Weekly Words of Wisdom from the Wise Old Mountain Woman:
Sending mixed messages is kinda like trying to milk a chicken. You don't accomplish a damned thing and everyone involved just ends up frustrated and pissed off.
~Mahala~
Thursday, January 28, 2010
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Pipes, Puppies and Henny Penny
When I left the house this morning, Ma was putting on her walking shoes. A guy from up Fall Branch is supposed to come by with his backhoe to dig up our sewage pipe and replace it, so I guess she plans on going out on the porch to supervise. With all the rain and melting snow (with the gimp eyed weather girl giving predictions of more snow in the next few days) our poopy potty problems have started again. We've not been able to run the dishwasher or clothes washer for days and we have to do some serious calculating to figure out who takes a shower when, in relation to how long it's been since we've flushed the toilet.
Maybe it'll be taken care of this time.
The new puppy, Ayla, has emerged from her timid little shell after being swapped from home to shelter to home to shelter to new home and now can only be described as hell on wheels. She's a great little dog though, is already going to the door when she wants out, is content to stay outside by herself for long periods and is slowly figuring out her "place" in our pack.
Oh and at 3a.m. Tuesday, she gave me a hellacious bloody nose. Let the games begin.
I hate that I have to load her up in the truck and take her back to that place in the morning. The shelter will then turn her over to some guy in a van who'll take her to Big City to be spayed where she'll stay over night. I can pick her back up Friday morning before work and do all the paperwork to make her mine.
Is it pathetic that I'm stressing out over it?
Yesterday was noggin doc day. I've not been since early December and while we went on and on about how great I was doing while I was there, last night when I went to bed, it all hit me. Even though I'm 110% better than I was a year ago.. even 6 months ago, it's hard to admit that there are some issues, some leftover baggage from all that crap that happened so many years ago that I will never completely get over. I'll likely always have to be on some kind of medication.
I'll probably never really be able to trust anyone or have a "normal" relationship and that kinda sucks monkey nuts. The more I think about it, the more it kinda pisses me off.
A year ago, I was afraid of running into my dad. Afraid to the point of bursting out in tears whenever I went grocery shopping or driving by the old family homestead on the way to Big City.
But now?
You just let that son of a biscuit eater get anywhere near me. I'm not sure what I'll do, but I know I won't be curling up in the fetal position in fear. That self serving bastid took a little girl.. his little girl.. and he broke her.. like the horses he so proudly intimidated, the dogs he towered over and ruled, he betrayed her trust, broke her.
Broken. Damaged. Flawed. Me.
If I ever see him again, I won't be afraid. He'll see my anger and all the crocodile tears in the world won't save him.
Yeah it pisses me off. But that's okay. I'm allowed.
Anywho...
I got a call from the Big Headed German the other day. He said Henny Penny was talking about retiring early to care for her disabled brother and her 97 year old mother. After discussing it with the corporate credit manager and the GM, he offered me my old job back in the accounting department. I'd be doing the same job Henny Penny does over at the other plant, but I'd be able to stay here, close to home.
No more Bossman. No more pissed off customers.
Not yes.. but hell yes.
And on that note.. I'm gonna get my big tush to work. Ya'll take care and have a humpilicious Hump Day.
We'll talk again soon.
Later Taters!
Maybe it'll be taken care of this time.
The new puppy, Ayla, has emerged from her timid little shell after being swapped from home to shelter to home to shelter to new home and now can only be described as hell on wheels. She's a great little dog though, is already going to the door when she wants out, is content to stay outside by herself for long periods and is slowly figuring out her "place" in our pack.
Oh and at 3a.m. Tuesday, she gave me a hellacious bloody nose. Let the games begin.
I hate that I have to load her up in the truck and take her back to that place in the morning. The shelter will then turn her over to some guy in a van who'll take her to Big City to be spayed where she'll stay over night. I can pick her back up Friday morning before work and do all the paperwork to make her mine.
Is it pathetic that I'm stressing out over it?
Yesterday was noggin doc day. I've not been since early December and while we went on and on about how great I was doing while I was there, last night when I went to bed, it all hit me. Even though I'm 110% better than I was a year ago.. even 6 months ago, it's hard to admit that there are some issues, some leftover baggage from all that crap that happened so many years ago that I will never completely get over. I'll likely always have to be on some kind of medication.
I'll probably never really be able to trust anyone or have a "normal" relationship and that kinda sucks monkey nuts. The more I think about it, the more it kinda pisses me off.
A year ago, I was afraid of running into my dad. Afraid to the point of bursting out in tears whenever I went grocery shopping or driving by the old family homestead on the way to Big City.
But now?
You just let that son of a biscuit eater get anywhere near me. I'm not sure what I'll do, but I know I won't be curling up in the fetal position in fear. That self serving bastid took a little girl.. his little girl.. and he broke her.. like the horses he so proudly intimidated, the dogs he towered over and ruled, he betrayed her trust, broke her.
Broken. Damaged. Flawed. Me.
If I ever see him again, I won't be afraid. He'll see my anger and all the crocodile tears in the world won't save him.
Yeah it pisses me off. But that's okay. I'm allowed.
Anywho...
I got a call from the Big Headed German the other day. He said Henny Penny was talking about retiring early to care for her disabled brother and her 97 year old mother. After discussing it with the corporate credit manager and the GM, he offered me my old job back in the accounting department. I'd be doing the same job Henny Penny does over at the other plant, but I'd be able to stay here, close to home.
No more Bossman. No more pissed off customers.
Not yes.. but hell yes.
And on that note.. I'm gonna get my big tush to work. Ya'll take care and have a humpilicious Hump Day.
We'll talk again soon.
Later Taters!
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Mission Complete
I was up and out of the house early Saturday morning, I was on a mission.
First, I stopped at the Pump N' Go for a Pepsi and a muffin. When you're on a serious mission, you need provisions. I took a second to chat with The Amazon and get caught up on the latest gossip. Everyone we know has had kinfolk at the hospital over in Big City this week. It's been a rough one for the older folks around the holler.
After leaving the station, I made my way over the mountain and through the woods to complete the next step of my mission, one that had started a couple of days earlier with an exchange of emails. I drove to the neighboring town, turning off on the long winding road that leads to the fairgrounds, the town dump and the one nursing home no one wants to end up in. I made the third left, driving past the county transportation department and to a little building on the side of a hill, with no signs, one window and an ominous, non-descript front door. The only evidence of the building's purpose was a piece of paper announcing the office hours taped to the fence surrounding the property.
