed, all he does is stagger to the living room and falls asleep in his chair. Poor guy. I HATE having to be the one to make him get up, but his stupid boss docks him if he's not out there by 5:00am. After I get him in gear, I go to bed. I don't sleep long. I'm taking ephedra-based crap to loose weight (again-I dropped 75 lbs in about four months two years ago). So, I get up, get coffee, get on here, read, let the dogs in and out 62 times, feed the kittens their canned food, run errands, etc. If I keep up with the house after I get it CLEAN clean, it's pretty easy. But, every so often, I feel like shredded shit and it goes a day. Then another. Then several more. Then I can't stand it and I clean it. All. I have to start early, like I said. Best is sometime between 6 and 8 pm. I get all dishes done first. Then I do the livingroom, where the guys are gonna want to be, watching wrestling (shudder). If I'm lucky, I get that finished before they congregate. Vacuuming and all. Then, while they're in there, I go do the rest of the house. I try to do the big shit first, up to and including the vacuuming, before people start going to bed. After they do, I finish the laundry and do any stray dishes. Then I get on here and do this until Eric is out the door (which he is now), then I go to bed. Is it any wonder I'm insane? Insane, maybe. Stupid, no. After having spent 30-some years living an "exciting" (read: chaotic, unpredictable, upheaved, miserable, lonely and pretty much screwed up) life, I'll take this and love it. Sometimes, I get bored, sometimes I get restless, but I do appreciate the sedateness of it all. And, I get scared it could all change. BUT-the Eric and I part won't, so I know I'll be okay-no matter what. Maybe sometimes I don't know what to do with Eric, but I do know that I don't know what I'd do without him. Except die. Which is what I plan to do. If I come to that. Which leads me to the next post-two death-related questions...
Monday, August 04, 2003
Note to self...
Don't forget-later ya wanna ask that death question and ya have a coupla "body oddity" questions, too.
Who IS that?
I admit, I don't know a lot about site meter. I just check the number and then the 'by referrals' page. Sometimes the details page. I intend to upgrade someday so I can see by what search words people get here. In the meantime, I'm wondering: Who is level3.net? Is it me? Whoever it is comes by a lot and usually has at least one visit that's pretty long with a lot of page views. Now, I come here and go down my bloglist at least once a day...so is it me? Or do I have a 'fan'? I clicked on the level3.net, and it took me to the homepage of some huge communications company....so, that didn't help. Who would even KNOW who their provider's provider is? Anyway... Thank you who ever you are. If it's me..."Hi..ya 'tard."
This is weird...
I post the lyrics to "Buzz the Fuzz" and wind up with "Hey 19" by Steely Dan stuck in my head. I mean, I like this song, but....c'mon already.
More strange shit from inside my head...
These are things, not necessarily related to anything, that are in my tangled brain... If I hadn't screwed around in school, I would have become a forensic pathologist. That shit is fascinating. I am appalled by what was done to Randy & Vickie Weaver at Ruby Ridge, Idaho. I think it is perfectly fitting and a testament to the existance of Karma that the idiot who ran over Stephen King is now dead. Good. Asshole. I fucking hate rap. Dwight Yoakam is a pussy. And, I used to LOOOVVVEEE him. I find it fascinating that cows and dairy farmers are able to maintain life with NO BRAIN FUNCTION WHATSOEVER. Cows...dairy farmers. Coincidence? I think not. *There are only two ways to understand