Resolutions

Who thought of this dumb shit anyway, is what I would like to know? New Year's resolutions, I mean. Talk about setting yourself up for a fall, this is the way to do it.

I don't make resolutions anymore. I have changed my behavior enough. I am old enough and mean enough to like myself pretty much as I am.

I try to treat everyone with respect. I smoke and that's my choice for now. When I get tired of smelling like an ash tray, I'll quit. But I have to want to quit first and I don't.

I have already resolved to get to a healthier weight. I have, oh gosh I'm scared to even commit this to paper, but what the hell. I have lost 23 lbs. since last year. Hoorah! Hooray! Yip yip yip yip yeehaw!!! I feel a little happy about that, as you can see. When they tell you its harder to lose weight as you get older, they are not lying. Its a sad and hateful fact.

I have no desire to rise to the top of the corporate ladder. I wish I did, but I'm not a material person. Poverty and I have become more than nodding acquaintances. We seem to get on pretty good at times.

I already feel like this country has become less of a melting pot and more of a shit hole. But that's not a resolution. We all should make our country, and its restoration to former glory, a top priority. And we all should be involved in the upcoming elections, probably the most important ones since FDR. My opinion, anyway.

So, everything that could become a resolution is something I am already doing.

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Last night a young lady sat in my living room, and said, "When my boys grow up, I'm gonna have my own house, and they can bring their wives home, and my grand babies, and I'll watch them while they go out. It will always be their home."

I said the same thing when I was one and thirty. I tried to say that these are the days you want to live. Don't live for the future, because who knows what will happen. Live each day to the fullest, and treasure it, always. But, being the oldest, my words fell on deaf ears. They have not learned that the oldest are the ones who have already experienced everything you ever will. Not necessarily me, for I fear the future a little now. I know how freaking unfair it is.

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An eight year old boy told us how cats mate last night. "They make out for a while, then they stick their tongues in the other mouths....." While I am always interested in learning new things, this one stumped me. The mom, instead of correcting him, after we all had a good chuckle, threatened to whip him.

Now here's where I went the opposite way as a young mom. I would immediately correct false information, and give them the facts, whether they believed me or not. I also had a high tolerance for curse words. But the boys only cursed around other boys and me....go figure.

I asked this young man, while his mother cringed, what a testicle was, and his response was an arm. What the hell is up with this? This country needs another sixties revolution, cause we've all become uptight about sex, again. An eight year old should know what a testicle is. Its part of his own body, for Christ's sake. And there is nothing wrong with the human body, or its functions.

Of course my young ones learned all about the circle of life from watching my female dog make a slut of herself with every Tom, Dick, and Hairy Hound that wandered into our yard. "Mama, Mary's stuck to that..." I know, I know....leave them alone, they'll be ok....God, my head hurts....Ok, so I exaggerated up there a tad. I didn't immediately correct them. But they knew the facts of life at 10 years old, and if they came up with something bizarre, "First the female dog lays eggs in a hole in the ground, then the male dog pees on them..." I felt the need to give them the real story. Usually. Seventy-five percent of the time.

I also learned that young boys may not know the meaning of the curse words they are saying. One night while my two young ones were "shitting" all over the place, I suddenly asked them, "Ok, what does shit mean? I bet you don't even know." "Yeah, we do. It means....what does it mean?" Poop. It means poop. "No, it doesn't!! Mama, that's gross, you're making that up!!!" It took my ex-husbands agreement, that "yes, Mama is right, that's exactly what it means" for me to be believed.

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I guess that brings me to the real gist of this post. I learned recently that my ex is very ill. Very ill. It's hard to believe, and hard to take. For whatever reason we didn't get along, that takes nothing away from the fine man he can be and is. I want him to be ok. Just that one call, and nothing else, he remains, as always, unreachable. I hurt more for my son. Its not so much a resolution as a prayer that he should be well and whole, and healthy again.

Or at least go to the doctor and get what needs to be done, done. Please, people, giving up is not an option, as I have learned this year.

