Cowgirls, Gropers and Afternoon Visitors

Holy booger fest Batman! Everything from the neck up is either swollen, hurting or expelling mystery substances. My head is just one big, festering infection.

I know.. my sexiness is overwhelming. Try to control yourselves.

Saturday was the Amazon's birthday. It began with my putting my mouth up to the hole where her doorknob used to be (you might be a redneck) and singing "Happy Birthday" loudly and purposely off key. Later, she indulged in some brownies and some Wii action, while I napped.. because I'm a walking, raging cesspool of infection (my therapist says I need to stop making everything about me,) then that night she walked down to the local watering hole to meet a few of her closest friends.

I could tell her friends hadn't arrived when she got there because she immediately began texting me with a list of who all was there.

"The Groper is here. He's standing behind me."

Oh. Ma. Gawd. Ew.

When she got home, she had to give me the lowdown on everyone. It was still sorta early, but she said her friend had been overcome with heebeejeebies when she saw The Groper on the dance floor with some chicklet we've dubbed "The Cowgirl," because only in Frog Pond Holler do two women decide to go out for a little Saturday night excitement, saddling up their horses and riding down the main drag after dark. The heebeejeebies began when the friend, watching The Groper and The Cowgirl on the dance floor, witnessed the digital anal probing going on right there in front of God and everyone.

Yes my friends, this is the same man who likes to rub my arms and feed me Christmas candy.

After I told both Thelma and Lulu about The Groper's Saturday night shenanigans, I was forced to make butt juice jokes and several references to hand sanitizer due to my being catty and bitchy today.. BECAUSE MY ENTIRE HEAD IS INFECTIOUS.

But it's not all about me. Really.

In other exciting Asylum news, we had a visitor on Friday. I was sitting at my desk goofing off on Plurk and reading stuff working diligently when I heard a voice at the front of the building.

"HELLLLOOOOOO... is anyone HEEEEERRRREEEE? Oh HI mister!!! How the heck ARE ya???"

I felt my left eyeball begin to twitch. Beads of perspiration formed on my brow. A feeling of impending doom began to rise through my gut in a primal warning of self preservation.

It was....

Bubbles.

I'm assuming she came to shmooze, her unemployment is probably getting ready to run out and Bubbahubby can't possibly work another job. She also did not expect to encounter Bossman in the hallway.

"Oh HI! What are YOU doing here? Your car's not out there."

Dang.. obvious much?

"Yes it is," he answered.

"No it's not, your black car, it's not out there," she insisted.

"I don't have a black car anymore," he explained.

"Oh.. well.. I finally got to go play golf. I really liked it!" The bullcrap was so deep in there, I nearly gagged. In the past she also said she liked the Colts (Bossman's favorite team) when she wouldn't know a football if it flew up her big ol' butt.

"Nice seeing ya. Hope you're doing ok," Bossman added before trying to walk away.

"Oh, so you don't wanna talk to me huh?" Bubbles said, trying to be cute, but managing instead to sound desperate and pathetic.

"End of the month, lots to get done," he answered as he fled out into the plant. I didn't see him again for almost 45 minutes.

She finally left. My mind raced with all sorts of possible scenarios, but I know she was just nosing around because her Bubbahubby probably told her she'd have to find a job after her unemployment ran out.

See? If I can get a job working from home, everyone will be happy, even Bubbles. She can come back to the Asylum and have it all to herself. Okay so, Bossman probably won't be happy, but he never is.

Anywho... I have a call in to the Big City doctor for some antibiotics. I'm dunno why I called. She never calls them in for me, but I'm clinging to hope. Ya'll have a bootay kickin' week. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters.

Fingers Crossed

Lawd ya'll, I've got so much to tell you, I don't even know where to begin. Let's start with the Asylum, shall we?

PG took a vacation day today so he could put in some job applications closer to home and he didn't care who knew it. He's been such a grumpy butt for the past two years, Lulu and I are already fighting over who gets to hold the door open for him.

It's sad that he was here when I came here, nearly 14 years go and I can't wait for him to leave. I wish him well in his future endeavors.. and I hope it's far far away from Frog Pond Holler.

Bossman.. well.. same crap, different day. His mood never changes, whether I book 100K or $2. The atmosphere around here is gloom and doom, all the time, no one's happy. There aren't enough anti-depressants in the world to make it bearable.

My job search continues. I've not heard back from that first resume' I sent in, but I'm still hoping, fingers crossed. I've looked into other online job options, most are scams or sound good in principal, but require monthly fees. I'm not giving up hope yet. I knew going into this there would be alot of muck to sort through to find legitimate online jobs.. and with all the critters around my house, I'm no stranger to sorting and slinging muck when necessary.

I'm clinging to the hope that I can find something from home. It just seems like the ideal solution, with Ma's condition and our remote location.

Speaking of critters, I've decided that the nice, large fenced in back yard with the spiffy new dog house will sit empty until either I find a new job working from home or at least start making extra money somehow. I don't want to have to lean on the Amazon anymore than I have already. I'm having huge guilt issues as it is.

