This Little Piggy Went Wee Wee Wee!!

It's barely 8:30 and I've already mouthed off at Bossholio. Oh, it's going to be a good day. I can feel it.

When I'm trying to be helpful by assisting you in correcting your error, it's probably not a good idea to blatantly ignore me, actually turning your head while I'm in mid sentence and starting a conversation with someone else.

I just might get pissed off.

Anywho...

So far we've harvested some radishes, some salad greens and two HUGE zucchini from the garden. I've got little, tiny green beans and cucumbers starting to grow, with two rows of carrots starting to get pretty tall.

I'M SO EXCITED.

Sorry. Give me a moment to contain myself......

There are still more weeds than veggies, but I've already figured out a few changes for next year. Live and learn.

I whipped up another batch of laundry detergent this weekend. It takes like.. a minute and it's way cheap.

Homemade Laundry Soap (Powdered)

1 cup Borax
1 cup Washing Soda
1 bar of soap (grated)

Mix it up. Add 2 tablespoons per normal wash. That's it! Easy peasy lemon squeezy. There are specific brands of bar soap made just for washing clothes, but they're made from pig fat and aside from the poor piggies giving their lives for my laundry, I'm kinda grossed out by the idea of wearing delicate underthings that have been soaking in pork grease, so I use Ivory soap.

There is another recipe that makes five gallon buckets of liquid that involves cooking the grated bar soap in water and mixing, etc. that ends up being WAY cheaper, but I don't have that kind of time to invest, nor do I have anywhere to store ginormous buckets of liquid.

With all my critters, that's just asking for disaster.

Between the homemade laundry detergent, the new front-porch-clotheline, my gardening adventures and newly formed courage while communing with nature, Lulu has been tossing the "H" word around a lot. We laugh about it, I don't mind. Lulu's been at war with her organic gardener neighbors since I've known her and she threatens that as long as I don't start acting like them, we're still okay.

As for now, I reckon I should get to work. I need to get as much done as I can because I may have to slap Bossholio around later and if that happens, he'll probably have to leave early to keep from embarrassing himself by crying in front of all the menfolk.

Ya'll have an awesome Humpday. We can do this.

Later Taters!

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Sexy Latinos, Pregnant Cravings and Why I Shouldn't Leave the House

My plans for yesterday were simple. Sleep in a little, drive to Big City for my doctor's appointment, then zip over to Wally World for groceries. I took a half a vacation day, giving myself plenty of time to get foodage then drive back to the holler and drop it all off for The Amazon to put away.

Easy peasy, lemon squeazy, right?

If you think that's true, this is probably your first time here.

Things got off to a rocky start when this happened:

Yes, those are my actual, unfabulous, unmanicured nails
and actual N.C. highway patrol flashing blue lights.
And yes, my Crackberry is purple. Don't judge me.

Okay so, I knew my tags were expired and had been for a while. Like, since April. Of 2010.

Don't look at me like that.

But then, when poor little Opie Taylor Trooper looked at my license and said, "Have you got another license ma'am? This one is expired," I nearly crapped a Llama.

It was news to me, but my license had only been dead since December of last year, so it wasn't REALLY that bad.. I guess. Sorta.

Opie Taylor Trooper felt bad for me. I figure I must have reminded him of a crazy old aunt who only leaves the house once a month to buy cat food for her 16 furry roomates and to pick up refills on her crazy pills. He even tried to give me the opportunity to lie. "Has the vehicle been sitting for a while? Is that why the tags were dead?"

I just sighed, cast my gaze downward and shook my head. "No sir. I got the taxes caught up when I got my tax refund. I just haven't gotten around to getting my tags."

After he printed my two page ticket, he explained how to get my fine reduced and who to talk to. Bless his heart.

That little misadventure, all $198.00 worth, made me late for my appointment with Dr. H. When I had to sit in the waiting room an unusually long time, I figured it was my fault for showing up five minutes after my appointment, but then I had to sit for another thirty minutes in the exam room. Finally, Dr. H came flying in the door, apologizing for leaving me sitting there. "Another patient showed up early for her physical and it kind of threw everything off. I could have made her wait but, she was already naked, wrapped in a tissue gown... and she's old so.. you know," she explained.