BBC NEWS | South Asia | Bhuttos: 'Cursed' political dynasty

BBC NEWS | South Asia | Bhuttos: 'Cursed' political dynasty

The Bhuttos have been compared to the Kennedy's with so many tragedies in their family. All have been politically active. As the article states, "Benazir's elderly mother, Nusrat, has now seen the lives of her husband, elder daughter and two sons all cut short. Just one daughter, Sanam, survives."

I fervently hope that Sanam does not follow in her sister's footsteps. Now we hear al-Quaeda is behind this assassination. Does this infuriate anyone else out there? Does this make you think twice about what could happen in this country as we head into an election year? And what about Hillary Clinton? Does this event give her pause about her own aspirations to be the first woman President?

We know from years past of all the crack pots are own country produces, whether they be in government or not. We all have one or two conspiracy theories we almost believe, whether it involves the assassination of John Kennedy or Martin Luther King. What will happen this year troubles me just a little. We have two conventions, and I hope that security is so tight it makes a frogs ass look like a broken gasket.

What impresses me, and probably many others about Benazir Bhutto is that she never stopped. She never gave up. Facing what she knew in her own heart was probable assassination, she never thought twice of giving up her belief in the Pakistan People's Party, and continued to rally the people to a better government with more tolerance and freedoms. She is a hero in my eyes. A martyr? I don't know. I do know her legacy will live on long after her death, and her fearlessness and determination will serve as a spark to those who follow her.

Benazir Bhutto: June 21, 1953-December 27, 2007

Blogged with Flock

A silly ditty

Twas the day after Christmas
And all through the trailer
The smells of the feast
Smelled staler and staler

Mama in her kerchief,
And I in my cap
Were just headed out
To the mall, and a snack.

When the little blond girl,
Eyes bright and blue
With golden soft hair
Started screaming, "Me too!"

Protesting was useless
The babe had her way
And mama went looking
For her cap right away

When what to my wondering
Eyes should be seen
But tiny bug creatures
In her hair, yet unseen.


















Mama, I hollered
Right in her face.
"There's creatures a crawling
All over the place.

She nodded yes, with
Big eyes full of pain
She looked and she squinted
Then fell in a faint.

"Its probably those cousins,
Those kids of your brothers
I doubt they take baths,
Or even their mothers

That brought her round
As I new that it would.
But suddenly I scratched
just as hard as I could.

Every square inch
Of my body, it seemed
Was crawling and itching!
My God, there on me!!

I screamed so loudly
They heard me next door.
And Mama, dear Mama
Still wept on the floor.















Dammit, oh, dammit
I shouted with grief.
Head lice in my house!
I ran for the bleach.

Come here little girl,
With the hair long and soft,
Come here to Papa!
She quickly ran off!

No, shouted Mama,
Stretched out on the floor
Who likewise was scratching
Like never before.

I swear if I ever
Get invaded again
Let it be the Russians
Or Iraqis or Fins.

Fins?, questioned Mama.
How slowly she moved.
I could see in her face
All the work left to do.

The washing, the spraying
Then catching the girl
With the long yellow hair
The lice in her curls.

"We'll go to the store
They sell that stuff there
We'll tell them we're buying
For the church's health fair."













Well, come on, I said runnin'
Quick to the door.
I hate to be itching.
I felt like a whore.

Your brother, I started
"Oh, no, not a word!"
Said Mama, so sternly
I hushed. "Come on girl."

We're going, we're leaving
You best come with us
There, that's a good girl
Now don't make a fuss.

So off to the mall
In the car we did pile
I itched all the way
long Mile after mile.

We bought some lice lotion
And little lice combs
We bought lice spray
And we took it all home.

We washed and we showered
We combed and we sprayed
And then close to midnight
We called it a day.

Now I must warn you
Dear readers out there.
Don't be fooled by these
Girls with long golden hair.

They can be lousy
And spiteful and dirty
On the day after Christmas!
At least dear Aunt Girty

Didn't make it this year
She stays clear to Easter,
You know. I guess there is a God.

It's 7:10 am. I have been up since a little before 6. My cats are my alarm clock. Roscoe takes his paw and gently hits my nose repeatedly until I wake up. I generally tell him to lay down and go back to sleep, and sometimes, believe it or not, he does. But, usually I wake up.

