Warm Blueberry Morning

Rain is falling on Frog Pond Holler today, The Amazon is in the kitchen making pancakes from scratch and I've made it through another week without getting fired.

Hooo-ray.

I had a small panic attack yesterday afternoon when I over heard Bossman talking to PG about some parts. "We've shipped this out wrong twice. This is not acceptable." He was fuming.

I sat there wondering what I'd effed up now. My heart was racing, I was thinking, "Oh well, I'm fired now. No doubt about it."

When he appeared at my desk, I swallowed hard. He looked at the floor, holding an order, "I've screwed this all up. I looked at the wrong part number, twice. I had PG rush order the wrong part number, twice. Can you enter a new order please? What do we need to do to make this right?"

Whaaaaaaaa? Did I hear right? Bossman screwed up and needed me to fix it? I wasn't sure, it was kind hard to make out exactly what he's said with that chorus of chubby faced cherubs singing the Hallelujah Chorus overhead.

After pointing out that clear communication was a huge issue in the sales department in my letter, I felt it was my duty to clarify what he'd said, "You're saying you mistakenly sent the wrong part number out twice and need a new order?"

"Yes."

"And we rushed these parts from our vendor, do you mean we had them flown in?" I asked innocently.

"Yes. And we'll need to have them flown again."

"Sure, I'll fix it. No problem."

I figure my job is safe  now for a day or two. He's just spent a small fortune in UPS Red charges and eaten the cost of two sets of parts, which we may or may not be able to return.

I know I shouldn't be a vindictive bitch, but HA! Serves him right.

~*~

I was up entirely too late last night and my shoulders are doing the snap, crackle, pop, both conditions contributing to a serious case of the lard ass this morning. The sweet smell of fresh coffee and blueberry pancakes, made from fruit from the side of Aunt Moses' mountain is filling the house. I imagine I'll be even less motivated to move off the couch with a tummy full of warm blueberry goodness.

Oh well. It IS Saturday.

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

Later Taters!!

The Only Thing Not Sucking is the Vacuum Cleaner

It's only Wednesday? Has this week not already been like.. three weeks long?

I blame the quiet. It's so dead at the Asylum that a church mouse would go stark raving mad. Of course, quiet is better than slamming, yelling and stomping, the sounds you normally hear coming from the sales department. I could turn the radio on, but then I'd have to pick something that His Crankiness would approve of. Lulu and I are still passing notes like school children, I only speak when spoken to and hide in the bathroom if I need to send the Amazon a text message.

I have a feeling this is going to be the norm for a while.

The really sucky part? Business has come to a screeching halt. It is WAY hard to be good when you don't have anything to do, idle hands and all that.

Back at the trailer, I'm having vacuum cleaner problems again. Me and appliances in general aren't getting along. I got the new filter for the vacuum after Pupzilla ate the last one, but I've somehow managed to screw up the installation. It involves sticking it on the plastic hickey and screwing it in. I'm sure there are spider monkeys somewhere trained to do it right the first time.

But not me. No. I've got gargantuan wads of critter hair building up in all the hoses and bird seed spitting out all over the place because nothing is making it to the cup thingie. I'm gonna need The Universe to accept the fact that I can't fix things and I can't afford to replace the vacuum cleaner just because I'm apparently too flippin' stupid to replace the filter.

Also? We've been invaded by gnats. They're not really gnats but that's what we call them. Town is full of them this time of year, but I'm lucky enough to have a thick cloud of them swarming my kitchen. We know they're not technically "gnats" because back a few years ago, some hippy caught some and sent them to some lab somewhere to be identified.

I don't care what name it goes by, when a tiny winged critter flies up my nose it pisses me off.

Remember my tiny garden? My sunflowers got uprooted by the last gullywasher of a storm we had and Aunt Moses weedeated my cucumber vine.

And we seem to be growing weird mutant tomatoes.

At least the tiny bugs that aren't gnats enjoy them.

Anywho, I'd better get back to the grind. Ya'll have a fabulous Hump Day. We'll talk again real soon.

Later Taters!

Channeling Kat Williams

Warning: Strong language

Soooo yeah. I got in trouble again at the Asylum yesterday. Lulu has decided that Friday is "yell at Mahala" day.