That doesn't mean, however, that I've not been window shopping on Petfinder.

Just looking.. honest.

A small pound rescue group has listed a litter of St. Bernard puppies over in Big City that won't be available until the middle of next month. Oh and in Tennessee, there's a Great Dane, Bloodhound mix, already neutered, 120 pounds, who's only crime is a dislike for chickens.

A pup after my own heart.

But, just looking. It gives me incentive.. as if listening to the GM hock big, juicy phlegm loogies all day isn't enough.

Anywho... I need to go look busy. Ya'll take care and we'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!

Feeling Cocky

So yesterday, I spent my entire lunch break wallerin' Ma around the living room floor. Craziness decided she needed someone to come fix her scooter chair, which has never been used, but has to sit in the middle of the living room, serving no purpose other than something to constantly bang my toes on.

The battery was dead, so they sent someone out to replace it. Ma said she needed it "just in case." She's determined to strap herself in and ride it to town when she has a doctor's appointment.

Keep in mind that of her four limbs, she has one, reasonably well working arm. That's pretty much it. I can't get her big ass scooter chair out the door by myself with all my working parts. I have no idea how she thinks she's going to do it alone. But that's another story.

So I walk in, carrying my BBQ sandwich from the campground store, to find Ma sitting in the floor, batting her eyes and talking all sweet to some hunka pretty manliness from the scooter chair place.

I know what you're thinking.. I must've said, "Oh my goodness!!! Mother!!! Have you fallen?? Here!! Let me help you!!!"

Well.. that's not what happened.

I may or may not have stepped over her and walked to the kitchen, sat down and proceeded to pig out. Because I'm callous and cold hearted like that.

After Prettiness left, the wallerin' commenced. At one point, when I'd gotten her up on her knees and she'd given up, my lunch hour ticking to a close, I told her that the next time she got the bright idea play all Miss Independence, I wanted her to remember just how she felt at that moment and reconsider her decision.

I also told her that if she didn't get her butt out of the floor, I was gonna call the fire department and they'd send the first responders, resulting in a snaggle toothed hillbilly fest where she could get wallered around by some greasy, tobacco stained old men if she'd rather.

No, I was not kind nor was I patient. I told her last week that I'd take her to the doctor. I asked her to please stop calling people to come do crap when she's here by herself. I explained to her that I was not trying to control her or stop her from doing anything, I was only concerned for her safety, after which I was insulted.

So when I came home and found her there, I did not feel sympathy. My back still hurts from carrying my lifeless, yet conscious 90 pound dog to the truck last week. I had spent all yesterday morning listening to my boss slam doors and stand over me demanding, "I need 150K by Monday. Do you have any orders? I need 150K." I am not the sales manager. It took all the self control I had in me to not look him in the beady little eyes and inform him that if he needed sales, perhaps he should get his thumb out of his ass, stop whining, get on the phone and get some.

It's his job. Not mine.

So yeah. I got a little pissy with Ma. But I got her up and back to the bed. I had the Amazon call and check on her and when I got off at three, I brought her some Cokes.

It has been stated, by well meaning co-workers, that perhaps I am developing an attitude problem. My response?

Good. Maybe I need one.

This is reason number 149 why I need a job working from home.

Fingers crossed.

Ya'll have a humparrific Humpday. And seriously.. try to stay out of the floor.

Later Taters!

On The Edge People, On The Edge

Lawd ya'll. The Asylum is really living up to it's name. I have GOT to find a new job before I end up in prison for going off on a sudden rampage, wielding a plastic spork at Bossman's bald little head while calling upon my mixed racial heritage and using it to work up a frenzied war cry which will be heard across all the acreage of Frog Pond Holler and probably mistaken for demonic possession, that which will make Linda Blair in "The Exorcist" look like Glenda the Good Witch.

The catty, backstabbing, he said / she said nonsense has reached levels that would put Bubbles and Louise to shame.

And it's the menfolk who are stirring it up. That would be the highly paid, manager menfolk to be exact.

Surely to God there has to be someone, somewhere, who would hire me to work from home, online and pay me enough to live on.

It wouldn't have to be much to be more than what I make now. I mean it, I don't think I can work in an office with other people for a while. Someone. Will. Die.

I've sent one resume so far. It would be SO PERFECT if I got that job. Full time, competitive salary, flexible hours and doing something that I pretty much already do anyway.

And no Bossman. Or being treated like an idiot by self absorbed, winky challenged customers who over compensate by trying to be the biggest hiney exit they can be. Over stuff MANAGEMENT did.

*Bangs head on desk*

Ya'll keep your fingers crossed for me, kay? Kay.

We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!

And Then It Was Just Time...

So.. Thursday I came home at lunch and found Ozzy hadn't moved since I'd left that morning. I got down in the floor and talked to him, he wasn't interested in getting up. The Amazon came over and scratched behind his ear, then recoiled in horror as he went in to a seizure.