And this morning, it is Christmas Day. I can feel the specialness of the day. It creeps into my very fiber like a long lost friend coming to visit unannounced, though so, so welcome. There is a brightness to the morning that clouds bely.

We have no presents under our tree this year. Nor will there be any. But still I am happy and full of peace. Don't ask me why. It belongs to this day.

The cats are fed, and Sasha has determinedly found her way outside. She is a wild one, that cat. Do they feel the specialness of this glorious morning? I think they must. I think all creatures must. And if you stand really still, some of this unique joy will magically become a part of you, and the rest of your day will be filled with laughter, sharing, and memories sweet and true.

Merry Christmas from me to you.

It's Christmas Eve. Hail Mary, full of grace, help me win this Christmas race. Oh, faux pas...not nice. I honestly don't think that the Virgin Mary had all this in mind when she gave birth to a baby boy in a stable. If that's the way it happened. It makes a good story. Back in those days though, they probably went by the book of Leviticus, which is devoted to all the evils known to be attached to women. Most likely, she would have been attended by women, or gave birth alone, while Joseph sat outside, smoking a cigarette, listening to some tunes. Thank the lord it was a boy, or all hell would have broken loose.

I'm dodging lightening bolts even as I write this. Ouch!!! A little too close for comfort that one. I just hope that everyone out there gets bundles of happiness this year for Christmas. (No, I don't mean kids!) I mean just plain old joy. It seems hard to come by these days. But if you open a box, and its in there, savor every single moment of it. We got an election staring us in the face, so joy will be hard to find. Sour grapes, accusations, mud-slinging, and lies will abound. Damn, Elections must be sponsored by the devil. Think of all the fun he has this time of year. His kind of people. Play it safe, vote Ron Paul.

My son and I, perhaps I have mentioned this a time or two, so here's three, have eschewed the traditional Christmas, and are just having a tryptophan loaded meal instead. We will then sleep for the next three days, and when we awaken, it will all be over. Next big holiday, the Super bowl. Nope, forgot New Years. Yep, the next big holiday.
















(redneck Christmas tree)


Until then, I sincerely wish each one of you a Merry, Merry Christmas, a Happy Hanuka, A moving Kwanzaa, and whatever it is that Muslims do this time of year. (Will look that up.) As for Hindu's and Buddhists, haven't a clue either. Need to brush up on my major religions of the world, huh? Anyway, Have a Blessed, blessed Day.

George

You see this picture below? On the picture, it says George. I have never met George and I probably will never see him. I have the impression that George is not around anymore. I also have the feeling that George was a made man. Don't ask me why. I have had this picture for about 16 years now. Of all the pictures I have ever owned, this one has stayed with me where ever I have gone. It's not like I wanted it to, or anything, it just has.

I was in a thrift store and looking for a suit for one of the boys about 15, 16 years ago. I found one, but after I got it home, it gave me the most horrifying feeling. It was a boys dress suit, black, in perfect condition. I love thrift stores, and for growing boys, it just made sense. In the pocket, I found this picture. I can not bring myself to throw it away. I have no idea who the guy is, where he is, or what he is. If anyone recognizes him let me know. Unless your last name is Corleone, then just disregard all of the above. :)

Anyone else have any weird superstitions about photo's? Any ghost orbs in your pictures? Any gangsters in your pictures? Excuse me, did I just say gangster? I meant business associate.

I think.

Blogged with Flock

As the poem below describes, I have decided it is time to let Travis go. It hurts. It hurts more than anything I have ever done. But, he is not of this world anymore. I can't turn him into a Saint, though I wish I could. I still try to convince myself sometimes that it was a mistake.

I saw my therapist, and we talked. We talked about this, and I could tell what she was saying made sense because her words reached my heart and gave it a good shake. It's not goodbye. It's just letting him move on, letting him rest in peace. Letting him do whatever it is we do when we die.

A passage of the bible always bewildered me. "Let the dead bury the dead." I always thought that it meant those who were dead in Christ, meaning not reborn in his name. Not recognizing him as the Messiah. Whether you do or not is not the purpose of this post. That is your decision. But that particular passage always struck me as being so cold and heartless. Of course we must revere those who have gone on before us. Left to me, there would be shrines dotting the south east for those I have lost. And of course, the biggest and brightest would be for Travis.