I wasn't expecting it to be pleasant. I was expecting there to at least be an effort to make it easier on the parties involved.
I walked in the door and was faced with a tiny foyer, the cinder block walls covered with signs written in thick marker, "RING BELL FOR SERVICE" "SANITIZE HANDS BEFORE ENTERING" "NO UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL" "NO CHILDREN WITHOUT AN ADULT."
It was like.. 85° in that tiny room. I had already developed the underboob sweat.
I rang the bell.. but not before seriously considering turning around and running like hell back to the truck.
Soon, a boy of about 16 came to the door. Black hair, dark eyes, olive skin.. he had that Melungeon look. I calmed down a little. He was polite, invited me inside. I followed him in and was immediately knocked back by the odor.
The intake room was small, about 12 tiny cages housing mothers nursing litters of babies with nothing to separate them from the hard concrete but a towel, beautiful blue eyes howling hauntingly for just a scratch behind the ears and shy little ladies whining for a kind word.
I knew it would be hard. I had no idea how hard it would be.
There is NO excuse for the stench in that place. None. I've worked in zoos, had animals my whole life.
I explained to the boy why I was there, the emails, the promises made. He called the director, he talked a bit. He asked me, "You do want her.. right? I mean, do you just want to see her? Or do you want her?"
"I want her," I answered. I was annoyed. I was told she'd be brought there the night before. I told them I'd be there Saturday morning.
"She said she wants her," he told the person on the phone. I stood there, scratching behind ears, silently blessing the sad eyes looking back at me. I wanted them all. Hell, I just wanted to run everyone out and go in there with some bleach.
They didn't deserve this.
"C'mon in the office and we'll go ahead with the paperwork. He'll be right here, he just lives up the road."
I followed the boy into the filthy office where there was old food stacked in containers around the microwave, the floor was covered in mud and every space was piled with junk. His friend sat playing with a tamed feral cat, huge, black and a little beat up. I tried to make small talk, he took my license and copied it. He explained that the state law said no one leaves the shelter without being spayed or neutered, but he'd sign me up to be a foster mom until Thursday when the van comes to take them for surgery.
No one asked me if I'd had dogs before, if my yard was fenced in, if I already had fifty dogs in a pen in my back yard, if I was a felon, if I was into dog fighting, did I have a job...
Not a damn thing.
We finished filling out the paperwork and sat there chit chatting for a while. The boy's friend asked if maybe the director had wrecked, he lived right down the road. He finally showed up about 15 minutes later. By then, I'd formed a nice little pool of boob sweat and my Secret was starting to tell tales.
It was feckin' hot up in that place.
I heard a man come in the door yelling, "Hello my stinkies!!!!" as he passed the cages. The boy met him in the hall and I heard, "Where is she?"
"She's in the office," the boy answered.
In walks a large man with thick, black rimmed glasses and a need for some serious dental care. He had her in his arms, said, "Here ya go!" shoving her at me, then trying to make his way back out the door.
"You were fostering her, right? What kind of food is she used to? Has she been around cats? Other dogs?"
He seemed annoyed. "Oh she's a good dog, never had an accident in the house, been around cats, other dogs, she'll eat anything, if it doesn't work out, just bring her back," and with that he turned and started out the door.
I signed a piece of paper and the boy carried my girl to the truck.
No questions asked.
Meet Ayla, named for a character from "Clan of the Cave Bear," my favorite book, it's also the Turkish word for the misty halo that surrounds the moon. She's 9 weeks old. That's right, weeks. She's half Siberian Husky, half Pyrenees. She barely fits in the crate I set up for her in the bedroom.
I stopped at the station on the way home, pulled up outside the glass and rolled the window down. She sat in my lap with her paws hanging out the window and I watched as T.A.'s heart melted into a ginormous puddle when she turned around and saw her for the first time.
The introductions were tense. Yoda is in love. Sammy.. not so much. Kitty doesn't even want to talk about it.
While there is no doubt that for me, it was love at first sight, the odor coming off this pup would gag you. Not the generic puppy stink.. no.. she wreaked of urine, her white feet were yellow and there were some other smells going on that I can't even begin to identify. This from supposedly being "fostered" by a couple who run both the county's animal shelter and the one "rescue" organization here. One of those that get animals from shelters then charge you an arm and a leg to adopt a dog.
Isn't that like.. conflict of interest?
I thought "fostering" meant you took an animal in and cared for it as your own, preparing it for it's forever home. I have a feeling that "fostering" here means stock piling them in the garage or something.
Anywho.. so Ayla got her first bath. I know it was her first bath ever because she thought I was trying to kill her. Now she smells like Fructis.
Today she seems more relaxed, I think she's getting used to us. She's already dived on top of Ma's head and learned to take T.A. down.
Anywho... I'm still a little suspicious and upset with the conditions and management of the local shelter. Obviously I'll keep my mouth shut until Ayla is mine, but after that.. I think I might have to start asking some questions.
I hope ya'll are having a great weekend. Around here it's all puppy breath and fuzzy nuzzles.
We'll talk again soon!
Later Taters.
First, I stopped at the Pump N' Go for a Pepsi and a muffin. When you're on a serious mission, you need provisions. I took a second to chat with The Amazon and get caught up on the latest gossip. Everyone we know has had kinfolk at the hospital over in Big City this week. It's been a rough one for the older folks around the holler.
After leaving the station, I made my way over the mountain and through the woods to complete the next step of my mission, one that had started a couple of days earlier with an exchange of emails. I drove to the neighboring town, turning off on the long winding road that leads to the fairgrounds, the town dump and the one nursing home no one wants to end up in. I made the third left, driving past the county transportation department and to a little building on the side of a hill, with no signs, one window and an ominous, non-descript front door. The only evidence of the building's purpose was a piece of paper announcing the office hours taped to the fence surrounding the property.
I wasn't expecting it to be pleasant. I was expecting there to at least be an effort to make it easier on the parties involved.
I walked in the door and was faced with a tiny foyer, the cinder block walls covered with signs written in thick marker, "RING BELL FOR SERVICE" "SANITIZE HANDS BEFORE ENTERING" "NO UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL" "NO CHILDREN WITHOUT AN ADULT."
It was like.. 85° in that tiny room. I had already developed the underboob sweat.
I rang the bell.. but not before seriously considering turning around and running like hell back to the truck.