I hoped it was a one time thing. He had seemed to be doing so much better. His leg was healing, he was getting friskier every day. Just the night before he'd been in the kitchen, trying to steal leftovers off the stove. I told the Amazon to call the vet, see if maybe it was a reaction to the new pain medication. I went back to work, but she called me about an hour later, crying and telling me he'd just had another seizure.

I totally lost control of my emotions at work. I told Bossman, he put his arm around me and told me to just go and not worry about it. If I hadn't been so upset, I probably would have fainted from shock.

Ozzy wouldn't get up, he couldn't move much at all. We lifted him with the sheets he'd been laying on and carried him to the truck, stopping about four times on the way when I started to lose my grip. Somewhere in the process I pulled something in my back.

After chest x-rays and blood tests, we decided it was time to stop trying. Sometime overnight he'd crashed, turned a corner and started towards the point of no return. Every vet in the practice who'd taken part in his care over the past month or so, came in to say goodbye and to tell us we'd done a good job with him. They let us pet him and talk to him as they put him down.

We decided to have him cremated, I couldn't bear thoughts of the Scary Hillbilly Town city dump and the Amazon, as we made the decision of what to do, looked at me and said, "Mama, that's a big hole to dig."

Now there's a big new dog lot in the back yard that Ozzy never saw and a bright, shiny new dog house, with windows, that he never got to try. They'll stay there until the time is right. They won't stay empty forever.

I slept in my own bed for the first time in forever Thursday night, but I had to leave the t.v. on. And even though Sammy had his butt scootched up against my back, I still caught myself reaching down to pat Ozzy's back in the middle of the night.

Right now, it's hard, but me and the Amazon know we did what we could. It was just time. Now if ya'll will excuse me, I'm gonna go hug the stuffins out of a certain Boston Baked Beagle.

Ya'll have a good one.



Later Taters.

I Mean It This Time.. No Really

Dang.. I left ya'll hanging huh?

Forgive me?

So, here's the scoop:

Here at the Cubicle Asylum where we manufacture and sell robot monkeys (not really, but work with me here) and we adhere to a tight on-time shipping schedule. Last week, when Tiny was in charge, we fell $20K behind in shipments.

A crime punishable by death here at the Asylum.

So.. everyone.. meaning all the managers... had their Superman Underoos in a wad over the shipments being behind and the fingers started to wag. Blame was being slung around like poop from a chain smokin' chimp down at the city zoo.

Seeing how it's Tiny's mandatory week off and I was the only other person here involved in that end of the operation last week, I was asked alot of questions. One customer in particular was promised by Bossman that her robot monkey would ship on Friday. I know this because she called me every. damn. day. to tell me. Everytime she called, I paged Tiny and told him to make SURE that robot monkey went out on time.

But come Monday morning, the uber hot, super special robot monkey hadn't even made it to the dock.

I told Bossman that I had stayed on top of it. I swore I'd called Tiny every. damn. time. that woman called. Then I told him that sometimes I felt like some people (Tiny) just told me whatever to get me to shut up and get off their back.

Well. Bossman was not pleased. In fact, he was livid. He marched back to the GM's office and told him that Tiny had lied to me about stuff shipping when it was supposed to. This sorta bugged me, because that was not the terminology I had used, but whatever. I wasn't going to worry about it.

Later in the day, as I worked away, entering orders, I over heard the GM on a phone call.

"Hey boy, what are you gonna do all week?" My ears perked, the GM only calls one person "boy" and that person is Tiny. I thought it was strange because, during their furlough week, the managers are forbidden to have any contact with the office at all. "What the hell happened last week? Bossman said you lied to Mahala about stuff shipping. We ain't gonna have a bunch of liars running around here."

Great. The ONLY person I have here to depend on when Bossman is off, has now been told that I called him a liar. So now, we're going to be in the middle of a bunch of he said / she said nit picking bullcrap.

I am entirely too old for this nonsense. It is official. I am looking for a new job.

I whined to the noggin doc last night about the current state off affairs at the Cubicle Asylum and she agrees that it's not a healthy place to be... what with me being batshit crazy and all. She did sorta freak on me when I told her I wished I could find a job working from home, so I wouldn't have to deal with people. I know that would just make me even more of a social numbnut but hell, I'm just about sick of putting up with all this office craziness.

Surely to God I can find something making more than $20K a year.

I know I've made this "decision" before. The difference between now and then is that now, I have a dependable vehicle and the Amazon works close to home in case something happens with Ma, so if I had to drive a little ways, it wouldn't be the end of the world.

Anywho...

Ozzy's still mending and building up strength. I have a feeling that although he will eventually make the move back outside during the hours we're both at work, he'll be spending alot more time in the house from now on.

He's spoiled beyond rotten.

I appreciated ya'lls suggestions for dealing with the tinkle problem. Wait.. I can't really, in good conscience, refer to the gushing firehose of pee he emits several times a day as "tinkle." Anyway.. I tried to buy him some Depends at the dollar store, with the plan to cut out a hole for his tail, but the Amazon was with me and forbade me to do it.

I'm not sure it would have worked, but the photo opportunities would have been AWESOME.

