Why I Skipped Lunch

Lawd have mercy, what a week! I think I actually smiled before I even had my eyes open this morning, with the realization that I wouldn't have to face the Cubicle Asylum. That place just gets more craptastic every day.

Around town, tourist season is upon us and the normally abandoned streets are filled with smelly hikers, happy families and retired folks on motorcycles. When the locals start complaining because we can't find a parking place by the post office, I usually join right in, but honestly? It's nice to see some different faces for a change.

I crept through town yesterday on my way home for lunch, dodging little children and about six people walking single file at the side of the road, kayaks balanced delicately on their heads as they occasionally teetered in and out of traffic. As I passed the lot where the old pub once stood, I got my first whiff of something.. wrong.

The faint aroma of raw sewage lightly tickled my nose then slowly grew, expanding in my nasal cavities, taking on a bouquet of fragrances from rotting carcass to stagnant cesspool.

What the hell?

I looked around, but I didn't see any dead wildlife laying around. From the degree of stench, it would have had to been like.. an feckin' elk, one that had been buried for about a week then dug up and doused with leftover porta-potty juice.

Because seriously? I thought I was going to hurl.

As I made my way down towards the post office and over the bridge, I noticed a stream of liquid running along the curb and down in to the creek. I figured it really was sewage and that the Grab n Go (and go and go) was having plumbing problems again, sending the run off through the middle of town.

Well that's just peachy.

Way to get those tourist dollars! Ya'll come back now, ya hear?

The aroma became stronger as I drove towards the Grab n' Go (and go and go) but I was wrong about the origins of the stinkiness that was flooding through town. As I passed the Swiss Miss Motor Lodge, I witnessed a thick, vile liquid that.. I shit you not... glowed a bright, florescent green as it flowed from the end of a large hose and into the street. My eyes trailed along the length of the hose to the source of the nasty, gut churning odor that filled Frog Pond Holler:

The motel swimming pool.

Now... I realize that water has probably been standing in there since last summer, but good gawd.. something had to have crawled down in there and died.. and stewed in the muck for six months.. for anything to smell that bad.

As I relayed the story to the Amazon last night, she said she'd heard the Swiss Miss Motor Lodge had been classified as a historical landmark, noting the dying genre of fifties-esque roadside motor lodges. We've decided that with that designation, they're probably eligible for some government fixer upper money and maybe they've decided to fix the pool.

Luckily, my trailer sits up wind of the motel.

Anywho...

I'm off to chase the demon kitten out of the dirty dishes. Ya'll enjoy your weekend.

Later Taters!

Dirty Crevices, Pouting Grannies and Doing What We Can

The sky is gray and full of clouds over Frog Pond Holler today. I'm at my desk with hot coffee and a pack of PopTarts, sitting in front of my $5 clearance rack special fan with the squeaky bearings because once again, the air conditioner here at the Asylum has gone belly up.

Every stinkin' year. 80° and 100% humidity.. at my desk.

I reckon they figure we're not all cranky enough, doing the jobs of 2-3 people with fewer hours, we'd might as well have one more thing to bitch and complain about while we're doing it.

Gawd.

Moving on...

Ya'll remember the big garden project me and the Amazon had planned? Some guys came and ripped the ground up with a tractor attachment which they had rigged to the back of their pickup truck (you might be a redneck) then were going to come back with the tiller to break it up for us.

They never came back. Their tiller broke. My yard? She is loverly.

Now? Grass has started to grow back in the mounds created when they broke up the ground. It's too large an area to work by hand, but I guess if I want a garden, that's the only way it's going to happen. If I can't get it all cleared, I'll just plant whatever portion I can manage.

Ma is still acting weird. She keeps her door shut most of the time, then when she gets too hot she opens the door, props a board up across the bottom, then stands a chair with the big box fan in front of the door. She wants to get the central air fixed, but I know the guy is just going to replace the motor ($400) which will keep it running 'til next year, then the motor will just burn up again.

The problem started back a few years ago when our neighbor Dubya bought one of those baby backhoe doohickies. He was the terror of the holler, begging to haul everyone's yard all over creation. Ma got the bright idea to have him come move some of the bank behind our house, to make room for some actual yard back there, which he did. In the process.. he shoved about half of it up against our air conditioner. I dug it out as best I could, but I'm sure there's still an acre or two still shoved up in those little tiny crevices. So now, we pay $400 for a new motor every year or so, until it burns up again.

Both the Amazon and I have offered numerous times to go buy her a little window unit, but she huffs up and pouts whenever we mention it.

She's also still on that same kick where she insists she should be getting a stimulus payment and I've some how gotten hold of it. It used to really bother me that I try so hard to make sure she has what she needs, yet she keeps insisting that I'm doing stuff behind her back. It broke my heart, to be honest.

Now I'm like.. whatever.. I can only do what I can do.

Life's too short.

This week is almost licked... lick it real good.

Later Taters!

Hamthrax, Fractures and the X-Files

Oh the Cubicle Asylum is a happy place to be today. Bossman is back from funeral leave, I can't really blame him for being a sourpuss, but honestly, he doesn't seem any different from how he usually his. Lulu seems to have contracted a case of the Hamthrax while selling her stuff at the big Frog Pond Holler yard sale. She's also a nice lobster red color, I guess the application of sunscreen sorta slipped her mind, what with the excitement of getting rid of all her old Home Interior angel figurines, to make room for more Home Interior figurines.

The combination of her flaming, red face and her constant hacking and snorting make me wanna go put on a biohazard suit and squirt myself down with anti-bacterial gel. She looks like something that clawed her way out of an alien pod on the X-Files.

