Buford and the Pepsi Miracle

Oh things are hopping down here in the holler. With traffic being rerouted through town after the big rock slide on I-40, we're overrun with state troopers, giant, flashing warning signs and lost motorists who are all looking for a place to pee. We've only got like.. three public potties in Frog Pond Holler and they're not used to this kinda abuse. At one point the other day, all of them were backed up at the same time.

City folk don't take too kindly to being pointed towards the bush behind the Hee-Haw clinic when they're lookin' for a porcelin throne on which to rest their delicate backsides

With all the excitement, we've spotted news crews from different places every day and with all the reporters milling around, looking for a story, Hee-Haw county has been making the news more and more. Lulu was telling me about one report she saw last night about a man up in the remote mountain community just across Froggy mountain, Buford Pickle.

Ol' Buford must have been a real ladies man or at least hard to live with, because Buford had three ex-wives. Well, one day the Hee-Haw country sheriff's office got a report from Mrs. Pickle number three that she'd gotten a call from Mrs. Pickle number two saying she reckoned she'd get back with Buford just so she could get back in his house in order to set it on fire.

The police tried to warn him, but a fire sprang up at Ol' Buford's place before they could get there.Buford Pickle escaped unscathed and his home was spared any real damage when his makeshift spitoon, a plastic Pepsi bottle he'd left sitting on the kitchen table, melted from the heat of the fire and began oozing it's thick, brown, spitty liquid onto the flames, putting the fire out.

No.. seriously. It was on the 11 o'clock news.

Poor Ol' Buford was dumbfounded over Mrs. Pickle number two and her desire to end his life. He said he'd always treated her real good, better than his other wives and that she was his favorite. The police tracked her down over in Greenville Tennessee and when they asked her why she did it, she simply stated, "I was tard of his crap!"

Buford was not, however, too shook up to model his guitar for the news crew, dedicating a song to Mrs. Pickle number two and proceeding to give a toothless rendition of some lonesome old bluegrass song about a man being forced to drown his new bride when she didn't live up to his expectations.

Bless his heart.

The really sad part? Me and Ol' Buford share a branch of the same family tree. Kinda explains alot doesn't it?

Anywho...

I'd better get to back to making money for the man. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!

It's A Big News Day in the Holler

The Big City television news was filming in Frog Pond Holler today. The big story?

We had actual traffic.

I reckon there was an eighty food wide rock slide over on I-40 yesterday, blocking both lanes. Luckily it happened in the middle of the night and no one was killed, but there were a few injuries as cars met rocks head on. The official detour takes travellers on a four lane path, but there's been a bunch taking the short cut from Scary Hillbilly Town through Frog Pond Holler.

There are 18 wheelers going by my house, on a road where truck traffic is prohibited. I predict the fire department will be scraping one up off the road before the night is over. I have to slow to almost a stop to take those switchback curves in Jolene. I'd hate to be in a big rig.

When I came home for lunch, I spotted the dweeby, creepy old man reporter from Big City at the side of the road. I had the pleasure of texting the Amazon to tell her he was right behind her, filming her butt in the Pump N' Go window.

She was not amused.

In other news...

The town entertainment committee has decided to have a haunted campground for the trick or treaters this year. I'm not sure how they're planning on making it creepy, but I wouldn't walk through there in broad daylight.

And how about we not hold the town Halloween festivities, with all the little children, where people have actually drowned, in the shadow of the rocky outcrop where the legendary Cherokee maiden, along with her lover, LEPT TO HER FREAKIN' DEATH. Oh yeah.. and some dumb white men who were GUTTED AND TOSSED TO THE RIVER BELOW for gawdsake by an ANGRY COUGAR said to be posessed by the spirit of the formerly mentioned Cherokee warrior.

I mean seriously people, REAL MOTHER FECKIN' BEARS come out of these woods and EAT PEOPLE and you want to send the little children in there... WITH CANDY????????

When I spot Yogi sitting at the side of the road in a pile of M&M and Smarties wrappers, pickin' Little Precious' princess fairy crown out of his teeth and wearing an orange, plastic pumpkin on his head, I'll say I told ya so.

And I'll try to get a picture.