The GM came strolling in around 8:15 and as he passed Bossman's office, he asked the GM to step inside. The door was closed and I knew I was being raked over the coals again. After about ten minutes, the GM went back to his own office and I was called in by Bossman. He was sitting behind his desk waving another piece of paper around, shaking all over and having a melt down.

Apparently there was an email I didn't answer back in June when he was out for a week. When I tried to say anything, he cut me off, yelled and verbally put me in my place. I'm pretty sure he didn't notice that I never closed his door when I went inside.

At first, I was all in a wad. I went back to my desk, my gut filled with anxiety, trying to breathe. I dug around in my purse for those magic little "losing my chit" pills. Soon after that, something snapped. The inner dialogue playing in my head started sounding like Kat Williams.

I was not going to cry. I was pissed off.

I sat there, slamming drawers and  muttering to myself, "mutha fucker tryin' to PLAY me. I dunno who that mutha fucker THINKS he's dealing with but that bald headed little shit done when and barked up the WRONG mutha fuckin' tree. Gettin' all up in my face like he think's he ghetto or somechit, I'm gonna own his podunk ass."

Suddenly, I wasn't the middle aged woman who's been living in Frog Pond Holler for 17 years. I was the girl who grew up in Ballantine Place on the slightly shady side of Norfolk. The girl who could hold her own out by "the wall" at Booker T. Washington High School. One of the hoods.

I found parts of the real me that I've worked so hard to beat down and bury in my effort to fit in here.

I don't know what came of his later discussions with the GM. I know I didn't get fired and I know he was so pissed off that he stayed holed up in his office with the door shut all afternoon after the GM left.

He wants me fired. No doubt.

He's in for a fight.

And ya'll? Your comments and advice keep me going.. and I'm not just saying that to blow smoke up your behinds. I mean it. I'd hug all ya'll if I could.

I'd better get cracking on some laundry or I'll have to go to work naked on Monday and I'm pretty sure that would violate some policy.

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

Later Taters.

Just When You Think It's Safe to Breathe Again

Oh.. oh. I got called in the office for an ass chewing again today over something that happened over a month ago.

If I don't have a nervous breakdown, I'll be back later with details.

This is the Fun Part

It's Round 3 ya'll and this one is going to go into overtime. Who can be the most professionally perfect pain in the ass, me or Bossman?

Today, he sent me an email stating that effective immediately, there would be no more overtime. I'm sure this was in direct response to my pointing out in my statements that his accusations that I don't do anything for the first hour every day didn't make much sense when he was telling me daily to "take all the overtime you need." Oh yeah and, "If anyone has a problem with it, tell them to see me," when the GM had said "no overtime."

His left butt cheek probably still has the GM's teeth marks on it from that butt chewing.

Next, he sent an email informing me that I was free to take my vacation time whenever I wanted, he just asked that I work around the days he would be out of the office on company business. I'm pretty sure he got in trouble over telling me not to take any days off, corporate frowns upon letting too much vacation build up,  leaving the offices practically vacant the whole month of December while everyone scrambles to get theirs in.

All well and good, right?

But then? Then he brought out the big guns.

During our first meeting, Bossman decided I needed to follow this outline of job duties that he found buried in his desk over four years ago when he moved here. He didn't know who wrote it, where it came from, nor had he shown it to me, but golly gee willackers it sure did seem like a grand idea all of sudden.

Great idea. The outline was written when there were three people in the sales department. All the procedures have changed, there really wasn't much of anything still relevant to the job at all.

Of course, being a vindictive cube dweller hell bent on vengeance,  I had to bring this to the attention of the GM. He instructed Bossman to update the outline who grabbed his chance to get even and ran with it.

He knew how to hit me where it would hurt the most.

No music unless it is played so low that it can not be detected from the hallway (I'm in a cubey. IN THE HALLWAY.) The music must not be deemed "disturbing." Bossman will decide if it's disturbing or not. I have to depend on the judgement of a man who only listens to opera and classical to determine what is disturbing.

No earbuds. No cellphones. No texting.