Maybe the bible passage also means that the world is for the living, not the dead. Their concerns are over, finished. At least on this go round. I see no reason why we can't live as many lives as is necessary for us to achieve what some call perfection or nirvana. All Jesus said was that each man (or woman...) would die. God said that back in the Garden, I think, not sure. Contrary to popular belief, I was not there. Many may think I was the serpent, but I have to pass that role onto someone else. Seems he's calling himself Legion these days. I kinda liked Lucifer myself. Or perhaps he calls himself 'evil, with a little e,' as Steve King says in many of his books. Just a way we use to downplay the Evil in the world.

I can already see the comments. I am not being sacrilegious, am I? I am just trying to understand that passage. Theologians have probably argued it for years, amongst themselves. We already have a few interpretations out there floating around for us to mull over. I doubt we'll ever understand what he really means. The full message behind those few words. But for me, I will take away the fact that life is for the living. As much as I want to, I have not been over run with lively spirits, liquid or otherwise.

Life is for the living. That should be easy to remember.

Until

Arms outstretched, reaching

upward, toward blue sky

And Sirius clouds,

She reaches out toward

Transparent hands,

Longing so much

Just to brush

The tips of his oh so distant fingers.

But still they remain

Unreachable, untouchable.

Slowly she lowers her arm,

With head bowed,

A gentle breeze caressing her face,

She releases his spirit,

Trapped so long

Within her breast.

"Goodbye" she whispers

A faint, fragile tear

Trickles down her sun-blushed

cheek. "Until..." she murmurs.

Lifting her head,

In the warmth of the sun,

She feels his smile.

Ho, Ho, Ho, Hum.......

Christmas just isn't Christmas this year. Don't ask me why. Maybe its because we have such a babboon in the white house. Maybe its because the economy is in such a mess. Maybe its because we've lost too many loved ones in the past few years. Could be all of the above.

My son and I have decided not to exchange gifts. His philosophy, and I dare anyone to argue philosophy with my son, is that why should we feed into the mindless spending and gift-giving that everyone seems to be about? The real reason, is of course, Travis. Travis who loved Christmas. Travis who always kept a Christmas tree in his own room. Travis, the healer, the go-between, the feel-good person. We miss his quiet dignity, his absolute devotion, and his spontaneous outspokenness. We miss Travis, and it just can't be Christmas if he isn't here. There are a few who understand completely why we just really deep down want to bypass the whole holiday season. Go from Thanksgiving to January 2. But, it doesn't work that way. So, we make an effort. We put up a tree, we decorate the house, and we watch the cats bat the ornaments around the house like soccer balls. If one falls off, it takes us a few days to put it back. Somehow, we just don't care.

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I don't think Dave and I are an item anymore. But I met this guy online, and he sounds wonderful. You'll never guess, but his name is Dave, too. Meaning also. Which is odd, as the last 3 men in my life have all been named Dave. Is this some kind of sign?

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I started a new job. I like it. I'll probably go back. I understand that I will actually get paid. Cool, huh?

Oh, ho ho ho hum......

Listen while I bang the drum

Of loneliness, and heartbreak, too,

And a merry freaking Christmas to you....

Ah, but cheer up lassy,

It could always be worse

You might have to read

This horrible verse.

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Think before you speak... Here are five reasons why you should think before you speak - The last one is great! Have you ever spoken and wished that you could Immediately take the words back... Or that you could crawl into a hole? Here are the Testimonials of a few people who did....

FIRST TESTIMONY: I walked into a hair salon with my husband and three kids in tow And asked loudly, "How much do you charge for a shampoo and a blow job?" I turned around and walked back out and never went back. My husband didn't say a word...
He knew better.


SECOND TESTIMONY:
I was at the golf store comparing different kinds of golf balls. I was unhappy with the women's type I had been using. After browsing for several minutes, I was approached by one of the good-looking gentlemen who works at the store. He asked if he could help me. Without thinking, I looked at him and said, "I think I like playing with men's balls"

THIRD TESTIMONY: My sister and I were at the mall and Passed by a store that sold a Variety of candy and nuts. As we were looking at the display case, The boy behind the counter asked if we needed any help. I replied, "No, I'm just looking at your nuts." My sister started to laugh hysterically The boy grinned, and I turned beet-red and walked away. To this day, My sister has never let me forget.

