All dressed up and somewhere to go!

Things are busy around Fortner's Folly today.  I'm doing laundry, making beef jerky and putting finishing touches on our costumes for tonight.  I'm also tending to a sick or injured bird, I'm not sure which, although I'm leaning toward injury.  My middle birdchild, a maroon bellied conure named Ahab, is acting squirrelly.  His little eyes are just not as bright as they usually are, he is letting me handle him much more than usual without biting, and he is dunking his food in water before he tries to eat it.  He seems not to be using the lower left side of his beak, though, so I'm wondering if he didn't bang it on something in flight or if maybe I gave him some blackeyed peas that were to hot the other day.  He is just very subdued for what is usually an exuberant little bird.  I don't know what else to do except keep him warm, feed him soft foods (I wet his cereal and cooked his veggies and may soak his pellets later) and chop his fruits up extra small.  Send up some happy thoughts for him if you think about it, please?

Activity is picking up next door, where the shenanigans will be happening around dark thirty.  If a certain someone or sometwo show up, it won't be a matter of IF the popo show up, it will be a matter of when.  Maybe I should start a sheet up at the bar...take bets on what time THE MAN will show up.  *snort*  All I know for sure is that the (not so) Innocent Bystander has a six pack of rapidly biodegradable toilet paper standing at the ready and a bottle of Hot Damn to give him the courage to use it.  It's going to be an interesting evening.

Now, as some of you may not know the circumstances that cause me to use the term 'the Great Black Hope' and may take it as a sign of racism, let me assure you that I am anything but.  Sure, I've been known to use the odd two from column b joke and I can talk like a sistah when it is relevant to the conversation, but I could give a rat's ass about what color someone's skin is in if they live in this country legally, speak the language, abide by the law (for the most part, anyway) and pay their taxes.  I ran across this at Plungergirl's site and thought I'd repost it here, because I think this angry young MAN has something to say.  Ya'll have a safe and happy Halloween.

The Pits

I can take the wrinkles.  I can take the boobies that I could tie behind my ears.  I can take the Davis jowls that are beginning to show.  I can take the hot flashes and the mood swings and the fooking boar hairs that I have to dig out from between my chins on a weekly basis.  I can take the snow white poobic hairs that sparkle amongst the once all dark curly ones.  These are all proof that I've lived in this body.

But can someone please tell me WHY THE FORK I have to, at the ripe old age of almost 47, walk around with Mount Vesuvius erupting from my forehead?  It wouldn't be so bad if I wasn't compelled to poke it and mash it and pinch it and squeeze it until I look like I have some sort of weird gnarly bloody GRAPE stuck above my left eye.  ^shrug^  Maybe I can incorporate it into a Halloween costume.  My new embryonic siamese twin or something.  Any suggestions?

Trying something new

I am so excited, ya'll.  I have been invited to be a contributor to Ornery Woman which is a HUGE honor to me.  Today was my inaugural post.

Well, the Innocent Bystander just went and cast his absentee vote as he leaves for the Fatherland on election day.  I really fear he has gone the final step in declaring himself a 'brothah' by voting for Obama and making himself a true African American.  He won't tell me who he voted for, but I really think we are cancelling each other's votes out this year.  I just can't jump on THAT bandwagon.  And I may just be writing in PlungerGirl as my candidate of choice.  *snicker*

Oh.  Did I tell you that we have a new rule in our house?  We (if by we you mean numbnutz over there) are no longer allowed to fix the toilet with a hammer.  We are also not allowed to install lights in rooms that have no working on/off switch.  Thank the Big Baboo that we discovered there was no way to turn off our purdy new light in the SOBER light of day, cuz that could have been a real Keystone Kops scene as we were trying to put the birds to bed after a hard night of drinking. 

Now he is fixing to install some blinds, so I am going to cut this short as I sense impending disaster as the flat screen TV is right in front of the window in which he is planning to put them.  Not to mention the feather shower that is likely to ensue.  I'll see ya'll tomorrow.  After I have my cheese buger hot dog shake.

Byebye, Boobielicious, Byebye

The whole weekend was huge fun.

The pork roasts and blackeyed peas were a huge success.  We did a little meals on wheels thing for a few of the older folks around here who don't get out much then hauled all the grub up to the Shingle Mill and invited any and all to dig in.  One guy enjoyed it so much he went back at least four times and came back with a heaping plate each time-the last thing I saw him eat was a blackeyed pea SANDWICH (I had also made some homemade bread to sop up all that porky goodness).  Does my heart good to see people really enjoy something I cooked.  Kinda like blogging, eh?

We did NOT win the roll a day, but there is always today.  One of our neighbors did roll four of a kind, so he won ten percent of the pot, so it needs to get built back up before I win it anyway.

The Shingle Mill is a very family oriented bar, if there is such a thing.  We have a lot of potlucks and a benefit once or twice a year, and all throughout the fall they run a turkey shoot.  The prizes for the turkey shoot vary-sometimes you win a roast, or some steaks or a cut up chicken.  One guy said he won one time and got a side of bacon that had a little whang to it, as he called it, so I'm not exactly lining up for my turn to shoot.  (Besides, they won't let me shoot my own damn gun.)  *bitch slaps self* Get back to your point, derf.  Ah yes.  The Mill is more of a community gathering place than it is a bar (and it is a beer bar-they don't serve liquor).  There is a boat launch and they sell bait and such, so children are allowed inside until about 7 in the evenings.  It has been interesting over the last few years to watch as little boys playing pool with their daddies turn into lanky young men drinking their first beers flirting with the (ohmygoddess they were just BABIES the last time I saw them and when did they get TITS???) little chicks from up the street who used to ride their bikes past the house.  There are sometimes three and four generations from the same family in there at the same time.  Yesterday was one of those days.  

I was sitting next to this little grandmotherly type we all call Mawmaw and she was talking about her little dog.  I've been jonesing for some puppy lovage for awhile now, but the Innocent Bystander has put the kibosh on that for now, so I wasn't paying that much attention to what she was saying-until she started talking about how tiny her dogs TWAT was.  THAT got my attention.  She kept sticking her pinkie in my face and showing me just how little she imagines it is.  (I sure hope she imagines it and isn't really giving her dog a finger wag!)  As I looked at the puddle of beer on the bar that had just shot out of my nose, I decided it was time to eat, so I got up to fix a plate.

When I got back to my seat, she looked at me kind of funny and said "I think you have something on your pants."  I got up so she could see and she said "Yeah, you do" and I looked down at my barstool and thought "Gross, that looks like shit."  Then I realized that it not only looked like shit, it smeared like shit, and SMELLED like shit.  OH SHIT.  It's SHIT.  So then I look around to try to figure out which of these motherfuckers put shit on my barstool and my eyes drifted down to the floor where I saw that my sandal was caked in shit.  I WAS THE MOTHERFUCKER.  I have this bad habit of sitting on my feet ( I told you ya can't take me out) and I had not only gotten shit on the chair, I had GROUND it into my shorts, so I had to make a run back to the houseboat to change clothes.  You can slave over a really great meal, but no one's going to want to eat something that Miss Shitty Britches cooked.

After I changed, I grabbed what was left of the rum from the last daiquiri batch the Purv made for me and walked back up to the bar.  I had learned earlier in the evening that it was to be Boobielicious's last night working up there.  She doesn't drink beer, so I figured she could at least have a drink or two when she got off, if nothing else.  Hah!  Nope.  This girl got game, dudes.  She opened a bottle of Gatorade, poured some out, and topped it off with the rum.  *shudder*  I can't drink Gatorade straight.  As the evening wore on, I asked her why she was quitting.  She looked at me and then she said something that got EVERYONE'S attention.  She said "Let's dance".

So we did.  And I'm going to tell you something.  The girl ain't just got game, or tits, she's also got brains.  I think I've found my third wyfe.  I mean, there's always room for more in my world of wyves, the Purv (who stands in a class all by herself), the Innocent Bystander and my bitches (of whom sadly only two really remain, the Blonde One and the Serious One with the squishy bra).  What's an extra wyfe between friends, right?  As much as I play up the boobage factor, she does not make any effort up there to 'work it' if you get my drift.  She seldom wears makeup, and other than the titty shirts (which I love as much as the next guy) she is not doing anything to get those tip jars full.  Her heart just isn't in it.  She is unhappy at home and at work and I just wish I could wave my magic wand and do something to help her.  She was married to an ortho doctor (small world, eh?) for several years and seems smart as a whip, but she seems to need someone to give her some enthusiasm or a SHOVE or something to get her to realize her potential.  She says (and yes, the ethical blogger did ask for permission to write about her this time) that she and her husband are kind of leading separate lives and she's just TIRED.  I'm wondering if she doesn't need to be checked out for depression or a vitamin deficiency or something.  In any case, we danced our dance as the guys followed with their eyes and talked and...I don't know...BONDED, I guess you'd call it.  So.  Now I have a new bfffl.  My stable is growing!