I know he'll be sitting at his desk waiting for me to turn on some tunes just so he can make me turn it off, so instead, I sit in total silence. Keep in mind, I may speak to Lulu or Thelma, as long as it's work related, but I can't engage in conversation. It's so quiet in the sales department now, that I've dubbed it "The Morgue."

As for the cellphone, I just wait until my scheduled 10 minute breaks. And texting? Well there's still one place Bossman can't follow or watch me. One last oasis of solitude. That's right. I have become a toilet texter.

It's not that big a deal. The only text messages I send are usually to The Amazon to remind her to clean out the cat's litter box or buy bread. But now I gotta hide in the bathroom to do it.

Aside from Bossman strutting around like a sex starved rooster and my silently smiling in response to office conversations like a monastery reject, Lulu has given new meaning to the term "stink eye" whenever she sees Bossman. She is not pleased that she was specifically named in my reprimand.

I have a feeling this is going to get worse before it gets better. I feel like me and Bossman are in a battle of wills, but I think I've got the upper hand. I know that by trying to bully me, he got himself into alot of trouble with the GM, with the legal department and with the CEO.

Now I walk the line and I wait.

This ain't my first pony show ya'll. I got this.

We've got this Humpday in the can. Hang in there. We'll make it.

Later Taters!

Miss Patty Professional: That's Me!

First, let's recap:

On Friday, Bossman called me to the GM's office where he vibrated with anger while waving "documentation" in my face because apparently I don't do anything but sit at my desk and eat and talk to Lulu after strolling in late every morning.

I don't know which office he's been showing up to every morning, but I'm pretty sure he's hanging out in an alternate universe.. or tripping on acid or somechit.

Mister shows up whenever the hell he feels like it, leaves suddenly with no idea if or when he's coming back then shows up an hour later smelling like Boone's Farm is going to drag MY ass into the GM's office?

Friday was just one big, long, ginormous "WTF?"

I bawled like a big stupid baby all day, blubbering, doing the ugly monkey face cry. The GM, who I've known for 14 years, looked at me and used the words "possible termination."

There was a whole freakin' laundry list of offences, all of which were false. He wanted to write me up for being behind when I was there alone all those times, etc. I've decided that he's just gotten tired of not being able to intimidate me and decided he wanted me gone.

I guess. I'm not really sure what the old crab apple's motive was.

Anywho...

After I did the monkey faced ugly girl cry in the line at Wally World Friday night, then once or twice after I got home, I finally started to see things a little clearer on Saturday.

Just a little.

By Monday morning I'd written a 7 1/2 page letter addressing each offence, explaining how they pertained to issues that had been long resolved, I suggested that maybe if Bossman would learn to communicate instead of intimidate, stop making threats, slamming doors and channelling his inner Hitler I could be a little more productive. I brought up his use of racial slurs, his unwillingness to learn how to use our inventory control system (he's been there 4 years now and still can't find a tracking number) and the fact that I still have over 90 hours of vacation to take before the end of the year. Bossman had asked me not to take more than one day at a time while we were under staffed, yet he's got no problem taking his long weekends.

Oh and? I got written up for keeping emails back to 2008. Just because.. they were there. Again.. WHAT THE HELL???? I had to EXPLAIN that I don't delete emails, that some contain passwords to business related websites, changes made to orders, etc.

I made copies of my response to our "disciplinary meeting" for HR, the GM and Bossman. 

About 30 minutes after I distributed copies of what is now referred to as "the letter," the GM's P.A. came by with her note pad and grinned as she motioned me back to his office. This time? Bossman sat in the back of the room, red as a beet.

Part of the "offences" were dropped. The GM bent over backwards to make sure I was happy and satisfied when I left there. Bossman looked like he could bite the head off a pigeon. Basically, I agreed to be Miss Patty Professional from now on, at my desk before 8 am, limiting my socializing to my two scheduled ten minute breaks each day and in return, Bossman pretty much leaves me alone as long as I'm doing my job. At the end of the meeting, the GM said, "as far as you're concerned Mahala, this matter is closed." He then instructed Bossman to stay seated.

They've had about three more meetings since then. Bossman has had at least one call from the CEO.

Everyone knows when he calls. You get paged three times instead of two.