Soon, a boy of about 16 came to the door. Black hair, dark eyes, olive skin.. he had that Melungeon look. I calmed down a little. He was polite, invited me inside. I followed him in and was immediately knocked back by the odor.
The intake room was small, about 12 tiny cages housing mothers nursing litters of babies with nothing to separate them from the hard concrete but a towel, beautiful blue eyes howling hauntingly for just a scratch behind the ears and shy little ladies whining for a kind word.
I knew it would be hard. I had no idea how hard it would be.
There is NO excuse for the stench in that place. None. I've worked in zoos, had animals my whole life.
I explained to the boy why I was there, the emails, the promises made. He called the director, he talked a bit. He asked me, "You do want her.. right? I mean, do you just want to see her? Or do you want her?"
"I want her," I answered. I was annoyed. I was told she'd be brought there the night before. I told them I'd be there Saturday morning.
"She said she wants her," he told the person on the phone. I stood there, scratching behind ears, silently blessing the sad eyes looking back at me. I wanted them all. Hell, I just wanted to run everyone out and go in there with some bleach.
They didn't deserve this.
"C'mon in the office and we'll go ahead with the paperwork. He'll be right here, he just lives up the road."
I followed the boy into the filthy office where there was old food stacked in containers around the microwave, the floor was covered in mud and every space was piled with junk. His friend sat playing with a tamed feral cat, huge, black and a little beat up. I tried to make small talk, he took my license and copied it. He explained that the state law said no one leaves the shelter without being spayed or neutered, but he'd sign me up to be a foster mom until Thursday when the van comes to take them for surgery.
No one asked me if I'd had dogs before, if my yard was fenced in, if I already had fifty dogs in a pen in my back yard, if I was a felon, if I was into dog fighting, did I have a job...
Not a damn thing.
We finished filling out the paperwork and sat there chit chatting for a while. The boy's friend asked if maybe the director had wrecked, he lived right down the road. He finally showed up about 15 minutes later. By then, I'd formed a nice little pool of boob sweat and my Secret was starting to tell tales.
It was feckin' hot up in that place.
I heard a man come in the door yelling, "Hello my stinkies!!!!" as he passed the cages. The boy met him in the hall and I heard, "Where is she?"
"She's in the office," the boy answered.
In walks a large man with thick, black rimmed glasses and a need for some serious dental care. He had her in his arms, said, "Here ya go!" shoving her at me, then trying to make his way back out the door.
"You were fostering her, right? What kind of food is she used to? Has she been around cats? Other dogs?"
He seemed annoyed. "Oh she's a good dog, never had an accident in the house, been around cats, other dogs, she'll eat anything, if it doesn't work out, just bring her back," and with that he turned and started out the door.
I signed a piece of paper and the boy carried my girl to the truck.
No questions asked.
I stopped at the station on the way home, pulled up outside the glass and rolled the window down. She sat in my lap with her paws hanging out the window and I watched as T.A.'s heart melted into a ginormous puddle when she turned around and saw her for the first time.
The introductions were tense. Yoda is in love. Sammy.. not so much. Kitty doesn't even want to talk about it.
While there is no doubt that for me, it was love at first sight, the odor coming off this pup would gag you. Not the generic puppy stink.. no.. she wreaked of urine, her white feet were yellow and there were some other smells going on that I can't even begin to identify. This from supposedly being "fostered" by a couple who run both the county's animal shelter and the one "rescue" organization here. One of those that get animals from shelters then charge you an arm and a leg to adopt a dog.
Isn't that like.. conflict of interest?
I thought "fostering" meant you took an animal in and cared for it as your own, preparing it for it's forever home. I have a feeling that "fostering" here means stock piling them in the garage or something.
Anywho.. so Ayla got her first bath. I know it was her first bath ever because she thought I was trying to kill her. Now she smells like Fructis.
Today she seems more relaxed, I think she's getting used to us. She's already dived on top of Ma's head and learned to take T.A. down.
Anywho... I'm still a little suspicious and upset with the conditions and management of the local shelter. Obviously I'll keep my mouth shut until Ayla is mine, but after that.. I think I might have to start asking some questions.
I hope ya'll are having a great weekend. Around here it's all puppy breath and fuzzy nuzzles.
We'll talk again soon!
Later Taters.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Side Pube
"Just wait until you get old!"
Slowly it begins, weird beige-brown discs appear on our skin, but they're small and discrete.. and they make cream for that.. so it's okay. Then tiny, strange sculptures begin to erupt here and there. The doctor calls them "skin tags" and is almost a little too eager to take them off with her mini hedge clippers.
She even gets that crazed "Edward Scissorhands" look on her face while she's clipping away. It's a little scary.
We're ready for the occasional wrinkle and soon develop a relationship with friends named "Miss Clairol" and "Feria."
No one, however, could prepare me for the discovery I made on a cold Carolina morning as I sat upon the throne of the potty palace, preparing for work. Absentmindedly reaching back to scratch a tickle.. I felt something strange on my skin.. something foreign.. but when I tried to remove it, I realized it was attached.
To me.
What the hell?
I twisted upon my perch, inspecting the area of skin somewhere between my side boob and my hip roll and was horrified to discover a singular coarse, black hair, about six inches in length, growing from my side. It reminded me of the 1986 remake of "The Fly" when those little black hairs start popping out on his back. I tried, in vain, to rip it from me, but it broke off, curling up like a package ribbon, taking on the appearance of.. a pubic hair.
I think there was some screaming and a certain Chihuahuaranian nearly met his maker as I flew through the house in search of the "good" tweezers.
I plucked it out by the roots, breathed a sigh of relief and calmed down, knowing the story would excite The Amazon. I thought my trauma was over.
But no.
It came back. It comes back every time. Just the one hair that if left alone would probably grow forever. We even named it...
The Side Pube.
So tell your girl children, when you share stories of wrinkle cream, age spot remover and skin tags that it could be worse, they could sprout a side pube.
And explain to them about the need for some good tweezers.
It's Friday ya'll, let us rejoice by running barefoot through the rainy Southern streets and singing Barry Manilow tunes at the top of our lungs.
We'll talk again soon, hopefully I'll have some news to share tomorrow. Oh and don't forget, you can now have your Hidden Mahala fix delivered straight to your Kindle! Tell your friends! Notify the media! Or not! It's okay, I'll still love ya.
Later Taters!