We left pretty early and came home so I could wash out my poopy drawers from earlier and because we had to get up early this morning to take El Juevo back to mom's for school this week.  We have some running around to do as it is the IB's last week home.  He has to take some staples with him to Nigeria as they don't have much in the way of 'oyibo' food and he's not particularly adventuresome in the culinary department.  He also has many "one small things" to buy, and we still haven't received his passport back from the Nigerian embassy (despite his sixty dollar flower delivery, no less-the bastards!) so we are probably going to spend Halloween week as headless chickens (get it?  running around like chickens with our heads cut off?  oh, nevermind).  Posts may run later in the afternoon this week.  Depends on his nap SCHEDULE.

Have a wonderful day.

Oh.  And guys?  I think they ARE real.

Bits and pieces

Let me start out today by apologizing for yesterday's lame post.  From now on, if I'm not feeling it, I will take a fooking day off instead of forcing it.  Life is too short to drink warm beer or to fake it. (Blogging, anyway...sometimes in bed life is too short NOT to fake it, yaknowwhatahmsayin'?)

We had fun yesterday.  I did make both a homemade chicken pot pie and an apple pie.  The pot pie was very good.  The apple pie tasted okay, but I baked it a wee bit too long so it was more like a thick applesauce pie.  At least I TRIED to fulfill his food fantasy.

When I went to the house to shower yesterday, there was a new recycling bin in the yard with instructions as to what they want recycled and the pickup schedule.  I looked over the list.  Magazines and newspapers.  Check.  Plastic bottles and milk jugs.  Check.  Brown, green and clear glass.  Chec...Hey!  Wait just a forking minute!  BROWN GLASS???  As in BEER BOTTLES?  Oh, and get this.  You're supposed to RINSE them out before you recycle them.  Let me get this straight.  They want me to not only place the evidence of my drunken debauchery in an open container for all my neighbors to count AND you want me to fooking WASH THEM OUT first?  Is not the clinking and clashing of the garbage can as the bags full of bottles shatter against each other not punishment and humiliation enough???

El Juevo called me yesterday and told me to go to the Sun Herald's website.  Their headline story was about one of the reporters from our local television station (who the Innocent Bystander thinks is a hottie) being arrested for cocaine possession.  I was telling the IB about it and about how I figured we could now look forward to a series chronicling her upcoming stint in rehab.  He thought about it for a minute and he said "We could put up a jar for her at the Shingle Mill and then I can go put money on her canteen card!"  *rolls eyes*

We did go up to the Mill yesterday evening to roll the dice.  The roll-a-day is up to $700 and then some.  My ads don't get clicked much so the money is not rolling in HERE, so a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do to make a buck.  And the IB pays for me rolling, so what have I got to lose?  We didn't win, but there is always today.  There.  Maybe by writing it I'll make it happen like that time I made the grass cut itself.  Heh.  Anyway, we sat there for awhile until the talk turned political.  At a certain point in political conversations around HERE, someone always has to start throwing around the "n" word, which always pisses me off, at which point I lean over and tell the IB that I'm ready to leave.  As we are walking back up the dirt road that leads to the houseboat, he looks at me and tenderly says "We ought to adopt us a little black kid.  Then nobody up there will feel comfortable saying that."  He's really a thoughtful guy, isn't he?

When we got back here, he went out and lit all the candles and tiki torches (yes, we are cliche rednecks) and I made a fire in the little fire pit that the Purv gave me a couple of weeks ago.  (MANY THANKS!!! It works great!)  He got very creative yesterday in the spirit of recycling, so he hung that hideous chandelier out in a tree and we put candles in the bulb sockets and it turned out to look...not so bad!

Today, he's been busy taking down a ceiling fan and installing a new light fixture-and no electrocuting himself this time.  He's getting the remote control boats ready to play with and I am busy cooking three, count'em three, pork roasts, blackeyed peas, rice and corn, and Clay is making some cornbread.  I don't know if anyone else is making anything or not, but it is going to be a community meal night around here, so iffin ya'll are hungry, come on down.  We got plenty!  

Have a safe and pleasant Sunday!

  

Goobers R' Us

The Innocent Bystander is a list maker.  He has lists of his lists.  Last night we were sitting on the porch drinking a few (everything is relative, dudes) beers and he decided to make a list as we were discussing our plans for the weekend.  This is his list of things we are supposed to be doing and eating this weekend:

kat food  mm             duck food   water    HB pictures

cokes         bleech          jerky   get rid of deck boxes

cut wings            aunt poison       jerry lees           chain

double plug       candles           plants          2 more valves

chandelier holder     windex       passport   hum bird juice

l. room light

new LR light   zigzags  blacklight blubs

check camper fridge  costume 101 Dalmations

stool for deck table   paper bag for costume

take down ceiling fan  roaster/2 roast

cable clamps for deck

Now we go to page two which looks like he was trying to get more organized:

Walmart                                                Lowes

nemo toy                                        nemo rope/manilla

new ghost                                       chain

dog&cat food                                  living room light

candles                                             deck cable clamps

black light blub   2 valves

bleech water                                   stool

double plug                                     aunt poison

windex                                             plants

green sticks                                    blinds 4'x6'

hum bird juice                          chandelier holder

roast/pork/sides pens

waffle stuff-apple pie

get len's telescope  shed lock/eyebolt & chain

pieshells mixed veg

cut wings                                       (101 dalmations paper bag)

get rid of deck boxes

take down fan

roaster                                           ride bikes/play catch

HB Pictures

jerky                           Passport

vote

Page three:

4 lobsters    Tues & vote

e

grilled stuff                Wed & potatoe salad (Boy channels Dan Quayle when drinking)

Pizza Hut lunch Thur

Pot PIE and apple pie

subway filly cheeze stake

**make waffles/waffle iron/pecans

nacho's - Sunday

steak sandwiches or po boy

better beans

black eyed peas w/the pork roast

rolls for roast/clay cornbread

bubble wrap

apple pie today & pot pie

And I thought I was the writer around here.  Heh.          

Funky Friday

It is a gloomy day and I've been in a funk, so I put off writing lest I say something I regret.  Suffice it to say, I am going to shake this off and not let someone steal my joy.  But I am going to keep this one short and sweet.  This is the difference between the Innocent Bystander and me.

We were sitting around the houseboat last night after dinner.  I'm sitting over here re-reading blogs that I'd found snot slinging hilarious the night before to see if they still were when I was sober.  He was sitting on the couch trying to put together a mix of songs for a neighborhood Halloween party that will be happening next week.

I reread one that was focused on dead baby jokes and started laughing out loud, thinking "yep, just as funny today" so I started reading one out loud to whatshisname.  He looked at me very seriously and said "I do NOT think that is funny."  I started to read him another one thinking maybe he just didn't get it and he glared at me and said "I TOLD you, I DON'T find that funny!"

I went back to reading to myself and he suddenly turned the sound up and said "Listen to this!" and he's laughing his ass off.  I turned to listen, and he is playing some of the NASTIEST sounding chit I've ever heard.  "Creepy Halloween Fart Music, Volume Three"  He sits there giggling and listening to several cuts and says "I like volume four better than volume seven".

I like dead baby jokes.  I'm twisted like that.  I always liked Helen Keller jokes too, so shoot me.  But a symphony of very moist sounding textured farts set to music?  *shakes head*  Not my bag.

All quacked up and no place to go

These plucking quackheads.  They literally quack me up, every morning at the quack of dawn.  Right outside my bedroom window, they call for the Innocent Bystander to get the flock out there to feed them.  Don't they know that quack is whack?

Okay.  Mo' betterer now.  *sips coffee*

Yesterday was a very good day.  The IB's wire transfer came in, so we got to make that long anticipated trip to the bank to *DRUM ROLL PLEASE* pay off the house.  Now the only two things we have that are not paid for are the boat and the camper.  If worse comes to worse, they can have those back, and we will still always have a place to live.  What a feeling of peace!

While I did some chores around the houseboat, the IB went to the house and bleached it and broke a pipe in the process, so he went to Lowes to get some PVC to fix it.  When he got back, I got confirmation that he does, in fact, read my blog, for there in the bag he brought in was a light fixture to replace that forking chandelier.  He really does love me!

On the way to the play, we went by Circuit City and picked him up a little mortgage burning present-his long dreamed of set of Bose speakers which he's been farting around with all morning.  (And may I suggest, dude, that when you go outside at quack-thirty to play with said speakers full blast that you play COUNTRY music?  I mean, I don't want someone to take you OUT and I don't think most folks around here appreciate Stevie Wonder like you and I do.  Just a thought.)