I'm not sure what will happen next. Bossman is pissed off. I don't think he will DARE try to bully me again. He's been walking around hanging his head like a whipped dog. I'm holding out for him to quit.

In the meantime, there is no music coming from my office. No breakfast at my desk.. oh the GM chewed his ass for that too. The GM stops and grabs a biscuit on the way in each morning.. everyone in the office brings stuff with them, well, except Bossman. Maybe he just wanted a bite?

I'm still a little cautious, I will be for a while I think. The fact that he came in an hour early so he could get on my computer and check my emails still kinda creeps me out. I don't care that he found out I sent Tiny an email asking him if he heard Bossman back there shooting rainbows and magic fairy dust out of his ass.. he looked like he was going to rupture something in that big ol' head of his when he whipped that out..  and the GM never even acknowledged that it existed.

I hope he read THAT to the CEO.

Anywho...

So for now.. I'm still there and so is he. Lulu is ready to rip him a new one with her letter opener since she found out she was named as a trouble maker. We don't speak, just pass the occasional note as we pass in the hall, like a couple of 5th graders, or motion towards the door when it's break time.

It's like a morgue in there.

I copy Bossman every email I send out and forward him every junk message I get with the body "FYI. Thanks!!" since he's so interested in what messages I get. I've also started emailing him with questions and long, drawn out explanations when something isn't completed, giving him the details on all aspects of my day, sparing him the color, size and aroma of my bowel movements, but if he messes with me, I'll start emailing him that too.

I keep a notebook at my desk where I log what time I arrive, when I take my two allotted ten minute breaks, what time I leave, what I did during each hour block. I keep it in an obnoxiously pink plastic folder along with a copy of the employee manual which I requested after our meeting on Monday and it goes home with me each evening.

I also make notes of any conversations I have with Bossman and print all emails from him to file in my ginormous pink folder.

Taking all those notes is time consuming. I'm going to be rolling in overtime.

I will be so glad when this weekend gets here. It's already been a hell of a week. But I don't regret it. I almost allowed that little twerp of a man to undo a years worth of therapy in one afternoon.

Not this time. I always knew I had a backbone in there somewhere.

We'll talk again soon. Promise. Ya'll have a booty kickin' week.

Later Taters!

Round 2! And the winner is....

I'm on my lunch break.

There was a meeting.

I win.

Details to follow tonight :o)

Putting On My Big Girl Panties

It's a gawd almighty gullywasher in the holler right now, it sounds like the all hell's breaking loose. 

It's also very cleansing. 

I've spent most of the weekend rehashing Friday's events at the Cubicle Asylum. After re-reading Bossman's meeting notes, I spent all day today writing an eight page letter responding to each of his allegations.I tried to make it as non-confrontational as possible, sticking to facts other than emotions. I also mentioned his use of racial slurs and violently aggressive remarks to me concerning other employees. I took some stuff out, then put it back in, worried that I'm opening a ginormous can of worms, but dangit, he threatened my job. I'm tired of being intimidated. 

I'm going to wait until the GM gets in before I give Bossman his copy. I want witnesses. It's going to get ugly. I'm also sending a copy to HR, per Renn's suggestion.

I talk a good game ya'll, but I'm scared beyond shitless. 

I want to thank everyone for the offers to punch Bossman, burn him alive, kick his ass and otherwise render him harmless. It kept me giggling all weekend. 

I suppose the worse that can happen is that I'll lose my job. Just typing that causes a huge knot to well up in my chest, but I have to stand up for myself this time. 44 years of letting pathetic little men intimidate me has to end at some point. 

It has to.

I'll keep ya'll posted. Ya'll keep your fingers crossed. 

We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!

The Lowdown on The Throwdown

Warning: This post is going to be full of potentially offensive language. If you are bothered by this, come back tomorrow. I usually try to keep it clean, but not today.

I was in such a good mood this morning. It's been a rough week, it was finally Friday, I was caught up at The Asylum and ready to sleep in tomorrow morning.

I should have known better.

A couple of weeks ago, Bossman offered to help me get all my filing caught up. Those months when he was only working three weeks and taking one week of mandatory furlough, stuff like filing, keeping emails answered etc, fell behind and kind of snowballed. I knew it was bad, but I was doing the best I could to keep things caught up. If you'll recall, the other three weeks of the month I was only working 30 hours.