FORTH TESTIMONY : While in line at the bank one afternoon, My toddler decided to release Some pent-up energy and ran amok. I was finally able to grab hold of Her after receiving looks of disgust And annoyance from other patrons. I told her that if she did not start behaving "right now" she would be punished. To my horror, she looked me in the eye and said in a voice just as threatening, "If you don't let me go right now,
I will tell Grandma that I saw you Kissing Daddy's pee-pee last night!" The silence was deafening after this enlightening exchange. Even the tellers stopped what they were doing. I mustered up the last of my dignity and Walked out of the bank with my daughter in tow. The last thing I heard when the door closed behind me, were screams of laughter.

FIFTH TESTIMONY: Have you ever asked your child a question too many times? My three-year-old son had a lot of problems with potty training and I was on him constantly. One day we stopped at Taco Bell for a quick lunch, in between errands It was very busy, with a full dining room. While enjoying my taco, I smelled something funny, So of course I checked My seven-month-old daughter, she was clean. The realized that Danny Had not asked to go potty in a while. I asked him if he needed to go, And he said "No" I kept thinking "Oh Lord, that child has had an accident, and I don't have any clothes with me." Then I said, "Danny, are you SURE you didn't have an accident?" "No," he replied. I just KNEW that he must have had an accident, because the smell was getting worse. Soooooo, I asked one more time, "Danny did you have an accident ? This time he jumped up, yanked down his pants,
Bent over, spread his cheeks And yelled "SEE MOM, IT'S JUST FARTS!!"
While 30 people nearly choked to death on their tacos laughing, He calmly pulled up his pants and sat down.
An old couple made me feel better, Thanking me for the best laugh they'd ever had!

LAST BUT NOT LEAST TESTIMONY: This had most of the state of Michigan laughing for 2 days And a very embarrassed female news anchor who will, In the future, likely think before she speaks. What happens when you predict snow but don't get any! We had a female news anchor that, The day after it was supposed to have snowed and didn't, Turned to the weatherman and asked: "So Bob, where's that 8 inches you promised me last night?" Not only did HE have to leave the set, but half the crew did too they were laughing so hard! Now, didn't that feel good?

Every so often I come across something that brings tears to my eyes because of its intense beauty. You come away feeling as though you have been touched by something so unique and special it makes you feel refreshed and renewed.

This is what Brushstrokes from the Heart did for me. You do not have to read this blog for its testament to faith, but I would love it if you did. You can enjoy it for its photography, writing, and the authors talent with watercolor paintings. The paintings are worth the "trip" alone. If you visit the blog and don't like what you see, this is one time I don't want to hear about it. Keep it to yourself. If you can call yourself a grown ass person, then you can manage that.

You see, I have been refreshed and renewed and I want to stay that way.

Go, see for yourself. Now, I will get my daily dose of Wanda and be a happier person for it.

deb

Things I have said to my Cats:

• Quit wasting the toilet paper, you think that stuff grows on trees?!?
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• You will eat that, or starve, and I don't think you want to starve....
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• Quit that fighting, or one of you is getting a whoopin'....
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• Just give me a minute, please?
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• Stay out of the road, don't you know cars drive through here?!
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• Are you mama's little man?
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• Oh, its mama's baby girl?
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• Oh, is the baby sick?
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• Look, its just a short drive, and you're going to be ok, Mama's right here....
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• Look what mama got the baby.....!
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• Did him sneeze?

Why I talk to my cats like they are human is beyond knowing. Many people think I'm nuts, well, crazier than usual because I talk to my pets. I do so all all the time. It gets them used to the sound of your voice, causes them to trust that voice, and 3 times out of 10, they actually come to me when I tell them to.

I have always loved cats. My mom did not, however. Her idea of cats was full of superstition, old wives's tales. There is nothing evil about cats. They are naturally curious creatures, and excellent hunters. That's what they are. I can usually tell a great deal about someone by how my cats react to them. If you are a cat owner, then you know what i mean.