The play.  Oh, my.  El Juevo (and YES I KNOW IT IS SPELLED HUEVO BUT THAT IS NOT HOW WE SPELL HIS NAME) did just fine and dandy (his character actually was a dandy!) and we had no seizure problems at all.  The play itself, and this is just my opinion, was a pain in the arse to watch.  The characters were supposed to be speaking in an Irish brogue, which was kind of hard for some of these little southerners to master, so you really had to concentrate on translating what they were saying to keep up with the plot.  But there was one rather Reubenesque young lady who was playing a shall we say 'simple' girl, and when she started dancing around the room, I almost came unglued.  I'm sitting there with my mom, the Purv, and the IB and when she started twirling around and her skirt lifted up around her EARS, all I could think of was the skirt to my sex costume from a couple of weeks ago.  And then I had to wait for her to twirl around again before I could determine whether or not she in fact HAD ON ANY KNICKERS.  At this point, I think the IB had already started snoring, so I don't think he noticed, but Mom and the Purv know how my mind works and they are watching me try to hold it together with my shoulders shaking and tears and snot streaming down my face, choking back the snorts, which got the two of them started.  Then toward the end she brings out this bloody damn rooster that lays on the stage for the rest of the play and while they are droning on onstage I'm thinking about the fact that there is a stiff bloody COCK just laying there.  All in all it went very well.  And I have no problem with the fact that my son is more comfortable wearing makeup than I am.

P.S.  Dude-I'm sorry I intimated that you were going to get some yesterday and then didn't come through.  I just couldn't get the image of (potentially) flapping labia and those pearly white thighs and that bloody damn chicken out of my head, and I didn't want to hurt your feelers if I burst out laughing whilst we were doing it.  I hope this morning kinda made up for it.  I know you buttered my biscuit!

This one stars the Egg.

The Egg.  El Juevo.  Owlix.  Owl.  Jabroni.  Alex.

My son is special.  Not necessarily helmet special, but sometimes it's close.  He has a certain naive gumpish quality about him sometimes and I'm not being mean when I say the word savant has slipped into my brain on more than one occasion.

His was a traumatic birth.  I won't go into details because there may be one of you who is knocked up and you really don't need to be hearin' about chit like that because everything is going to be HUNKY DORY for joo, darlin'.  Suffice it to say that it was no day at the beach for me, and it has been a battle for him from the start.  But my boy's a fighter.

As a result of oxygen deprivation, he had severe damage to the right side of his brain which left him with left hemiparesis, a form of cerebral palsy that causes him to limp a little bit and makes his left hand draw up.  It has atrophied to the point where it is almost backwards in its positioning.  He has no fine motor skills on that side at all, although he does have some sensation and uses that arm as a 'helper'.  At around age 7, he also started having seizures.  Not grand mal seizures, but they are bad enough to be disruptive as he tends to lose track of where he is and what he is doing when he has one.  He'll look at me and say "It's happening" and he can talk through them, but when they are over he's just spacey.  Two years ago, though, he had a grand mal seizure.

He started 'school' as an infant with physical therapy, speech therapy, and a program called PEEP (Prompt Early Enrichment Program), then a spent few years at the Harrison County Center for Exceptional Children, then Head Start and then he was mainstreamed.  He didn't play with toys much as a kid-he was more likely to sit in his room and play school all by himself.  He would play all the parts of teacher, students, principal-all with different voices and mannerisms.  I would stand outside his bedroom door eavesdropping, just entranced.  He liked shows like Flipper and Lassie and "Michelle" but was never really into cartoons.  About the same time he started having seizures he discovered wrestling.  This child who struggled so hard with school was suddenly an expert on all things WWF.  He memorized every statistic on every wrestler he saw on TV and in every magazine he could get his hands on.  Suddenly his reading comprehension improved, so we let him roll with it.  

When he started high school, one of his special ed teachers and the basketball coach got together and decided to try him out as the team videographer which seemed to bring him out of his shell.  Being part of the team seemed to open him up somehow, and he began to make some friends.  They also encouraged him to take drama, and that has become his passion.  He acted in every school play from that point on.  He also joined a teen community theater organization called Acting Anonymous that went around to nursing homes, retirement communities and hospitals putting on plays, doing readings, and clowning.  (It was during one of their productions of "Thriller" when he got overheated while performing that he had the grand mal seizure.) He has been in every children's theater production that Center Stage in Biloxi put on for about four years.  He loves anything to do with theater and film production.  But we live in Moss Point, and it got to be a real ordeal with me having to drive back and forth every day for rehearsals as he can't drive because of the seizures.  So I said no more.

He spent the next year basically on the couch at the little house up the road.  Because he was in the special ed program when he graduated high school he did not get a diploma-he got a certificate of attendance which was basically worthless as the community college he got a scholarship to (yes!  to be the basketball team videographer!) required a diploma or a GED to enroll.  So he worked his butt off and after four attempts finally got his GED.  Too late for the scholarship, but not too late for my mama.  (Ok to insert a ya mama joke here, Purv.)  My mama decided this year to get my boy off that couch so she has taken him under her wing and enrolled both herself and Alex in the community college close to her home.  She is taking a design class and he is taking Fundamentals of Acting and Theater Appreciation.  One of the requirements for his classes was that he audition for the school plays, and he won roles in both the fall play and the one they will put on closer to the winter holidays.  Tonight is his opening night.

So-anyone out there in the area that doesn't have plans one night this week is encouraged to come see mah baby in his college theater debut in the role of Gerry in "Dancing at Lughnasa".   I'll be the one there whispering under her breath "Run, Forrest, run."

Home is where the WHAT is?

Ahhh. Home sweet home.

After a week in the camper with the Innocent Bystander and 3 parrots, this place seems HUGE. And it is so BRIGHT in here. The campground we stayed at was beautiful, full of these great towering pines and big sprawling oaks that the squirrels rushed around in collecting last minute acorns. But all those trees coupled with our electrical problems (and yes, closed blinds for all that hot monkey lovin' we're so prone to spontaneously engage in) made for a very dark and dreary atmosphere in our little nest o' feathers n' poop. The IB and I make the best of it, but it has to be hard on the birdies, as they are used to our nice sunny picture window and sliding glass door overlooking the river. I can stretch here and not touch anything (*grumbles* except that fucking chandelier). I don't have to scale a mountain to get to the bathroom in the middle of the night. And it sure is nice to be able to take a crap in my own terlet with my little dugout and a cup of coffee and a good book without having to worry about anyone banging on the closed and locked so yes it's fucking occupied door. Sweet.

And speaking of sweet and home-can I get a HELL YEAH for exhausted sex? There has always been something special to me about coming home from a camping trip all tired and sore and too worn out to unpack. We fall into bed and almost as an afterthought just kind of melt together. It may be what seems like hours of long, languorous stroking and touching and tasting, but is usually more like six pokes and a squirt-and sometimes that is all you need. I'm all for gymnastics and sex helmets and trying something new now and then, but I am also just fine with two minutes of just getting down to BUSINESS, BOY.

And may I just say, for the record-blogging can really spice up the ole sex life. I think it may be that the Innocent Bystander is more aware of just how often I actually think about sex and just how nastay his wifely person actually is, but we really seem to be getting jiggy with it quite a bit more this hitch than we have lately. In fact, he even turned me down three times on this trip-once at a gas pump in Auburn, Alabama (what?? we were in a CAMPER-who'da known for SURE, now, really?) once at the High Museum of Art in Atlanta (nice big private bathroom) and once at the campground bath house-not even to save time showering! I'd best shut up now-I'm going to end up hexing myself.

See ya'll tomorrow-I'm going to go enjoy this BEAUTIFUL day! Hope you do too!

Almost can't call it a Monday quickie.

While sitting at the Marietta Airshow watching the planes and the people, the Innocent Bystander made an interesting and perhaps very telling observation.  There were people everywhere, all set up as their own little islands in the grass.  There were groups of every description-families with small children, some leathered out bikers, enterprising little girls set up selling candy bars and cokes and hot dogs and such for a buck a pop, a patch of teens here and there with metal poking out of their lips and eyebrows and holes in their ears you could poke a carrot through and you know they are just as insecure as you were at that age even though they now make you feel uncomfortable like are they casing you out, and  there's a guy here and there in military dress who for one reason or another did not go on base to watch the show.  What the IB noticed, though, was the fact that so many of the little groups were decked out in either Georgia Bulldog gear or Alabama Roll Tide paraphernalia.

His observation?  In our little piece of Dixie, at occasions such as this, we are just as decked out.  We have the flags, and the ice chests, the umbrellas and shirts and drink huggers and grills.  We have the lap blankets, and paper plates and cups and napkins that match.  We support our teams, yes.  And at Mardi Gras, the holiest of holy drinking seasons, we change it all out for purple, green and yellow.  But down here in the deep south?  The teams we support are Budweiser, Miller Light, and Coors-for the pussies.  That's the kind of team spirit you'll see at parades and public gatherings around our neck of the woods.

I've got the jimmy legs

I have done it sitting down, standing up, on my back and on my hands and knees.  I have been flipped, flopped, tossed, twirled and corkscrewed, and I never had to take my panties off.  I have been roller coastered!