Anywho, when he offered to help I jumped at it. Finally, a glimmer of humanity in the old asshole. After he tackled the pile of orders I had stacked in the corner, I could see daylight. Since then, I've gotten everything caught up, moved filing cabinets, re-arranged and gotten so feckin' organized, Martha Stewart wants to be my bitch.

So when I got called to the GM's office this morning, I wasn't expecting the ass reaming I received.

Bossman sat with a stack of "documentation" in his lap. The GM proceeded to inform me that Bossman wanted to review some of my performance issues.

He said that I was late to work every morning.. then back tracked and said I'd been late a few mornings lately. I admit, I came strolling in at 8:02 a few times last week. We're due in at 8:00. So yeah... dock me for four minutes.. whatever.

He also said I spend a "long time" talking to Lulu every morning and that I have breakfast at my desk... that I do nothing for the first hour that I'm at work.

Bullshit.

Everything I said, he whipped out a paper and read from it, shit I did six months ago, asking me if I deny saying what the hell ever.

Pardon the fuck out of me but.. if you had a problem with something I did six months ago, then you should have said something six months ago.

I'm so pissed off. Ya'll have no idea.

My favorite part was when he said I was hanging out in Lulu's office "all the time." I pointed out that I NEVER went to her office, I was always at my desk working. If they didn't want everyone stopping and talking to me when they went down the hall, then maybe they should move me to an office instead of making me the one and only cubicle dweller left sitting IN THE DAMN HALL.

So then he says, and this is priceless ya'll, "What about that time a few weeks ago when the power went out, you sat in Lulu's office instead of filing."

I'll just let ya'll read that one again and think on it a second.

I told him, everyone else here takes breaks, goes walking, outside to smoke, but I don't take breaks. I'm always right here at my desk. So then he goes off on this "scheduled 10 minute break" tangent. We've never had scheduled breaks. Ever. When I pointed this out, he rolled his beady little eyes and whipped out another piece of paper, highlighted, and waved it around asking if I'd seen it.

"This clearly states that you're to take two ten minute breaks a day."

I told him, I'd never seen that memo before and asked when he wrote it.

"Oh I didn't write it, it was in my desk when I came here. But you should be following the duties outlined on this sheet"

I may or may not have made reference to my psychic powers being just a rumor and if he had instructions for me to follow, he needed to actually give me the damn list, if it wasn't too much trouble.

Then? He went all apeshit on my filing being behind. I told him, right to his face that I thought he was being helpful, that I wouldn't have accepted his help if I'd known he was going to throw it in my face. I also told him that was pretty damn cold move on his part.

When he got so pissed off that he was jerking all over like a Archie Bunker bobble head doll, he whipped out a copy of an email I'd sent. Oh, did I mention that he came in at 7 this morning and read all my emails? Anyways, Tiny had been working on setting up a computer for Lulu while hers was in the shop and had asked me to send a test email.

It may or may not have referenced Bossman being so cheerful he was shooting magic fairy dust out his ass.

And there, holding that paper in the middle of the ass chewing, I got tickled. And Bossman turned beet red. I told him I thought it was funny.

"Well I did not. I did not appreciate it," he said.

"It's no where near as bad as what I've heard you say out loud about everyone else in this office." Now I was glaring, threatening. He was sweating it. I was thinking, "Do you really want me to mention your wanting to rip off Henny Penny's head and shit down her neck? Do you really want to get into THAT pissing contest with me?"

By the time it was over, I was told that I wouldn't be fired today, that they needed to "discuss" some things. That really means, call corporate and talk to the attorney, with whom I had a lengthy conversation the last time the GM had sexual harassment charges brought against him.

It's nearly midnight and I'm still so pissed I could spit horseshoes. I was totally blindsided with his notes from shit that happened over a year ago. Now that I've had time to think about all that was said, I think I'm going to type up an explanation of how I remember the situation. I'll politely explain my side and ask that it be filed with Bossman's notes. I will also start keeping notes of my own. I'll have time, since I won't be talking to anyone else in the office.