I guess I'm a died in the wool cat lover.

Right Brain vs Left Brain Creativity Test - The Art Institute of Vancouver

Right Brain vs Left Brain Creativity Test - The Art Institute of Vancouver

Take this test. I found out I am controlled by my right brain only slightly more than my left. This is not so good, and may explain why decision making can be a trial for me. On the one hand, my left brain wants to get all logical and fact-based. Then my right brain kicks in and pleads, "Lets think it over while we study as many snowflakes as we can catch.' No wonder I'm so screwed up.

See, I knew there was a good reason. As you can see the young lady and I have much in common in the picture below. We both appear to be brainless, but it's just that old right brain kicking in. Being more creative, our brains just don't appear to be working. They are, in fact, working just fine.

Untitled

I have been dating a man named David.  Sounds biblical, but its not.  Anyway, things have been going pretty good.  I did write him a note saying something to the effect that I didn't think we should be anything more than friends, and he called me out on it.  He said, "Why did you do that for?"  I don't know. I really don't.  I guess the whole idea of answering to someone else has got me freaked. Plus it doesn't seem right yet to really enjoy myself, to think about my needs first. Its hard to explain, but it just doesn't seem like I should go on with living just yet.

Well, anyhoo, here is where the rumor mill kicks in.  Last night my son brought ne'er do well, A, home with him.  I always hate it when they get together because they act like two year olds.  A came into my room to talk about something, and sat on the foot of my bed.  The next thing I know he's stretched out on the foot of my bed, staring at the ceiling fan.  One wonders what he has been smoking.

Wouldn't you know it but here's when R walks in, my neighbor, and the one who introduced me to his good and bosom buddy, David.  He sees A, mumbles something, and rushes out the door.  My son finds this sort of behavior rude.  I, myself, am used to it.  This place is like OZ sometimes, in that people come and go extremely fast.

Later in the evening, I meet up with R, who tells me A had no business stretched out on the foot of my bed.  I could have said the F.O. phrase. But I didn't, as I am an extremely nice and patient person.  (Too nice and patient  for my own good at times) I explained to R that A is like a two year old to me, while his dark eyes watched me skeptically.  I explained that we were just talking, and I was comfortable within myself that nothing inappropriate had happened.  (And secretly I'm hoping he turns it into the biggest scandal in the neighborhood, which will take a lot of work on his part, I must admit.)  Deep down inside, I don't want to have a "boyfriend".  I don't want all the hassle and bullshit that comes with the territory.  I just want some one to hang out with sometimes.  Not every damned day.  Maybe twice a week or something.

Now, I ask you, gentle readers, what's wrong with that?


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I kinda  know how this poor man feels.  You just never know what's going to happen.
Turkey problems

Personally, I would have saw it as a gift from the Gods, and caught that sucker for Christmas dinner, but when a 25lb turkey flew through this 83 year old apartment dwellers 3rd story window, he called maintenance!!  And what did they do?  They threw it back out the window.  I guess there's more than one way to kill a turkey.

Blogged with Flock

Grand excitement in the old neighborhood this evening. With sirens blaring, and bells and whistles, Santa Claus came for a visit, on a fire truck of course. I guess Santa, going down all those chimneys and such, must have met with a few mishaps. Every time he travels anywhere its always on a fire truck, at least around these parts.














What was unusual was what happened afterwards. The local fire chief drove down our street going over the fifteen mile per hour speed limit. He was in a hurry, I suppose, since he stopped and picked up a lovely young woman. What man wouldn't hurry? However, this time he was spotted by a neighbor, somewhat inebriated, but very offended by such a learned individual not obeying the rules of traffic.

As the fire chief pulled into his driveway, he was suddenly accosted by the offended neighbor. The neighbor had jumped on his bicycle immediately, to confront the wayward chief. The neighbor has no driver's license, which is probably good, as he was a little tipsy and all.

The conversation that followed made little sense to anyone listening, but basically involved the fire chief trying his best to escape, and the neighbor trying his best to keep him from doing so. One must appreciate the fact that the neighbor weighs 90 lbs. soaking wet, and stands about 5'5", while the fire chief weighs about 230, and stands close to 6'6". He must have felt he was being tormented by an angry hobbit. But, ultimately he confessed to his crime, and promised to never do it again.