Across the hall, Thelma's been on the phone with her kinfolk all morning. From what I gather, someone fell and fractured something, either her great aunt or her grandmother. They all live down in the same holler together, within spittin' distance of each other.

My relatives get on my nerves. I can imagine having to look out the window at them staring back at me all the time. It's no wonder Thelma is always the first one to volunteer to work over.

Anywho...

I'd better get back to work. I'm paying for that extra day off, but it was still worth it.

Ya'll have a good one.

Later Taters!

Pygmies, Zombies and a Hunger Strike

The view out my window is a little cloudy and gray today, looks like rain... or I need to wash the windows. It matters not though, I don't have any plans to venture out.

The Amazon is up and about.. but only sorta kinda. She had a rare night out of partying with friends over in Big City, dragging her tired rump in at the wee hours of the morning. I reckon she had a good time, she appears every once in a while, wandering through the room with a stupefied grin on her face.

Remember all those plans I had for the weekend? There's a load of whites in the wash, the kitchen is a little cleaner and groceries have been bought. I've still got one more day to get things done, it's been two days of taking it kinda slow. That new brown paper bag full of drugs I got from the doc the other day have taken some getting used to. Friday, I think I actually dozed off at my desk.

The sales ninja can not operate properly when zombified.

So.. I skipped yesterday morning and waited until bedtime to take it instead. Hopefully the zombification will take place while I'm asleep and I can be functional during the day. If not.. something will have to change.

I went light on the grocery shopping this week, since I've not been cooking much. Ma hasn't felt well and hasn't eaten much of anything but soup for days. I'm not completely convinced she's sick. Maybe she's gone on a hunger strike to protest the treatment of pygmies in Amazonian sweat shops.

Who knows?

Oh don't worry. She is checked on regularly and even seems to be acting half way normal. Or maybe the fact that I'm medicated just makes her seem easier to deal with. Whatever.

Anywho...

I hope ya'll are having a great Sunday. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!

Friday Afternoon Quickie

It's 24 minutes 'til quitting time before a holiday weekend. Screw it. I'm done playing Lone Ranger, selling robot monkeys and their assorted parts, sweet talking dirty old men on the phone and dealing with the switchboard.

For three days anyway.

So now I give you... Mahala's Weekend Plans:

1. Nap. More than once.
2. Clean that funkified kitchen. And the bathroom. I won't go in to details.. just trust me.. it needs to be done.
3. Learn to turn mint tins into decorative boxes with clay. Because I've become that weirdo spinster lady who lives at the edge of town with all the animals and does crafts.
4. Buy groceries.
5. Spend some time blogging, tweeting, plurking, second lifing, even.. at times.. simultaneously because there's really no point in my trying to deny my innerweb dorktasticness at this stage of the game.
6. Laundry

I might not do any of these things. I may accomplish them all... and I may end up somewhere else, doing something entirely different, but that's the plan for now.

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

Later Taters!!

Robot Monkeys and Lulu on the Warpath

I just spent the better part of the last fifteen minutes arguing with assorted co-workers over what day it was. I could have sworn it was Wednesday. I was mistaken.

I am so ready for Memorial Day weekend. My brain? She eez fried... like a red hen's egg on an Arizona sidewalk on an August afternoon.

The doctors visit went.. well.. I got through it. I dunno but.. isn't it sorta a bad sign when the doc joins in on the tear-fest? I came out of there with a list of noggin specialists to call and a big brown paper bag full of enough "anti-batshit crazy" pills to last me two months and a prescription for more "just in case you lose your shit in the middle of the night and think you're going to die for no apparent reason" pills.

Around Town...

Lulu has waged war upon her neighbors.. who happen to be her brother and sister-in-law. They have a big German Shepherd and no fence. German Shepherds make large poos and generally prefer to make said poos in yards other than their own, if given the opportunity.

You can see where this is going.

Lulu, who isn't fond of dogs.. or any type of pets at all.. watches angrily from her kitchen window as her brother's dog squats on the edge of her flower bed, leaving goodies for her to pick up. Angered to the point of near blindness, Lulu has begun waiting until the cover of darkness, sneaking out in to her yard with a shovel and flashlight, to quietly move all poo, the deposit of which she has mentally mapped, to her brother's yard. This stealthy redepositing of all the dog's poopie turds to Lulu's brother's yard usually takes place on Friday night, carefully planned to coincide with her sister-in-law's regularly scheduled Saturday morning mowing.

Now, on Saturday mornings, Lulu and her Bubbahubby sit out in the yard, enjoying the fresh mountain air, the sound of the riding mower over on the next lot and a smile forming on their lips as the occasional aroma of freshly chopped poopie turds wafts over on to their property.

"OOOO! There went another one!" Lulu can be heard saying.

Her Bubbahubby replies.. chuckling, "Yup. If we can smell it over here.. I'll bet her nose hars are a' curling up over there."

At the Asylum...

It's been peaceful but busy this week with Bossman gone. I've got a few pretty big quotes to do this morning.. always a good thing. It's also been a weird week for phone calls. For instance.. let's say.. for the sake of discussion.. that here at the Asylum we manufacture and sell robot monkeys.

We don't, okay? But just bear with me.

Let's say our monkeys come in any size or color you want, some fetch the paper, some answer the phone and the really expensive ones keep you company on those long, lonely nights. Keeping that in mind, here's an example of the typical customer call I've gotten this week:

"Hi, this is Mahala.."

"Uh hi.. yeah.. I have a question about my monkey.. are you the person I need to talk to?"