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Shiny Black Blazers and Itchy Beagles
It is done. The Amazon has a "new" 1989 Blazer (not a Bronco, as previously reported, may the Chevrolet gods forgive me.) Granted, it's only four years younger than she is, but it's got a new/rebuilt motor, a brand new shiny black paint job, tiny blue fog lights and it runs.
And the price was definitely right.
Hallee-freakin-loo-ya.
The only downside is that she bought it from the town cop, so she'll never get away with anything. I predict that once it's spotted in my driveway for a few days, the rumor mill will start churning over a suspected affair between me and Thelma's Bubbahubby.
In other news...
I had to run to the Tractor Supply after work last night to pick up some Happy Jack mange stuff.
You might be a redneck.
It pains me to admit this, but I could stay in Tractor Supply for hours, just looking at Breyer horses, fondling the bridles and saddle blankets with that wistful look in my eye, examining the selection of buckets, tools and truck tool boxes.
I know.. this goes totally against my inner city girl upbringing. Lulu says it's in my blood.
I went in search of the Happy Jack mange stuff when Sammy, the formerly hairless Boston Baked Beagle was taken off steroids by the vet because he looked like he was going to explode and immediately returned to scratching, digging and going hairless again.
It doesn't take a degree in veterinary medicine to realize that the 'roids and the antihistamines aren't doing a flipping thing. I'm tired of assing around with these people. The dog has mange mites.
I'm happy to report that my crud is somewhat better. I still sound kinda raspy, I'm thinking of forming a Fleetwood Mac cover band where I can put my Stevie Nicks impression to good use. I still have the occasional spasmic coughing attack between 3-4 every afternoon, but I got me a ginormous bottle of Tussin last night.
Nector of the gods.
Anywho, I'd reckon I should go do some actual work since like.. they're paying me and stuff. Ya'll have an awesometastic humpday. We'll talk again soon.
Later Taters!
And the price was definitely right.
Hallee-freakin-loo-ya.
The only downside is that she bought it from the town cop, so she'll never get away with anything. I predict that once it's spotted in my driveway for a few days, the rumor mill will start churning over a suspected affair between me and Thelma's Bubbahubby.
In other news...
I had to run to the Tractor Supply after work last night to pick up some Happy Jack mange stuff.
You might be a redneck.
It pains me to admit this, but I could stay in Tractor Supply for hours, just looking at Breyer horses, fondling the bridles and saddle blankets with that wistful look in my eye, examining the selection of buckets, tools and truck tool boxes.
I know.. this goes totally against my inner city girl upbringing. Lulu says it's in my blood.
I went in search of the Happy Jack mange stuff when Sammy, the formerly hairless Boston Baked Beagle was taken off steroids by the vet because he looked like he was going to explode and immediately returned to scratching, digging and going hairless again.
It doesn't take a degree in veterinary medicine to realize that the 'roids and the antihistamines aren't doing a flipping thing. I'm tired of assing around with these people. The dog has mange mites.
I'm happy to report that my crud is somewhat better. I still sound kinda raspy, I'm thinking of forming a Fleetwood Mac cover band where I can put my Stevie Nicks impression to good use. I still have the occasional spasmic coughing attack between 3-4 every afternoon, but I got me a ginormous bottle of Tussin last night.
Nector of the gods.
Anywho, I'd reckon I should go do some actual work since like.. they're paying me and stuff. Ya'll have an awesometastic humpday. We'll talk again soon.
Later Taters!
Monday, January 18, 2010
Ch-Ch-Changes
It's kind of cool and gray in the holler this morning. This weekend did me in, making a much needed run to Wally World before I was completely over the Black Plague my upper respitiory crap leading to my explaining, quite dramatically, to T.A. that were I to die inside Wally World, I needed her to promise me she'd drag me out to the parking lot before calling 911.
I don't want to die in Wally World.
I ended up spending twice as much as usual, but I've not bought anything since I came down with The Phlegm Churning, Snot Shooting Infection from Hell the crud back on January first. Hopefully it's enough to last a while.
Oh.. I did get my voice back.. sort of. I sound like Froggy from Little Rascals.
I know, your awe of my uber sexiness is growing a little every day.
It looks like T.A. will have a vehicle (finally) within the next day or two. She's buying Thelma's old Bronco, which I think is an awesome idea. The child hasn't had a vehicle of her own to drive at all, ever, and I've told her more than once that she needs to get something she can't hurt until she gets some road time under her belt.
And seriously... isn't that first junker like the most awesomest car you ever own? You can put all the tacky crap you want in it without worrying about how it looks, when crap falls off you just pull over, pick it up, toss it in the back and buy lots of duct tape.
I'm tickled to death.
In other news..
There may be a change coming to the Mahala house later this week, but I don't want to jinx it, so you'll just have to stay tuned.
In the meantime, ya'll have an awesometastic week. We'll talk again real soon.
Later Taters!
P.S. I almost forgot! Hiddenmahala.com is now available on Kindle!!!!
Friday, January 15, 2010
Bubbles Returns.. Briefly
It's cold and nipply in Frog Pond Holler today, but at least it's not snowing. It's supposed to be warming up a little, but we've still got some snowy patches on the ground and the creek remains half frozen. I guess the weather gurus have a different definition of warm than I do.
Here at the Asylum, we got the news Wednesday that Bossman will no longer be required to take a week furlough every month and I'm back on a forty hour schedule. Ya'll have NO idea how glad I am that I won't have to fly solo as sales ninja anymore. Granted, Bossman doesn't exactly have magic fairy dust and unicorns shooting out of his butt, but he has been easier to get along with and his being here takes the pressure off me.
And getting a whole paycheck for a change doesn't suck either.
The same day they called Bossman back to the office, I thought I spotted another familiar face sneaking in the front door, striking fear in my heart. The cloaked figure moved stealthily from the front door to Tiny's office, clutching a manila envelope to their chest. Thelma volunteered to sneak up to the front office on an information gathering mission, returning to confirm my fears.
It was Bubbles.
Now, I know some of ya'll probably have mixed emotions about Bubbles returning to the Asylum. I have to admit, the old blog just hasn't been the same without her coochie crud, dildo phone and lengthy sex ed discussions with Louise, but I've made too much progress since she's been gone. If she came back as my co-worker, they'd have to up my medication.
There was speculation as to why in the heck Bubbalicious was up here. Of course, I was scared plumb pootless that she'd been called back in to talk about coming back to work, but she hadn't spoken to Bossman and the GM completely ignored the fact that she was here at all.
