Saturday, February 28, 2015

Mad Stalker Skills and a Trip Down Memory Lane

It's about forty-ish in Frog Pond Holler today. My little corner is still covered with a layer of white, while everything is a lovely muddy brown across the road. 40° feels like a heat wave after the hellish cold that we had last week. I've got water, power and innerwebs. It's all good.

My drugs got here from India last week and as far as I can tell, they're the real deal. I ordered from  for those of you who might be faced with a similar situation. That's not a paid link, just sharing. I felt much better after a few days back on the C. I guess it took a while for it to build back up in my system. There's hope for this ol' nag after all.

The past week at work was rough, I get more quote requests than I can get to, but Kat's been awesome keeping up with returns and Thelma's been running interference on the phone. As much as I hate to admit it, they've been a lot of help.

I guess Twatwaffle could sense I was having a lousy one because she slipped me a bottle of homemade hooch the other day. One of the welders makes wine that'll make you wanna slap your grandma. It's a sipper. You feel that chit going down. Good stuff. Carlos supplies TW with a bottle with every new batch he whips up, but TW being the high falootin' snot she is, only drinks the stuff they brew over at the Biltmore House. She always quietly passes her Vino de Carlos to me after everyone else leaves.

I guess she's not ALL bad.

I took a drive by Mamaw's house on the way to the grocery store last night. We were out of everything and spending way too much money eating from the DG, so I forced myself to go. As I turned down the old road, down to the holler where Mamaw and Papaw's dairy farm once thrived, for a moment I could still hear the crunch of gravel beneath the tires. When I was little, we used to come down here for vacations and whenever someone died. It was always the middle of the night when we arrived and I was usually asleep in the back seat of our 1968 Plymouth Sport Fury. I could still feel the vinyl seat peel away from my cheek as I'd slowly sit up, hearing that crunch and Ma telling me to "sit up and gitcher shoes on." The car would slow to a crawl, the fog so thick you could barely see beyond the headlights. There was a tiny one room church on the right, with an outhouse a few feet up the bank. I used to tell Ma I was going to get married in that church, but it's since burned down. The outhouse was left standing for years, but it eventually toppled over and disappeared. I still remember exactly where it was though.

I crept up the road, the creek rushing by on the left side of the road, as it always has, and Cousin Miguel's house on the right, next to the old barn where I used to stand, horrified as I listened to my dad and my uncle inside "breaking" horses. I'd hear kicking and that awful scream horses make when they're terrified, the two men laughing and hollering, lashes delivered with an old rope. They used to brag about punching them in the face to teach them a lesson.

I hate that fucking barn.

The Fucking Barn
Originally it was built with rocks where cinder blocks are now.
Cousin Miguel keeps his derpy little horse there now, along with a few calves. I'm pretty sure he's raising them to sell to slaughter. I guess someone has to. Apparently the nut doesn't fall far from the tree because it was only about a year ago that Cousin Miguel lost his coaching job at the high school after having a "relationship" with one of the students.

A couple of weeks ago, the police scanner fired up with a call involving two children who'd dialed 911 while hiding in their bedroom. Their parents were divorced but Daddy had showed up and they were screaming and fighting. They said he'd threatened Mama with a knife.

Turns out it was Cousin Miguel.

Hen House
I'm pretty sure Cousin Miguel added the steer skull.
Next to Cousin Miguel's house, stood Mamaw's farm house. The last renters painted it pink for some ungodly reason, adding to the dilapidated state.

The Old Farm House
I could make it pretty again.

Across the road (and the creek) another house barely stands. My uncle lived there when he first got married. I used to sit at Mamaw's kitchen table and watch his horses on the hillside beside it. There's another old barn there too. I think it's still part of the property. The old bridge has seen better days, but we always drove across the creek anyway. Amazingly, that house's old outhouse still stands. You don't see many of those anymore. It amazes me how far the outhouses were from the house. I can barely make it to the bathroom on the other side of the trailer when nature calls in the wee hours of the morning. I can't imagine hiking through the weeds to pee. I guess that's why Ma always kept an old paint can in the hallway at night when we stayed at Mamaw's house. She did eventually get indoor plumbing, but I can remember when she still had an outdoor potty.

Uncle Mike's Old House
You can see the bridge in the background on the right and the trench where we drove across the creek.

When I was about 13, I spent a couple of summer weeks with Mamaw. This strange old lady with long white hair, layered skirts and work boots came to visit. It was one of Mamaw's sisters who'd moved in to my uncles old house. At 13 I was all angsty and uninterested. I kick myself now.