We spent all day yesterday at Six Flags and had a blast.  Unfortunately, at this time of the year, the park is only open on weekends from late Friday through Sunday, so Saturday was crowded.  It was beautiful weather-a cold front pushed the rain on through, and it was clear and cool all day.  Lucky thing, as we spent at least an hour in line for almost every ride we chose.  That was kind of okay with me, though-between the mountain hike Thursday evening and all of the other walking we'd been doing, my legs appreciated the rest between rides-it is a great collection of rides, but folks, I live in an area where the highest elevation in our area is probably a pile of leaves in our backyard-Mississippi is flat out FLAT.  And Six Flags is anything BUT flat.  If I could hang out here for a month, my legs would look as good as any UPS man's out there.  As it stands, they look more like the Pillsbury dough boy's, and performed about as well as I'd expect his would have.

We rode almost all of the big roller coasters that day, with the exception of the American Scream Machine (it is made of wood, and I am just not that fond of them, and we had to prioritize-it didn't make the cut) and the Georgia Scorcher (we got to it at the end of the day and there was a 90 minute wait and that just wasn't going to happen at that point).  Almost every ride either met or exceeded our expectations and we only got to hit 7 of them the first day, so we decided to go back this morning.  (We purchased season passes as they are good for the rest of this season and ALL of next year, and were only $10 more than a day pass-going back today payed for them already.)  Evidently Sundays are much slower than Saturdays, because we were there at opening time (I was actually the first one in the park!) and by 1pm we had done everything we wanted to do PLUS I got to ride the Acrophobia ride twice by myself (the Innocent Bystander is a PUSSY) and we both rode the Georgia Scorcher twice-there just weren't any lines to speak of at all.  It was a blast.  I guess I got the gene from my paternal grandfather and my Uncle Don-if memory serves, they were always big roller coaster fans.

We came back to the camper and realized that we had timed it perfectly to make the Marietta Air Show, so we packed a small ice chest an a couple of chairs and headed up the road about a mile.  For a fee, we were able to park right at the end of the runway and watch the funny planes and the Thunderbirds with a perfectly unobstructed view.  It was absolutely perfect.  After dinner and a shower, we are now back at the motor home and it is beer thirty, so I am going to cut this short.  We will be leaving in the morning, and I think we are going to road warrior it and make the whole trip tomorrow instead of breaking it up into two legs like we did coming up.  We don't have scads to do when we get home, so hopefully I will be back to business as usual and posting half assed regularly.  But it was nice to put my brain on hold for awhile and fully enjoy my time with the IB.  And I do mean fully.

Things to do while the beer gets cold.

We had daylight left when we finished getting checked in and set up yesterday, so we ventured out to see what we could get into.  The Innocent Bystander had picked himself up a bottle of Jim Beam on the way down, so I tried to get him to stop and pick me up a bottle of citrus vodka so I could get a Sonic Slush to mix with it.  He refused on the grounds that this would be "a violation of our fast food system."  Icehole.

Instead, we headed over to Walgreens to pick up my xanax prescription.  Since I was not in their computer system, they had not yet filled the Rx, so we had about 30 minutes to kill, which was fine as we wanted to find some little battery operated lamps in case the power decided to wonk out on us again.  We (if by we you mean HE since I was sitting on my arse reading magazines) searched up and down, but the best we could find was a couple of flashlights, so we got those instead.  When we got out of there, we decided to head over to Kennessaw Mountain National Battlefield since the IB had never (wtf?!?) been to a battlefield.  Seeing as battlefields are pretty much just fields once the battle is all over, there was nothing much to see, so we decided to drive up the scenic mountain road.  We got halfway up the mountain and discovered that to get to the top where the cannon was that the whole battle was based on you had to hike between half a mile and a mile, so we hopped out and up we went.  It was SO nice up there-you could feel the air get cooler and cooler the higher we got, but I felt like I'd been blowing up balloons by the time we reached the summit.  The view was absolutely spectacular, but I don't know how on earth they got that cannon up the mountain with no path or electricity or machinery or anything.  Ya gotta wanna, I rectom.  In any case, the hike down was much easier than the hike up had been!

We left there and got some dinner at a place up the road called the Marietta Diner, which had a very extensive menu with everything from classic American fare to Italian to Greek-usually I worry about places like that, as they tend to serve prepackaged reheated frozen food rather than actually cooking, but this was not the case here.  The food was fresh and plentiful and the waitstaff was friendly and fun-we really had a good time.

We came back to the camper to drink beer, watch tv and hang out for awhile before we went to bed.  I was going through my reader catching up on blogs and got up to go pee.  When I came back, there was a black box, about 6-8 inches long sitting on the engine cover close to where I sit.  "OH CHIT" I thought.  "What anniversary or holiday have I forgotten?  How am I going to tell him I forgot and don't have anything for him?"  We sat there for awhile and I mentally flipped through the calendar and couldn't come up with anything so I decided to play it cool and just went back to my blogs.  A few minutes later, he said "Baby, would you hand me that little box by your foot?"  My heart leapt.  "Here it comes," I thought.  He turned to me, opened it, and held it out.  I looked down, my heart pounding in anticipation.

It was one of those fooking FLASHLIGHTS.  How romantic.  

When I finished laughing enough to explain what had gone through my head, he felt really bad that I had gotten my hopes up, so he promised to buy me something shiny soon.  I hope he knows he doesn't have to do that.  *bats eyelashes*

Since I had thought to pick up some melatonin and Excedrin migraine while I was at Walgreens, we slept pretty well most of the night.  It is not so much that the bed itself is uncomfortable, but Paul Bunyan over there is 6'4" and the bed is full sized, so he sleeps diagonally.  Wouldn't be a problem if my arms were detachable.  And maybe my legs.  And boobs. ^shrug^

We got up to the predicted rain, so we took our time getting out to the embassy.  The last time the IB's relief captain had to come do the paperwork shuffle, they had all of his stuff ready, but because he had thrown a fit with them on the phone about his missing passport (which had somehow become separated from his other paperwork, but by FedEx, not the embassy) they refused to give him his passport and visa unless he wrote them a letter of apology exonerating them from all blame, so we were prepared to have to jump through hoops to get the IB's stuff taken care of.  We got there and asked for our contact person, Miss Helen, who came to the door.  When we introduced ourselves, she threw open the door and came out and shook IB's hand and hugged my neck like we were old friends.  (We have had to do this all every time he's gone to Nigeria, so we have spent a great deal of time on the phone with her.)  She looked over his paperwork, said everything looked fine, and that they would mail his passport sometime next week, so it all went unexpectedly smoothly.  We stopped on our way out at the first florist we passed and sent her a dozen roses for all her help. 

We decided we would ride over to Stone Mountain just to see what all that entailed, but the rain and fog were so bad you could barely see the carving on the mountain and everything else looked too lame to attempt in the rain with no bumpershoots, so we decided we would blow that off and head over to the High Museum of Art in downtown Atlanta.  They were having an exhibit from the Louvre in addition to their regular exhibits, so we got an extra added bonus.  They even had one Vermeer, who is one of both of our favorite artists although it was not what I consider one of his better paintings.  Whatshisname was a bit disappointed though, as he thought they would have at least one or two Rembrandts and they didn't.  Poor baby.  Guess he'll just have to take me back to the Rijksmuseum and he can see all of them he wants to, right?

We came back to the camper to check on the birds and managed to work in a little 'afternoon delight'  (wink wink nudge nudge), then showered and went out for some dinner.  Now we are back and the beer is cold, so I am fixing to pop a top and sit back and catch back up on what some of you are up to.  Tomorrow is Six Flags day, so I'm sure I'll have something MUCH more fun to catch you up on when we get back tomorrow evening.  Until then, be safe!

SNAFU Part Deaux

We got a good start yesterday and had a pretty much uneventful trip.  One thing we did notice as soon as we passed Mobile heading north on I65 is that there are far fewer billboards on the north-south route than there are going east-west on I10.  We did not have reservations anywhere for last night as we weren't sure where we were going to stop, and I was really planning on relying on billboards to find a campground.  We finally found one at the Auburn exit.  It was very convenient to the interstate, and had adequate restroom/shower facilities which is all we really require.  What it did not have was wifi, so I had to rely on my IPhone to check my email.  I have hell typing on it, though, so I figured I'd spare ya'll a butchered post.

We got all set up and took turns going to shower.  When I left, all was well.  When I got back however, it was a different story.  