I ended up buying a pack of those plastic backed disposable bedliners, which I used to line the living room carpet. This seems to work well, except for one tiny problem.

I didn't think about the cat's strange obsession with plastic bags and tissue paper at the time. When I left for work this morning, she was trying to drag one of the pads (they're like 30" x 30") off into her lair for shredding. I'm a little afraid of what I'll find when I get home at lunch.

I think that gets us caught up.. sort of. I hope ya'll having a fanfriggintastic Hump Day. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!

Just a Quickie

I think I need to start looking for a new job. I'll explain later. Stay tuned....

A Puppilicious Diva

Lawd ya'll. I don't even know where to start.

The past week at the Asylum was nuts. Bossman was off, as were a number of other people due to a variety of reasons, leaving me, one manager and the GM's secretary there by ourselves most of the time.

If Mr. I-Have-A-Burr-Up-My-Butt-Because-The-World-Owes-Me-Something-So-I'm-Gonna-Be-An-Ass shows up on Monday doing his stomp around, cussin' act... I may very well just tell him what I think.

Back at the trailer, most of my time is spent doing pooper scoopin' and carpet cleaning.

Ozzy is still staying in the house most of the time. Before now, he didn't come in much. Even when he was a puppy and I would try to make him spend the night inside, he'd be okay for an hour or so, then go to the door and cry. He was born outside and had always been outside.. he wanted to be outside.

Now? Ozzy's turned into the biggest damned diva you've ever seen. He lays on his special pallet of blankets beside the couch.. while you're looking. The second I leave for work, fall asleep or go to the bathroom, he stealthily makes his way down the hall and to my bedroom where he deposits a giant, steamy pile of cattle sized poo, then back to his bed where he lays and pretends he's not moved the whole time, his nose usually covered with kitty litter crumbs from his stopping at the cat's box on the way back to snarf up some nutty buddies.

The fact that he can do this, makes it all the more annoying when he lays, eyes drooping and pawing pathetically at his food dish, which is full of food and four inches out of his reach, as he whines with such helpless sadness it would almost make you cry.

He's also learned that when you go to the kitchen, you return with food. Food that he's decided is his. He makes sure you know it's his, because he stares at you and barks the entire time you're in the kitchen.

The sores on his back are almost healed. He'd be about a week away from going back outside at least half days while we're both at work, except the Amazon had to make a sudden trip with him back to the vet last Friday. One of the sores had gotten bigger instead of healing like the rest. It was on his leg joint, where his elbow would be... if dogs had elbows. He had laid on it so much, he'd caused a bedsore and it had popped open.

Yeah.. open. I could see bone. It was nasty. Now, in addition to giving him a sponge bath twice a day for the sores, we have to clean, medicate and re-dress the gaping, gross, gag inducing wound with foul smelling oil every day. We also bandaged his other leg, just in case. He looks like a line backer.

Don't worry, he's on pain medication and antibiotics. He's got plenty of spunk and he gets around pretty good, as long as he doesn't wipe out on the linoleum in the kitchen.

If he'd just stop peeing.

At first we were all, "Oh no.. Ozzy peed. Well.. I'll get the carpet cleaner, it'll be okay. He can't help it.. bless his heart."

Then, after the first week it was, "Do you have to pee? C'mon, let's try to go outside.. where's the leash? Hold on Ozzy.. wait.. oh.. noooooooo. I'll get a towel. Maybe I can run the carpet cleaner tomorrow."

And now? "Ozzy.. are you fixin' to... aaaaaand there he goes." (insert heavy sigh) "Watch your step. Are there any clean towels? Anywhere? Did you buy bleach? Eff it, I'm going to bed."

Yeah.. don't come visit. It's not pretty.

Oh yeah and? I'm still sleeping on the couch because His Highness has discovered the kitchen garbage and the treasures within. When I catch him and turn the light on, he scrambles and falls. All 86 pounds of him. He can't get any traction on the linoleum and when you try to help him up, he gets mad and growls. At least once a night for the past week, I've stood for a half an hour, usually around 1 a.m., straddling his massive, hairless butt, trying to help him get up so that I could go back to sleep on the couch.

Which, by the way, is broken again.

While I bitch and moan, most of ya'll know how I really feel. Carpet can be replaced, the couch can be fixed.. and I love my dog.

Even if he is a giant diva.

Ya'll have a good one. I've got carpets to clean. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!

10 Quirky Tidbits About the Holler

I've compiled a list of ten weird facts about Frog Pond Holler. Hopefully, you've not heard them before. If you have, but your mind is anything like mine, you probably forgot anyway.