women-and nobody knows either of them. *The quickest way to a man's heart is through his left ventricle. Time flies like an arrow. Fruit flies like a banana. (Think about it...) Four out of five proctologists surveyed recommend sugarless suppositories for people who CHEW suppositories. Be alert. The world needs more lerts. "Max Dugan Returns" is a GREAT movie. Sam Kinnison....damn I miss him. He was the funniest sumbitch. I hope the asshole who killed him has a long, horrible life. Dash Goff, Suzanne Sugarbaker's ex-husband from "Designing Women" (played by Delta Burk's real husband Gerald McRaney) reminds me of Acidman. I think. Gia Carangi was the first "Supermodel", not that twat Janice Dickenson-or whatever her last name is. Fresh cowshit smells GOOD. Chickenshit does not. BABY shit is even worse. And, it comes in an alarming assortment of highly unnatural COLORS. I love the smell of a freshly opened tin of Copenhagen. No, I don't dip. I hate spit. But, Eric does. I thank God every day for Juan Valdez and whoever invented Coffeemate. I think wrestling is stoopid...BUT- I love Bret Hart and would gladly shoot Vince McMahon in the face whether Bret asked me to or not. Ugly asshole. Walks like he's got a corncob stuck up his ass. Okay, then. I feel better now. That's no where near ALL the shit in my head, but it is a good start. Now, about those *'s. The ones marked with an *, were borrowed from a guy from the 60's named Biff Rose. He was a folkie, I believe, with a warped sense of humor. I e mailed him about a year and a half ago and he e mailed me back HIMSELF. I saved that one. Anybody besides me ever hear of him or his song called "Buzz the Fuzz"? It is awesome (funny). So is he. Once there was a fellow and his name was Buzz. He was a rookie cop-just a baby fuzz. He patrolled the Sunset strip in the land of the free and the home of the hip. He protected you and me until he met a girl named Alice D. Alice was a girl that all good hippies dread. And, they called her "Sweet Alice D. head". Alice, it was plain to see, was full of pot and STP. She'd attract a great big crowd, Because her inner peace was MUCH TOO LOUD. Buzz did the thing the good fuzz must. Shoved his gun in Alice's chest and said "This is a bust." He shone the flashlight to her eyes, She began to hypnotize... Buzz said "What a wild sensation. This must be hallu, hallu, cina, cina, tion, tion, tion." Love is so sensational. When you fall in love with eyes dilational. Buzz said "Alice, you I like. Come take a ride on my fuzzy bike. Soon it will be getting dark and we can watch the stars from Griffith Park." So, they both went out and dug astrology-ee-ee-eee-ee-ee... Through their mutual hallucinology-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee. Now their takin' pills and shots and Buzz is not afraid of Watts. Buzz and Alice D. have shown the way of where the fuzz might be some day. Buzz is still a cop, of course. He's the pusher on the force. He's protecting you and me From e-v-i-l women like poor Alice D. You've got to HEAR the melody to get the full effect, but it's still funny. Well, I have to PEE again, so I'll be going now. Peace to ya.
Sunday, August 03, 2003
nmmmmnmmggggggdvgdwteyytnuyhccddv cx.ty//GFGzzCL THAT was from Ozzy and Yoyo, the cat who won't stay DOWN-the OTHER two kittens. All I did was put their title in bold for them. Doesn't it look like they were trying to leave a web address? The first two kittens who were sitting on me-they're names are Buster and Wheezer. Hey, I warned 'em. If they insist on getting involved in this, I'm publishing it. (That's all I need. Those two (or four) typing away here when I'm busy elsewhere...)
If ya don't believe me, ask the NJSP...