Anywho.. as far as work goes, I'm pretty sure the crisis has passed. Oh and I must tell all ya'll how much I appreciate your words of wisdom and support. When you're walking around the house, trying to play it cool like everything's honky freakin' dorey, it's great to have webby friends to vent to.

I have the best readers on the innerwebs.

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

Later Taters!

It Might Not Be Okay, But It'll Be Different

It's cloudy, gray and squishy in Frog Pond Holler today. The house is filled with the putrid odor of hair color as I try in vain to beat back the gray and as of this moment, as far as I know, I am still employed.

I guess it goes without saying, especially to those of you who've read here the longest, that I've been a wreck since my batshit crazy episode at work the other day. Bossman hasn't mentioned it to me at all, but when Thelma came in on Thursday and I filled her in on the latest, she said the GM had called in wanting to know who had called him from the office.

He's on vacation in Myrtle Beach. He does not want to be bothered while on vacation.

Thelma put him through to his secretary, who was privvy to my side of the story and who, I'm sure, filled him in, complete with my snot filled blubbering ugly girl crying episode in her office. We don't know if he ever talked to Bossman or not.

By Thursday afternoon, I'd convinced myself that Bossman was just waiting for the GM to come back in on Monday so he could fire me. The GM likes to be there anytime someone from the administrative staff gets the axe. I'd worked out my vacation hours for the rest of the year, every Friday starting in November, but I was afraid if I took it to Bossman, he'd tell me to hold on to it until Monday or he'd just lay it down or something. My gut was in knots. It wouldn't have taken much for me to start puking.

I eventually worked up the nerve to turn it in and he thanked me for it. We then went over the schedule for the rest of the year, he taking the opportunity to let me know when he expected to be out of the office.

I could sorta breathe after that.

Bossman is going to be out of the office on Monday when the GM gets back from vacation. I'm not sure if that's a good thing or not. It can still go in any number of different directions, but I'm trying to just tell myself that whatever happens, I'll deal with it. I've also realized that this all started with the passive aggressive letter Bossman left waiting for me on my desk when I came back to work after taking off two whole days (the nerve of me) when Ma was in the hospital. The one that implied I was an imcompetant slacker because my filing was behind.

That's when I developed an attitude.

I kept the letter. I'm thinking I should take it with me Monday, just in case the GM wants to chat.

For the record, Bossman has been so nice since my "episode" that it's a little scary. I'm hoping he's just going to let it go. If he wanted to fire me, technically he has every right. But at the same time, he's got to know that he's been beyond unreasonable for six months now and I'm only human.

On a side note, I couldn't remember alot of what I said to him at first, I guess because of my state of mind at the time, but little tidbits keep coming back to me.

The cringe factor is horrible.

Anywho, I'm going to go wash the dye out of my hair. Ya'll have a good weekend. I'll be tidying up a bit while seriously reconsidering my decision to give up drinking and smoking.

I could use one of each right about now.

Later Taters.

It Finally Happened

Oh holy hell. There's nothing quite like beginning your day with office brouhaha, the center of which you've very nicely planted yourself.

That's right children. You'd better get on back Loretta 'cuz the doodie has done went and hit the fan up in the Cubicle Asylum.

And it's still splattering.

It all began when I walked in Bossman's office to hand him some stuff from the fax machine. After sorting through the papers, he said, "Close the door, have a seat."

I sat down, totally clueless as to what was about to happen. "Mahala, it seems we're not on the same agenda."

"Um.. okay," I answered.. because I'm good with words and stuff.

"You didn't do the Robot Monkey Toe Shortage report this week," he dryly stated. "So I had to do it. You've only been doing the smaller ones."

"Er.. I just didn't do it yet. I've always done it when I got around to it during the week..."

"It is due on Wednesday. It is to be done before you leave on Tuesday. If it's not done, you don't leave at three and you stay until it is completed," he interrupted. Keep in mind, Tuesday is when I go to the noggin doc. Bossman knows this is why I leave on Tuesdays.

I tried to explain, "If it needs to be done by Tuesday, that's fine, I just never realized there was a due..."

He held his palm up towards my face and interrupted again, "Mahala, this is not a two sided conversation. I am explaining to you that I expect the report to be completed by 3 on Tuesday. This is not a discussion."

