Smellin' Up the Holler

Well my Humpday got off to a rip roaring start. I opened my eyes, glanced at the clock and shot out of bed when I realized I was already 10 minutes late. I called Thelma to let her know I'd be there as soon as I could, that I'd overslept, then stopped myself before I took off, barrelling through the house like a bat out of hell.

One thing I've learned over the years, if you're already late, there's no sense getting into a hissy over it.

I shooed dogs out the door to do their thang, brushed my teeth, washed the necessary bits and pieces, threw on some clothes, bribed dogs to come back in, bummed a few dollars off Ma (I hope today is payday) and got out the door. I stopped at the Pump N' Go for coffee and a nuke-ro-wave biscuit. I had to tolerate some verbal abuse from The Amazon, but my only other choice was the Grab N' Go Diner. I've got too much work to do to spend the day sitting in the office potty.

I made it in by 8:30. Not too shabby.

Things haven't gone any smoother since my arrival at The Asylum this morning. There's something dead in the wall in Buster's office, we know this because up until yesterday we were smacked in the face with the odor of rotting rodent carnage whenever we walked within a ten foot radius. Thelma, his next door neighbor, finally had all she could take and pitched a southern fried hissified fit on the powers that be, who then sent DeeDee to down to the dollar store for odor killing supplies. When she got back, J.J., the maintenance guy, climbed up in the attic and dumped two cans of floral scented carpet powder down into the wall and emptied a can of pseudo Lysol. Apparently, that wasn't enough to kill the smell, because then? Thelma lit three key lime pie scented candles and one cherry.

By the end of the day, both Buster and his office smelled like a rat infested, southside hoochie hotel on Saturday night.. and it still does.

That shit lingers, ya'll.

Anywho, I've got to hit the ground running. It's the end of the month and I've got orders coming out of my ears. I hope ya'll have an awesometastic Humpday. If you need me, I'll be hiding in my cubie under a pile of paperwork, yacking up key lime pie scented phlegm.

Later Taters!

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Naked Body Parts

I totally just took a picture of my new throbbity toe, in my office, with my phone. This pretty much sums up my weekend.

I got this little beauty.. well two actually.. the second to last little piggy is pretty swelled up too.. when I tripped on the vacuum cleaner. The stupid belt popped off and I had left it sitting out to fix later, then forgot and fell all over the living room.

I'm graceful like that.

This is the same foot that I dropped the dog house on last weekend. The nail on my big toe is still a nice grapey color.

Bossman is out of the office this week, so I've been up to my bootay in alligators, but I'll check in when I can. We're off for Good Friday, I'll have plenty of time to get caught up this weekend.

In the meantime, um.. watch those toes.

Later Taters!!

I Don't Do D.I.Y.

Earlier in the week, Ma made an appearance in the kitchen and sat at the table, making that "I'm going to make an announcement whether you like it or not" face. T.A. was asleep on the couch, snoring, her mouth hanging open, drool forming a thin line across her cheek. The child is still plague infested. That half her audience is in a Nyquil induced coma doesn't matter to Ma however, not when she has something to say. She'll have an entire conversation with you while you're sound asleep.

I glanced in her general direction, which was a mistake because once I made eye contact, she began, her hands folded neatly in her lap, an expression of determination on her face. "We've got to get this plumbing fixed," she said.

I fought the urge to say something profound like, "No shit Sherlock. When's your next case?"

"It's probably got something to do with us all being sick," she said.

I took a deep breath, let it out slowly.

"Can we borrow your truck to go to Lowe's this evening?" she asked.

"For?"

"To buy SEWAGE PIPE to fix THE PLUMBING. It's only $8 a section and I've been thinking, it can't be THAT hard. All we have to do is dig up the old pipe and replace it with the new. It doesn't have to be glued or anything, it just fits together. I called the people that came time before last and got the man's supervisor and he said I just misunderstood what was on the paper he gave us last time. We don't have to go under the house.. just there at the corner of the porch."

I glanced over at Ma. "Just who is WE? You can't walk past the bedroom without falling, T.A. has the Black Plague and I can barely twist the top off a mayonnaise jar. If you think I'M going out there and replacing the sewage pipe, you've got another thing coming."

Well, I reckon that was the wrong thing to say because she got up, grabbed herself a Coke and stomped back to her bedroom. I thought that was the end of it. I was wrong.