I could be wrong, but I honestly don't think I'll get fired. I do know that I don't want to spend another day sitting in my office bawling like a big dumbass because I allowed that shithead to intimidate me.

Or crying all the way home. Or to Wally World. Or IN Wally World..

Oh the GM told me to have a nice weekend as he went out the door.

Asshole.

Shotguns, Meth Heads and Lita Ford

It's warm and sunny in the holler today. My inbox is empty, I've got 80's hair band power ballads blaring from my speakers and it's almost payday.

It's going to be a good Humpday. (I think.)

Some of ya'll might remember a while back when The Amazon was looking high and low for a car, PG (the purchasing guy) had a nice used one for sale. He'd told me he'd rather not sell it to anyone here at The Asylum, then turned around and sold it to the resident meth head. The car ended up being confiscated by the po-po when it was used to commit a crime and the powers that be finally fired the meth head after she got arrested.

I didn't hear anything else about Drunken Debbie the druggie much after than, other than the occasional arrest report in the local paper. I assumed she was crashed out somewhere upon the mountain at the end of the dirt road where she lived across the road from her parents.

Monday she was found swinging from a rope tied to a light fixture in her bedroom. She had left a note. Her mother found her, but luckily she had left Debbie's 8 month old baby with her other daughter.

Lawd have mercy.

I didn't really know Debbie and I never met her family. No one here at The Asylum even knew she'd had a baby, but good God, how my heart aches for her mother. I can't imagine what kind of pain she must be suffering through. If you're the praying type, if you could give these people a mention, I'd appreciate it.

In other Asylum news...

We found out earlier this week that the engineering department is being moved up here with the rest of us. Thelma will be moving up front to the old receptionists desk and The Groper is moving in to her old office.

Directly across the hall from me.

A friend suggested I buy some mace, but I may go old school hillbilly and bring Ma's .22. I used to be a pretty good shot.

Anywho.. ya'll have a killer Humpday. Here's a little classic 80's hair band music to get you through, with Ozzy and Lita Ford. I totally wanted to be her back in the day.

Channeling Cujo, Wallering Ma and Doing the Quasimodo

It's a little cooler in the holler this morning, offering a little relief from the heat. The Cubicle Asylum is quiet, Bossman never showed up, his desk is clean and the GM said he hasn't heard from him. I'm not sure what's going on, but I'll enjoy the quiet while it lasts.

I'm swamped with work, but trying to recover from my Sunday before I dive right in.

It was rough, ya'll.

I got up pretty early, Ayla was barking and pitching a fit at the butt crack of dawn. I led her to the back door to put her outside and heard Ma calling from her bedroom.

"Can you come in here and do something for me?" she asked.

"I'm not up," I answered. "I'm just letting the dog out. Can it wait?" I was still doing my early morning stagger n' stomp.I needed to go back to bed.

"Well I'm LAYING in the FLOOR but THAT'S OKAY. You just go on back to bed," she replied.

I sighed deep and let it out slowly. It's no easy task getting her out of the floor when she falls. Two weak knees and one bad arm kinda limit the ways you can get hold of her and to her feet. It usually ends up with both of us getting wallered all over the bedroom.

I'll spare ya'll all the gory details... and there are many.. but we ended up with me, Aunt Moses and my trashy big boobed cousin with the lazy eye's youngin' wrapping a sheet around Ma and trying to lift her enough that she could get up on her knees and on the bed. The execution of our plan resulted in some titty trauma and embarrassing indignities for Ma while my "good" foot was stomped a few times and used for traction when the carpet proved too smooth for her... but we eventually got her situated.

She told the youngin' she was fine, Aunt Moses that she thought her knee, her shoulder and her head were all broken and told me to just leave her the hell alone and bring her a Coke.

I think she'll be okay.

Then, last night, just as I was really starting to feel the effects of all the pulling, stomping and wallerin', I was relaxing on the love seat after folding a bunch of laundry. I had my "bad" foot.. ya know.. with the gimp toe, propped up on the empty laundry basket. Pupzilla, having a momentary lapse in judgement, decided it would be a good idea to hurdle my leg to grab Miss Kittypuss on the other side. The result was a jumble of leg, dog, hair and basket followed by screams, growls and yelps.. mostly from me. Before I got tackled, my toe looked bad enough, all scabbed over and weird looking. Afterwards, it swelled up like a radioactive cherry tomato.