*blink*

I was momentarily stunned. Mahala's Brain started to add in her two cents worth, "Ohhh no he dint. Guurrrrl I know he dint just put his hand up IN YO FACE and SHUT YOU UP. Are we taking this? Are we?"

Bossman's lips were moving.. I tried to focus.. "and furthermore, I feel we're not on the same agenda. When I asked when you were taking the rest of your vacation, you told me you'd see what you could come up with. I didn't appreciate that answer." Again with the agenda. "And the other day, I specifically requested that you enter an order for Space Monkey Butt Robotics, Inc and you didn't. At the end of the day when I questioned you, you said it didn't matter, you'd get it in the morning, it would just lay in the production tray until Monday anyway."

Bossman then stopped and glared at me with a crazed look in his eye, his face pulsating like a rabid alien.

"Well, I entered over 20K in orders that day. That order was on the bottom of the pile and I was correct, it wouldn't have mattered when it was entered, by the time you gave it to me, the production staff had already left..."

Bossman raised his hand again, chuckled a little and said, "I suppose I did not make myself clear, you will do as I tell you, when I tell you. This is not a discussion.."

Mahala's Brain was all pissy then. She said, "Mmmm hmmm. He went there. He did it again." Then, Mahala's Brain flipped... THE SWITCH.

It began in my wee baby pinky toes... rising over my feet, up my legs.. I felt it enveloping my body in it's thick, protective cloak.. Mahala's Brain had activated.. THE CRAZY.

It's sort of a blur after that. The words that began to flow from my lips first refered to my vacation time and how the feckin' hell did he expect me to figure out when I was taking 40 hours vacation at the very second he insisted, when he hadn't bothered to inform me of what hours he was going to be off. I also told him I didn't have an "aGENda".. and I may or may not have acutally used "finger quotes".. in his face and as far as I was concerned, the only "aGENda" (yes, again with "finger quotes") I'd seen evidence of from him was to keep everyone unhappy and miserable by his constant stomping up and down the hall pissing and moaning about how gosh darn angry he was and how HIS hours were being cut or whatever else had crawled up his ass that day and by golly he was going to act like a five year old.

Mahala's Brain started to get a little nervous, "Pssst.. Mahala.. you DO realize you're screeching like a banshee, right? You need to ease off, you're gonna get us fired."

But I couldn't. I knew I was screeching, I knew they could probably hear me all the way downtown, but I couldn't stop.

"And another thing.." I wailed, "I don't appreciate working my ass off for the week you're out, only to have you come back pitching a feckin' fit because every little damned thing isn't done. YOU couldn't do it by YOUR self if you had to."

I looked Bossman in the eye. He was VIBRATING with anger. He looked like a ginormous marital aid, shaking in his office chair, his little bald head glowing bright red.

"This. Conversation. Is. Over.," he declared.

I spun on my heel and left his office. I went back to my little cube, shaking pretty good myself. I felt the tears welling up in my eyes.

"Awww HELL to the no," Mahala's Brain said, "we are NOT letting that little knuckle dragger see you cry. FLEE!!"

I ran like hell down the hall to the GM's secretary's office and got the door shut right before I started the ugly girl cry. I blubbered for a good thirty minutes about how I knew I was getting fired. The Sec tried to calm me down. She told me I was a fighter, reminded me that I'd been there 14 years vs his 4 and told me not to worry.

Bossman kept his door shut for the remainder of the day. I medicated myself (and Mahala's Brain) and calmed down alot.

I won't lie to you, I'm more than a little concered that I'm in deep doodoo, but I don't regret anything I said. I just wish I hadn't lost my noodle and gone into banshee mode. There are three possible results of today's insanifest:

1. Nothing. Bossman may just choose to let it go.
2. I could get written up and recieve a thorough tongue lashing from the GM
3. Or of course, I could get fired.

I really don't think I'll get fired, but even if I do, I'll manage. I hate losing my cool like that, but honestly? I thought I was doing a damned fine job. I thought I RAWKED at my Sales Ninja skizzles. Apparently Bossman doesn't see it that way. Go figure.

Anywho, I'll keep ya'll posted. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters.