Last night I got a wild hair up my butt and decided to rearrange the bedroom. Again. My toaster oven (for baking clay) was blocking the air conditioner. Between my hot flashes and sharing my room with a ginormous arctic puppy, I knew I was going to need it soon. My bedroom isn't very big, so halfway into swapping the dresser and the computer desk, I was temporarily trapped. Of course, that's when all hell broke loose.

Sammy was barking and running from room to room. Yoda was yapping, I heard someone stomping through the house, doors opening and slamming.

What the hell?

I climbed over my cedar chest, stepping on a piece of paper which slid across the carpet, almost forcing my unwilling body into the splits and ruining any chances of future child bearing (okay so, those days are probably over anyway, but you get the idea.) I fell into the door jam on the other side, stumbled over the laundry basket and into the living room, just in time to see Ma standing there, with no pants and the front door wide open.

I peeked over her shoulder to see what was going on while T.A. tried to corral dogs, cats and anything else that may have moved in when I wasn't paying attention. There in my front yard was Aunt Moses with her truck.

"What's she doing?" I asked.

"Unloading that stuff."

"What stuff?"

"Just go on," she said as she motioned for me to back away. I pushed my way past her to witness Aunt Moses dumping five huge sections of sewer pipe in my front yard.

"Hm," I said as I turned and went back to what I was doing.

I haven't seen Ma since. She's probably in there trying to figure out how she's going to make me play plumber. The thing is.. I don't care that she bought the pipe. It's her money, she can do what she wants with it. The problem is, replacing the pipe has nothing to do with why it's backing up and what good does it do to run out and buy stuff when you don't really know what you need or have anyone to fix it anyway?

Oh and the standing in the front door without pants thing? I don't even care anymore. She only does it to push my buttons.

At least it's Friday. Of course, that also means I can look forward to two fun filled days with Ma.

Yay.

I hope ya'll have a good one. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!

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Green Thumbs and Attack of the Tillers

It's foggy and cool in Frog Pond Holler this Wednesday morning. I stopped at the Pump N' Go for coffee and a biscuit on the way to The Asylum. The Amazon was very late for work, which always upsets her, so I wanted to stop by and make sure she wasn't sitting in the corner by the chewing tobacco, doing the OH MY GAWD I SO SUCK little girl cry.

She wasn't, but she looked like she could start any second.

I think this is the first cup of coffee I've had in over a week, now that I can taste again and my tummy isn't doing the cha-cha. If I could, I'd crawl right inside the cup and curl up in a ball.. that's how good it is.

I've been worrying myself silly thinking lately about the garden that didn't happen last year. Once the patch of yard was ripped up, the guy who was going to till it for us broke his tiller. We tried in vain to find a tiller to borrow or someone to pay to do it for us, but no luck. T.A. and I tried to do it by hand, but by then so much time had lapsed that we deemed it hopeless. Over the summer, the garden patch sprouted all kinds of weeds and grass, which then died come winter and now we've just got a big ass hot mess. When I get paid next week, I'm going to Lowes for something to work with. I have a hoe, but it's sort of small. Ma says I need a "tater fork." I'd splurge and buy myself a tiller, but I'm not sure I'd have the strength to use it. I can see it getting away from me and shooting off across the road, chasing down old Dave, who recently had back surgery, as he tries to shuffle away in his walker.

If I have to get on my hands and knees and pull it all up by hand, by gawd I'll do it. I may not be able to plant anything but one tomato plant and a couple of onions, but I'm planting something.

I hope I'm over the Black Plague of Death the crud enough by this weekend to get some other stuff done around the yard. There's the old washing machine to deal with, a wood pile to move off the porch, lest we invite slithery critters to the front door and an old seat from the hippy van. The dog lot demands some attention as well, Ayla keeps digging up treasures and piling them in the middle of the yard, stuff like old tarps, bits of rope and the shredded instruction manual for assembling the dog house. If I'm lucky, the sun will come out long enough for me to git 'er done.

It's almost spring ya'll and I'm tickled pink.

Let's honor this Humpday by hopping on the good deed wagon and finding one thing to do for someone else, however small or insignificant it may seem. You can make someone smile.. and it might just be you.

Hump it hard Taters, we'll talk again soon!

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It's Alive!