"This is customer service. What sort of question to you have?"

"It's about my monkey."

"Um.. well okay.. do you have the model number for your monkey?"

"Uh.. no.. it's really old."

"Well.. what's your question?"

"My monkey's left arm fell off. Would it be cheaper to replace the arm or should I just get a new monkey?"

"I can give you a price for a new arm, but I can't guarantee it will fit your old monkey without a model number or part number.. OR SOMETHING.. to tell me which monkey you have."

"Well.. lemme ask you this.. how come my neighbor's monkey will run in circles and sing the Czechoslovakian national anthem but mine only whistles Dixie if I kick it in the head?"

"Sir, the Czechoslovakian national anthem option has only been offered for the last 5 years or so. If your monkey is very old, it was probably built before Czechoslovakia even HAD a national anthem. Also? It's probably not a good idea to kick your monkey in the head. I'm pretty sure it nullifies the warranty."

"So you're saying you don't know if you can get me a new arm to fit my monkey without a part number? Can I describe it to you? How about I send you a picture of my monkey?"

By now.. I'm [this close] to banging my head in to the desk.

"Sure.. by all means.. email me pictures of your monkey. While you're at it, there should be a label on it's left ass cheek with the model number, part number, motor specs, etc. Be sure and get a REAL GOOD picture of that as well and I'll see what I can do."

"Yeah okay. Thanks. Anyone ever tell you you got one of them 1-900 sex line voices? I bet yur real purdy."

No lie. All week. It's like.. there's a full moon, the stars are in some once every 800 year alignment and I'm giving off a crazy bait scent.

Anywyo.. I've got quotes to do and monkeys to sell. Ya'll have a good Thursday. We'll talk again soon!

Later Taters!

Here I Go Again On My Own

The sun is shining bright down upon Frog Pond Holler this morning. We had frost warnings last night and the air is cool and crisp.

A right damn fine day, if ya ask me.

This week, I was supposed to go back to my 8-3 days, but Bossman had a death in the family and will be leaving at noon today, to be out for the remainder of the week.... so I'm back to 40 hours.

Funny how things just keep seeming to work out that way huh?

I'm leaving around 9:30-ish for the dreaded doctor's appointment. This will be the first time in my 43 years that I've relayed the gory details of my clusterfucked childhood to a licensed professional and asked for help. I've started down this road before, but I've always either chickened out or allowed myself to become convinced that I'm just being a big baby.

What makes it so difficult is... when I finally told an adult all those years ago, like the ABC After School Specials kept telling me to... my family members called me a liar and at the same time, told me it was my own fault for sashaying around the house in a nightgown, at the ripe old age of TWELVE for gawdsake, unfairly tempting the uncontrollable desires of the menfolk.

So you can see why I'm scared absofuckinlutely shitless to tell anyone else.

But I'm not backing down. I faced the son of a peapicker at my Mamaw's funeral, in front of HIS family, on HIS turf, staring straight in to his crocodile tears and telling him to get his hands off me, right there in the funeral home.

Okay so.. I damned near passed out in the process.. but I did it.

After that, this should be a piece of cake, right?

I promise not to dwell on this subject much in the future. I know it makes some people uncomfortable, but at the same time, I feel an obligation to share at least some of what's going on with me on a personal level.

On a slightly different note, if time allows, I'll be taking an extra thirty minutes or so to stop and get myself a nice new set of hookerlicious acrylic french manicured pornstarrific ho-nails on the way home.

Because everyone deserves to treat themselves after uncomfy doctors appointments. Even if it means spending part of the grocery money.

Oh yeah.. I almost forgot... Valkyrie comes out on DVD today. With Eddie Izzard. Maybe as an added bonus, I'll have a spiffy red Netflix envelope waiting for me in the mail when I get home.

Ya'll have an awesometastic day. In about twenty minutes I'll be cruising around curvy mountain roads in my big ass Silverado, singing this at the top of my lungs on my way to Big City:

Say a little prayer for me.. if you're into that sort of thing.

Later Taters!

Escaping the Holler

Yesterday morning, after everyone was up and at 'em, I felt a sudden urge to go.. somewhere.. anywhere. At first I considered Greenville, TN, but for reasons I've yet to figure out, I always end up morbidly depressed when I go there. Considering how my mind's been acting lately, I thought maybe that wouldn't be a good idea. After some thought, I decided to take a drive up Fall Branch, through switchback curves, over rushing creeks with breath taking views and lots of quaint little farms. After an hour of navigating a highway that would make most NASCAR drivers wet their Fruit of the Looms, you hit civilization again, with Wally World, K-Mart and bunches of touristy little roadside shops.

Getting out of town was a little complicated, a bunch of pseudo bikers were blocking the pumps at the Pump n' Go. While they stood there talking, seeing me in my big ass obnoxious Silverado, waiting for my turn, I think I made the Amazon a little nervous. I was all like... "Move your ass and your sad little scooters before I call some real bikers," as I gently rolled big ol' Jolene right up on them.

And they did.

Tourists are great. All ya'll come on down to the holler any time you want. But remember, this is a town, not feckin' Dollywood. We live here, we're not hillbilly actors playing a part for your entertainment. And sweet Lord Almighty, stop letting litte precious and her brother Skippy play in the middle of the road. It's a STATE HIGHWAY where sheriff's deputies chase meth dealers down off the mountain on a daily basis and 18-wheelers make daily deliveries up at the plant. I'd hate to see little Skippy plastered to the front of a Peterbuilt, nothing left but his cute little red Crocs laying on the yellow line.