The Natives are Restless

I promise not to dwell on the subject, nor will I bore you with mentioning it every day, but just so you know, it's colder than a witches hoo-ha up in this holler.

Not that I have any personal experience or knowledge of a witches hoo-ha, I'm just sayin'...

Last night, I was on the computer visiting with friends in Second Life working on important stuff, while the Amazon sat across the room watching television and trying to keep the dogs from killing each other when we heard a large BOOM.

"That was a shotgun," I stated.

"And it was close," the Amazon answered. I got up and calmly locked the front door then turned to head toward the back door while motioning to the Amazon to close the kitchen curtains.

I know it's bear season here in the holler and most likely the shot was fired by a hunter up on the ridge above us, but I also know that bear hunters are known to become overly excited at the possibility that they might take down one of the big, hairy critters and can have fleeting moments of insanity.

Aunt Moses, who lives on top of a mountain, talks often of glancing out her kitchen window while doing the evening dishes to see hunters sneaking around in the bushes in front of her double wide.

The scanner has been hopping lately with news of violent outbreaks all over Hee-Haw county, involving knives, guns and whatever else people can get their hands on. I don't know if it's the economy, the changing seasons or folks just letting their crazy out more than usual, but no matter what the cause, every night there's at least one throw down taking place in and around Frog Pond Holler.

So it wasn't unreasonable for me to lock the doors, close the curtains and sit in the living room floor after I heard the shot fired.

I yelled back to Ma's room and asked if she'd heard it.

"Yes! That was a shotgun, probably 12 gauge, sounded like it came from up near the railroad tracks," she said.

"No, it's closer, it didn't echo." I'm a little ashamed that I've lived here long enough that I understand how sound echos off the mountains. Next thing ya know, I'll be driving a big ass truck and living in a trailer.

Oh wait... never mind.

Anywho, time went by and we never heard anyone questioning or reporting the shotgun blast on the scanner, so I reckon it wasn't some gun toting mountain woman catching her bubbahubby with the skank who runs the Grab n' Go  and it really was just a bear hunter.

At least I hope so.

Ya'll have a good one. His Crankiness is on the warpath, so I'm going to go look busy.. but if he slams one more filing cabinet drawer, I may shove his big bald head in it.

Later Taters!

Lizard Sex and Attack of the Springs

The sun is shining bright down on Frog Pond Holler this morning. After yesterday's sopping, squishy moisture filled day, it's a welcome sight, even if we didn't get the snow that was promised. Sammy's curled up on the couch, snoring like a big bear, probably worn out after chasing Yoda and the cat and being chased by both repeatedly for an hour last night.

He's not as young as he seems to think he is.

The cat's passed out too and I can hear Ma sawing logs from her room. On the t.v., two iguanas are doing the nasty, their eyes rolled back in ecstasy as they move frantically in the foamy surf as the voice over says, "and life begins.."

It looks like a sex ed film for lizards. I really need to get out more.

I attempted to repair the couch.. again.. yesterday while the Amazon was at work. Funny thing about couches, they have these springs. Big, obnoxious, couch potato supporting springs that refuse to bend the way you have to force them to bend when they've been naughty and popped out of their little bracey thingie. And sometimes? They fight back. One of those suckers sprung loose and came in a hair of embedding itself in my right boob.

I can see it now, staggering through the doors of the emergency room, a giant, industrial sized springy thing hanging out of my right tatta, flopping up and down with each step, giving me the appearance of a bionics experiment gone very, very wrong, as I try desperately to convince someone on duty that this is indeed an emergency.

Yeah.. couch repair is definitely a two person job. I calmly shoved the spring back into the now gargantuan couch hole, covered it with a cushion and instructed everyone to not sit on that end until further notice.

I'm not going to try to fix anything else today. I assembled a new desk chair Friday night. That should fill my Ms. Fixit quota for this weekend.

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

Later Taters!!

Hippy Vans and Wooly Worms

A week ago, I was still running the air conditioning in the bedroom at night. Today, multi-colored leaves are scattered on the ground, the wind is whooshing and whistling and there's white stuff in the forecast for this weekend.

The snaggle toothed old fellers who spend their days gathered along the dead pecker wall down in the middle of town, in their baggy navy blue Dickies and tattered John Deere caps, all agree that we're in for a rough winter here in the holler. Even the wooly worms, which are solid black and twice their normal size, seem to agree.