I showed up at the Asylum this morning, although one more day in bed would have been a good idea. I'm still sorta woozy headed but I think I'm going to live. T.A. on the other hand is feeling all plaguetastic, has lost her voice and can't keep anything down.. or in.

I don't know if we picked up some random virus, the flu or Hamthrax, but that's some nasty crap that's going around the holler.

When I got here this morning, I found that Rainbow Brite Bossman had gone through my tray, pulled out all the orders and stacked them on my desk, front and center. Gee.. hint much? Apparently I don't harbor the common sense of a fruit fly and I have to be told that I need to get the orders caught up after being out a day.

I'm only a tiny bit ashamed to admit that I smiled when I heard him sneeze earlier.

I finally made it out to the store yesterday, we needed soup, drugs and puppy food. I didn't bother making the drive to civilization, I stopped over in the next town at the grocery store that used to give me anxiety attacks. I was desperate. I schlepped up and down the aisles, trying to avoid nausea inducing sights like the not-so-fresh fish case and hog jowls. I came close to losing the saltines I'd munched on earlier when I caught a glimpse of the red labeled salmon can, reminding me of the time I got the bright idea to make salmon cakes, not realizing that the big red can wasn't like a can of tuna.. and there would be an entire spinal column attached to the carnage crammed in there.

Yeah that's a bad memory.

Anywho.. by the time I got to the check-out, I was entertaining the idea of taking a nap in the truck before I started home. I wouldn't really, it just sounded like a good idea at the time. And then, as I stated pushing my cart across the parking lot, one of the little punks that hangs out there started blaring his radio..

And there I was, in my black hoodie, jogging my cart over the asphalt.. no lie.

I couldn't make this shit up if I tried.

I had to laugh.

Ah well, I'd better get back to the grind. Ya'll enjoy your Monday. I hope it rocks your world.

Later Taters!

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The Black Plague: Part 2

It's a beautiful warm, spring day in Frog Pond Holler. The birds are singing, a gentle breeze is bending branches towards the earth and big, fluffy, white clouds are moving slowly across the sky.

But I'm not enjoying it. No. I'm stricken with a relapse of the Black Plague of Death, because apparently, I've done some really bad crap in a past life, like torturing kittens or kicking baby pandas. Seriously, why else would I be sitting here in various stages of undress with my hair up, rockin' the Pebbles look because it's so dang hot up in this trailer that I'm threatening to turn the ac on in MARCH? My head feels like a garden gnome, hell bent on revenge after some stuff I may have written about them in the past, snuck in my bedroom in the dead of night and poured concrete in every orifice of my head. There are crusty deposits of varying color and consistency constantly forming in my eyes, regardless of how many times I pick them out.

I'm not even sure if it's really that hot in here. I could be delirious with fever or having a hormonally driven power surge.

And the coughing...good googedy moogedy... I think I've pulled every muscle in my body hacking up various bodily fluids, not to mention the other bodily fluids that try to sneak out when I'm in the throws of trying to hock up a lung.

Oh and?

The Amazon has it now too. Our house sounds like the emphysema ward at the county hospital.

After spending most of last night sitting on the edge of the bed, shoving tissues up my nostrils and wrestling my bag of wintergreen cough drops out of Ayla's mouth, I said the hell with it this morning and called in sick.

I used to sit and wring my hands with guilt for the whole day if I called in sick, but not anymore. Bossman makes it easy for me to cop an attitude. It didn't bother me at all to make the decision to keep my butt at home today.

Anywho, I'm involved in heated negotiations with T.A.. at the moment. We're trying to figure out who is less sick and least likely to die if they put some clothes on and make the trek to the dollar store for provisions.   I think I'm winning.

I'm sure we'll talk again soon. Ya'll take care. I'll be passed out somewhere in an antihistamine induced coma.

Later Taters!!


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Sarcasm In My Head

It's cold, gray and icky in Frog Pond Holler this morning. Again. I'm starting to wonder if the sun will ever shine again.

I've been doing battle with the black plague of death another snot churnin' cold for the past couple of days. Not quite as bad as the last one, but dang, can't a girl get a break? This winter has been nothing but snow, snot, rain and mud. Normally, I dread the summer heat and welcome the cooler temperatures for as long as they want to hang around, but this year? I've had it.