I soon gave up hope and decided I should probably just go to bed. I put the dogs out and sat down a minute with a bottle of tea (Arizona Tea comes in those little water bottle packets now. It's good stuff if you can find it ) to relax while I waited. I didn't pay much attention to Yoda's barking at first, he's a yippy little mutt anyway, but then I heard Ayla and Sammy too.

I went to the door and witnessed Yoda, trying to ya know.. make a poopie turd.. but every time he got in position, Ayla would jump at him and bark, sending him after her like Cujo.. which was funny as hell when you consider she could easily pick him up in her mouth.

Yoda has harassed Ayla since the day she came home. It was sorta funny to see her get her revenge.

I soon realized, however, that it was midnight and my neighbors might not appreciate all the barking and growling and carrying on in my backyard, so I called them to come in. Sammy came trotting obediently to the back door, satisfied that he'd done his business. I called Yoda, who made it clear he was not "ready" to come in, so I called for Ayla, who was busy running circles around little squatting Yoda.

I was being ignored.

I just wanted to go to bed. I carefully slipped my feet into my flip flops and made my way down the back steps in nothing but a nightshirt, yelling at both dogs to get in the house. I was moving like Quasimodo after pitching a three day drunk, hobbling alternately on my sprained left ankle (compliments of me and Ma's waller session) and my right gimp toe, which was looking a lot like this:

Usually, once I step out on the back step, the dogs are all like, "Oh chit, it's the lady. What's she doing out here? We must be in trouble," after which they look very disturbed and go flying back into the house.

But not this time.

No. Yoda made me chase his little Cujo growling butt all over the back yard in my nightshirt and flip flops. Every time I'd bend over to pick him up, he'd take off running.

At least we all slept well once we got to bed.

I'm feeling it today though.

I hope ya'll have a kick ass Monday. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters.

Ma, Bubbles and Some Other Stuff

Well my goodness. It's been crazy around here for the past couple of weeks, so I'm gonna try my best to get ya'll caught up on the latest and greatest news in and around Frog Pond Holler.

I'll wait while you grab some liquid refreshment and get comfy.....

Ready?

Good. Let's begin...

First, I have to state the obvious. It's hotter than a snot ball on Satan's hankie here in the holler. It would blister the hide off a lizard out there. Needless to say, I've been spending most of my time inside, sprawled out in front of the air conditioner. I'm a hot mama. I don't do heat.

I feel sorta sorry for Ma, not much air gets back to her bedroom. If you'll remember, last year I bought an ac unit to stick in her window, but it sat in the living room for the entire spring and summer, being used as a makeshift end table, while she repeatedly told me that she didn't WANT an air conditioner and refusing to let me install it. I finally got sick of playing the "let's jerk Mahala around" game and took the damned thing back to the store. Now, it's pushing 100° and she's all like, "What did you do with that air conditioner?"

She's perfectly welcome to stay in the cooler part of the house, there are new recliners for her to stretch out on, yet she chooses to lay on her bed in her bloomers, telling everyone who calls how hot she is and oh... poor pitiful her.

Sorry if I sound cruel. Judge me if you'd like. When she decides she'd like to be comfortable, she can send her precious baby sister Moses after an air conditioner and let hercrack head son-in-law install it. Lord knows he ain't got nothin' else to do.

Aunt Moses and the whole fam damly had a cookout down at Moe Ray's picnic area on Tuesday. They were a little put out that I didn't attend, seeing how I've got one of those "job" thingies they keep hearing about, employment being a foreign concept to most of the people in my family. Oh they all have income, one cousin who used to be on disability because she was too big to walk, now gets a check because of her gastric bypass surgery. Uncle Mullet, the one who shows up at your house within an hour after he hears you've been to the doc for anything pain related so he can score some drugs, gets a check every month from the railroad because of a back injury, yet he works part time at a gym, under the table. Then of course Aunt Moses mows and sits with my Uncle G, for which she is paid by his youngest son back in Norfolk. My trashy big boobed cousin with the lazy eye doesn't need a job, she's got that husband she skanked up on the internet, but he doesn't have a job either. The last gainful thing he did that I got wind of was "borrow" his mom's car before taking it over to Scary Hillbilly Town and selling it.