Bring it. I'm due for a little excitment in my life. (Two months from now when I'm whining because I've got snow up to my hoo-ha, I'll deny that last statement.)

The Amazon came home the other day and announced she'd sold the Hippy Van. It's been sitting in the yard for a few years now, with flat tires, while providing shelter for Pocco (The Giant Bunny of the Appocolypse) and his or her offspring. The van had a long history with us, I bought it used when T.A. was still in high school, Ma drove it to work at her last job and it made countless trips back and forth to G'boro, moving T.A. in and out of her college dorms. I don't miss making that four hour drive, steering with my right hand and holding the bungie corded door in place with my left while hauling ass out I-40. I will miss terrorizing tourist bikers in the middle of town, Jolene doesn't look nearly as creepy as that lopsided van did, black smoke pouring out of the back as it barrelled towards you.

It was a good one, with over 200K miles. T.A. and I had convinced Ma that it wouldn't run at all, afraid she'd make good on her occasional threats to hop in it and take off. I was thankful she was asleep when they came to get it and after giving it a jump, drove it off without a care in the world.

Now Ma's trying to see what else she can sell. She may end up being the next Queen of eBay.

I'm so glad it's Friday ya'll. Sales are still climbing here at the Asylum, Bossman is still being a big horse's patootey and I'm still looking for another job. I'm not sure what the weekend holds, T.A. wants to take the truck to some gathering of geeks and future serial killers social thing at the comic book store in Big City tonight and to the movies with The Gritlett tomorrow. She's agreed to pick up groceries while she's out, so I don't have to go (ya!) leaving me free to do laundry, vacuum, do some yard work leisurely enjoy my weekend alone with Ma.

Either way, it's two days away from the Cubicle Asylum and Mr. Happy Feckin' Sunshine down the hall.

So it's all good.

Ya'll enjoy yours. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!

Drama! Mayhem! Carnage!

The other day I was playing on the innerwebs working hard for the man when I overheard a conversation taking place between Thelma and one of the guys from out on the floor.

"Did you hear who got run over down at the diner?" Thelma asked.

"Nobody will say fer sure, but they said both his laigs wuz broke," a male voice answered.

As I started to get up and head across the hall for details, I received a text message from the Amazon.

"OMG! Somebody got run over at the diner!"

I was frantically texting back, asking who the heck it was while simultaneously trying to listen across the hall for details when I heard the scanner going off in Thelma's office.

"He must be bad if they're trying to get the helicopter to come in," she stated.

By now I was in the throws of mad texting, eavesdropping and trying to put all the information together when I realized I'd become one of them. One of those people. People like Ma, Louise and Thelma's grandma who are so starved for some excitement in their lives that when they catch wind of something going on in town, everything else comes to a complete standstill. That realization only slowed me down for about a millisecond.

It took the better part of the afternoon, phone calls between Thelma and T.A., a call to Ma and one to the diner.. on the premise of asking about the dinner special, but we finally found out what happened.

A hiker, fresh off the trail,  was on the front porch of the diner to meet his family who had driven up to meet him. (Those of you who checked out the story about the small mountain town in that magazine with focus on living in the south, will know the porch I speak of.) At the same time, a family of Indian descent was pulling into the parking lot at the Grab N' Go (and go and go) to sample some good, down home, southern cooking. They were a large family, arriving in two cars, one of which was being driven by a 16 year old boy. When the poor feller pulled into the lot, he mistook the area designated for the paper box for a parking spot and had to make a quick maneuver to keep from hitting it with his parents' expensive, luxury vehicle. Unfortunately, in a fit of nerves, he accidentally hit the gas pedal instead of the brake, ran over the curb and up on to the porch and through the railing, taking the hiker down in the process.

Bystanders I spoke to later said his legs were a mess, bones sticking out all over the place. Apparently the hiker was laying there, both legs broken yet screaming obscenities at the 16 year old driver, over the heads of the paramedics who were trying to treat him. Some locals apparently told him he needed to shut the hell up and thank God he was alive.

I reckon I'd be doing some heavy duty cussing too, but I feel sorry for that kid.