Me and Sunshine Bossman almost got in to another free-for-all yesterday, but miraculously I kept my cool. I knew he had something up his keister when I got here. He was talking to Thelma about flying in some components to get an order out of here on time. As he turned the pages, his hand shook violently and the top of his bald little head was glowing red, sure fire signs that he's got his coconuts in a wad over something.

I did not, however, realize that the "something" was my screw up.

I was called to his office, where he gave me that stare, the one that makes him look like a Boston Terrier with the roid rage, and said, "There are TWO errors on this order and I feel that I need to bring them to your attention."

In my head I'm chanting to myself, "Do not argue, do not defend yourself, do not try to reason with unreasonable people, do not apologize, DO NOT ENGAGE!" So I answered, "Okay."

He then went on to explain the first mistake, which was really his fault but I didn't bother to point that out. The second mistake was a result of being rushed through the entry process when he promised an order to someone in an unreasonable amount of time, someone who did not have an account, had never ordered from us before, meaning an account would have to be set up, etc. "And now we're having to fly these parts in. Do you understand?"

I wanted to sarcastically say, "Duhhh okay boss. Thank you for explaining to me.. duhhhhh... I'm so stupid."

But that might be considered "having an attitude" so I didn't. I just looked at him and said, "Okay."

You should have seen his face. It was like he was pissed because I wouldn't argue with him. "Well, I just felt that you should be made aware."

"Okay."

And I stood there, looking at his bulging eyes, his throbbity forehead vein and listening to his heavy breathing for a few seconds before finally saying, "We done?"

"Yes Mahala, you may go."

"HEIL HITLER!!!" I shouted.. okay maybe that was just in my head.. before I turned and scurried away to my desk, like a clueless little bunny.

One would think that was the end of it and if we were dealing with rational individuals with average social skills it would be. But we're not. And it wasn't. He came by my office just a couple of minutes later and said, "This filing situation needs to be gotten under control."

"I'm working on it as fast as I can."

"I'm sure you are Mahala," he stated as he rolled his eyes.

Excuse me.. did he just call me.. SLOW??? Did he imply that my "best" was below standard? Does he have a secret wish to feel the full impact of my left foot entering his butt.. sideways?

Part of the reason my filing is behind is that I spent several hours trying to fix his Outlook after the IT guy had to wipe his laptop completely because he clicked on some "totally innocent" links and got loads of porn on his computer.

He's such a horse's patootie.

There's a part of me that wishes Henny Penny would hurry and retire so I could snag that accounting position and go back to work for the Big Headed German, but there's also a part that wants to stay right where I am and make Bossman's life as miserable as possible.

Yeah, I know, that last bit is so wrong.. and honestly.. what  miserable way to spend your day, but my snarky side thinks he needs to come down a peg or two.

Anywho..

I hope ya'll have a humpalicious Humpday. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!

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Muddy Monday

It's cloudy over the holler this Monday morning, leftovers from the weekends gullywashers. Everything in my life is covered in mud. My truck, the dog and oh my damn.. the kitchen floor all need to be hosed down. I know it would be a lost cause if I try to get things cleaned up before the ground dries up a little, so for now I'll just try to look the other way.

This weekend's highlights:

*Friday night after everyone else had gone to bed, Ayla discovered a hole in the fence and got under the house. I was out there at midnight, in my nightie, in the RAIN, ripping the skirting off the trailer and sticking my hand through the hole, in to the darkness, waving a piece of cheese around trying to get little Miss Houdini back inside. Wooohooo I know how to live it up on a Friday night, huh?

*Saturday, after The Amazon got home, we worked on fixing the fence and moving some stuff around. I was in the throws of Aunt Flo's tardy visit and on an emotional rollercoster ranging from whiney assed to Bitchy McCrankypants and ended up trying to move Ozzy's old doghouse by myself. I eventually dropped the ginourmous doghouse on my big toe, which is now a nice purpley blue and may or may not be broken.

*Sunday morning I decided that I would not be out done and went out to work on stuff some more. I finally got the dog houses where I wanted them and sort of got things situated. By Sunday afternoon, the bugginess had begun to set in. Sinus pressure, runny nose, chesty coughing.. great. I'm having a relapse of the Black Plague of Death. I sent The Amazon to the dollar store for feminine hygiene products, Mucinex and ice cream while I gave up, said to hell with it and crawled in bed. I spent the remainder of the day watching a marathon of a BBC series about demonic possession on the Chiller channel.