The year is 1981. I've just graduated high school and my stupid mother has moved to Florida with my boyfriend. So, Dad gave me her car. A 1980 Ford Pinto with a sunroof and manual tranny. I was out driving around the back roads of Mannington Township, drinking beer, like it used to be safe to do. Naturally, I had to pee. Having spent my youth on horseback, I learned the benefits of peeing in bushes long ago. So, I pulled over on this unlined, rarely used road, found a bush and made room for more beer. Mind you, I wasn't drunk...yet. Just a little buzzed and a lot silly. I get done, get in the car and start down the road. I hadn't even gotten in third, when a deer jumped outta the woods and attacked my car. She put a one inch dent in the passenger side front quarter panel and passed out. I freaked. "OH GOD!! THE DEER, THE DEER!!" I thought she was dead. So, with my mind somewhere between crushing guilt at having murdered this poor animal and visions of venison dancing in my head, I decided to try to minimize the loss. I decided to take her home to my deer hunting Dad and let him handle it. With a Ford PINTO. That has a "trunk" about 4X6 inches big. Getting her into the trunk wasn't working out too well, so I opted for the back seat. I got her limp body up okay and had her about 2/3 of the way in, when my "dead" deer came to. And, she was NOT thrilled about the idea of going for a ride, let me tell ya. Not the least bit... I had been stuffing her in through the drivers side door, so I opened the passenger door, pushed the seat forward and she scrambled out. And, just stood there. Looking at me. I noticed then that she had a lump on the side of her mouth, like a chew of tobacco, with just a little bit of bleeding. She let me walk up to her and I checked her legs and spine for deformaties, found none and was thrilled she was okay. I couldn't just leave her standing in the road, so I pushed her to the side, where there was a horse pasture and fortunately, a gate into the pasture. I opened it and pushed her through to safety. She just stood there. Again. Okay.... I decided I needed my Dad anyway and went off to find him. Not home. Must be at the Moose, playing cards....The Moose was in the process of switching locations, from one side of Woodstown to the other. I checked the old location first. Not there. Damn. On to the new place. Or, so I thought. What I didn't realize at the time, was that the entire back of my car, part of the drivers side and most of my shirt was covered in blood, from her cut mouth. Oops. One of my cop buddies from town, Donald, saw my car, saw the blood and pulled me over to find out who I had killed and how many times. I told him what had transpired and I don't think he believed me-at first. (Who the FUCK would try to put a deer in the back seat of a PINTO, fer Chrissake? me...) By the time I got that whole story told, I had to pee again. So, now I'm outta my car, crouching down next to Donald's drivers door with my heel crammed in my crotch to keep from peeing myself because Donald is being a comedian about this. He had to call the STATE POLICE because it happened just out of his jurisdiction. So we wait. And, I've GOTTA PEE!!! (You know how it is drinking beer-one bottle turns into a bucketfull and once you've peed the first time, ya gotta pee at just about every telephone pole after that...sigh) So, what seemed like three days later, the Sate Boys show up. By that time, I've got Donald talked into letting me swing by my house (which is on the way) so I can PEE!!! So, we all go to my house so I can pee. Picture that. Three cop cars lined up at the end of the driveway, while I go pee. Gawd. I grabbed my Dad's friend Carol, while I was there and got her to come with me. Now, I get to lead this absurd parade to the location of my altercation with said deer. SHE WAS STILL STANDING THERE IN THE FIELD. Unbelievable. Two of the Staties walked up to her and were petting her for a few minutes. Then one smacked her ass and she took off. Yeay! They let me go after that...didn't ask many questions, either. They all just left. The part of this story I find hard to believe is what they said happened next. ("They" being the State Boys..) I ran into one of them later at a court date (for a seperate incident where someone stole the registration and insurance cards outta the car and I didn't know it 'til AFTER I needed to...)Anyway, this State cop comes up and says "Aren't you the girl from the deer incident?" I told him I was and he told me that after they left me that night, they had headed back to the barracks by way of Alloway-Woodstown Rd. and caught some woman trying to burn down her boyfriends house because he was in there with another woman. They caught her as she was trying to get back into her car-which she had locked the keys in. Woah. Cool. Glad I could help. Even gladder that y'all didn't find my sixer I had stashed in the bushes prior to going off to find my Dad. This is true. Like the title says... if ya don't believe me, ask the NJSP-Woodstown Barracks.