Anywho...

It looks like Lulu's husband will be spending his nights down at the Grab N' Go (and go and go) until he gets that porch rebuilt. Lulu won't be happy. The extra money is nice, but she'd rather her bubbahubby didn't spend so much time hanging around down there.

The owner has a little bit of a reputation, if you know what I mean.

It's Hump Day ya'll. Let's hump it like a drunken belly dancer, with rings on our fingers and bells on our toes.

We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!

Vampires, Werewolves and Buying Groceries in a Cave

Nothing was accomplished this weekend. I slept 'til noon Saturday. NOON. Then? I took a mid afternoon nap. I got up at eleven yesterday. I took another nap later in the day, then slept all night and had to fight to get out of bed this morning.

At least I'm not nodding off at my desk while up to my bootay in alligators like last Thursday and Friday.

But anywho..

All that sleeping made for some weird dreams about Gypsies in red standing over me, grocery shopping down on the reservation, exploring caves, looking for artifacts with a big, burly (sexy) guide and a giant stack of black and white photos of war prisoners.. which I gave to the Gypsy's daughter.

Oh yeah.. it was all the same dream.

All that exploring, shopping and mystery solving was hard work. It's no wonder I never felt rested.

Then? Last night I dreamed I lied to the authorities in a French speaking country while on vacation so that I could illegally obtain a Golden Retriever that they were going to put down. She had weird, mitten type bandages taped to her feet.

The only thing I really sat down and watched on t.v. this weekend was "Rise of the Lycans," twice. But do I dream about vampires or sexy, hairy, barechested, werewolf/human hybrids? Nope. I dream about Golden Retrievers.

Gypsies don't even wear red.. do they?

I dunno.. maybe I was hitting the Pepto Bismal too hard.

Ya'll have a good week. We'll talk again after I clear the cobwebs. Am I even awake now?

Later Taters.

Toilet Monsters and Being a Dork

• It's official. Sammy, the Hairless Boston Baked Beagle is no longer hairless. He has a full, brindle coat. He is also full of piss and vinegar and wants to play for about an hour every night, until he collapses on the floor, on his back, insisting his belly be rubbed. Both Yoda and the demon kitty are very confused and a little annoyed that the formerly hairless couch lump now pesters the hell out of them, slapping them on the head and barking like a sea lion inches from their faces.
• Ma fell again yesterday. No one bothered to tell me until after the ambulance left, having been called to help her out of the floor. I was a little ticked.. not that she fell, but that I was left out of the loop. In honor of Frog Pond Holler tradition, there was a steady stream of well meaning townsfolk banging on the front door like the mountain- was on fire stopping by to get the scoop so they could run down to the Grab N' Go to spread gossip check on her. Neither myself nor my house were in any kind of shape to receive guests. Ma's bruised up a little but we're pretty sure nothing's broken. An X-ray would be a good idea, but she doesn't want any part of it.
• Do we really need to be setting off blasts on the moon to look for ice? Why do we constantly have to be messin' with chit?
• I appreciate all ya'll's advice on my weed growing experiment garden area. I looked into renting a tiller, but the closest place is in Big City and they won't lease equipment this far out. I've decided to buy a second heavy duty extention cord, run it out Ma's bedroom window and use my electric weedeater to whack the wilderness down. Then, after everything starts dying off, I'll get an aerobic workout by hoeing the hell out of it, a little bit at a time, until the ground freezes. Maybe I'll have it done by the time next spring rolls around and I can look for arrowheads and pottery shards while I do it. That's right, I'm a dork. Deal with it. (Oh and I'm gonna see if I can get some of those berries for ya TNDaisy, if the birds haven't gotten them all. I've got that stuff growing all over the place. )
• Last night I caught part of the "House" episode where he diagnoses a father and daughter with FMF, which was kinda cool, sorta, since I've been in the throws of an attack for the past few days. And ya know, not to be gross but, for as often as I get the belly issues, why am I not as thin as a rail? Anyone else would be, but no.. not me.. I gotta do the fat girl waddle up and down the hall at work, running to the potty.
• Speaking of the potty, as some of you may know, here at the Asylum the female office staff all share a one seater, centrally located in a glorified closet. Recently, something has gone awry with the plumbing and every time you flush le twalett, it emits a low growl which slowly grows to a primal scream, screaching loudly, sending all the woodland critters in the surrounding forest scampering away, fearing for their lives. Yes, it's that loud. We've nicknamed this noise as the terlit monster and have decided that the GM has it rigged up to keep track of how many times we use the facilities.