I didn't sleep much last night, with the aches, pains, chills and sinus headache.

Hello Monday.

I'm going to go swallow some ibuprofen, do some filing and whine about my big, purpley, swollen throbbity toe to anyone who'll listen.

We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!

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Call Me Doolittle

I never did get around to introducing the blogosphere to Vern (or Laverne, the jury is still out,) the porch kitty. He's been living under our house since at least fall. That's when we started seeing him sneaking around the garden patch and finding little kitty foot prints everywhere. I told T.A. he could stay, but he had to be an outside cat.

I am not fond of litter boxes. One cat creating a massive, nose hair eating stink in the house at a time is enough.

She does bring him in occasionally and he makes his rounds, getting snuggles and chin scritches from everyone. I have to admit, he is the sweetest, lovingest stray kitty I've ever met.

T.A. has promised to take him to the vet and get his shots. If he is a he, he's already fixed. There are no man berries that I can find. I still think he's a she.

Is it sad that three adult women can't figure out the sex of a cat? I think I've been living in the holler too long. Maybe he's been drinking Mountain Dew and the man berries shrunk.

This is the face I wake up to every morning. If you wondered what a Boston Baked Beagle looked like, now you know. This is Sammy's "Mommy, that thing you call a puppy tried to chew off my back leg again" face.

Notice the gimp ear on the right. It's like a divining rod, constantly looking for danger. When it senses someone in distress, it stands straight up.

That's right. My dog is a super hero. Don't tell anyone, it's a secret.

Look at that face. Just look at it. Do not be fooled by the cuteness. As I type this, T.A. can be heard bellowing from the other room, "AYLA!! AYLA NO!! AYLA PUT THAT DOWN!!

She turned four months old yesterday. I don't know how much she weighs now, I just know it's more.

While she does enjoy terrorizing the entire house, I have to admit she's a pretty good dog. Housebroken, crate trained .. well sort of. She had outgrown the puppy crate I had set up for her before I ever brought her home. My bedroom, which is only slightly bigger than a crate anyway, serves as her "crate." So far it seems to work out well.

This is the boss. Yoda takes no crap from anyone, except Ma. He will go Kudjo on Ayla without thinking twice about, even though he would easily fit in her mouth.

He's also a tattler. If Ma gets out of bed and starts getting dressed, he'll come find me or T.A. and totally go all Lassie and do the "Timmy's down the well" thing. He barks and jumps around like he's lost his mind and tries to make you follow him. If anyone in the house, animal or human, is play fighting, he tries to break it up.

We say he has a hard life, because he's always "on duty," making sure everyone behaves. At the same time, he's also the baby. I blame Ma, she used to hold him in the bed and feed him a bite of everything she had.

He is rotten.

This isn't all the critters, I'll work on getting a new picture of Miss Kittypuss and Merlin.

I hope ya'll are enjoying your weekend. I'll be back tomorrow with an exciting recap of my weekend here in the holler.

We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!!

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I'll Cure What Ails Ya

A warm wind is blowing through the holler this morning, carrying with it the faint scent of spring and the distant sound of sneezes erupting all around town.

This fresh mountain air will kill ya.

I've been dragging my butt all week, trying to get caught up here at The Asylum. It's not been easy, with the allergy medicine and the lack of any real sleep, due to Pupzilla's sudden 3 a.m. fascination with her squeaky toy. 23 hours a day, she forgets it exists. Between 3 and 4 she can't live without it. It's a rude awakening from a dead sleep in the middle of the night, "SQUEEEEAKY SQUEEEAKY. SQUEEEEAKY SQUEEAKY." Then she flops around in the floor, I assume to get a better grip on it.

From the dark, I plead with her, "Ayla.. go to sleep. It's not play time."

"SQUEAKY."

"Ayla.. go nini."

"SQUEAKY SQUEAKY."

"Dammit."

By then, I have to get up and pee, because my bladder has been conditioned like Pavlov's dog to wake up when it hears squeaky toys. And ya know, if I have to get up and pee, Pupzilla has to go outside too and she's not coming back in without a bribe of some kind. I'm very well trained that way. This means, if you're lucky enough to be my neighbor and you happen to be up between 3 and 4 a.m. you can look out your window and see me on the bottom step in a night shirt that barely covers my hoo-ha waving cheese, baloney or peanut butter covered bread around in the night like something crazy.