I feel kinda foolish showing up here at The Asylum every day.

Oh that reminds me...

The other day, my trashy big boobed cousin with the lazy eye's youngin came over on a reconnaissance mission to gather information and report back to Aunt Moses to visit. She was playing with Ayla then just out of the blue looked over and asked, "Didn't Bubbles used to work at the plant?"

"She did," I replied.

The child looked me in the eye and smiled before informing me, "Bubbles said you were mean."

"Oh? Well, it's no wonder. It was like working with a five year old." I wish I hadn't said anything at all, but it kinda pissed me off. I mean, what kind of childish bullcrap is this? Singling out a child she knows spent the first 5 years of her life in my house and using her to send her little messages.

She's brave in front of a kid, but she hides in the Jeep and makes her Bubbahubby do the shopping if she sees me in the dolla store.

I wonder how she'd like it if I stopped Precious the Elder in town and told her how her mama used to call our customers and tell them about her creepin' crotch rot.

Can you tell I'm a little irked?

Other tidbits from the past week or so:

• We harvested our first tomato the other day. It was tasty. I felt all accomplished and stuff.
• The new filter for the vacuum cleaner to replace the one Ayla ate arrived from Amazon yesterday. Dust bunnies beware.
• I've been spending some of my free time trying to teach myself Blender for use in making stuff in virtual worlds, because clearly I don't have enough crap to do. And honestly, who couldn't use a little more stress in their life?
• The dryer is squeaking. Like.. a lot. Like.. after ten minutes you want to rip your own eyeballs out of your head and smash them against the wall. I'm pretty sure it's the bearings. I know about bearings. I sell bearings. I've never seen the innards of a clothes dryer, but I'd bet it's just a motor, a belt, a shaft with two bearings and a drum. I'm debating whether or not I want to chance messing up my nails to see if I can fix it myself. Ya'll know I can't fix things. I try, but end up calling someone anyway.
• The book is still in progress, I write here and there when I can. If I had my way I'd quit my job and stay home and write all day long.

Anywho.. I gotta get to work for the man.. cuz the man is acting like a festering boil on the left ass cheek of Hitler's nanny.

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

Later Taters!

This Can't Be Happening

Last week here at The Asylum, everything was all kittywampus with the soiled carpet that smelled like old stale coochie and cat pee and with roofers in and out. I left at noon on Friday after I booked 89K in sales (thank you very much) then went to run some errands (more on that later.)

This morning, I pulled up to see the doors standing open again and wondered if the odor of Ben-Gay and rose petals (the disinfectant) had over powered the previous stench and after being closed up for three days had become so strong it would eat your eyelashes off. Lord knows on Friday it was leaving a film on my tongue.

But no.

Lulu was standing in the hallway when I arrived.

"It was 89° in the office when I got here," she said. "The air conditioner is broken."

It lasted one year.

The maintenance guy was only up there about 10 minutes before he came down to give us a report.

"It's broke," he explained. "Just broke. The fan... it just fell out. It's laying there." We stared at him in disbelief. "I don't know," he said shaking his head.

It's supposed to be 93° in the holler today. Lawd help us all. Let the underboob sweat begin.

Snowboot vs. Puppy

Okay guys..

The other day someone asked if Ayla had eaten any shoes and I'd totally forgotten her favorite toy, T.A.'s old snow boot. Pupzilla has been carrying it around since the first day. Last night, I got the bright idea to test out my new camera's YouTube settings, resulting in this little gem.

Now, having said that, know that I'm having a mini anxiety attack because you can see how dirty my walls are from all the years of smoking (I quit a couple of years ago, tyvm) and if you look really close you'll notice I have Ziggy sheets on my bed.... not to mention what I've allowed the dog to do to my bed.

It was made when she started. I swear.

Also? Yes, that's my voice. See? I'm learning to let go of my inhibitions a little.

Sort of.

I'm going to go take a pill. Ya'll have a good one.

Later Taters!