Obviously we needed more information. We sent Lulu, who marched right in there with a big ol "Hey!" and came right out and asked Bubbles what she was doing up here.
I love Lulu.
It seems that Bubbles, who's been laid off for a year now and who's been telling everyone in town that she was going to get a job up at the elementary school, was kindly informed by her Bubbahubby that it was time to stop pussyfootin' around and find herself gainful employment. Bubbles, acting like the delicate, unworldly little hausfrau that she wants everyone to think she is, called Tiny, our plant manager and a.k.a. Bubbles' work hubby, telling him that Bubbahubby was upset with her and she needed Tiny's help because she didn't know how to create a resume.
Seriously.. what kinda person has the balls to go to the company that kicked them to the curb a year ago to ask them to spend two hours of company time on her resume?
Lord.. please let that child find herself a job so she'll stop sniffing around here like an old hound.
Anywho...
In other news, Ma claims she heard something outside her window the other night, looked out and found a big doe looking back at her and all up in her bedroom. She said they had a nice little talk and it's come back to visit a couple of times since.
Great. Between the possums, stray cats, screech owls and now deer, I could probably open my own petting zoo.
Ah well.. I suppose I should get back to the grind. Before I go, I wanted to thank ya'll for your response to yesterday's "De-Lurking" day. It was great to see some names I've not seen in a while and a few I didn't even know were out there. Just for the record, I am the world's worst for lurking. I read everything on a feedreader to make it easier to do from work without opening too many windows, so I'm cool if you wanna lurk in the shadows.
Lurk on!
We'll talk again soon.
Later Taters!
Here at the Asylum, we got the news Wednesday that Bossman will no longer be required to take a week furlough every month and I'm back on a forty hour schedule. Ya'll have NO idea how glad I am that I won't have to fly solo as sales ninja anymore. Granted, Bossman doesn't exactly have magic fairy dust and unicorns shooting out of his butt, but he has been easier to get along with and his being here takes the pressure off me.
And getting a whole paycheck for a change doesn't suck either.
The same day they called Bossman back to the office, I thought I spotted another familiar face sneaking in the front door, striking fear in my heart. The cloaked figure moved stealthily from the front door to Tiny's office, clutching a manila envelope to their chest. Thelma volunteered to sneak up to the front office on an information gathering mission, returning to confirm my fears.
It was Bubbles.
Now, I know some of ya'll probably have mixed emotions about Bubbles returning to the Asylum. I have to admit, the old blog just hasn't been the same without her coochie crud, dildo phone and lengthy sex ed discussions with Louise, but I've made too much progress since she's been gone. If she came back as my co-worker, they'd have to up my medication.
There was speculation as to why in the heck Bubbalicious was up here. Of course, I was scared plumb pootless that she'd been called back in to talk about coming back to work, but she hadn't spoken to Bossman and the GM completely ignored the fact that she was here at all.
Obviously we needed more information. We sent Lulu, who marched right in there with a big ol "Hey!" and came right out and asked Bubbles what she was doing up here.
I love Lulu.
It seems that Bubbles, who's been laid off for a year now and who's been telling everyone in town that she was going to get a job up at the elementary school, was kindly informed by her Bubbahubby that it was time to stop pussyfootin' around and find herself gainful employment. Bubbles, acting like the delicate, unworldly little hausfrau that she wants everyone to think she is, called Tiny, our plant manager and a.k.a. Bubbles' work hubby, telling him that Bubbahubby was upset with her and she needed Tiny's help because she didn't know how to create a resume.
Seriously.. what kinda person has the balls to go to the company that kicked them to the curb a year ago to ask them to spend two hours of company time on her resume?
Lord.. please let that child find herself a job so she'll stop sniffing around here like an old hound.
Anywho...
In other news, Ma claims she heard something outside her window the other night, looked out and found a big doe looking back at her and all up in her bedroom. She said they had a nice little talk and it's come back to visit a couple of times since.
Great. Between the possums, stray cats, screech owls and now deer, I could probably open my own petting zoo.
Ah well.. I suppose I should get back to the grind. Before I go, I wanted to thank ya'll for your response to yesterday's "De-Lurking" day. It was great to see some names I've not seen in a while and a few I didn't even know were out there. Just for the record, I am the world's worst for lurking. I read everything on a feedreader to make it easier to do from work without opening too many windows, so I'm cool if you wanna lurk in the shadows.
Lurk on!
We'll talk again soon.
Later Taters!
Thursday, January 14, 2010
I Won't Bite.. This Time
364 days a year, it's totally cool with me if you wanna hang in the shadows and read about life in Frog Pond Holler, but since it is Nationial International Delurker Day, I'd love it if you'd just peek in and say howdy, leave a "Hi there" or a "Hidey Ho neighbor" in the comment box.
Just this once.
Well.. until next year.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
When Nutburgers Get the Crud
Lawd have mercy. When it rains it pours.
I was being all cocky at the Asylum yesterday about how much better I was feeling, not coughing, I had this crud-plague-thingie licked. I'd taken it by the cajones and showed it who's boss.
And then?
Last night, I laid down to go to bed and within a few minutes it was like a giant wad of mucussy plague ridden snot had formed in my throat, refusing to budge. When I coughed, I sounded like a three week old chihuahua. I got up, got something to drink, walked the floors, laid back down and it came back. I took some Benadryl, only because I'd already taken everything else in the house and nothing was working, thinking it would knock me out, then got all paranoid that it would knock me out and I'd get choked in my sleep and die. The warm rush of panic flowed up my body, I started hyperventilating and lept to my feet.
And ya'll wonder why I can't find a husband. Can you imagine trying to sleep in the same bed with me?
I looked for my "omg I'm losing my chit and I'm gonna die" panic pills, but then I started thinking that maaaybe I wasn't supposed to take it with antihistamines but I wasn't sure if I'd actually read that somewhere or if I just thought I did.
I turned all the lights on and played on the computer for a few minutes to get my mind off what I KNEW was a huge irrational drama that I'd built up in my own head. I figured, I'd conk out eventually.
Five o'clock. In the morning. I finally dozed off. I get up at 6:30.