Just Damn X2
I did a bit of blog-hopping today and added some new ones. Two of these blogs had me crying...bad. Two different people out there lost their dogs this past week. One was hit by a car and the other died suddenly, right in front of her Daddy. That poor man...my heart aches for both Daddies. It's bad enough when some coward kills your animal by running it over and dooesn't even having the courtesy to try to find you and own up to it, but to have a seemingly healthy animal just drop dead in front of your eyes...man. I can't even bear to watch "Emergency Vets" on Animal Planet when they have to let one go. I wind up in tears like it was my own animal. By the way, I believe (and hope and pray) that there is a special place in HELL reserved for assholes who hurt, torture,abuse, misuse and murder animals. That includes inattentive assholes in cars. That includes inattentive assholes in cars who run over wildlife. It ESPECIALLY includes fuckwads who do it on purpose. I'm not suggesting you total your car over a squirrel, I'm just saying SLOW THE FUCK DOWN A LITTLE and HANG UP THE FUCKING PHONE and PAY ATTENTION. And, for the record, I would and have gone to great lenghts to avoid killing animals. I'm a damn good driver, especially for a female (and that's outta the mouths of men who I've (road) raced and won off of-not my own opinion) and if I can keep from murdering animals with my car, so could everyone else. If they gave a damn. But, they don't. So to hell with 'em. Which reminds me of a deer who hit me once....
I am a human cat-condo...
As I type, I've got two out of four kittens lying in my lap. My legs are getting numb from trying to keep it level and stable enough to hold them. Do they care? Nope. They just give me looks like "Moo-ooom...will you stop moving around? Ya woke me (us) up." Sigh. Then, just 'cause I'm so good at typing blindly AND with one hand, one of my two, huge, furry (long-haired) last-batch kittens decides he just HAAAS to be held. Dale's way of being "held" is to hug ya. Chest on chest, little sharp clawed arms around your neck-usually kneading your neck. Which is sweet, but PAINFUL. He also is sitting on the two kittens. HE doesn't care, but they do. And, I will if he does one of his patented cat-farts on 'em. Not only will I will compelled to leave the area, they will be singed beyond recognition. And, ya know how good burning hair smells.... Oh, thank God...Dale decided to go eat. Now, maybe if I make a kitten-hammock outta my nightshirt, I'll become ambulatory again. Or at least I'll be able to move. I don't know where people get the idea cats aren't affectionate. Have you ever tried to go to the bathroom with 3 cats in your lap and seven more waiting their turn? Everyime I sit down anywhere, I get covered with vibrating fur balls. Then there's the DOGS....
Oh, and let's not forget...
the best part of all this. My little friend is enroute. My once monthly, three-day terrorist buddy. You know...the one who can't make up it's freakin' mind whether or not it's really here. It started it's shit again earlier. Like, late Saturday night. So far, I've had a hint, a cramp or two and I've been crying over stupid shit...like episodes of "Friends"-the one with the prom video and the lobster couple theory. When she goes to him, after seeing the video, I leaked. And, I knew what is (alleged to be) coming. No PMS, this time, though. Not even with the additional shit I'm tring to figure out. I did, however, want to kill Bill again a coupla times. I really believe he just does incredibly stpid shit in cycles. It's not me. It's him. (And, no, I don't mean Bill at B.I.....I mean the Bill who owns this farm.) Anyway.... I gotta run to the store. I'll be back later. Peace to ya!
"Headache" Part Deux (not starring Charlie Sheen, damn it...)