You will also witness a four month old pup looking at me like I'm not too bright and sort of smiling.

In case you're wondering, our plumbing is still borked to hell and back. I don't even care anymore. I'm flushing, washing clothes and running the dishwasher while it forms a giant pool of waste in my front yard. I'm waiting 'til it's a little deeper, then I'll put me some fancy benches around it and a sign that reads, "MAHALA'S POOL OF NATURAL HEALING." I'll charge tourists $5 a pop to bathe in my magical curative mud.

I'll be rich.

Ya'll come on down. I'll give you a discount.

Have a good weekend. We'll talk again soon!

Later Taters!

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RiRi Nibblett and The Burning Ring of Fire

When The Amazon was in middle school, she had this friend named RiRi. RiRi's family lived out in the country (that's what we call that stretch of rural landscape between town and the state line) at the end of a dirt road somewhere back in a quiet holler. Her dad, JonJon Nibblett was well known around town, barely five feet tall, always wreaking of cheap beer and wearing an oversized straw cowboy hat that made him look like the old sleeping Mexican stereotype.

RiRi was an odd youngin, but I always figured it was due to her being raised by her dad with the only female influence in her life her emotionless stepmother who had little or nothing to do with her. I don't remember what happened to her mama, if she died or ran off, I just know she wasn't around.

I first met RiRi when T.A. brought her home to spend the night one weekend. She wasn't very tall, a little pudgy, with mousy brown hair and a mouth that would wake the dead. She belched, farted and stated her opinions on various subjects freely. She had no mental filter, no inside voice, no couth whatsoever. When I offered her some Mountain Dew to drink, she hollered with an air of authority, "Law no! I ain't drinkin' no Mountain Dew cuz I heared it kills your sperm."

I tried to delicately explain to RiRi that while I was pretty sure sperm wouldn't be harmed by a glass of Dew, she had nothing to fear, being a girl and sperm free. I could tell from the look on her face that she didn't believe me.

The Nibbletts made the Big City news a couple of times. Some families seem to attract drama like horseflies to a pile of muck.

The first time, a man rumored to be a drifter was staying with the Nibbletts, working for JonJon. Personally, I think it was the convict RiRi had been keeping in touch with while he finished out his prison sentence for God-Knows-What, but that's just my opinion. Anywho, in a fit of crazy, the drifter stood in the front yard of the Nibbletts' house, poured a five gallon can of gasoline over his head, then calmly lit a match and set himself ablaze, to the horror of RiRi and JonJon.

The official investigation into the incident determined his death to be suicide. The Frog Pond Holler rumor mill had it's own ideas. With no other witnesses besides RiRi and her pop, speculation ranged from JonJon having set the young man on fire when it was found he was messing around with one of his daughters to RiRi herself having done it with her daddy's help.

There's no tellin' what really happened.

The second time the Nibbletts made the news, their house caught on fire. They said it was because no one had ever cleaned out the lint trap on the dryer. I don't know if it's true, but I think of them every time I put a load in the dyer, reaching in to scrape any lint from the trap that I can find.

A year or two later, RiRi vanished from Frog Pond Holler for a while. The rumor was that she'd gotten pregnant and been sent to live with relatives, others even speculating that RiRi's stepmother had sold the baby for money to buy a new washer and dryer. I don't know what's true and what isn't, I just know she was gone.

RiRi came back to the holler recently. I think she's still living out at the end of that dirt road, somewhere out in the country. I hadn't really given her much thought until T.A. texted me yesterday that her friend Maddie was fixin' to go find the little ho and kick her butt. Seems Maddie's boyfriend, The Boy from South Carolina, admitted to doin' the nasty with RiRi. That alone would be bad enough, if Maddie and The Boy hadn't been planning their wedding for early next year.

Personally I'd like to take a tire iron to The Boy's cranial region, especially after he used the "I couldn't help it" excuse. That doesn't say much for his machismo. When T.A. told me that her, Maddie and The Boy's mother had to plan an intervention to discuss his personal hygiene issues so that he could maybe get a job, I knew he needed to go.