We have shit to do people. Gawd.

Anywho...

So we headed out.. finally. I wish I could have taken more pictures up Fall Branch. It is one of the most beautiful areas in Western N.C. You follow the two lane highway up and out of town, following the swollen creek, with giant rocks and moss covered banks and curves so steep you can almost see your own tail lights ahead of you as you creep around them. In spots, the two lane narrows to a lane and a half, so sometimes you just pray nothing's coming and take the half down the middle. Along the way, there are houses with log foot bridges and contraptions on pulleys with swing seats attached to move across the creek. Occasionally, as you climb ridges with names like Betsy and Bluff, you pass a well paved road, meandering straight uphill, blocked by giant iron gates like those you'd expect to see in Los Angeles, with little intercom boxes attached to a post. I've heard rumors that one of the Mandrell sisters lives on one of the estates, she owns a nightclub over in Maggie Valley. I've also heard Reba McEntire and Dolly live up in those hills, but I don't think it's true.

There are organic farms and huge log McMansions surrounded by pastures populated with expensive horses while just across the road you'll find a big old abandoned farm house, the forgotten porch swing still swaying quietly in the breeze, where the fields are so over grown, the road leading to what's left of the barn is no longer detectable.

The views are awe inspiring, but there aren't many places to pull over. When I reached the section known as "the flats," where there was a decent chance of getting a few shots, the skies opened up and dumped about a gazillion gallons of water straight down on us.

When we came out on the other side, I got a little disoriented. I'm gonna need for people to stop moving the damn Wal-Mart, my only landmark. We ended up all over the town on the other side of the hills.

While driving around, I pulled in to a shopping center and spotted a big outlet store. It looked sorta crappy, the Amazon wasn't very enthused about going inside, but I talked her into it. We both ended up coming out of there with a bag full of deals.

We finally did end up at a spiffy new Wal-Mart, but totally by accident. We had to. Ma gave us a list. Afterwards, I had to ask how to get back to Frog Pond Holler. Luckily, there was a lady from the rez working at the gas station... because the white dude didn't have a clue.

On the long drive home, the Amazon was forced to listen to me caterwailling to my new $5 Barry Manilow cd. Don't panic ya'll, I also bought Motley Crue Live and Styx.

It's been FOREVER since I last bought myself a cd. It felt nice.

Anywho...

I'd better get some clothes washed, since I lollygagged all over God's creation yesterday. Ya'll have a good one. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!

Sometimes, A Snoopy Bandaide Isn't Enough

The normally serene, sparkling Fall Branch creek is rushing through town with wild abandon, splashing against the bottom of the bridge. They're calling for more showers today, I hope it doesn't come down like the ginormous gullywashers we had over night.

I have to admit, I get excited when Mother Nature starts showing off, reminding us that she's still in charge. Thunder boomers, wild winds and hide n' seek sunshine all make me feel just a smidge more alive.

It's not like ya'll didn't already know I was a little nuts.

Speaking of which, I called the good doc's office Wednesday. Apparently I didn't sound so hot because the appointment clerk made me talk to a nurse, who in turn tried to convince me to get my ass immediately to an urgent care center.

Apparently, when you start describing a panic attack in full detail, including the events which set it off, you start to actually HAVE a panic attack, leading the good doc's nurse to suggest she have me something called in right away to keep me from going batshit crazy and jumping off the bridge, ending up as the lead story on the 11 o'clock news to hold me over until I could make it to an appointment next week. She got a little irked when I kept explaining that I wasn't at liberty to leave work until then.

I'm now on day two of a low dose of clonazepam. By Wednesday night I could tell a difference. I was sitting on the couch, watching the boob tube, when it slowly washed over me. I could breathe. My eye wasn't twitching. And for the first time in.. gawd.. forever.. I felt different. I felt normal. I've slept for two nights. Really slept, without waking up at 3 a.m. with feelings of nonspecific fear causing me to get up and pace from one end of the house to the other until I felt I could go back to bed.

I was afraid medication would make me feel loopy or drowsy, but it doesn't. Not at all. I can focus on the task at hand without my mind running off in a gazillion different directions.

Sweet Jesus.. if I'm this amazed at how NORMAL I feel now, how nuckin' futz was I becoming?

I go to see the good doc next week. I'm going to explain to her how I was raised by an inbred pedophile and a controlling ostrich (who sent me for counselling at 13, because the school system insisted there was something wrong, yet forbade me to tell the councilor about anything the sperm donor did, lest they put both of them in jail and send me to a foster home where even worse things would happen to me and did I want THAT on my conscience? Is it any wonder I'm a few fries short of a Happy Meal?) I'm going to tell her that I know I need to talk to someone, but I don't know where to even start.

Surely she can start me in the right direction.

I know this all probably sounds like a bit of TMI. If I used my real name or posted pictures of myself, I probably wouldn't be quite so sharing, keeping my anonymity gives me the luxury of putting it all out there. Maybe there's someone else feeling a little batshit crazy, dealing with 30 year old crap, someone who thinks they're the only one.

Now they can at least know they aren't alone.

Anywho...

I promise to get back to more cheerful subjects this weekend. In the meantime, I'll leave you with this:

Making Gravy, Going Crazy and Taking Control

Happy Humpday ya'll! We've got lot's of catching up to do, so strap yourself in, grab a cuppa caffine and hang on...

'Round the Holler - The new visitor center is almost complete. When I went by the other day, I noticed a bunch of fellers in orange jumpsuits working away under the watchful eye of two law enforcement bubbas, toting shot guns.