One wonders if he was sincere, or just trying to shut up a drunken hobbit. Who knows? It sure was fun to watch. The hob....the neighbor later took issue with Santa, for reasons unknown. I did learn that Santa can and will engage in a bout of fisticuffs if necessary. But the words, "you think you can whip my ass, bring it on m***** f*****" does not inspire that warm fuzzy feeling we get when we usually think of ole Saint Nick.

Oh, hell, he was probably just having a bad day. Its the Christmas season after all. He's entitled.

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So there I was, stringing lights around my porch, and I forgot about the step that leads up to the front door. Walking along, stepping side ways, I guess I just disappeared to anyone watching. I fell all over the place, didn't get hurt, but the first thing I did was look up and see if anyone saw me. Now why is that?

My cat Roscoe has found a nice place to rest through the season. And it isn't even over yet.

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recent happenings

Life was starting to go smoothly, for me, again. Other than being high as a Geogia pine on my new meds, I was feeling good about things. Then Butt girl and the Demon child came for a visit. Which was fine. I had started calling Butt girl J, even when she wasn't around. The demon child and I had reached an impasse. As long as he didn't pass my house I was OK. But, then I did the one thing a true Internet junky never every does.

I let them use my computer.

I cannot say that the events I am about to unfold lie solely at their feet. But it does make one think.

The Demon child wanted to play some weird game online. Fine. Keep him out of my hair, and the cats could put down their guard somewhat. (They, of course, have discovered the box full of bones kept somewhere close to said Demon child.) And, of course, they run from kids as a general rule. As do I.



















While he punched away on my keyboard, his mother, the infamous know-it-all, (I've been a truck-driver, waitress, nurse, psychologist, president) decided to come and help him. I joined the rest of the 'crew' in the living room, having just suffered a small stroke somewhere in the thinking part of the brain.

No drama, no problems, nice evening, and when everyone went home, I got on my computer and decided to browse....actually I launched my yahoo messenger, looking for love in all the wrong places. My first inkling of disaster came when I tried to type. I typed "Hey, handsome....." and it looked like this--h48/ey han943?!!!so8m8...." OK, my fingers could have been in the wrong position. I tried again, and still kept getting h68me6y instead of hey....I then proceeded to do everything known to man to resolve this slight hitch. I figured the driver was messed up, rolled that sucker back, and nada...tried to look for software updates for my keyboard...what a disaster! You have to type to do that.

We are talking about my beloved Natural Keyboard. I hate the little skinny things that come with your computer. For me, the more ostentatious it looks and sounds, the better. Big Dolly Parton fan here.

I decided to do a system restore, which did nothing but made me download software I had already downloaded. If I could have had a computer whiz from India for a few hours or days, hint, hint, I would have been OK. But, alas, the only thing I have around here is Roger who claims to be a quarter Cherokee. We all claim to be a quarter Cherokee!!!


Rummaging through an old box, looking for a ball-peen hammer, I discovered this old keyboard. And voila`, it worked. Now, if I scrunch my fingers up real tight, I can type, and make a hundred mistakes. You must remember, that being a hillbilly, this whole process took a few days. Looking for that hammer took up most of it.

Do I know for certain that Butt girl and Demon Child had anything to do with my mishap? No, darn it. It was probably just me.

A few nights ago, said Butt girl called me at 3 am, complaining of chest pains. Yes, I run an ER out of my kitchen. I rushed down there, cigarettes in hand, just in case she was out, and ended up calling the ambulance (pronounced ammbyoooolance) and sat with Demon child till it was time to get on the bus. No easy feat, being alone in the house with mini-Dexter. But I survived, and found my original diagnosis was correct when I picked her up at the ER the next day. Gas. Lots and lots of gas. Glad she went, now.

So, I'm feeling kinda good about my acts of kindness. A friend in need is a friend indeed, and all that bullshit. Then, I checked my voice mail. A message from Butt girl. "I just woke up and I can't find my cigarettes, you don't know anything about that do you??

I can fling a mean phone.