The Hillside Across the Creek
I used to spend hours on the front porch watching Uncle Mike's horses grazing. If  you look closely, you can see the other old barn, on the far right kind of in the background. It's a few yards behind the old house Uncle Mike lived in.

As I drove by, I got to thinking. There's plenty of flat land beside the old house across the creek. There's an old barn. There's pasture.. access to the creek. If ya know.. unfortunate things happen to my dad and I become part owner of the property, I could move my trailer beside the old house. It's almost paid for. I'd have to get a septic tank dug and get power lines run over there... No one's using that part of the land for anything...

Just a thought.

Anywho... well THAT turned in to a long rambling trip down memory lane.

I'm more wore out from grocery shopping than I should be and I'm nursing a headache.. sinus/allergy junk. I got up this morning and drug about half the unnecessary bullcrap out of the cabinets, so I've got that to finish when the ibuprofen kicks in. Laundry's piled up to heavens gate and I'm still drinking coffee out of a Styrofoam cup, so there are dishes to wash. My weekend is planned. At least I've got everything I need, I won't have to venture out in to public and I'm moving around better than I have since Christmas.

It's all good.

Ya'll have an awesome weekend. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!!!!!

P.S. All photos are courtesy of Google Earth and my mad stalker skills. My dad lives somewhere down in that holler and I'm pretty sure if Cousin Miguel saw a strange old fat lady stopped in the road taking pictures I'd meet the business end of a shotgun. 

Thursday, February 26, 2015

Let it Snow!

It's a beautiful day in Frog Pond Holler, it looks like a winter freakin' wonderland. I thought I was in one of those Alaska survival shows as me and Jolene plowed through the snow up to The Asylum this morning. It's not too cold, thankfully. Not like last week when temps dropped down below zero and my water stayed frozen for 7 days.

That's right. SEVEN DAYS.

I was ripe ya'll. I had Tina Turner '85 hair and it wasn't on purpose. Our toilet had reached critical levels. By day 7 I was in panic mode. I went to the DG to buy more bottled water, styrofoam bowls and plastic utensils. Thelma was there, along with every other FPH resident, having just left church. They were all spiffied up and clean smelling... and full of Jesus.. and there I was, smelling like pitt stain and onion breath, on the verge of tears, telling Thelma why there was no way I'd be at work on Monday.

Of course, two hours later we had water.

So let it snow butthole deep to a Yeti. As long as my water doesn't freeze.

Saturday, February 14, 2015

The Fate of RiRi Nibblett

Let's get caught up on some stuff, kay?

The Asylum

It's business as usual at the crazy place. Twatwaffle's reign of terror and ignorance continues. We still don't have enough help, we're busier than a one legged man in an ass kickin' contest and angry sales reps are insulting me and my work ethic daily. The old me, the good salesperson me, would be understanding of their issues, work overtime to resolve them, take their verbal abuse. But now that I don't give five fecks if I get fired tomorrow, I just tell them, "Hey, I know it sucks. This is just how the company I work for chooses to do business."

There are limits to how much verbal abuse a person can take.

TW did decide to put Thelma back in charge of entering orders, which is fine, except that Thelma is the production control department. Thelma is also answering my phone, handling what she can, then paging me for the rest. Kat, the secretary for both plants, is also the HR liaison. Our actual HR person works at the other plant. Kat also helps Thelma with the overflow of production tasks. In TW's wisdom, she has now decided that Kat will process all the return paperwork, credit memos and miscellaneous clerical duties of the sales department, leaving me free to handle problems, quotes, new customers, reports and so on.

So I have help, but not really. The other day, when I laid a new order on Thelma's desk, she said, "Why don't I just do all your work? Is that what you want?" 

This, on a day when I was already pretty close to being fed up anyway,  I told her, "Would you? Would you really? Cuz I'd love to say eff it and go to the house."

Tiny, the Senior Engineer, spent half of yesterday loading trucks.  I had to manage the switchboard and take my own calls because Thelma and Lulu left at 10 and Kat took the day off. Thelma had to cover shipping on Thursday so that Squatch could be off.

We sent two flat bed trailers full of stuff, $300K worth to Utah last week. It's scary as hell when you consider we're doing business, flying by the seat of our pants. 

Last week we had a sales rep call and ask to be taken off our rep list because the service sucked so bad.  Six months ago, I would have been calling him and trying to smooth things over, anything to salvage a 20 year relationship. Instead, when TW gave me the news, I just shrugged and said, "Oh well. Expect more of that."