If they're inmates, is it still "volunteer" labor?

Speaking of convicted criminals, I've not heard a peep out of our newspaper carrier since cancelling my subscription. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not. I half expect to find a 'possum head wrapped in the Sunday funnies and tied to my screen door as a warning.

I was telling Tiny about the whole newspaper deal yesterday. He told me I was brave, knowing how crazy the girl was. He then went on to tell me about the time she approached him when he was moonlighting at the meat counter down at the grocery store. She asked him if he had any scraps she could take to her dogs, stuff they were going to throw away anyway. Tiny was quick to oblige, he'll do just about anything for any female who bats an eye. He's sort of a Hillbilly Cassanova. He said he dug out a bunch of meat scraps from the barrel where they toss everything from fish guts to eyeballs, wrapped it up and handed it to Lizzy with a smile.

When she came in about a week later, Tiny asked her if the dogs enjoyed their treat. He probably didn't give a flip about the dogs, but Tiny never turns down the opportunity to get his flirt on. Lizzy told him they had, but that there was alot of lean mixed in with those scraps. She said she'd picked the good stuff out, frying it up.

"That sure made some good gravy," she said.

Tiny turned a little green just telling us about it.

Up at the Asylum - We're still working weird schedules with managers taking a week off every month, leaving three of us peeons to try to figure everything out on our own. One thing's for sure, it's never boring.

Business seems to be picking up, but not enough. In order for an increase in business to have any effect, our one major customer's orders will have to increase substantially and maintain that level for a while. So far, that's not happening.

But I have faith.

To be honest, I sort of look forward to the weeks when Bossman isn't here. I work like a dog, doing the work of two people, plus taking over part of his manager responsibilities, all for less than 20K a year, yet it seems worth it to not have him stomping around, whining and barking all day.

Meanwhile, Back at the Trailer - I finally got my state refund, so I'll be looking into getting a new washer soon. I've put that on the back burner for a week or so, I've got some other pressing issues to tend to first.

I've decided to make a doctor's appointment for next week, to see about getting something for... well.. whatever the hell is going on with me. I'm not even real sure how to approach it:

"Hi Doc.. I've been riding the crazy train for over a week now and I want to get off. Do they make a pill for that?"

or...

"Nothing's really wrong... I have these episodes.. of fear.. for no reason... and I can breathe but I feel like I'm suffocating... In the movies they always sit in a daze doing arts and crafts in a quiet place but I don't have any sick leave or vacation time. Do you know a good exorcist?"

or...

"Hi! Just call me Weepy McLooneybritches!!!"

I guess it doesn't really matter. I know when I show up for the appointment and the nurse asks me what the problem is, I'll just start bawling uncontrollably.

Yeah.. I can just see the men folk lining up to take me out after reading this. Nothing says sexy like a teary nutbar.

To be honest, I know what the problem is. I know what set it off, I know why childhood traumas keep working their way back to the surface, festering like a big, puss-filled boil, rekindling the fears that I've worked so hard to beat back down for the past 3o years.

Over the years, I've given up all my self-medicating vices, one by one. Alcohol, assorted drugs, cigarettes, one-nighters... the only one left is food. And every time I try to let go of the one thing I have left, I go through this.

I won't be outdone. That bastard isn't going to control my life anymore. It's time to deal with some shit.. get right up in the face of my fears and confront them, head on.

But I think I'm going to need a little help. Let's face it, my attempts to do it by myself haven't worked out so great in the past. I'm going to have to trust someone. So yeah.. I'm making an appointment. Wish me luck.

So anywho... I hope ya'll have a humpalicious Wednesday. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!

Monday Morning Quickies

I called the Big City newspaper to cancel my subscription this morning. I had been getting a Sunday paper, mainly for the coupons, but I only actually received a paper maybe twice a month. When the rates went up, I decided it wasn't worth it.

Calling in the cancellation was a dangerous move. My paper carrier is a little unstable. Previously, when I didn't receive a paper and called to have it taken off my bill, I received a long, bordering on threatening phone message from our carrier. Since then, I've just not said anything.

But ya know what? I've been feeling a little unstable myself lately. So I cancelled it. And.. I told the folks down at the Big City paper that I'd best not receive any phone calls from my carrier and that it would be to their advantage to make that point crystal clear to her.

Yeah.. I talk a good game, but I still can't help thinking:

She's killed before. She'll kill again.

Anywho.. I'd better get it in gear. Ya'll have a good one.

Later Taters!

The Dead, The Squished and The Hungry

The winds are calm and sun is shinning bright in the holler this morning. The aroma of hot coffee fills the trailer while Ma sits in her room, watching Law and Order reruns and enjoying her Mother's Day Whitman's Sampler. The Amazon is down at the Pump n' Go, selling smokes and chew to locals, hikers, bikers and river rats, I think she gets off around two.

As for me, I've got a roast in the slow cooker, old Porter Wagoner Show reruns on the RFD channel, listening to a young Dolly Parton singing about broken hearts and salty tears. Yeah I know I keep saying I don't like country music, but the old stuff I grew up with is different. Besides, me and Dolly are practically neighbors.. sorta kinda.. as the crow flies.

Speaking of crows.. or birds in general.. I had a close encounter on Friday. When I came home for lunch, I noticed some fresh roadkill in front of the house. It was a fairly large turtle, who'd made it just to the yellow line before meeting his death. I didn't give it much thought, although possums and bunnies are more common down here in the holler.

After work, as I beebopped on around the curve in Jolene, heading home, I nearly crapped my granny panties as I slid to a stop in front of two of the biggest, ugliest looking birds I've ever seen.