Okay, Blogger didn't eat the last part. Good. And, I got to picture Charlie Sheen for minute. Even better. (Lord he's gorgeous!) Anyway, I've got this person in my life who is exhibiting behavior that would normally signal a parting of the ways to me. Disrespecting his Dad, acting stupid, lying, causing unnecessary drama, involving cops, bleeding....God. Who needs this shit? Ironically, the one person on the entire Goddamn planet who could hope to get away with that kind of shit, is the last person would ever DO that kinda shit. Eric, Sr. Want another dose of irony? (It's good for your blood.) The last person on the entire Goddamn planet that I'd ever want to hurt, is the person I'd hurt the worst if I did disconnect from this current dillhole/child. I'll bet the name of this blog is making more and more sense, ain't it? Eric, Jr. is going to be here again sometime Sunday, for up to three weeks. When I first heard that, I was like," Nuh-uh, no way. That's too long..." His father and I decided to let him know that how long he's here depends on him and his behavior. If he starts his stupid shit again, he's going back to Jersey early. End of story. My biggest problem with all this, is this: I don't know what is "normal" teenage,-parents-are-seperated,-mom-is-a-complete-bitch,-pubescent,-adolescent behavior and what is a total lack of respect, regard and caring a damn about his Dad. I do realize that I'm hyper-senstive to people fuckin' with Eric, Sr. And, I'd like to believe that none of this behavior of Jr.'s really is such a complete and total lack of respect, BUT....Where is the line? And, what can you do when the line gets crossed that doesn't include having to hang around all day with someone you're pissed at? Grounding Eric Jr. to the house keeps him away from the asswits outside, but I'M the one who's here all day. And, the last thing I need or he would want is to be stuck with me all day, after he's fucked up again. I'll be pissed. I know me. And, when I get pissed atcha, the last thing I want is to HAVE to talk to you. If I have to before I'm ready to, it'll probably be brutally honest and ugly. So, if you insist on being a jerk-off, it's probably better to just get and stay away from me. If you're honestly stupid, or at least sorry, I'll come around. Given enough time and distance, I'll cool off. But, I'm not gonna keep forgiving the same stupid shit over and over, either. So, what do I do? What do we do? What would YOU do? From day one, Eric and I have gone the "treat him like a small adult to an extent" route. Eric Sr. wants to be his buddy because he never gets to see him and he wants him to keep wanting to move up here. I'm aware of the 'buddy' thing and kept a close eye on it- or so I thought. This was working great with Eric Jr., until the beginning of this summer. Is it the age he is? Or did the 'buddy' routine blow up? This boy is a young 14. He's not as mature as most 14/15 year olds. I don't know why. He's certainly living a life he could learn from. We try to show him... Another thing...I was a Daddy's girl to DEATH. I'd have gladly shot my mom in the face, if Dad had asked me to. And, my mom was NOTHING compared to Jr.'s. He knows how horrible she is, he knows how his Dad is, too. So, I cannot even begin to fathom what I see as a lack of loyalty to his Dad. The not listening, the lying to his face...Christ, I get pissed just thinking about it. How FUCKING DARE he do that? Whom, exactly does the little snot think he is? Eric Jr. has taken me right up to the edge of "If this is how little you think of your Dad, then just get away from him." I'm scared almost shitless that he'll wind up shoving me off that cliff this time. Of course, I'd love to (drop enough acid or smoke enough weed to ) blythely believe that he'll be his younger, sweeter, smarter self, but I hate liars. Even when it's me tryin' to lie to me. After the crap he pulled last time, how CAN I believe he'll not keep it up? He does anally stupid shit here, when he's around his Dad and when he's in Jersey around his mom. So, what do I have to go on? Recent past experience with this kid-not good. Past experience with kids in general-limited, mostly negative. Patience with this kind of shit-Nonexistant. Room for error-Fuck if I know. help I really don't want to watch this kid get lost. Even when he's had me so pissed I couldn't think straight, I still have the instinct to help him, if for no other reason, for his Dad. So far. Ya know what else? I've fucked up enough stuff in my own life and inadvertantly in other's lives by not being able to get my head outta my ass quick enough and by not knowing what the right thing was to do. I don't want to do that again. Not this time. I want to save them both. Father AND son. But, if I'm forced to choose one or the other....GOD help me, here. How the flyin' FUCK to you save Dad by rippin' his heart out by lettin' the kid go to save yourself? I do not want to have to do that. And, which is worse for Dad? Letting go to save himself or being right there while the kid slowly consigns himself to hell? Jesus. How do you parents with good, stable teenagers do it? Ass beatings? Church? What? Sigh.....well, people. Enough about this for now. As usual, any hints, suggestions-hell, any comments AT ALL, will be appreciated... Peace to ya...