TGIF ya'll. This week is almost licked. I need to go look busy now, we'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!

Sales Ninjas, Martinis and Hairy Butts

I've been in a weird mood lately. Not a funk exactly.. better living through chemistry has pretty much eliminated the funk, but just.. weird.

Still no new job on the horizon, but I continue to search diligently. Sales have been picking up at the Asylum the past few weeks, meaning I've been pushing robot monkeys out the door like crazy and Bossman is off this week for his mandatory furlough. He was kind enough to remind me before he left on Friday that he was still pissed off about them cutting his pay and that people could keep telling him to get over it, but he just would not.

I looked at him, smiled and said, "Well just go around being pissed off then.. whatever," then walked away.

Enough is enough.

Here in the holler, the new visitor center is almost complete. All the volunteer labor and donated supplies sort of fizzled out after the first couple of weeks, so it's taking longer to get it done. The town entertainment committee (yes, we have one) has placed hay bales and mums along the main drag through town, although it looks like the leaves changing is getting off to a slow start.

I think it's the changing seasons causing my funkless, yet odd mood. I'm not sure why.

Yesterday was noggin doc day and the first time in a while that I've come out of there kinda addled. We talked about my dad some and I explained to her how I struggle with the knowledge that he was a sick mother fecker yet.. see his eyes whenever I look in the mirror. I asked her how I was supposed to keep from hating a part of myself with the knowledge that he was a part of me.

Things got a little complicated, it's the first time I've come out of there having an emotional outburst since I first started going.

But it's all good. I think. It would be so much easier to just forget it and go back to not thinking about crap, ya know? I'm hanging in there, but sometimes.. I'd rather not.

After the noggin doc, I went to Wally World to pick up some things for Ma. When I got home, the Amazon had vacuumed, run the carpet cleaner, washed dishes and cleaned the bathroom. I threw a big ass Wally World pizza in the oven (say what you want about Wal-Mart, they have nomtastic pizzas) and sat down for the rest of the evening with Sammy curled up beside me, his big hairy butt scooched up as close as he could get.

Life is good.

Anywho, I should probably get back to peddling robot monkeys with my awesometastic sales ninja moves. Oh, before I forget, if you enjoy Rat Pack era tunes, with remakes of old tunes and jazzed up versions of new ones, check out Martini In the Morning. I've been listening to it at work lately, it's my new favorite webcast.

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

Later Taters!

Nature.. It's Not All That

It's a cool, gray Sunday in Frog Pond Holler. Motorcycles have been roaring past the house, touring in giant packs, piloted by retirees.. a sign that fall is just around the corner.

I like fall, the cooler temperatures, the change in scenery but it's also a little unsettling. The first winter we spent here, we had a ginormous blizzard and were literally cut off from everyone for several days. We had to have Uncle Barney take his four wheel drive into town for sanitary napkins and cigarettes, which he had to toss off the bank and down into the holler where we lived at the time.

Not a pleasant experience.

It happened again a few years later, after we made the big move to town. I think we were without power for like 7 days.  Now I get a little antsy when I know winter is coming. It's not like when we lived in civilazation and "roughing it" meant walking five blocks to the 7-11 to get coffee when the power was out. Although we do have the dollar store now and Jolene is 4WD, it still worries me a little.

At least I think that's what's gnawing at me.

Anywho...

I worked hard yesterday, clearing vines and brush and all sorts of other growing foilage from the back lot, which meant I also had to pop a couple Benadryl when I was done... I've decided I'm just allergic to nature.. green stuff and tiny biting insects of all varieties. I even went out and sprayed some of that backyard bug killer around the perimeter before I started and covered my arms and legs like I was going into battle at a bee colony.

It didn't help. I was scratching things that haven't seen daylight in years. I figure.. that settles it.. I'm allergic to Earth. I must be like... and alien from a plantless, bugless planet.. dropped here by accident during a recon mission.