Vultures are common around here, I see them circling in groups of three or more overhead on a daily basis, but I can count on one hand how many times I've seen one on the ground. The two ginormous birds were sitting in the road, chowing down on turtle. They flew up, raising a ruckus when they saw me and were joined by a third who'd been sitting in the garden over on the vacant lot. As I pulled in to the driveway, one of them landed on a big rock sitting over on the property next door, where Granny's house once stood.

For a moment, I felt like I'd landed in an old spaghetti western. I expected a tumbleweed to go rolling by any second, followed by an unshaven Clint Eastwood in a worn, brown poncho, unfiltered cigarette dangling from his lips and a floppy cowboy hat atop his head.

*cue music*

I grabbed my camera and slid stealthily out of the truck, but not stealthily enough. He took off before I could get a shot.

But then? All hell broke loose.

As all three giant buzzards took to the air, an army of smaller birds, including black birds, sparrows and jays, appeared from the trees, taking off after the vultures, ripping in to their tail feathers. There arose a great screeching from the skies, bits of feather and bird flesh raining to the ground.

Where's Tippi Hedren when you need her?

I ran up the steps and to the door, camera still in hand.

"What were you doing out in the yard? I heard you pull up. What took you so long?" asked the Amazon.

"Holy hell.. there were vultures.. three of them.. BIG ASS BIRDS.. in the road.. and feathers.. carnage.. EW," I answered.

"Vultures you say. Mmm hmm. Three of them? Yeah okay," she said.

"SERIOUSLY!! They were HUGE. I thought they were going to EAT ME! Then? The little birds came out of the trees and were attacking the vultures and and ..." I knew how nuts I sounded, but I didn't care.

"Yeah.. okay. You ready to go to Big City or not?"

I'm starting to feel a lot like Rodney Dangerfield.

Anywho.. the trip to Big City was uneventful, other than more Big Lots bathroom drama. Three stalls, one's stopped up, one door won't close AT ALL and the third only had a shower curtain in front of it.

I decided I could hold it. Seriously.. a shower curtain? Big Lots can't spring for a piece of plywood and some hinges?

That's just wrong people.

Oh well. This week is Bossman's mandatory week off, so I'll be flying solo in the sales department up at the Asylum. In exchange for losing my mind, I get to work a full week.

Woohooo.

I'm taking it easy today, painting seashells in between one or two loads of laundry. I've been sorta riding the crazy train ever since I had that panic/anxiety/crazy fit the other night. Maybe I'm finally losing it.

Or maybe I'm just lonely.

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

Later Taters!

When Cuteness Attacks

It's dark and gloomy in the holler today. More rain. Lots and lots of rain. I'm starting to feel kinda moldy and I think I've got mushrooms sprouting in my nooks and crannies.

Do they have a cream for that?

Ya'll remember that sweet, tiny, hungry waif of a kitteh I rescued from the wilderness (and Tiny's probing hands) a couple of weeks ago? Well, once she got a little food in her belly and her strength built up... all hell broke loose.

Terrorism has a new face. With whiskers.

Her favorite hiding place is atop the refrigerator, where she lies waiting behind the ceramic frogs for her next victim. The other night, when Ma was bent over to retrieve herself a Coke from the bottom shelf, she suddenly released a horrific scream, followed by threats of murder as she danced around the kitchen in an attempt to release the now scared shitless kitty from her lower back, who was holding on for dear life.

I may or may not have peed a little with laughter.

I told Ma she should be ashamed of herself, scaring a tiny kitten like that.

The little hairball is fearless, attacking the dogs, who are left bewildered by the whole encounter. They've never lived with a cat who wasn't afraid of them. She does seem to have an unhealthy obsession with Merlin, the cockatiel. We now have water pistols, loaded and ready, distributed around the living room, in an attempt to keep her from turning him into a Happy Meal.

I've become a crack shot, just call me Annie Oakley.

The stupid bird doesn't help matters. If he'd squawk and raise hell when she gets up there, like he does whenever the Amazon gets near him, she'd probably back down.

But no.

He sits with his little head cocked sideways and jabbers away to her, like he's found a new best friend.

She unties my shoes when I'm getting ready for work in the morning, will walk right up to the Amazon and bite her, for no apparent reason, will wrap all fours around your ankle as you try to walk through the house and drags plastic shopping bags from one room to the other like a Cheetah, returning home with her kill. She holds them in her teeth as she climbs up in to my desk chair, where she perches regally atop the bag, looking out over the carpet as if it were the Serengeti.

And you can forget about having paper towels, Kleenex or toilet paper anywhere that isn't locked up. I came home yesterday and found the living room floor covered in a sea of fluffy, white shredded paper. In the center sat a tiny kitteh, with a look of, "Yeah.. I did it. What are you gonna do about it? Nothing, that's what."

I keep reminding myself that she's only 3 ½ months old. It's the only thing that's kept her alive.

Anywho...

I've got lots of orders to enter today, so I'd better get with the program. Let's rejoice in the Friday-ness that is today.

Ya'll have a good one.

Later Taters!

For Anxiety, Take One Zombie and Call Me in the Morning

It's a good thing I paid attention to the canoe building demonstration the last time we went out to the Occonaluftee reservation. If it rains much more, it may be the only way to get out of town. Both the river that runs down to the holler from Big City and the creek flowing from Fall Branch are swollen in their banks, running hard and muddy brown. If the creek keeps rising, we could end up having to shut down the Asylum for the day. We've had to evacuate in the past when water threatened the only road leading up here.