1. You can not buy real American cheese here. You can buy those pseudo cheese "singles," logs of pepper jack cheese and bags of generic shredded cheddar, but no plain, sliced American cheese. You have to drive from 20 minutes to a half an hour to find any.
2. Frog Pond Holler was once the home of large, thriving hotel. People came from miles around to partake of the magical, curative waters that flowed from the ground into the bath house, where you could fine relief from arthritis, fatigue.. pretty much anything. Two hotels have mysteriously burned to the ground in that same spot and it's now home to the spa, where you can sit in tubs on the creek bank. The land was once the home of the tribal medicine man, probably Cherokee. They say the hotels burning down was his revenge for the white man taking his land. Employees at the spa ground swear that tub #7 is still haunted by the old seer and they fight over who has to clean it after dark.
3. I know of two churches, just outside the city limits, that still don't have indoor plumbing. It's not completely barbaric though, I noticed one of the outhouses had a fresh new coat of white paint and some pretty flowers painted on the ladies side.
4. Yesterday, I was involved in a conversation that included the sentence, "ain't she the one what was married to that preacher who was over one of them snake handlin' churches, then got bit real bad and died? They say that's when she lost her mind."
5. The folks from "Southern Living" magazine were down at the Grab n' Go (and go and go) the other day, taking pictures for an article. Ya'll might wanna look for it. (Hint: it's not really called the Grab n' Go)
6. The old timers here swear by squirrel head gravy. They say the brains are the best bit. When I first heard about it, I thought they were messin' with me, but no. It's serious business. I can get ya'll the recipe if you want, but I'd rather not.
7. While you have to cross a mountain to get in or out of Frog Pond Holler, the town itself is at the lowest elevation in the county. The temperatures here are at least 5° warmer than those in Big City. We can be stuck in town because of snow, have schools called out and not have a flake on the ground anywhere. Weirdness.
8. The movie "Songcatcher" was filmed near here and featured performances by some local musicians. Other films shot in the area include "Patch Adams" "Cannonball Run 2" and "My Fellow Americans." The television series "Christie" was about a mission school just up the road from here, on the way towards Scary Hillbilly Town.
9. Our little town is home to an unusually large population of Manx cats.. or at least.. some Manx kitties got in the gene pool a long time ago. If you have a girlie cat in Frog Pond Holler and she has kittens, there's a good chance at least one will be born without a tail. If you're lucky, you'll get a couple that look like full blood Manx, with a jacked up hind end and bunny feet.
10. There's a railroad trestle just visible down the river from the bridge that leads you in to town. Years ago, a train derailed there, falling into the river below. Divers were sent down to recover some of the wreckage, but the water was too deep and murky. They never found the train cars. It's now known as Deepwater Bridge. It's a popular game among the river folk, to leap from Deepwater Bridge and try to out swim the water snakes that hang out there back to shore. Not my idea of a good time.

I hope ya'll have enjoyed this little peek into Frog Pond Holler. Sometimes I just wanna gather ya'll up, put you on a bus and take you on a tour through town. Maybe someday we'll do that. We'll call it: "Mahala's Hillbilly Adventure."

Happy Humpday ya'll. Hump it like yo' mama showed ya. We'll talk again real soon.

Later Taters.

Russians Invade the Holler and Pedal Power

It's hazy and warm in Frog Pond Holler this morning. I noticed town was crawling with people as I drove in, I had to swerve to keep from hitting a herd of Russian tourists.

The concept of sidewalks is apparently foreign to them.

The Russians have been coming to the holler for the past couple of years. They travel to big city to see a back specialist through some kind of program, then stay here for a while to make use of the mysterious, healing baths down at the spa. The Amazon gets positively giddy when she finds out they're here. She minored in Russian studies in college and took three (maybe four.. I'm not sure now) years of Russian language while she was there.

Who knew that would come in handy here in the holler?

Here at the Asylum, Bossman is off this week. I know because I happened to over hear him telling someone on Friday. He never informed me. I reckon he didn't feel like I needed to know.

Yeah whatever. I'm about sick of his attitude.. and I've come dangerously close to telling him that lately. There ain't no sense in anyone walking around with something that far up their business end 24/7. Seriously. Dude needs to chill the eff out. Or quit if he's that unhappy.

Back at the trailer, the Ozzman is recovering nicely. He's still laying around oozing most of the time (we made him a spot to lay in with bed pads, covered with sheets) but he does get up and walk around occasionally. Oh and his appetite? It's back, with a vengeance. It's one thing to eat a cookie and ignore the chihuahuaranian staring up at you, but when a 90 pound mongrel looks at you and barks for a cookie.. he gets a cookie.

However, he's getting a little too accustomed to getting what he wants on demand. Now, he can't be bothered to get up to get his water, he'd prefer you slide it over to him so he can just rest his head on the side of the bowl, occasionally lapping up a drink.

He's not that weak. Believe me. He's just getting a little on the spoiled side.

I'm still sleeping on the couch with the big guy on the floor beside me. He gets up and wanders around in the middle of the night, but sometimes he makes it to the kitchen before I can catch him. Even when he was well, Ozzy had a hard time maneuvering on the linoleum and now he tends to fall, then just lays there and barks for someone to help him up.

I guess I'll be couching it until he either decides it's okay to sleep in my bedroom or gets well enough to stop teetering on the linoleum.