Back at the Trailer

I've re-thought the whole wood stove thing. The fact that we have a trailer and not an actual house makes it uber complicated to safely install a wood stove. There would be a lot of ripping shit out and buying expensive insulated pipe, not counting the cost of the actual stove. I've decided that instead, if I have enough of a tax refund, I'll admit defeat and get the oil tank filled. I can't afford to keep running electric heaters 24/7 when it gets really cold. If we use the fireplace, maybe I can make a tank of oil last longer. When Ma was here she ran the heat wide open all time, but me and TA tend to run more on the warm side. Our fireplace has a blower, but not much of one. I've got one of those little metal turbo fans, maybe I can just sit that in front of it and circulate the warmth a little better.

When The Amazon came home from job #2 at the Frog Pond Holler library today, an old Cutlass pulled in behind her, gray and rusted, the type of vehicle you expect crap to start falling off of every time it hits a pot hole. Driving the car was none other than RiRi Niblett, her hubby and their month old baby girl. Ya'll may remember RiRi, one of TA's school chums. RiRi got married about a year ago to Little Al, one of the guys from the plant. He's four foot nothing, spent his whole life on the backside of Loreli mountain, has about four teeth and is well in to his fifties. This is the same little feller that I may or may not have mentioned previously, let everyone at The Asylum know he was lookin' for him a woman with a big butt and that I'd suit his fancy. 

This is the dating pool I have to choose from. This is why I'll be forever alone.

I was later told, by Martha down at the campground store, that I should have went for it. She said she used to date him (she to possesses a sizable derriere and bodacious tattas) and that he was.. and this is a direct quote, "hung like a stallion."

Considering I have to see this man every Monday through Friday, this was information I could have lived without. 

Anywho, RiRi and Little Al came to look at the Blazer TA totaled when she rear ended the local state trooper. I don't know what kind of dealings went on between TA and Little Al, but he handed her a wad of cash and she handed him the title. I played with the baby, a month old and just 7 pounds, while I took note of RiRi and TA standing side by side. RiRi had no front teeth before she'd even turned 30, married to a man as old as her daddy, probably destined to popping out babies for the next decade. As much as I bitch about TA, at that I moment I was both proud, that my daughter was going to use her tax refund to take the GRE so she can go on to get her Masters and saddened by RiRi's fate. 

In Other News

Aunt Flo is still here and I'm whining like a 12 year old girl in gym class. I know ya'll care, I am the Queen of TMI. 

I haven't had colchicine in like.. a month. The fevers have started back, low grade, just enough to grace me with a nagging headache. The aches and pains.. Rice Krisy joints.. are a given. For a couple of years I've been getting colchicine from the manufacturer for free, but when I sent in my application for this year, it was denied, citing the health care act as the reason. There's insurance available to me, so I should be able to get it elsewhere. 

I have drug coverage, but it has a $300 deductible. The prescription costs almost that much. Even after I pay the deductible, I'd still have to pay $75 for a month's supply. I asked around on the FMF board to see what other people do and found that most of them order it from other countries. My first attempt was from Mexico, but their website seemed kinda shady and made me nervous, so I used a Canadian company recommended by some of the other board members. Apparently, you don't need a prescription to get colchicine from some countries, it's a common OTC drug. I paid $56 for 300 pills, a 100 day supply. I tracked it this morning, it's coming from India. 

I hope it works. I can afford less than $20 a month. 

I've got shit to do people. I can't be lying around whining all the damn time.

Wrappin' it Up

We're under four different weather advisories for the next three days in the holler. I made a gas station run earlier so I've got a carton of smokes and a bottle of wine. I'm ready for whatever happens.. or most likely does not. 

I'm meeting Ma at the doctor in Big City on Wednesday, so I'm taking off work that day. An extra day off from the madness at The Asylum for a couple of hours of madness with Ma. 

As for the rest of the weekend, I'll probably lay around and try to muster as much sympathy as I can from TA, for my aches and pains and what we've started calling, "The Granny Rag." Yeah I know, it's gross, I don't care. My granny was still having babies after she had grandchildren, so I must have inherited my fertility from her.

I found a website with the local paper archives back to 1912. I've found pictures of my Papaw and my dad in their tobacco field, the wedding announcement of Pappaw and his first wife from 1930 and mention of her with her darling little twins.. my aunts Irlene and Irene. I'll be digging around in there while I whine.. and wine. 

Ya'll have a good weekend. We'll talk again soon. 

Later Taters!