Yeah.. I called in sick. That's when I realized my voice was completely gone. Poor Thelma thought she had an obscene caller on the line. I got some snooze time in this morning, then went to the doctor this afternoon. She said I had all kindsa stuff going on at one time.. a sinus infection, chest congestion and severe inflammation of this, that and the other. I came out of there with steroids, antibiotics and a prescription for some uber cough syrup containing hydrocodone to help me sleep. I ended up not getting the last one filled, $95 was a little too steep for my budget. She changed some of my other stuff too so I ended up with 4 bags of pills when I came out of Wally World.
I feel so old.
Oh yeah.. she also told me not to talk at all and I might have my voice back in a few days. How am I supposed to take care of customers if I can't talk on the phone? I'm showing up at the Asylum tomorrow, but I don't know how it's going to work.
This could get interesting.
The dogs are loving that I can't talk. Thankfully, when I stand by the door and open and close it, looking at them with raised brows and pointing outside, they understand what I'm asking. Unfortunately, when I need them to come back in, they look up and see me on the top step, stomping, clapping and barely squeaking above a whisper and I swear, they laugh as they trot off, frolicking amongst the ivy without a care in the world.
Anywho...
I'm gonna go find something to drink and check to see if it's time to take a pill. I'm sure it's time to take something.
Ya'll have an awesome Humpday tomorrow. We'll talk again soon.
Later Taters!!!
Sunday, January 10, 2010
A Dumb Ho
The sun is shining bright through the bedroom window and down on Frog Pond Holler this afternoon. The snow that fell over the past two days is slowly melting away and I'm not trying to hock up a lung every ten minutes.
Things are looking up.
The house is still a wreck, but T.A. did manage to haul the trash down to the dump for me yesterday. I could wash a few dishes, dust and vacuum, but I'm not going to. I'm only doing laundry to avoid going to the Asylum either naked or stinky for the next week. I'm determined to knock the rest of this feckin' plague out of my system today. Bossman is off this week, so I'll be flying solo. The past month as been such a clusterfuck with taking Fridays off, losing a week from storms and then only being half way productive while trying to work through coughing fits and sneezing spells, that I'll be starting the week so far behind, I'll be able to see my own butt on the horizon.
In other news, T.A. informed me yesterday that my trashy big boobed cousin with the lazy eye had tried to get her debit card number. I knew the tramptastic little hobag was up to something, the way she's been fawning over T.A. like she was the best thing since sliced bread, but I gave her the benefit of the doubt. Then, the other day, she asked T.A. if she could deposit $200 in her checking account then use her debit card to pay her phone bill. T.A., being smarter than the average bear, told her she couldn't have her debit card, realizing the whole thing sounded a little shady anyway. T.B.B.C. told her that was okay, she could just give her the number. Thank goodness my child has some sense.
This from the cousin who's stolen checks from Ma and nearly went to jail for the big tobacco heist back a few years ago. Sure.. we'll trust you with our bank card information.
Get real. Sheesh.
If she asked me, I'd tell her to get off her triflin' ass and get a job or at least tell that deadbeat husband she found on the internet, then drove to N.Y. to get, bringing him home with her to live before she'd even met him face to face, to get off HIS delicate little butt and find a job.
I'm a little annoyed. It's taking ALOT of self control for me not to go over there and knock a whole in her head.
Anywho...
I'm gonna go stretch out and see what's on the boob tube. Ya'll enjoy the rest of your Sunday.
Later Taters!
Things are looking up.
The house is still a wreck, but T.A. did manage to haul the trash down to the dump for me yesterday. I could wash a few dishes, dust and vacuum, but I'm not going to. I'm only doing laundry to avoid going to the Asylum either naked or stinky for the next week. I'm determined to knock the rest of this feckin' plague out of my system today. Bossman is off this week, so I'll be flying solo. The past month as been such a clusterfuck with taking Fridays off, losing a week from storms and then only being half way productive while trying to work through coughing fits and sneezing spells, that I'll be starting the week so far behind, I'll be able to see my own butt on the horizon.
In other news, T.A. informed me yesterday that my trashy big boobed cousin with the lazy eye had tried to get her debit card number. I knew the tramptastic little hobag was up to something, the way she's been fawning over T.A. like she was the best thing since sliced bread, but I gave her the benefit of the doubt. Then, the other day, she asked T.A. if she could deposit $200 in her checking account then use her debit card to pay her phone bill. T.A., being smarter than the average bear, told her she couldn't have her debit card, realizing the whole thing sounded a little shady anyway. T.B.B.C. told her that was okay, she could just give her the number. Thank goodness my child has some sense.
This from the cousin who's stolen checks from Ma and nearly went to jail for the big tobacco heist back a few years ago. Sure.. we'll trust you with our bank card information.
Get real. Sheesh.
If she asked me, I'd tell her to get off her triflin' ass and get a job or at least tell that deadbeat husband she found on the internet, then drove to N.Y. to get, bringing him home with her to live before she'd even met him face to face, to get off HIS delicate little butt and find a job.
I'm a little annoyed. It's taking ALOT of self control for me not to go over there and knock a whole in her head.
Anywho...
I'm gonna go stretch out and see what's on the boob tube. Ya'll enjoy the rest of your Sunday.
Later Taters!
Friday, January 08, 2010
Snow, Snot and Snoozing
My Black Plague is slowly fading away.. thank goodness. I still have sudden spasmic coughing spells which occasionally lead to guttural chest retching, usually when I'm on the phone with a customer.
Can you say sexay-sexay?
I've had some other health related crap going on too, leaving me completely drained. I think if I could go to sleep, undisturbed, I'd be able to snooze for three days.
At least it's Friday.
My house still looks like it's been ransacked. There are bags of trash sitting in the kitchen. Every available surface... end tables, the bar, the mantle, the entertainment center... is piled with stuff. The cat's litter box will put your eyes out if you get too close and there's a plastic grocery bag full of used snot rags hanging from the drawer knob beside the bed.
I'll never get it clean. I'm not sure I'm even gonna try.
We woke up this morning to an inch or two of snow covering the ground. It's pretty to look at, most of the roads were clear coming in to the office, other than the private road up to the Asylum, and we've got heat. The weather wizards are predicting another couple of inches by tomorrow night, which is fine by me, as long as the electricity holds out.
I guess I should get back to work. I'm so behind.. I work a few minutes, then sit, staring off into space for a half hour, trying not to doze off. I'm not being very productive.
We'll talk again soon.
Later Taters.
Can you say sexay-sexay?
I've had some other health related crap going on too, leaving me completely drained. I think if I could go to sleep, undisturbed, I'd be able to snooze for three days.