The Amazon, having spent all her car money on Ozzy, has a new quest. She's got it stuck in her pretty little head that she needs a bicycle. I'm not sure how I feel about this, I was less apprehensive about her nose piercing than I am about her wanting to pedal her way around Frog Pond Holler. One of the four times she broke her foot in a two year period was while riding her bike. She tends to wipe out, limping away looking like she's wrecked a Harley.

But she wants a bike. With a basket.

Would it look funny if I made my 23 year old wear a motorcycle helmet and goalie padding to ride her bike to the dollar store?

I'll leave ya'll with that mental image. Since I've gotta play the sales ninja today, I'd better get a move on.

Ya'll have a grand ol' Monday. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!

Ozzy, Eddie Izzard and Too Much Drama Llama

There's a cool breeze blowing through the holler this morning and it's even a little nippy here in the office, but I'll never admit that to anyone. I'm so thankful it's Friday. I'm seriously sleep deprived, I need a two day nap fest.

I've been worried about Ozzy. He's wasn't sleeping well, he was having a hard time breathing, seemed congested and wouldn't eat. I fixed him a place in the floor beside the couch, then I slept with one hand on him so I'd know if he started to get up and wander around.

Which he did. Often.

We couldn't get his pain pills in him (that they were as big as Yoda's head didn't help matters) so he was in pain and grumpy. When he would sleep, I'd close my eyes and almost drift off when Ma would come in there and wake me up to tell me, "This dawg's breathin' funny."

Well no shit. Thanks for letting me know.

When I went home for lunch yesterday, he was showing signs of spunkiness. He got up and wandered around the house, visited Ma for a second then decided he wanted to go outside.. right as I was due to come back to work. Sometime yesterday afternoon, he started sneezing and when he did, he must have dislodged a ginormous snot boogie because his nose stopped whistling and he ate like a pig.

Thank God.

Since he could now eat without getting choked, the Amazon was able to drug him by smearing a piece of toast with the crushed pill I'd mixed with some canned Mighty Dog earlier. That was around 8:30 last night. T.A. woke him up for his morning skin goo cleaning, but he went right back to sleep and when I left for work, he was still snoozin' like a drunken sailor.

I think he's gonna make it.

Between Ma, the cat getting fixed, N.Y. hitmen looking for my trashy big boobed cousin with the lazy eye and now Ozzy's ailments, I really need a weekend of staying in, lazing around without kinfolk drama or critter emergencies.

Please.

In the midst of all the chaos over the past week or so, I've been getting updates from Twitter on my phone. I only have updates sent to my phone from one, particular tweeter... Eddie Izzard.

Okay so, I'm a pathetic geektard. I admit it. I'm not ashamed. And I've got the limited text plan, so I can't be getting just ANYONE'S updates.

Anywho... if you're a fan, you might want to check out Eddie Izzard's Twitter Page. He's been running a series of marathons over the past like.. nine days or so and posting updates with pictures and meeting people along the way. It's been loads of fun (or I have no life and I'm easily entertained, not sure which actually) and he's raising money for Comic Relief.

And now, I'd better get my ample hind end in gear. Bossman is being a grumpass (hard to believe, right? That was sarcasm, in case you were wondering.) Ya'll have a great Friday.

We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!

Booze, Pills and A Wild Imagination

Oh it's going to be a great day. I was thirty minutes late for work after spending most of my morning trying to get Ozzy to take his pain pill. He was having none of it. I've been picking the remnants of chicken, peanut butter and ham from beneath my freshly manicured nails.

I'm finger lickin' good. Yeah boy.

He's also decided that if he is going to be forced to stay in the house, he will not be laying on the nice, fluffly comforter we spread out for him. Oh but no. If he can't have his dog house, he will be taking the couch and anyone else who wants to sit on the couch, will just have to scootch to accommodate him.

It's going to be a long couple of weeks.

Anywho...

I arrived just in time for my appointment with the noggin doc last night, took my seat in her tiny waiting room and sat patiently until she came out to collect me. There is no receptionist.. just the tiny room with Asian antique furniture and stacks of magazines. Promptly at 4:30, the lock on the door to her office began to jiggle and I expected to see her walking her last appointment out, as she usually does. Instead, someone struggled with the lock, shaking the door, clicking the bolt back and forth until they finally jerked it open. I saw a tall, thin figure reaching down to pick something up, then she emerged, young, dark skinned and beautiful, with red-rimmed eyes swollen with tears. The object she'd reached down to collect was a half empty bottle of white wine.

"Hey," she mumbled as she meandered out the door. She stopped on the front porch, just outside the window and turned the bottle up on end, chugging the rest of it down before hopping in her Jeep Wrangler and peeling out of the parking lot.

It was a while before the Doc came out. While I waited, I wondered if she was okay, if I needed to go knock on the door. I had myself worked up into a nice little fit by the time she showed her smiling face. I just new she was laying back there, beaten half senseless, pictured myself being interviewed on the evening news.. or worse.. by the police as the body bag was wheeled out on a stretcher behind me.

Not that I have a wild imagination or anything.