These chil'ren are grown ya'll. Ain't no sense in this mess.

The last I heard, Maddie had sent the boy packing back to S.C. but I figure he'll be back in a few weeks, when RiRi comes up preggers, 'cuz that's how she rolls.

I just hope she doesn't set him on fire.

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

Later Taters!


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It Ain't All Daisy Dukes and Fried Chicken

My weekend:

• Took Pupzilla and The Boston Baked Beagle for a walk together. I'm pretty sure I won't try that again any time soon. Sammy was so happy to be outside and away from the house (it was finally warm enough and he'd re-grown enough hair) that he lost his damned fool mind. Plus, I didn't know that the field down from the house was a favorite grazing spot for deer coming down off the mountain on their way to the creek. Have you ever seen a half a Beagle when he gets wind of a deer? How about a half a Beagle with the Boston Terrier crazy? I nearly died ya'll. Forty pounds of mixed up mutt almost drug my ass all the way to the next county.
• I decided I'd try washing some clothes at home, everything seems to be flowing nicely since all the sewage is bubbling up through that hole into the front yard. I put the washer on the small load setting and washed a little at a time. It seemed to go okay. If you come by, just try not to inhale as you're walking from the truck to the porch.
• I made an extra run to CVS yesterday after the paper came out. I needed fabric softener and between their sale and my coupons, there was a deal to be had. I'm now set for laundry products for a while. If I could find a product that folds them and puts them away, I'd be in business.
• I took naps. Don't judge me.
• I changed some stuff around in my room, which I've decided will never be clean again because I can't make my mind up where to put stuff. In the meantime, Ayla has redecorated the floor space, shredding an entire box of tissues, eating a tube of Vick's Vapor cream (it won't hurt her, the hillfolk here eat it for sore throats all the time. She'll just be farting menthol for a few days,) and gnawing three inches off the log I let her keep, that she'd stolen from the fireplace hearth.
• I cleaned out the truck. Vern (or Laverne, we're not really sure) the porch kitty, helped by lounging in the sunlight on my seats everywhere I tried to clean. I'm not going to tell you how much trash I got out of there. I will tell you that the beating of the mats created such a dust storm that the Cherokee neighbors up the road thought I was trying to send smoke signals. (Okay.. the Cherokee didn't use smoke signals.. lest ya'll think I'm providing you with false information. I learned this from the geeky tour they take the white people on down on the rez. Smoke signals would have been pointless because of the poofs of mist created by the "smokey" mountains. There. You've learned something. And you're welcome.)
• Listened to The Amazon talk about plans to visit the new IHOP more than any person should have to.

I know, my weekends in Frog Pond Holler are so fun filled and exciting, you're packing your bags right now to come for a visit. Just let me know ahead of time so I can slap some Miss Clairol on my head.

Let's take this Monday by the butt hairs and jerk it around some.

We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!

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The Pee-Wee, The Funk and The Stoner

The sun is shining bright down on Frog Pond Holler this morning. It's about dern time. I hope the mud has a chance to dry up a little before we get any new moisture falling from the heavens.

I feel like I've been beaten with a baseball bat today. My marathon grocery shopping - deal hunting - coupon waving - rebate grabbing adventure yesterday whipped my booty. I got some nice deals though, some free Revlon from CVS plus free Purex and cookies at Wally World.

I like free. Free makes me a happy little hillbilly.

Here in the holler, everything seems kind of quiet as we wait for the influx of tourists and hikers to begin. Traffic will be thick as ants on honey, even more so with that chunk of I-40 still closed. Foot traffic will be almost as heavy as those granola eatin', shower shunning hikers start making their way down off the trail.

Bring on the funk.

Meanwhile, back at the trailer...

The plumbing is still broken. Seriously. I'm calling the town on Monday and giving them until Wednesday. If it's not fixed by then I'm calling the health inspector. I'm tired of all this pussy footin' around. It's ridiculous. And I don't mean they need to come "look at it" by then. I want the gawd dern thing fixed.

I've got to get some stuff done around the house this weekend. It looks like it's been ransacked, partially due to the plumbing situation. There is laundry piled in every room. I take enough to the laundromat to keep clean clothes to wear to work, but the rest just keeps piling up.

Dirty laundry does not emit a pleasant aroma, especially in mass quantities.

It's funkalicious ya'll.