At least it's Friday.
My house still looks like it's been ransacked. There are bags of trash sitting in the kitchen. Every available surface... end tables, the bar, the mantle, the entertainment center... is piled with stuff. The cat's litter box will put your eyes out if you get too close and there's a plastic grocery bag full of used snot rags hanging from the drawer knob beside the bed.
I'll never get it clean. I'm not sure I'm even gonna try.
We woke up this morning to an inch or two of snow covering the ground. It's pretty to look at, most of the roads were clear coming in to the office, other than the private road up to the Asylum, and we've got heat. The weather wizards are predicting another couple of inches by tomorrow night, which is fine by me, as long as the electricity holds out.
I guess I should get back to work. I'm so behind.. I work a few minutes, then sit, staring off into space for a half hour, trying not to doze off. I'm not being very productive.
We'll talk again soon.
Later Taters.
Wednesday, January 06, 2010
Arizona Dreamin'
Happy Hump Day
I promise I won't talk about my impending death from the Black Plague cold symptoms or the apocalyptic implications of all the mother freakin' snow falling on the holler this morning. I'm getting sick of hearing myself talk about it.
Soooo what does that leave us?
*crickets chirping*
It's been a while since we got caught up with everything around the holler, so shall we?
Here at the Asylum it's business as usual. Sales are up, which is nice but it also means I'm having to actually work, cutting into my innerwebby socializing, but I've been keeping my nose to the grindstone as much as I can. If I fall behind, they may decide it's time to bring Bubbles back.
*shudder*
Around town, everyone's talking about how cold it is, how much snow we've gotten and how much more is on the way. Down at the dollar store yesterday (I needed some of those lotion infused tissues for my nose,) Miss Kay and the new cashier were discussing how many fogs we'd had in the fall, because all the old folks swear the fog predicts how much snow you'll get come winter.
And apparently.. we had a butt load of fog.
When I got home from the dollar store and told T.A. about Miss Kay, the child flipped out on me. I didn't know that Miss Kay, T.A.'s coworker down at the Pump N' Go, had called in to say she couldn't get out to come to work because of the icy roads. I had to stop T.A. from calling her boss to tattle, she was peeved that he'd had to come in to cover for Miss Kay with his bad knee replacement giving him fits already. He and Miss Kay have already come close to locking horns once or twice. I guess it bears mentioning that Miss Kay is also the owner's mother and that her family has owned that gas station, in one form or another, for at least 50 years. T.A.'s boss (the manager with the bad knee, not the owner) also happens to be Thelma's dad, for those of you trying to keep up with the intricate interconnections of family trees in the holler.
Back at the trailer, I've been entertained for hours on end by the Wii Fit I got T.A. for Christmas. Not by using it, but sitting on the couch watching her use it. Have you ever seen someone trying to find their balance with a new yoga pose just as a psycho kitty appears from nowhere, running up their pant leg and latching on to their belly with their front claws?
It's way more entertaining than television.
As for me, aside from some sudden, spastic coughing spells, I'm feeling much better. I finally slept last night, although I dreamed of moving to Phoenix with T.A. and Ma in tow and shacking up with some weird, long haired redneck lookin' dudes.
It must be the Benadryl. I don't know anyone in Phoenix nor have I ever had a desire to live there.
Anywho.. I'd better get to work. All my trays are over flowing into each other 'til it looks like one ginormous mass of paper.
Happy Humpday ya'll.
We'll talk again soon.
Later Taters!!
Tuesday, January 05, 2010
Not Fabulous
It's day five of the Black Plague of Death. Snot monkeys are still break dancing in my sinus passages and my ability to cough-squeak along with any Dolly Parton song is making me all the rage at parties here in the holler.
And my nose? My delicate little shnoz that has worked so hard to try to expel snot monkeys from their hiding places in my head, is all red and raw and peelie.
Oh I am one damned fabulous chunk o' eye candy.
Try to control yourselves.
We woke up to a blanket of white this morning and ridunkulously low temps for anywhere south of the Mason-Dixon. It's supposed to snow pretty much all week, I even had to cancel the noggin doc. The voicemail she left sounded a little sad, I think she misses me.
Or she's afraid I'm gonna lose it and lock Ma in the closet. Not that I've ever threatened to or anything...
*cough*
She should just be thankful she doesn't have to worry about being exposed to the yacking Black Plague of Death (and snot monkeys.)
I've got two more hours to kill and 100K in orders to enter, so I'd better get crackin'. Ya'll have a good one, we'll talk again soon.
Later Taters!
And my nose? My delicate little shnoz that has worked so hard to try to expel snot monkeys from their hiding places in my head, is all red and raw and peelie.
Oh I am one damned fabulous chunk o' eye candy.
Try to control yourselves.
We woke up to a blanket of white this morning and ridunkulously low temps for anywhere south of the Mason-Dixon. It's supposed to snow pretty much all week, I even had to cancel the noggin doc. The voicemail she left sounded a little sad, I think she misses me.
Or she's afraid I'm gonna lose it and lock Ma in the closet. Not that I've ever threatened to or anything...
*cough*
She should just be thankful she doesn't have to worry about being exposed to the yacking Black Plague of Death (and snot monkeys.)
I've got two more hours to kill and 100K in orders to enter, so I'd better get crackin'. Ya'll have a good one, we'll talk again soon.
Later Taters!
Sunday, January 03, 2010
It Lives
I'm still battling an exotic virus carried by a South American flea on the back of a rare calf purchased by a collector of rare livestock who lives in a secluded holler somewhere near Frog Pond a cold. There ain't no damned sense in this much snot being produced by one human being. I've urged the other people living in my house to contact the CDC but they imply that I'm like.... whining or some chit.
On ya'll's advice, I sent the Amazon after some pseudo Mucinex from the dollar store, but when I opened it, the foil seal had been ripped open and half the pills were gone.
What the hell?? JUST STEAL THE WHOLE DAMNED BOTTLE FOR GAWD'S SAKE! I hate under achieving criminals.
Of course, per my luck, the dollar store was already closed for the evening when I discovered this. I debated whether to take the drugs from the compromised bottle. I mean, if I was gonna die anyway, I might as well take a chance on some guaifenesin laced with LCD or arsenic or like.. goat poop or something.
But I wussed out. The Amazon went back the next day and got another bottle and it's helped alot. That and pseudoephedrine every four hours. My heart might explode, but I'll be able to breathe when it happens.