After my appointment I went by the salon for some pornstar nail therapy. Hookerlicious nails do more for me than 20 noggin doc appointments. I got a different nail tech, who took forever, but did a a great job. I had to stop at Walmart on the way home, Ma needed Cokes. I sat in the parking lot afterwards and bawled... the squished up face, heaving, coughing, ugly cry... as I sat in the truck and watched it storm.

I finally got in around 8 or 9 I think, ran the dishwasher then settled in on the couch with the Oz-Man.

We had a rough night. I didn't sleep much.

How many more days 'til Friday?

Oh yeah.. it's Humpday. Let's hump it like Granny at the Sadie Hawkins dance down at "the home." Cuz that's as fast as I'm movin' today.

Ya'll have a good one.

Later Taters!

New York Hitmen in the Holler?

It's warm and sticky in Frog Pond Holler today. There's a haze hanging over the mountains, waiting for the morning sun to finish burning it away. I'm still sipping coffee here at the Asylum, trying desperately to come to life.

I'm tired ya'll. I hope there's going to be a break in all the hectic life drama soon. I just need to nap.

The Amazon is picking Ozzy up from the vet today and while she's at it, taking psycho kitty to get her stitches out. I'm still not sure how this is going to work, one outside dog being forced to stay inside with two other dogs, a cat, a bird and a slightly off kilter Ma.

I'd say I can forget things being calm and stressless for a little while.

I do have some good news to report. Due to a little Redneck ingenuity, what was formerly a 10x10 kennel with a sagging tarp is now a (slightly lopsided) 10x30 kennel and by the end of the day it will have a proper roof over one third of it and the outgrown dog house, which was built for me by a guy down the road and has served him well for 9 years will be replaced by a larger one, with cedar construction and... a window.

The kennel is still attached to the small fenced in area by the back door, so not only Ozzy, but all the mutts will have plenty more room to stretch their legs.

And this.. makes me happy.

In other news...

My trashy big-boobed cousin with the lazy eye's youngin has been at the house since Saturday. She finally went home last night. She didn't want to stay home, what with the hitmen stalking the house and all.

What? I didn't tell you?

Well dang...

Over the weekend, Aunt Moses called and asked for a ride up the mountain to her place to gather up the grand youngins, because there was a bunch up there fighting and carrying on.. or at least, that's how Ma told it. I was all like... a bunch of hillbillies fighting up on the mountain? Crank up Jolene while I put on a bra and we'll go check it out!

Yeah.. there ain't much to do around here for excitement. We take what we can get.

So I pick up Aunt Moses over at my uncle's house and she hops in and says, "And that's yet another reason why you don't go finding you a man off the internet!"

After I assured her that I had no intentions of doing that myself, I asked her what the hell was going on.

"That crazy bitch left ten messages on my answering machine, which I have saved, and she said she had friends in W'ville who would come over here and take care of Yorkie (the new son-in-law.)"

"Wait.. who are you talking about?" I asked.

"And? She said she was going to have us all arrested for kidnapping. Stupid bitch.. she's the one who brought the youngin down here."

"WHO?"

"YORKIE'S MAMA," she answered, obviously irritated that I didn't know what the sam hill was going on, "crazy bitch.. she's a drunk and she's.. and I mean CERTIFIABLY... crazy."

"Ohhhh. What youngin? Yorkie's?"

"Yes."

By now were were about 3 miles outside of town when Aunt Moses thought she spotted her daughter, my trashy big-boobed cousin with the lazy eye, heading towards town. I had to pull off in a field and whip around after it, but we lost it by the time we got back to the holler and then realized it wasn't her anyway. She was supposed to be bringing her youngin to stay with Ma until it all blew over.

On the way back out of town, Aunt Moses explained that it had all started the night before, when some guys broke in a house at the bottom of the hill from where they live. Apparently the law (that would be Thelma's husband and the dude who forgets his shoes) along with some county deputies, ran the culprits all over the woods up on that mountain. It wasn't until the guy who's house got broken in to got to talking to one of the other neighbors, who knew about the threats Yorkie's mom had been making that they started putting it all together.

So then? Saturday night they came back, riding up and down the road, hollering and firing guns and carrying on.. and that's why Aunt Moses was hell bent on getting the youngins out of there.

To get to their house, you turn off the main highway onto a paved road and follow the creek back about three miles, then you start up the actual mountain road, which has only been paved for about two years, where the surrounding forest is so thick that it meets over head, creating a canopy. It's creepy in the daytime. It's downright skeery at night.

You follow that road up the mountain, the creek running along one side, the side of the mountain on the other for another 8 miles or so until you get almost to the top. There, you find a mailbox on the left and what used to be a dirt road leading another quarter of a mile up into the woods. I say "used to be a dirt road" because it's not been scraped or maintained at all since Uncle Barney's daddy died and now there are craters in it large enough to lose a VW bus. It would be pushing it to even call it a trail.

When we reached the mailbox, we spotted a police car just beyond the turn off. Aunt Moses instructed me to pull ahead and roll down my window, which I did.