I know how glamorous *SNORT* this jetset lifestyle we lead may seem, but let me set you straight.  We decided several years ago that it did not make sense to wait until you were dying to live as though you were.  We don't want more stuff, we want the things we CAN take with us-memories.  We decided to do as much traveling and living as we can while our bodies are still capable of hiking up mountain trails and Dutch stairwells.  So while our neighbors think of us as "having all that money you got" we really don't-but we have very rich lives.  Yes, we travel a lot, and yes, we have a camper, but most of those trips overseas are one of the benefits of IB's job-lots of frequent flyer miles when you work places like Trinidad, Venezuela, the Bahamas and Nigeria.  And the camper is pretty and shiny on the outside, but we bought it used and got a really good deal on it.  We have had it for less than a year, but it has served us well.  Last night, though, we started having electrical problems.  Seems that the battery was being drained by our lights and the fridge, although those things are supposed to work on electricity.  We have had battery problems before-in fact, this one that we were FORKING with all freaking night was brand new.  Being the once bitten twice shy types that we are, we had even brought a spare (although NO OF COURSE WE DIDN'T BRING BATTERY TERMINALS TO FIT).  In any case, IB spent all night running out to check the battery, trying this, trying that and coming back in to quiz me on how much the lights dimmed THAT time.  By this point, my IPhone was practically dead from me googling campsites earlier and checking my mail incessantly all night.  So I asked him to plug it in to charge it.  Have I mentioned that this phone has had an MRI?  (It said everything was normal-heh.)  Well, he goes back there to plug it into the charger and somehow he managed to get a belt caught between the charger and the electrical socket.  The little METAL part of the belt that goes into the little holes?  You think I shoot sparks?  You should have seen HIM fly across the camper like a mule had just kicked him in the twig and giggleberries.  

In any case, he was okay, and miraculously so was the phone, considering that it has now had an MRI and been electrocuted.  No major damage other than his pride as I pointed and laughed at his arse.  And of course the breaker that he blew.  

When he finally came inside for good, I had already gone to bed as I was tired of sitting in the dark by myself.  I was waiting for him too, as I figured this fell under the "if we pay for a bed, we are going to do our best to leave DNA in it" principle.  He acted all surprised, but he did not turn me down, and I actually did a little of the work for a change.  And may I just say that, DUDE.  You really nailed it in SO MANY ways-all of them good.  I'd give you a ten, but I had to shave off a few tenths of a point for the wobbly dismount.  Keep up the good work, and we can keep doing THAT for a LOOONG time to come, so to speak.  (And I'm sure the neighbors enjoyed the show too since we are too lazy to level this love shack on wheels-with a combined weight of about 400 lbs swinging from the a/c vents and banging against the aluminum window blinds I'm sure this baby was rockin' and ROLLIN'.)  The rest of the night was a disaster, though, since I had to climb Mt. Innocent Bystander every time I wanted to get up to pee.  *shakes head*

This morning, I was reading back through some comments (on the trusty IPhone) with suggestions for Six Flags and got to one mentioning the possibility of migraines associated with roller coasters, and I realized that I have forgotten both my migraine medicine AND my xanax.  No way in hell I can survive what will hopefully be two fun filled days (we may spend a day over at Stone Mountain as well as doing Six Flags) riding roller coasters without knowing I have one of momma's little helpers in my pocket in case of a panic attack.  Fortunately, I have some people in my life I would eat glass for, though, and one of them, my second wyfe, got her Doctor Wonderful soon to be husband to call me a few in, which we are going to go pick up as soon as the IB gets back from picking up the rental car.