I assured her it was okay, although I knew there was no way in hell I was going to have time to stop and pick up groceries now, not and make it back to work in the holler by one o'clock.

Dr. H was all excited by my weight loss. When I told her that I was disappointed that I was still 5lbs away from the goal I'd set for myself for my followup visit, she made me look back at the numbers from 18 months ago, gave me a few "atta girls" and encouraged me to keep going. She did wag her finger at me a little for not checking my blood sugar every day. I was like.. "Oh, do I need to do that?"

Thank goodness they've gone to laptops. If they still used clipboards, I probably would have gotten a smack to the head.

They took some blood and made me pee in a cup. I already had the results back on the blood work this morning. In February, my "Average Estimated Glucose" was 160. Now it's 117.

I reckon that's pretty good, right?

While I'm on the subject, with modern medical technology that includes lasers, body scanning, facial reconstruction, boob jobs and morning after pills, why the crap can't they come up with a better way to perform tests on tinkle than handing you a cup and a wet wipe and sending you to the potty? And seriously, is anyone able to hit the cup the first time without having to wave it around under there like a wee-wee divining rod? I've developed quite a talent for peeing up my own arm.

By the time I finished up with my lab work, down in the basement, where they put the crappy doctors and newbie nurses, I barely had time to hit a drive-thru and high tail it back to Frog Pond Holler. Bossholio, PG and the GM's secretary seemed glad to see me, me and Lulu had made appointments on the same day and Thelma is out of town. What I mean is, they had to spend four hours alone in the office without anyone who actually knew how to do anything, other than read romance novels, surf porn and pitch hissy fits.

I was kinda afraid Bossholio was gonna try to kiss me. It was skeery ya'll.

After I put in four hours at the Asylum, I had to drive all the way back to Wally World to get those groceries, two prescriptions and some more finger pokey things. ("Finger Pokey Things" is high fallootin' diabetes medical terminology, for those of you who aren't familiar.) I was pleased to find that the cute pharmacist was working. He's kinda dark skinned with a hint of an accent, a trace of something Latin flavored I think. He gives me the warm fuzzies. As luck would have it, when the cashier scanned my little bag o' drugs, something funky popped up on the computer.

I was not surprised.

I didn't mind though, I got to stand there and look old, worn out, poked, prodded and bewildered alluring while the cashier got Dr. Druggy McCutiepants to fix it.

It's all sort of a blur after that. I'd been on the run all day and I was running out of steam. It took all the self control I could muster to keep from grabbing a child out of a cart as she tried to climb out, while either Grandma or Ms. KindaLateInLifeToHaveAKidButI'mNotJudging stood RIGHT THERE, blocking the whole aisle with her cart and reading the fine print on a box of crackers.

I didn't say anything, but only because I didn't have enough oomph left to get into a Granny Throwdown by the saltines.

But then? When I was almost done, I met a very pregnant HoooonnnnEEEEEE, in her very, very short dress, which I strongly suspect was actually a not-THAT-long maternity top, and her Bubbahubby who we'll call Slopehead Neandersaurus.

HoooonnnnEEEEEE was holding a small box of fruity flavored tea bags that probably cost around $2. I know her name because as Slopehead tried to move on, he became annoyed with HoooonnnnEEEEEE and announced loudly, "HoooonnnnEEEEEE... you have TEA at HOME!" It was obvious that Slopehead wanted to make absolutely certain that the people way over in the frozen foods knew that HE was the master of his single wide and that HE controlled the purse strings.

I watched as HoooonnnnEEEEEE stood there with her perfectly coiffed hair, manicured nails and swollen tummy, holding the little box of tea between her two delicate, dainty hands, quietly negotiating as Slopehead stood beside her, patting her on the shoulder in a patronizingly false display of affection.