But.. the backyard looks alot better. My next project will involve digging out about a square foot of the bank in order to move the dog lot back a little so that the oil company can get to the tank. Oh yeah.. and the garden.

Ya'll remember the garden? A real nice feller told the Amazon he'd have the yard tilled up for us to put one in this past year. They came by with a pickup truck, rigging the tractor, ground tearing uppy thingie to the back  of it and ripped up a big corner of my yard. Then he was gonna come by with the tiller and till it up, but it broke. Aunt Moses has a tiller, but she couldn't be bothered to let me borrow it, it was too much trouble. Uncle G's brother has one, but it was at the place out in the country and it was too much trouble to put it on the truck and bring it out here. The spot was too big to break up by hand.. believe me.. I tried.

So now we have this...

What am I even supposed to do with this crap? Backhoe it? Weed whack it? Burn it? Wait until the first frost and pray that it dies, then beat hell out of it with a maddock? That tall line in the back is poke salad and taller than me. Should I buy a machete?

I wish I could afford to go out and buy a tiller, but even if I did, I don't know if I'd have the stength to use it.

What do ya'll suggest?

Anywho, I'm gonna go finish my laundry and try not to think about how much I'll be itching after I tackle that monstrosity. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!

Whackin', Splatterin' and Ready for the Weekend

I love October. The leaves begin to change on the highest mountain tops, slowly draping the sloped sides with a blanket of color, a bit further down each day. The temperatures are perfect, most of the tourists are gone and Frog Pond Holler slowly returns to something resembling normal, if not boring as hell.

I left the Asylum yesterday at 2. At the first of the month, we have to wait until accounting changes the date to the next month before we can enter anything and I discovered that I had over 40 hours of vacation saved up this year.

Use it or lose it.

So, I went home, cranked up the spiffy new electric weed wacker doohicky and set out to groom and manicure the dog lot. Since my trashy-big-boobed-cousin-with-the-lazy-eye and her N.Y.-internet-pickup-husband have taken over Aunt Moses' mowing business, my yard is hot mess. The weeds in the dog lot were up to my calf in places and the english ivy had spread down off the bank, invading a few feet into the yard.

And yes, I realize this has probably contributed to my itchy dog... but...

Back when Aunt Moses ran the work center for developmentally disabled adults and all 25 of them used to converge upon my yard during my lunch hour every Wednesday, looking like an army invasion of riding lawnmowers and other assorted weaponry, I had purchased a nice, gas powered weed wacky thingie, one that I paid a pretty penny for. It was.. as we say.. a doozy. I bought it to use behind the house because I didn't like all those people back there getting the dogs all riled up and Ozzy wasn't exactly a people pooch.

I used it twice before Ma took it upon herself to up and give it to Aunt Moses. Just gave it to her. I didn't even know it was gone until I went to use it the next time.

Can you say pissed off?

I swore I'd never spend another dollar on anything to work in the yard, but last week the Amazon took Sammy to the vet for his shots and we started a new treatment for his skin problems. He hasn't scratched hardly once in the past week. He's acting like a dog again, running around, attacking the cat and being the big goof he used to be. In the mean time,  I cringed everytime I opened the door to let him out, watching him walk through grass that was rubbing against his belly.. and other things.

That's when it hit me. I'm 43 gosh dang years old. If I want to buy a weed wacker to cut the grass in my own feckin' backyard, I will. And? If anyone gets a wild hair up their ass and tries to give it away, I'll go buy another and beat 'em with it.

Okay.. not really... but it felt good to say it.

I'm not sure if it's the noggin doc or my new relationship with mind balancing pharmaceuticals, but I've been having a lot of, "Wait.. what the hell have you been thinking... snap out of it," moments lately. And it feels good. For me anyway. I'm not sure Ma's enjoying my newly discovered sanity.

But anyway, I ran to Lowes when I got paid and got a little, yet lethal electric weed wacker. By 4pm yesterday, grass, poison oak and dog poo was splattering and flying into the air all around our backyard, leaving me feeling oddly empowered.. and itchy as a mother fecker.

I didn't quite get finished, but it's Friday and I've got all weekend.

I hope ya'll enjoy yours. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!