He's being really good about giving me time to write, but tomorrow we deal with the embassy, so I may be posting late, if at all.  I'll fill you in on how that goes next time.

~~~waves~~~

Situation Normal...All Farked Up

Well, as usual, there is a fly in the ointment. It seems that the Innocent Bystander's paperwork was not 'fresh' enough for the Nigerians. Time will soon become an issue since he is due to return to work on Nov. 4th, so he has decided we are taking this bull by the horns and taking care of this chit in person, which means our plans have changed. Instead of heading up through Tennessee, we are heading over to Hotlanta instead, and will substitute a trip to Six Flags for our proposed visit to Graceland. Personally, I would much rather be howling with exhilaration on a roller coaster than looking at blue suede shoes anyway, so this is no great loss. It was a pain in the fanny, though, as he had to spend the bulk of yesterday running around making 'fresh' copies of licenses, getting things notarized/legalized, getting police reports and such.

So now the plan is to leave this afternoon and make it to somewhere around Montgomery before we stop for the night, then finish the driving Thursday morning. The only RV park we could find is 15 miles outside of Atlanta in Marietta, so we are going to stay there and rent a car to do our running around (if IB would get me the Smart Car I'm jonesing for, we wouldn't NEED to, but that is an argument for another day). The campground has wifi, so hopefully I won't have problems posting whilst we are there.

I also wanted to reiterate something, as I seem to have new readers popping in here and there. When I started writing this blog, I spent WAAAAY too much time trying to clean it up for the Yankees in the crowd (I am a DAMN yank-I came, I saw, and I stayed). By cleaning it up, I am not so much talking about the cursing as I am about the language itself. I DO know how to spell, and if I get stumped I know how to use a dictionary. I KNOW it is not proper to use double negatives, run on sentences, little asterisks to indicate actions/thoughts, but when I tried not to use them to keep from offending your sensibilities, this stuff was just not ringing true. Believe it or not, I do spend a lot of time rolling these words around in my brain like many hard candies, (yes, sometimes it seems more like a monkey flinging balls of poo at you, but sometimes ya get what ya get) slipping them this way and that, poking at them and prodding them like loose teeth until they feel just right. And most of the time, they just don't sound right if I don't write them how we talk down here. I ain't IGNERNT, but I AM a redneck hayseed, by association if nothing else. And I'm finally coming to realize there is NOTHING WRONG with that! So, all of you little Miss Grammars, put up your pens-there will be no redlining here. Just relax and take it for what it is. Me. As the Innocent Bystander is so fond of saying, "You just can't polish a turd, Jackie." Ya' feel me?

The Traveling Medicine Show

Okay ya'll.  Looks like the Innocent Bystander is going to take my Sideshow Sally ass on the road!  We are waiting for his passport/visa to come back from the Nigerian embassy in Atlanta, and as soon as it gets here we are going to pack up the birds and take the motor home for a spin.  The love bugs are gone and the chores are caught up, so it is time-we bought it so we could travel and not have to worry about birdie sitters-we just take them with.  Also, we have a guy here replacing the greater portion of our deck and the hammering is driving us  (and the birds) nuts.  We don't really have a destination, as for us it is more about traveling than it is about getting somewhere.  We do know we are heading north, and the plan, if you could call it that, is to head up through Memphis and maybe go to Graceland for a day (no, it's not a forking pilgrimage-neither of us is that redneck!) since we will be in the area, then head on up maybe to Kentucky to stick our heads in a cave or two.  Heck-who knows with us?

The point of telling you this is that I may go missing for a day or two here and there.  While I will have both my IPhone and laptop with me, sometimes it is a pain in the hindquarters to try to find a campground with wireless internet connections, and of course I am the dipshit who buys all the latest technology the day before they come out with the NEW AND IMPROVED version, so my IPhone has to rely on Edge rather than 3G, and Edge does not work so well in the mountains.  We shall see.  In any case, I will do my best to update regularly while we are traveling.

Now, since you haven't had your dose of funny yet this morning, I am going to try to link you something that makes me shoot peas out of my nose every time I see it (yes, I eat a lot of peas).  If there are any ultra holyrollers in the audience (kinda doubtful, eh?) today, I am sorry, but if you don't find this funny, you have deeper issues than we can deal with here.  Make sure your volume is cranked. 

Enjoy.

Why I am writing

Now that some of my friends and family know that I'm writing, it seems they are all getting their funny freaks on for my benefit.  I don't know if it is my imagination, but I'm beginning to think that funny is being thrust upon me.  The fact that the Purv said at least once last night "if this makes your blog" and that the Unit (the Purv keeps insisting his 'real' name makes him sound HUGE)...er...Innocent Bystander...seems to be just FEEDING me material is giving me pause.  I mean, honestly, I am not TRYING to be funny.  You can't make this shite up.  For instance:

We were up at the bar the other night and there were four or five guys up there, Boobielicious (the beer wench) and me.  She used to be married to a doctor, and somehow the conversation turned to the fact that she had been her former husband's nurse in her 'previous life'.  I watched the domino effect as each beer sodden brain absorbed this fact, and the silly little grin and wiggle that each of the men made to adjust 'themselves' as the image of those nicely tanned tatas in that pristine white uniform fully wedged its way into their pants.  One of them raised his eyes reverently and almost whispered "Do you still have that uniform?" 

 *snort*

The Innocent Bystander has obviously been running with this thought, as tonight his suggestion was that she wear that as her Halloween costume and that all the guys come as patients who need sponge baths.  That's my guy.

Like I said.  100% keepin' it real.  Which brings me to my topic today.  Why I am writing:

I worked at a wonderful local orthopaedic practice the last six years that I was employed by anyone other than the Innocent Bystander. (Have I mentioned how well he tips me now that I'm on his payroll?  Me love him LOOONNNGGG time.)  I loved everyone I worked with and I totally loved my job, but when I am on someone else's timeclock (*clears throat and whispers* "other than the IB's") I feel like I have to actually be WORKING the entire time I am on the clock, and when I found myself resenting people I really loved who didn't share my work ethic (and we all know I am everso farking ethical, now, don't we?  It just wasn't right) I made the Innocent Bystander miserable with my bitching.  As a result, when the Juevo (WAVE-OH for you gringos) finally got his SSI benefits approved (so we could drop his insurance etc)  after 3 years of fighting, IB said I could quit and be his 'land hand'.  Worked for me!!!

My last day to work was my birthday in November of last year.  Since then, I guess this crap has just been fermenting.  When the IB is away, my most worrisome thought is 'where am I gonna eat tonight?" since I am not good at cooking for just me unless a little cardboard box and some gamma rays are involved.  He really does provide everything I require to sustain life, and I am the "I don't sweat on purpose" kinda girl, so I started just vegetating other than planning our next trip and googlestalking everyone I knew.  I mean, I love my life, but where was the challange?  I guess a little conflict and drama in your life are good, because they give you something to focus on.  In any case , through email, my Auntie En (there's no place like home *clicks heels* there's no place like home *clicks heels* there's no place like home *clicks heels*) and I have reconnected. We started writing back and forth. She writes poetry, and she encouraged me to write 'not just for her'.  She pointed out that people are basically voyeurs, and now that I've been reading some of your blogs and find that I want to peer even closer into YOUR panty drawers I want to organize MYNE a bit more and allow you to sift through my unintentional shitestains of a public laundry basket because that crap doesn't bother me.  I'm THAT girl.  Sift all you want.

I am at the point that, really?  How many sitcoms can I watch? And how much weed can I really smoke?

Thanks for stopping by.  Let me know you were here.  You don't have to comment, but a little % sign in the comment section or something will help me finger out how many of you are actual reader/stalkers and how many are just people who are looking for vaginas, boobies, or penises.  Not that I don't love them too, but I am really curious about who is reading this stuff.

*smooches*

Ten Things

It's the weekend, and I am going to take the easy way out today because I didn't sleep well last night.  I said a prayer as I went to bed, offering to bear someone else's pain if it would give that person a sweet night of peace, and I'm hoping that that was the case.  With no further ado, I give you ten things you may or may not know about me.

1.  I am a positive person.  I was not always like that, but one day a light bulb went off and I realized life would be much easier if I focused on what I CAN do rather than what I CAN'T.  

2.  I do pray a lot.  I am not always sure to whom or what I am praying and no one will ever accuse me of being religious, but I firmly believe in the power of prayer.  I don't know if it is a focusing of positive energy or just how it works, but some things you just have to take on faith.

3.  I blow my nose like someone's old grandpaw blowing hockers in his hanky.  Now, I am not the most feminine of girls by any stretch of the imagination, but I recently realized just how ludicrous this sounded when I saw the look of HORROR on my gurrrlfriend's face as I turned around delicately wiping the edges of my nose. *snort*

4.  I am an extremist.  I like my coffee scalding hot and my beer ice cold, thank you very much.  And I am going to drink them while they are still hot or cold, which means I drink them very quickly.  Keep your "SLUGGO" comments to yourself.

5.  I bit my nails until I was thirty three years old.  I quit by wearing a rubber band on my wrist and snapping it hard every time my hands got close to my face.  I didn't think it would work since I was aware of what I was doing, but it did.  Now I pick my cuticles and scabs instead, so my hands are still a disaster.

6.  I am very picky.  If the coffee isn't Starbucks French Roast Extra Bold or the beer isn't Busch Light in a bottle, I don't want it.  Don't give me your brand of something and tell me to just try it because I don't farking want it!  If that hurts your feelers, I'm sorry.  It's just how I am.  It is not a comment on you or your peculiar taste, I just like the things I am comfortable with.  Get over it.

7.  I am a cheap date.  One of my favorite things to do is to ride up the river and sit under the interstate and see how many truckers I can get to "honk me".  No lie.  I could sit there all day and every honk would still be just as exhilarating as the last.

8.  I have a bird I have to spell in front of.  I chit you not.

9.  I have a chandelier in my kitchen (HA-in a houseboat the size of a large shoe, no less) that I have been actively hating for three years.  If you are willing to come take it out, you can have it. I really can't finger out why it is still there, since the Innocent Bystander is so tall that he whacks his head on it at least once a day.  I'd love to meet the fooktard who decided to put it there so I could kick him in the gonadial region.

10.  I hoard certain things.  You would think I grew up in the depression or something, the way I stockpile toilet paper and coffee and books-I have probably THIRTY books on my Kindle that I haven't even started-I can't take a chance of running out, don'tcha know?

Well, that is it for today.  No vaginas, penises, or boobies to be found. I am off for a boat ride with the Innocent Bystander, then we are going our separate ways.  He is going to spend the night (we are such responsible drinkers-heh) with an old friend and they are going to watch sports and eat beans and light each other's farts and drink until they puke.  I am spending the night with my favorite Purv and we are going to eat steaks and play Wii games and prolly do something illegal.  Use your imagination.  Have a safe and happy Saturday.

Sunday Scribblings: The era of BB