I got up this morning and staggered to the kitchen to make some coffee and noticed that my house looks like it's been ransacked by a tribe of angry pygmies, performing fertility rituals in the living room floor using feathers, tissues and a collection of plastic bags.
Or the cat's been redecorating again. Oh.. by the way.. the Amazon cleaned out her litter box, removing all the women's magazines. Last night I found a National Geographic stuffed in there. Further evidence of a pygmy invasion.
I've spent alot of time in front of the television, in various states of consciousness. Oh.. I didn't tell you I bought a new t.v. for the bedroom. The old one was used by T.A. in college and had been lugged up and down dorm steps, bounced around in the back of the hippy van up and down I-40 and had finally started to die. I got a wild hair up my butt the other night at Wally World and bought me a little 19 inch flat screen. I couldn't afford it, but I don't care. If it had been for anyone else, I wouldn't have thought twice about it.
I'm worth it. Dammit.
All the extra time in front of the boob tube has made me realize some things..
Anywho.. I don't know how I'm going to make it into the Asylum tomorrow, but I'm sure I will. It'll be a snot filled wonderland.
Stay tuned.
Later Taters!
On ya'll's advice, I sent the Amazon after some pseudo Mucinex from the dollar store, but when I opened it, the foil seal had been ripped open and half the pills were gone.
What the hell?? JUST STEAL THE WHOLE DAMNED BOTTLE FOR GAWD'S SAKE! I hate under achieving criminals.
Of course, per my luck, the dollar store was already closed for the evening when I discovered this. I debated whether to take the drugs from the compromised bottle. I mean, if I was gonna die anyway, I might as well take a chance on some guaifenesin laced with LCD or arsenic or like.. goat poop or something.
But I wussed out. The Amazon went back the next day and got another bottle and it's helped alot. That and pseudoephedrine every four hours. My heart might explode, but I'll be able to breathe when it happens.
I got up this morning and staggered to the kitchen to make some coffee and noticed that my house looks like it's been ransacked by a tribe of angry pygmies, performing fertility rituals in the living room floor using feathers, tissues and a collection of plastic bags.
Or the cat's been redecorating again. Oh.. by the way.. the Amazon cleaned out her litter box, removing all the women's magazines. Last night I found a National Geographic stuffed in there. Further evidence of a pygmy invasion.
I've spent alot of time in front of the television, in various states of consciousness. Oh.. I didn't tell you I bought a new t.v. for the bedroom. The old one was used by T.A. in college and had been lugged up and down dorm steps, bounced around in the back of the hippy van up and down I-40 and had finally started to die. I got a wild hair up my butt the other night at Wally World and bought me a little 19 inch flat screen. I couldn't afford it, but I don't care. If it had been for anyone else, I wouldn't have thought twice about it.
I'm worth it. Dammit.
All the extra time in front of the boob tube has made me realize some things..
- Nutri-System has forced me to despise Marie Osmond. I always loved her, crooning along with her versions of "Puppy Love" and "When the Deep Purple Falls" as a child. But now, if I hear "You can have ice cream delivered, RIGHT TO YOUR DOOR!" one more time, I think I'm gonna hurl.. because when she says it, in my head I hear it followed by, "C'mon chubby.. you know you want ICE CREAM." And have you seen the latest commercials? Who does her make-up? West Hollywood prostitutes on some kinda work release program? Here's some advice for ya Marie, three pounds of hair extensions and six layers of spackle and paint does not make you look younger.. just desperate. You're a beautiful women, WASH YO' DAMN FACE!
- The Discovery Heath Channel is the modern version of the circus side show. Step right up and see the six limbed baby! The three foot family! The boy with two heads!! And yes.. those are actual shows that have been on DHC this weekend. Are we that desperate for "entertainment?" Stop the freak show, people. We're supposed to be past that.
- Ya'll know I love animals.. to a fault. I'd save every suffering animal in the world if I could. Just the other day, I rode around town with a baggy full of leftover Spam, trying to
kidnaprescue a starving German Shepherd I saw in town. But when those SPCA and Humane Society commercials come on, playing sad music and flashing pictures of abused animals, I change the channel. I understand their motives, but I have issues with their methods of population control. No one wants you? Sorry, you have to die. Why don't you take the funding you receive and set up free spay/neuter clinics? In the long run, I bet it would be more cost effective than what you're doing now. I don't mean "low cost" clinics like they have here, where they load your precious critter in a cage and cram it into a van with 20 others, big angry mutts crammed in crates beside frightened little kittens, being terrorized for the hour trip into Big City, where they're tossed around like livestock then brought back at the end of the day, after surgery and left in their little crates, regardless of outside temperatures, unsupervised and in hopes that "someone" will come pick them up. Um. No. Just because people can't afford the very best care for their animals, doesn't mean they love them any less.
Anywho.. I don't know how I'm going to make it into the Asylum tomorrow, but I'm sure I will. It'll be a snot filled wonderland.
Stay tuned.
Later Taters!
Friday, January 01, 2010
My New Year So Far
I think I've got the Rainbow Brite Multi-Colored Plague of Death which I most likely contracted this past week from my trashy big boobed cousin with the lazy eye's youngin, who is always here and always coughing, sniffling, snorting and.. eating.
There are substances coming out of my face that aren't normal.. in every color of the rainbow. And I can taste the rainbow. Maybe it's the Skittles Plague of You Just Wish You Were Dead. I suppose it's possible that it's a raging sinus infection or a cold, but I doubt it.
At 5 a.m. I woke up with a sore throat and nasal passages that felt like they'd been filled with concrete. I think I'm gonna die.
In other news...
The weather guy is predicting snow showers for today. Please excuse me if I don't jump up and down for mother freakin' joy.
I'm going to go rest now in a chemically induced state of semi consciousness and watch the Criminal Minds marathon.
Later Taters.
There are substances coming out of my face that aren't normal.. in every color of the rainbow. And I can taste the rainbow. Maybe it's the Skittles Plague of You Just Wish You Were Dead. I suppose it's possible that it's a raging sinus infection or a cold, but I doubt it.
At 5 a.m. I woke up with a sore throat and nasal passages that felt like they'd been filled with concrete. I think I'm gonna die.
In other news...
The weather guy is predicting snow showers for today. Please excuse me if I don't jump up and down for mother freakin' joy.
I'm going to go rest now in a chemically induced state of semi consciousness and watch the Criminal Minds marathon.
Later Taters.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)