"HEY CLETUS! IT'S ME, MOSES!" she hollered in the dark. I'm not sure if Cletus didn't hear her, didn't recognize her voice or just needed to feel manly, but he switched on his uber spotlight and stuck it directly in my face.

"OHHH HEY! I THOUGHT I WAS GUNNA HAVE TO GIT MY GUN!" he screamed.

Way to sneak up on some crooks ya'll. Sit in the road and holler like a bunch of idgits. Sheesh.

Anywho.. after some small talk, we backed up and turned up onto Aunt Mose's cattle trail road, bounced and jiggled all the way up to find the whole family out in the yard around a deputy's car, shooting the breeze, laughing and carrying on. I half expected someone to hand him a beer.

I didn't stay for the gathering. I got Jolene turned around and headed back down the mountain. The law still hasn't arrested anyone and we're still not sure if the whole escapade had anything to do with Aunt Moses, my trashy big-boobed cousin with the lazy eye and her New York hubby or not. It may have just been a case of my cousin jumping on the drama bandwagon.

Hey.. I got out of the house on a Saturday night. The law was involved. Seemed like old times.

Ah well. Ya'll have a good one. I'm gonna get to back to work. I hope the noggin doc brings extra legal pads to scribble on tonight. She's going to need them.

Later Taters!

Critters and Kids, What Would We Do Without Them?

Ozzy

Last week it became evident that something was going on with Ozzy. He'd developed some sores from a combination of his double coat (his newfie genes) and the extreme rain and humidity we've had lately. We'd been looking for some ointment to put on the sores and had intended to give him a good bath and clipping this weekend, when The Amazon noticed him losing the hair on his back.

When she called me at work Thursday, she was all to pieces, freaking out but not really telling me what was wrong. All I knew is that she had called the vet and wanted to use the truck to take him the next day, which was fine with me. I was grateful she could do it, instead of me trying to take off work, etc.

She called me back about thirty minutes later and said she was taking him right then. I told Bossman I'd be right back, that I was just going to run her the truck. I didn't know I'd have to go crawl halfway into the doghouse to drag him out. I did not smell pleasant when I got back to work. I used alot of "Moonlight Path" scented hand sanitizer on my hands and Lysol on my shoes and clothes. I told Bossman to just keep his distance.

Now.. I'm not going to go into great detail about what was there, in the dog house, because I love ya'll and I don't want you to run screaming into the night, trying to stab out your mind's eye with a fork. All I'll say is.. flies had gotten to the sores and had deposited future generations.

*shudder*

We poured peroxide all over him, wrapped him in a towel and gently urged him to walk through the house and into the truck.

There's no carrying him. He's got that middle aged spread now.

Just so you know... I'm still gagging over the whole experience.

Anywho... The Amazon got him to the vet where they took him in immediately. He got cleaned up and had surgery on Friday. The Amazon went to visit him Friday when he got out of surgery, she said they'd shaved him and with all the weight he'd gained and his newly exposed spots, what she described sounded alot like this:



Only with a furry face.

I've been trying for years to enlarge the dog lot, to fence in the yard, to do something to make my mutts more comfortable. I mean, Ozzy is 11 years old. I didn't know Ma was going to become disabled, that I'd end up working part time for over a year or that it would become increasingly difficult for me to do the "manly" work around the property when he came to live with us.

On the few occasions that I did have the extra money, from tax refunds or whatever, Ma always pitched a fit. She didn't want a fence and I allowed her to bully me. But now.. The Amazon is grown and her Nana doesn't give her any lip. She is still the golden child. I don't know what I would have done if she hadn't stepped in and taken over with Ozzy. I don't have the money for his treatment (oh yeah.. heartworms too btw) and I probably would have had to have him put down.

It breaks my heart into a gajillion pieces to admit that, but it's true.

The Amazon took the truck yesterday and bought another dog lot, which we'll add on to the one we have now, tripling the size. She also bought a new, larger dog house. And a roof for the dog lot. When she gets done paying for his surgery, the following heart worm treatment and to have him boarded for a few days so we can get things cleaned up, she will have spent every cent she scrimped and saved for a down payment on a car. She was going to go on her birthday, the 29th of this month to buy one.

I feel like the worst, scum of the earth, you-suck-at-providing-for-your-family, piece of shit you can imagine.

Yeah I know, she's grown and this is life.. etc. But she's still my kid.. and she's a such a good kid.. and I can't give her anything. Now, she's bailing me out just like I used to have to bail Ma out.. and I swore that would never happen.

The vet says Ozzy seems to be doing pretty good, all things considered. For this I am thankful. I want him to at least get to enjoy his shnazzy new dog house for a few years. He'll be spending alot of time in the house until his wounds heal, which will be interesting with the other two dogs and the new kitty. Luckily, Ozzy has the patience of a thousand saints with other animals.

He will, however, leap onto the stove and help himself.

So anyway, if it ever stops raining, me and T.A. will be assembling things and scrubbing things with bleach when she gets off work.

Oh yeah.. and there was drama in the holler last night, but that story will have to wait. It's a whole 'nother long story.

Ya'll take care. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!