I'd like to paint a picture for you today. It won't be pretty so the faint of heart amongst you must take this opportunity to excuse yourselves. We won't talk about you while you are gone. Really. And we will be right back here next time you drop by, with fresh tales of flying hoohoos, reminders to feel up your boobies, giant weiners doing tricks and all kinds of fun stuff.

Now. Everybody comfortable? I think those candy asses are all gone now.

Oh mah gawd. Did you SEE that girl's hair?

No, really. Today's post is going to be an exercise suggested by Sunday Scribblings (sorry guys, I'm still link deficient, and no one seems to be TAKING THE HINT and sending me the instructions in little bitty words so that I can link to your posts when I reference you). I am posting it a little early so I can take tomorrow off. This week, we are supposed to think about which era in history we would choose to live in if we had to choose another. The Innocent Bystander and I talked it over, and we decided jointly that we would choose to live in Renaissance Italy when the great masters were creating the beautiful art that we love so much. And then I got to thinking that, no-part of the reason I love those paintings and frescos and such so much is because of how old they are and I like to think of how many eyes have seen them and imagine who those people were and things like that. No. I'd REALLY like to live in the era just slightly before this happened...

It was a day like any other. I was out with the Juevo at the mall trying to figure out new and creative ways to waste the Innocent Bystander's money. We had been shopping hard. HARD, I tell you. I visited every shoe in the mall, and the old plastic was practically melting I'd swiped it so many times. Which makes a girl very hungry.

I may have mentioned before my obsession with all foods chinese. I love it all, and I am willing to give any chinese restaurant at least one chance. But this was not a day I had to experiment with an unknown. This day we were eating at one of my favorites. They had been in this mall since it opened over twenty years earlier, and had evolved from a take out rice or noodles and two other choices kinda place to a huge buffet in a sit down restaurant. And they made what I considered to be the best crabmeat wontons on the coast. You could watch the waitresses make them individually by hand when they were not waiting tables. Cream cheese, crabmeat, and just the right amount of green onion, fried crispy and glistening. Mmmm.

Juevo and I ate in worshipful silence for awhile. And then I had to pee.

Now, I am one of those people who have trouble holding my pee in when I get within ten feet of a toilet when I don't have to go. (And yes. I Kegel.) So I was really struggling to get my pants down as I entered the stall. I got them down to about midthigh and relaxed a little and let go. As my eyes surveyed my surroundings, I thought "Oh, how interesting. Textured wallpaper." My hand started reaching to touch it and then something told me to stop and look closer. Just a little. I recoiled in horror as I realized what I was looking at. This was no textured wallpaper. It was a veritable WALL O' BOOGERS.

Now this was no ordinary wall o' boogers, my friends. This was a fucking work of art. A virtual Taj Mahal of boogers, if you will. This thing had to have taken years-nay DECADES-to craft, each booger placed lovingly and strategically like some Van Gogh's Starry Night from Hell. Layers and layers, I tell you. Boogers as far as they eye can see. Much attention to detail. Mostly greens and yellows, but some with that brownish look that tells you they bled-you knew they had to dig really deep for those.

There. Have I squicked you out enough yet? Ok. Now your mind wander back to those crabmeat wontons that I loved so much. And now that I think about it, which one of them was the freaking Picaso among the bunch? Or was this a family project? Were they ALL in on it?

Yes, I think I would choose the Before Boogers era. I'd sure sleep a lot better.

All hail the Innocent Bystander OR My husband is not a douchebag

You know, sometimes I need to take the Innocent Bystander a little more seriously. He's such a goobersmooch that I sometimes forget some of the perils of his job.  As I've said, he works in Nigeria.  Now while this is not such a third world nation that they walk around with bones in their noses, they still have a lot of problems with things that we take for granted.  Lack of clean drinking water.  A horrible reputation for corruption both in their government and their everyday lives.  Police who IF they answer the phone when you are in need won't come to your house which is being broken into because they don't have gas in their cars-unless you'll give them gas money when they get there-oh, and a little something extra for their trouble. Rampant AIDS. And malaria.  

We were sitting here last night and he reminded me of this.  He has been giving me the old "I'm sick" routine and laying around on the couch a lot since he's been home, and I just chalked it up to jetlag and a wee bit of hangover.  You know.  Beer squirts and such.  And we ARE the kind of people who operate under the 'self inflicted gets no pity or mercy' rule.  Until he mentioned that he had been in Nigeria for all this time taking malaria pills.  And that he'd stopped about a month ago because he'd not been bitten by a single mosquito in all the time he'd been there.  Until THE DAY HE LEFT when he got bitten in the cab on the way to the airport.  Lovely.  Here I've been ignoring what I was in my brain referring to as THE BIG PUSSY when he may really have a life threatening disease.  I guess sometimes I'm the big fat prick around here.  He seems better today, but now I'm really going to worry every time he coughs or sneezes, which he will probably milk for all it's worth.

I'm keeping it short today.  We had the inevitable "we are not going to live our lives around your blog" talk this morning, because I wanted to know before we set out on our morning errands (tithing at Wallyworld, cutting grass and putting the boat back into the water, don'tcha know) when I would be able to sit down for awhile to tend to my little obligation here.  Because I do feel a certain obligation.  I am thrilled that you are here, and I know how I feel when the blogs I follow just suddenly stop for a period of time.  I'm thinking things like, "Hey, where is PlungerGirl?  Surely she hasn't just passed the vaginas and boobies on to me and then just abandoned us all?" or "What about Lisa over at Clusterfook?  Is she having one of her good days, or is this one where we all need to be sending her happy thoughts and prayers?" and "I wonder how Jen's book edit is coming?" and "Is that girl (Jenny?  I read so many I sometimes get confused) still feeling like the baby inside her feels like a mason jar sized fart?" "What about The Blogess?  Has she gotten any blood or pot yet?"  You all matter to me, even the perverts and sickos.  Maybe especially the perverts and sickos.  And I'm thinking about you, and planning what I'm going to tell you next.  But the Innocent Bystander is going to have to come first, and part of that is going to have to involve some limits on my time.  So I am trying to get into a routine where I write during his nap in the early afternoon right after lunch-I can't wait until nighttime because that cuts into valuable drinking time.  And after all, he IS the one that makes this all possible, and I would like to continue being taken care of in the manner to which I've become accustomed.  Because face it.  I am MUCH higher maintenance than I look.

Ethics in Blogging

The Innocent Bystander got up this morning and was waiting for me when I stumbled out of the bedroom.  I sat down at my computer to check my email.

Innocent Bystander:  What are you doing?

Me:  Publishing a comment.

IB:  Can I read your blog?

Me:  I don't care.  It kinda creeps me out, but I don't care.

IB:  Well, I got up early and I've already read it.  We need to talk.  (Why the heck do you ask me if you've already read it, Scrotum?)

He again reminded me of what a small, tight knit community we live in.  We (if by we you mean I) have to be really careful what we say around here as everyone in the area is related one way or another or has known all of his neighbors since birth.  He pointed out that my thinly veiled descriptions would fool no one, and that some of my comments were downright mean.  We have only been here for three years, so we are still outsiders (and will be forever, but I digress).  I truly love my little houseboat, and I love this community and the people in it and I don't want somebody around here to POP A CAP IN MY ASS, so I have cleaned up a few posts and deleted a few others in the name of harmony in my household.  Honestly, I have not met anyone from around here who I don't like-people around here take care of each other.  So from now on I will only tell you about my fascination with the dentally challenged or talk about anyone around here in either very vague or VERY FLATTERING terms.  *heavy sigh*  If they just weren't so darned AMUSING. *shakes head*

So.  Ethics point number one.  Thou shalt not point and laugh at thy neighbors.

Which brings me to point number two.  Once something has been published, is it ethical to go back and change things to a) protect the innocent or b) make them funnier?  This has been a real sticking point for me and I could use some input.  It's not like I think this is ART, but sometimes there is a tendancy to want to make it better.  It is catharsis more than anything.  Or justification for sitting on my fluffy fanny in front of this little box of knowledge that I can't seem to drag myself away from despite living in a virtual paradise.  But at what point do you say "It's done"?

My third ethical question of the day involves comments.  Do you respond to every one?  I am so excited (thank you again PlungerGirl) to even have comments that I want to take you ALL out and buy you puppies to lick your faces for me (I'll lick a lot of things, but I have the feeling some of you wear makeup and I don't want that crap on my tongue and frankly, I don't know where some of your faces have been).  I mean, I want to acknowledge every comment, but how many ways can I say thank you?  THANK you.  Thank YOU.  THANK YOU.  Now I know how flight attendants feel as they are saying "Buh bye" four hundred times as I deplane.

And lastly, is it ethical to invite the perverts to my blog by mentioning boobies, vaginas, penises and stories about riding baloney ponies and playing hide the sausage?  I'm thinking yes, as long as you manage to work them into the conversation in a way that they fit.  I don't want to be throwing vaginas around just for the sake of throwing vaginas around.  Or do I? Oh, great.  Now I'm going to have pictures of giant flying vaginas running through my head all day.  *wicked evil grin*  

You're welcome in advance for today's visual.

Cover yer arse, Gussie

Yesterday I implied that I had already given the Unit some happy happy joy joy, when in fact, I hadn't.  Yet.

I got to thinking about it later in the afternoon, and decided that I'd better go ahead and blow him and get it over with. (I know.  Nice.)  I could just picture him finding my blog six months from now and reading about a blowjob he'd never gotten.  

We are normally every other day kinda boys and girls but my fella is not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, so to speak.  But he is also smart enough to acknowledge that this was a 'gimme' by asking me "To what do I owe THAT?" when I was done with the deed.  So I figured what the hell.  I told him about my blog, and about the fact that it had taken kind of an unexpected turn, what with me turning it into my own not so private vaginalogue and all.  I explained that I had been talking about our sex life and had written something implying that I had had tubesteak for breakfast and that I DO have a sense of moral obligation to him and to my TWO WHOLE FOLLOWERS (I love youse guys) and hey, did I mention that I also made SIX WHOLE CENTS?  I also promised him not to write any checks that my mouth wasn't prepared to cash.  He was amazingly cool about the whole thing.  He had two conditions.  First, I am not allowed to make fun of his dick.  And second, he wants to be called Innocent Bystander (he's alway's hated the fact that I call him the Unit).  So.  Let it be noted.  The Innocent Bystander has a TOTALLY AWESOME DICK that is NOT AT ALL FUNNY.  (It does, however, do tricks. Trust me.)

P.S.  It is breast cancer awareness month.  Have you felt up your boobies lately?

Be careful what you wish for.

Oh, my aching jaws.

I stumbled out of bed this morning and found that my new bff Plungergirl (sorry chick-I'm a 'tard and haven't fingered out how to link you yet) had linked to me, and I had a stunning double digit number of page impressions. WOOT!

My dad is on his way home from Kyrgystan today. He is gonna be so proud of his little girl. Her fifteen minutes of fame are as Sparky the Wonder Twat. Evidently the public wants vaginas. So I have to ask myself, are you gonna be THAT GIRL? Yes, folks. That's me. All vaginas. All the time.

To tell or not to tell...that is the question.

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4.7 on the Richter scale