Everyone's getting cranked up for the Memorial Day shindig in a few weeks. Fliers are up all over town, advertising a giant yard sale, entertainment and Poor Man's Supper fundraisers.

(For ya'll of the nawthun persuasion, a Poor Man's Supper is usually pinto beans, cole slaw and cornbread, garnished with green onions and optional hot sauce or one of many regional variations. A big ol' plate full usually goes for around $3-$5. It's a popular fund raising method among church groups and fire departments.)

Lulu and her Mama have already secured themselves a spot at the yard sale. They love buying and selling everything imaginable from flea markets and estate auctions. I keep telling Lulu she should try selling some of that stuff on eBay, but she won't listen.

In the center of town, work continues on the new Visitor's Center. Labor and materials for the building are being donated. It's kinda cool to see a bunch of menfolk meeting down there after the work day is over, some still in company uniforms, others in their farmeralls and one or two with the sleeves of their crisp, white shirts rolled up, ties tossed aside as they pass hammers and nails amongst themselves.

It's a small town thing.

Anywho...

I'd better get to work. I'm running on very little sleep, I was up half the night in the throws of an anxiety attack.. or something. At one point, it got so bad that I had to ask the Amazon to come sit in the living room with me, hoping her company would ease the fear that was creeping in to my chest.

It doesn't happen often, but when it does, it kicks my ass.

It didn't hit until I was in bed, almost asleep. I made the mistake of watching something on television last night that stirred up unpleasant childhood memories. I didn't think it had bothered me that much, but I guess when I went to bed and finally reached that "not quite awake-not quite asleep" state, the anxiety caused by the memory saw it's opportunity to sneak out and totally f*ck with my reality.

At least.. I think that's what happened.

Me and the Amazon ended up sitting on the couch, watching Fido, the only zombie movie I'll watch. Because honestly... when you're sitting there freaking out, considering going to the E.R. an hour away, what you really need to make you feel better is a good zombie movie.

Do you know how idiotic I felt, when the Amazon asked what was wrong, to sit there wringing my hands and saying, "I don't know. But I feel like I can't breathe. Just don't leave me," all while fighting total hyperventilation?

So embarrassing.

It.. whatever the hell "it" was... finally eased off around 2 a.m. I didn't chance going back to bed, I slept on the couch with the television on until 6:30.

Did ya'll know that MacGyver comes on ALOT in the wee hours of the night?

I think I'm going to use some of that MacGyver-esque inspiration and see if I can fashion an I.V. out of an empty pen case, a garden hose and some duct tape.. because my morning coffee needs a little help getting into my bloodstream today.

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

Later Taters!

At Least I Had Good Hair

Monday started out okay. I showed up for work in a pretty good mood. I mean... I wasn't fluttering around shooting magic fairy dust out my ass or anything, but I felt... pleasant.

My morning walk was nice, the temperature was perfect and I felt like Snow White, whistling a tune as I watched the fat little bunnies frolicking amongst the buttercups, a ground hog munching happily on the grass and a pair of Blue Jays bumping feathers in a wild display of procreation.

Oh and most importantly... my hair looked FABULOUS.

When I got inside, I had a pile of orders waiting for me on my desk (KA-CHING!) and for the first time in forever, I wasn't behind.

Deep down.. I knew it couldn't last.

The unravelling began when Bossman innocently came looking for an order that shipped a few days ago. As I handed him the order, Lulu peeked over the wall to tell me there was a mandatory 401K meeting in the afternoon. I soon learned that this meant a return of Pseudo Proops, the corporate money guy who shows up to tell us how we just THINK we're losing money in the stock market, we're not really and that the answer to all our problems is to put more money in, because.. as he explains it.. we're really making money, we're just too simple minded to understand it.

I'm sorry.. I may be stupid but when my quarterly statement's balance is $3000 less than it was last quarter... that's losing money.

I told Lulu, "I don't care if the meeting is mandatory, if he starts talking about letting a 500 pound anaconda swallow me again, I'm walking out."

"No you won't," she answered.

"No, I won't, but it felt good to pretend I had a pair for a second," I admitted.

In the two hours we had before the meeting, the reason for Bossman needing a copy of the order he'd been looking for began to come to light. When our customer's customer received their shipment, their "item" (with shipping, an $8000 item) was built completely wrong. We pulled all the paperwork and discovered that my quote, our customer's order and the way the "item" was built all matched.

But it wasn't what our customer's customer ordered.

Remember LaShamwow, the pissy assed little twit angry customer who called me with her butt floss in a wad because she'd LIED to her customer about when the "item" would ship, then wanted me to perform a mother effin' miracle and make her look good?

Yeah.. her.

She called this afternoon to inform Bossman that we would be eating the cost of repairing the "item" and that we were completely at fault. Bossman gently explained to her that she was mistaken. It all went downhill from there.

I reckon she didn't realize I was sitting in Bossman's office listening to the whole conversation when she had a momentary leave of her senses and decided to try to rescue herself by resorting to calling me.. a liar.

Oh yes.. yes she did.

Bossman, who had all the paperwork in front of him, proving that I did nothing wrong, reared back in his chair, his eyes beginning to bulge in the sockets, his bald little head glowing bright red.

He screamed in to the phone. He told LaShanaynay what he thought of her. I'm pretty sure he insulted her family back six generations and questioned the mental capacity of any unborn children she may have been planning to conceive in the future.

It was not pretty.

I have seen Bossman lose his cool on many occasions, but I've never seen him go radioactive ballistic like he did today. I seriously thought he was going to have another heart attack.