Here at The Asylum, it's peaceful today. Sunshine Bossman is his usual if he laughed his face would crack and he'd surely crap his pants cheerful self, but he's got his door shut, pouting about some mundane something I'm sure, so I don't mind. Thelma isn't here, I imagine she's off beating her 15 year old stoner into a life of therapy as we speak, which is cool because her older stoner but she doesn't know son is studying psychology in college.

Lulu is slowly coming out of her shell. Her daddy died a couple of weeks ago after a long illness, she's just starting to talk about it a little and even joke around some. I'm sure she'll be back to her old self before long.

If all else fails, I'll just run in her office, close the door with an angry look on my face like I'm fixin' to vent about something, then I'll start humming "Tequila" and break out into my own rendition of the Pee-Wee dance.

Works every time. She cannot resist the Pee-Wee.

Anywho, I need to get back to the bump and grind. Ya'll have a booty kickin' weekend. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!



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Of Porn and Pot

The other day, as I asked Mr. I-shoot-rainbows-and-magic-fairy-dust-out-of-my-butt-because-I'm-so-damned-happy Bossman a question, I noticed a bunch of advertising pop-ups on his company laptop. He's not very computer savvy and I figured he'd picked up some adware in his online adventures, but I didn't say anything. He's been such a jerkalicious hiney hole in such a mood lately that I didn't offer to fix it, although I could.

I didn't really give it much more thought the rest of the day, until it was time to leave. I was turning my computer off, deleting my history, logging off iGoogle etc., not that I'm paranoid or anything, when I heard a voice.

A woman's voice. And it came from Bossman's office.

"Oh my, you ARE tight, let me get that for you."

Excuse me.. what?

Suddenly, my mind's eye was filled with so many images. Girl on girl massages. Bossman at his computer with his eyes bulging and his tongue hanging out of his mouth, red faced and excited, one hand on his mouse, the other.. well.. you know.

Pass the mind bleach please.

I checked the time. 4:55 pm. I flew out of here like a bat out of hell.

The next day, yesterday,  Mr. I-haven't-smiled-since-1982-and-that-was-probably-gas Bossman spent the entire workday in his office with the door closed. He didn't come out and speak to anyone for most of the day. The question is, was he surfing porn? Or trying to get the adware off his company lappy?

I'd really rather not think about it too much.

He's got his door closed today too. Let's pretend he's working on a big, exciting order. Kay?

In other news...

I walked in Thelma's office the other day, just as she was screaming into the phone, "WAS HE CHARGED? OH. MY. GAWD. BEAT him. You go pick him up and BEAT him. Do you hear me?"

All I could think was "Lawd have mercy they're gonna kill a youngin."

As soon as she got off the phone, she looked up at me, crazed and dazed and said, "IN JAIL. My son is IN JAIL. For SMOKING POT!"

Her husband, the town cop, had gotten a call from the county to come get his boy. I would not want to be that boy. This happened in between calls from her sister who was at the hospital with their dad, who'd had a mild stroke the other day. If you'll remember, The Amazon works for Thelma's dad, so Thelma's also been going up to the Pump N' Go to pull a shift here and there so T.A. could have a shift off once in a while.

It sucks to be Thelma right now.

My life? Seems pretty darned peachy at the moment. It's all about perspective. Put that in your bong pipe and smoke it.

It's Humpday ya'll. Let's hump it on a natural high and get this week the hell over with.

We'll talk again soon!

Later Taters!

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It's All Downhill From Here

Just in case I had any doubts this was Monday...

I sat down at my desk this morning, got myself situated and began pouring a cup of nice, hot coffee from my thermos, the handle of which suddenly snapped off, sending burning liquid splattering all over my desk, my lap and the floor.

Now my pants are wet, a puddle keeps reforming in my desk drawer and worst of all.. I have to drink office coffee with the consistency of putrid swamp water for the remainder of the morning.

Whoopee.

The weekend seemed to go by in a flash. I didn't leave the house much, other than to take some clothes to town to wash. I took Ayla (aka Pupzilla) with me and we walked over to the campground and down to the river while we waited for the laundry to get done. It was nice to stretch my legs a bit.

Anywho..

I hope ya'll have a great Monday. I'm going to go dazzle my coworkers with my new cologne, "Ode de Juan Valdez."

We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!