After I got all checked in at the hotel by Habib (for real) I went up to my room and got out all the bits and pieces of my wardrobe for the night.  Earlier I had remembered that I had ditched the skirt I had originally picked up at the thrift store as it was uncomfortable when pushed up around my arse with my legs in the air, so I planned a trip to Wallyworld to pick up a new one along with a few other things I needed.  I had plenty of time.

I found the perfect skirt as soon as I started looking-a nice flowy nonbinding little polyester number.  I'm usually a 100% cotton kinda girl, but I figured I could sacrifice my standards once in a while for love.  While I was there, I decided to look at shoes as all I'd brought with me was a pair of black sandals which would never fly at the Awful Waffle what with OSHA and all their open toed shoe rules.  I found a nice pair of heels that were chunky enough for me to be able to walk in but high enough to look feminine, which is a stretch for me.  Then, being as how I'm all oldschool, I went and looked at pantyhose.  I got to thinking about how I'm dressing up for my man, so why not go all out and get stockings, which they just so happened to have a pair of in jet black.  They were also magic stockings-the kind that stay up with no garters necessary.  I went back to the Alibaba Inn to model for myself.

I put on the blouse and the skirt, unbuttoned a few buttons to admire my boobage, and put on the apron.  I pulled on the stockings one at a time and arranged the nice lacy tops around my thighs.  Not too bad so far.  They seemed like they were going to stay put and felt nice and sexy, so I stood up and went to the mirror.  Oh.  Mah.  Gawd.  Gravity is unkind.  Cheese and butter and milkshakes are even meaner.  I did not even recognize the stuff coming out of the tops of the stockings as part of me-kinda reminded me of Amish friendship bread dough just kind of oozing down around the tops of the pretty black lace, all pale and doughy and lumpy.  Ahh, fuckit, I thought.  Boy has not been laid in two months, and his view will have my knees behind my ears which will stretch all that dough out nice and taut, so I decided what the hell.

I changed back into my jeans and went out to get something to eat.  (Why the hell not?  The damage is already done.)  While I sat at Sonic, I pondered the fact that I had even bothered to change my clothes at all.  It's not like anyone would know that I was actually wearing fantasy clothing, right?  Which brought me to the inevitable.  If I can walk around in public and no one knows I'm wearing fantasy clothes, why not walk around in public in fantasy clothes with no panties on?  (Keep in mind that whilst Boy was away having no sex, Girl was home minding the farm having no sex, either...Girl done got herself all horny waiting on Boy.)  Okay.  We are gonna do this.

I finished sucking down the last of my shake and pulled across the street back to Walmart and decided that I would get some of that personal lubricant that they are advertising on TV just in case.  'WE' don't normally use things like that-on our honeymoon I broke out some lotion and a vibrator when the Unit's back was turned and you'd have thought I'd hit him with a cattle prod.  He just doesn't take kindly to marital aids, so those things are locked away while he's home.  But I am of that age when sometimes nature needs a little nurturing.  So.  I ran in and bought the stuff-Yours and Mine, I think it's called.  You never know-the Unit might want to get jiggy in the car before we headed back to the Pleasure Palace and I wanted to be prepared.  I headed back to the hotel to get ready to go pick him up from the airport.

As I dressed, I hit a sticking point.  Do I take the panties off now and go commando, or do I wear them to the airport?  I'm already feeling naughty for wearing the outfit in the first place, so I decided I would just wear them to the airport and take them off later.  

I got to the airport and walked across the lot, discovering on the way that the shoes that had fit perfectly in the store were in fact about a size too big once my feet were encased in the magic stockings' spandex embrace.  They were flapping up and down and I was just sure I was going to break my neck and end up in the hospital again, this time without even the dignity of a Big O under my belt to tide me over.  So as soon as I got into the terminal, I headed straight for the Jane.  I grabbed some toilet paper and stuffed a wad in the toe of each shoe, and took off my panties.  Now.  What to do with them.  I looked around and weighed my options.  I could put them in the little metal personal hygeine item depository or throw them away, but they were new.  So I did the only other thing I could think of-I folded them up and put them in my apron pocket.  Then, not wanting Boy to know that Girl sometimes needs a little help in the lube department, I applied a little of the HERS portion of the stuff I had purchased, rearranged myself, held my head up high and walked out into the lobby to wait.

HOLY SHIT.  You see those KY commercials where she puts hers on, he puts his on, and then they proceed to tear their clothes off to combine them?  I got news for you.  They are not tearing their clothes off to have sex.  They are trying to get each other's clothes off so they can PEE on each other to put the FUCKING FIRE out.  Yes, I want a smokin' hot hoochie, but NOT THIS WAY.  I am in an AIRPORT for God's sake.  All the cameras are on me.  I am wearing SEXUAL FANTASY CLOTHES, I have TOILET PAPER in my shoes and STEPINS in my tip pocket and I am starkers down under. Great.  Just great.  I haven't seen my husband in two months, and I am now shooting sparks out my vagina and worrying about being shaken down by Homeland Security.  Try being in this situation and not imagining that every eye in the joint is on you.  Just try.  I couldn't.  And of course every security guard, every sanitation engineer, and every passenger I made eye contact with gave me a big ole grin, assuring me that YES WE KNOW.  SLUT.  I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. 

In any case, the earth did move.  And it will move again.  But Linda Lu is getting a little rest.  My heart can't take the stress.

Calculating the movement of the earth

Put your seatbelts on, ladies...it's going to be a bumpy ride!

The Unit has been gone (he works in Nigeria) for 55 days, and is due in at 9:51 tonight. It is time to get my freak on.

Last time he came home, I ended up in the hospital the next day (they are still trying to come up with an appropriate 'name' for him up at the bar). I went through several weeks of tests and honestly thought I was going to die, either by whatever had ahold of me, or by my own hand. It was THAT bad. Part of the reason it was that bad was that the prollem I was suffering from was severe headaches, which were brought on by ORGASM. There. I said it. Now, I'm not talking about a headache where you take some aspirin and go lay down. I'm talking baseball bat to the head full force every time my heart beat IN MY HEAD which was very fucking rapid as I had just had an ORGASM thank you very much. And they came back every time we tried to 'do it' (also when I did anything which made me bear down, i.e. pooping, laughing, getting excited). Now I'm all about living dangerously, but come on! I was avoiding THAT THING like it was the plague for almost his whole hitch home. To make matters worse, he left on our anniversary.

Now, we are not really gifty boys and girls. We tend more to buy ourownselves something and then inform each other what 'you got me'. And in the Unit's line of work, he is gone a lot so if said gift giving occasion falls when he is offshore, we just ignore it. But I knew he was leaving on our anniversary, and he had been gone for a long time, so I had prepared 'a little sup'm sup'm for him well in advance.

Several years ago we had been on a trip over to Mobile to the dogtrack and had gotten a hotel. After the races, we went to Waffle House for something to eat before we went back to the hotel. When we got back to the hotel, the Unit said jokingly "Let's play like I'm the Waffle House manager and you are the new waitress and I'm teaching you how to do your job." Now, I totally took this as a joke. Sure, we had some hot monkey lovin', but we do that ANY time he's shelled out cash for a hotel. If he spends money on a bed, there is going to be some boinking.

Anyway, this kinda became 'my line' when he was due home. At work I would joke about getting out my spatulator and getting ready for Mr. Manager to come home that night. I think everyone I worked with was positive that I was going home to whip up some waffles and flip him some eggs, if you get my drift. This went on for years.

When I realized that he would be home for our anniversary, I decided that I was (as a joke, mind you) going to get myself a 'costume' . I spent hours combing the internet, and thanks to Ebay, came up with just about everything I needed. I found the apron, the nametags, the service stars. I found the little kerchiefs and headscarves. My girlfriend Dar even managed to find me a vintage Waffle House coffee pot and mugs. The only thing I couldn't find was the official uniform shirt. So I decided to take it up a notch.

Alex had rehearsal in a town nearby, so I decided we would go eat at Waffle House that night and see if I could finagle a shirt that way. When our waitress came up, I asked her if maybe they might have an old uniform shirt in the back that they could sell me. She asked me what for, and me being the forthright person that I am, I told her exactly what I wanted it for. She blinked at me a few times while my son tried to slither under the booth (I stopped him before he got too much gum in his hair) and said to wait a minute. She walked over to the register and started talking to this guy (who turned out to be the regional manager) that was standing there with a little bit of pointing and gesturing. A few minutes later he walked up to me and said "Is this for real?" He looked around a couple of times, either thinking someone was 'punking' him or that he was being set up for a sexual harassment suit. I said "I'm just a wyfe whose husband has been gone a long time and I am trying to set up a fun reunion for him." He told me he'd have to think about it, and that he might be able to find me an old one but that he would have to rip out the tags and labels that said Waffle House. I told him nevermind-that if it were not the real deal, it wouldn't be the same, but that I would leave my phone number with the waitress "just in case." I even considered applying for a job, getting the uniform and quitting. But that would involve work. *shakes head*

About a week later, I got a phone call from him. He said he had gotten his hands on a used shirt that had a seam ripped that I could have. I was overjoyed, and told him I would come to the restaurant and pick it up. He did not want to meet there because he "could get in a lot of trouble for this" so he arranged to meet at A FUCKING CAR WASH. Wanna feel really dirty about something? Arrange to meet someone at a carwash to buy a USED uniform shirt to fulfill a sexual fantasy. Then, when I got there, he wanted to hem and haw and be all coy about handing over the stupid shirt (which still smelled like syrup). I felt like we were making some kind of crack deal or something. When he finally gave it to me, he said "I have one condition. When all is said and done, I want you to call me and tell me all about it." Heh. I'll get right on that. Perv.

Anyway, Unit comes home, we have two weeks of him walking around like a giant hardon since I was not going anywhere near Mr. Happy. When I was given a prescription for Inderal and could finally take a shit without wanting to blow my brains out, we very tentatively started trying to catch up on the luvvin'. By the time he was ready to leave, things were pretty much back to normal, so I figured I could break out the uniform for a 'going away' anniversary bop.

He was laying on the couch watching football and I hollered "Honey, could you come help me with this?" He hollered back "What?" I yelled "Just come help me with this!" He walked into the bedroom and his jaw dropped. His eyes got so big you'da thought I was decked out in a giant Budweiser bottle and that he was fixing to POP MY CAP. He even insisted on leaving the light on. (BTW-his only complaint? That I did not get HIM a manager's shirt!)

Unfortunately, like I said, he was leaving that day, and I have not seen him since. He did take a picture of me (and fortunately, I have not yet fingered out how to attach pictures to my blog, or I would feel compelled to share) and I know he is expecting "Linda Lu" to pick him up from the airport. We are getting a hotel near there, as it is an hour drive back to Moss Point and he doesn't want to have to drive back that late at night, so by my calculations, the earth should be moving at (pause whilst I cypher-1.8 miles from airport to hotel, fumble with room key, push up skirt...) *clears throat* approximately 10:10pm, Central Standard time. And again at 10:17pm (gotta give him time to drink a beer in betwixt, dontcha know). Set your clocks.