By the time I left there this afternoon, I wanted to quit my job, change my name and move to another country, spending the rest of my days as a Botswanian bag lady, wandering the streets with my crusty, old hairless dog, muttering to myself and beating up squirrels to steal their peanuts.

Then? I had the pleasure of grocery shopping.

I'm seriously reconsidering my decisions to give up smoking, drinking and one night stands with men of questionable moral standards.

Jeeze.

And honestly? I don't even know what the hell was said in the meeting. By then, my brain was fried. It's been over five hours since LaShayShay or whatever the hell her name was caused Bossman to go nuclear and I've just now recovered enough to form a complete sentence.

At least Monday is over. Onward ho.

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

Later Taters!

Daydreams, Seashells and Aunt Moses

Last weekend, the holler was full of stinky hikers, this week? River rats. The campground hosts a river festival every year, with B-list rock bands, festival tents and lots and lots of alcohol. Ten years ago? I would have been right there in the middle of it, but now I just know I'd spend the whole time whining about how far it was to the nearest Porta-Potty.

I spent most of yesterday working on the pendants pictured above. I cast my own molds from some seashells I had lying around and finished them off with my own "faux shell" painting technique. I've got a few other ideas I've been kicking around, I'm thinking about putting them on Etsy.com. What do ya'll think?

I woke up this morning to a yelping chihuahuaranian, Ma loudly hissing "SHHHHHHH!" every two seconds and the sound of the front door opening and closing. Nine o'clock might not seem that early to most of ya'll, but I was up watching the boob tube 'til all hours of the night and had planned to sleep in.

I rolled out of bed and staggered down the hall to find Ma sitting at the kitchen table with a defiant look, the front door standing wide open and Aunt Moses barrelling in the front door, waving a soaking wet Sunday paper in my face.

"HERE'S YER PAPER!!!" she announced.

I may have mumbled something like... "just throw it down... gawd," as I stumbled to the bathroom. I don't know what she was doing here, she was gone when I came out. I lumbered in to the kitchen to make coffee, Ma glaring at me from atop her glasses.

"I don't know why you're always in such a bad mood. Do you really hate living here that much that you're just angry all the time?"

Sweet Jesus. All I did was get up and pee and already I've managed to piss her off.

My attitude. My smart mouth. She takes me right back to 12 years old in a sentence.

I probably said some things I shouldn't have, none of which I meant and now I'll spend the remainder of the day in a mental tug o' war, trying to talk myself out of all the self guilt and loathing. Ma will, no doubt, call Aunt Moses and discuss my mood swings, making my reputation as the crazy, spinster cousin... with anger issues... firmly carved in granite for eternity.

Anywho...

I think I'm gonna go pour myself another cup of coffee, put my feet up, close my eyes and drift away in to daydreams about witty men in black eyeliner, whispering sweet nothings in my ear with foreign accents.

Y'all have a good one. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!

P.S. Now you can also find me at HiddenMahala.com. Same blog. Same nonsense.

Satin Jackets, Tractor Tires and Sgt. Peppers

I finished my walk this morning just as the skies opened up, dumping buckets of rain down on the holler. I love big storms. I wanted to kick off my shoes, run back out the door and frolic in the rain amongst the daffodils, but Bossman told me to get to work.

No time for dilly dallying at month end.

~*~

Those of you who were around back in September will remember my post "County Fairs, Eddie Izzard and the Beatles," when I shared my discovery of the movie, "Across the Universe." In it, I mentioned my love for the cheesy musical "Sgt. Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band." We had to go see it back in '78 when my best friend Mary Lamm heard Aerosmith was making an appearance. She had crushes on both Steven Tyler and Barry Manilow... simultaneously. Go figure.

Anywho...

So the Amazon added it to he Netflix list when, for the gazillionth time, I hinted that I'd like to see it again and last night we settled in for a night of BeeGees, Peter Frampton and George Burns. We discussed the differences between the two movies, pointed out the similarities and added our own punch lines here and there. I even admitted to owning a white satin jacket with an airbrushed, winged unicorn on the back at around the time the movie came out.

The Amazon found that last little tidbit ridiculously funny.


~*~

Yesterday I had planned to go home after work, change clothes and hit the yard for some spring cleaning. We have three tractor tire planters in our yard, in front of our trailer (you might be a redneck) and they've been full of weeds for the past few years. I just couldn't bring myself to embrace the trailer trashedness of it all until now... but hell.. what else am I going to do with them? The dump won't take tires, so I may as well clean them out, dump some wildflower seeds in there and maybe stick my make-shift birdbath in one. I'll draw the line at spray painting the tires to match the trailer, although it seems to be the thing to do here in the holler.

I only had time to get one tire cleaned out though, I got off to a late start. Uncle Barney and his future son-in-law (the New Yorker my trashy big boobed cousin with the lazy eye picked up on the internet) were playing NASCAR in the front yard with riding lawn mowers. I probably could have been a little less anti-social and gone out there while they mowed, but I'm pretty sure I saw a flask tucked in Uncle Barney's grass covered sports sock, which most likely contained a few ounces of his home brewed blackberry wine.

You really don't wanna get in the way of a drunken, mowing hillbilly... and I suspect a drunken mowing New Yorker can't be much safer.

Ah well.. it's Friday ya'll. I'm planning a quiet day at the Asylum, shuffling paper playing catch up. Bossman is leaving early, so I'm working over a little this afternoon, just so there's someone to answer the phone. Ya never know, that next phone call might just be the next big customer.

Hang in there, we'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!