I couldn't even hear her. I was RIGHT there. She never looked at him.

He eventually "let" her put the tea in the cart. "Well okay HoooonnnnEEEEEE, I guess you can get it."

I damned near bit my tongue clean off.

Here's the thing. Being a condescending bully does not prove your manhood. It proves your lack thereof. And? If you can't afford to let your very pregnant significant other add a $2 box of tea to your cart containing a gallon of milk and a bag of Dorritos, then maybe you'd better consider taking your trifling ass down to the Mickey D's for a second job because you're going to have an extra mouth to feed soon and about a month from now? That $2 box of tea is gonna sound like a steal of a deal.

And I'm sorry but why the hell is HoooonnnnEEEEEE even walking around Wally World? She was obviously fixin' to squirt little Slopey Jr.out her vajayjay ANY DAMNED MINUTE. It was hurting me just to LOOK at her. She had that preggers outie bellybutton thing going on, her back was all arched and FOR THE LUVA MONKEES, SHE JUST WANTED SOME DAMNED TEA. If I'd had any cash on me, I would have given it to her and told her to buy herself some tea and some Reece cups, then call her mom, her dad, and uncle or SOMEONE to help her get away from this Jerky McNuckledragger before it's too late.

You know what? I hope she has a girl. A spoiled, rotten little Daddy's girl that wraps him so far around her finger that he can kiss his own bee-hind. I hope she bleeds him for every dollar he makes before she runs off at 16, getting a job rocking a stripper pole, leaving him a broken and pathetic shadow of his former self. And then? I hope HoooonnnnEEEEEE does some growing up, gets herself a degree online and runs off to be a strong, independent woman who can buy her OWN damned tea, never having to ask anyone else FOR ONE DAMNED THING EVER AGAIN.

And I hope he ends up living in an old cardboard box down at the overpass. The side of the box will say "Liptons."

I think I need some Midol.

We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters.

The Dubya Estate and Baby Zucchinis

Not that Dubya and not a baby zucchini

Before I say anything else, know that Bossholio's office flooded last night, he has no ceiling, roofers are getting yelled at and everyone is in a big butt wad.

I'm lovin' it.

Do ya'll remember Dubya? His estate is up for sale and I'm prodding The Amazon to try to buy it. It's a quarter acre fronting a state highway with a house, a couple of out buildings and existing lot renters, all for less than the cost of most used cars.

Okay so, the real estate agent, whom you would think would be sugar coating things just a tad, didn't use the word "house." I think the technical term was "dilapidated old shack."

Crazy Dave leases a spot for his trailer over there and his rent would cover the mortgage payment. Coming up with the down payment shouldn't be a problem at all... it's just getting through the technicality of getting T.A. approved for a loan. The shack house needs some work, but T.A. could work on it a little at a time before she moves in. If I wasn't already up to my armpits in bills or had either the house or my truck paid off, I'd be all over it myself.

But I have to stick to the plan.

Anywho...

The garden is growing like gangbusters. Especially the weeds. There are like three rows so grown up that I can't tell what's supposed to be growing there, but we had rain of gigantuan proportions last night and I stopped in town and picked up a $10 hoe at lunch so there will be weed beating taking place after work. I was going to try to till between the rows, but the way that thing bounces around and drags me all over the yard, I decided I'd better not chance it. My stuff is kinda crammed together anyway.

Live and learn. Next year I'll leave more room between rows.

I spotted a baby zucchini this morning. I have a feeling I'll be over run with them, tomatoes and beans. Anyone wanna come help can? If I get The Amazon moved across the road, I'm planning to get myself one of those cute little freezers to stick in her room.

Don't tell her, kay?

It's Friday ya'll. I can't tell you how happy that makes me. Ya'll have a good weekend. We'll talk again soon!

Later Taters!!

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Holler Hooters, Bare Butts and Big Cannons

I can tell right now that I probably won't be worth a cuss all day today. Bossholio is off (YAY!) and carpet layers are putting down some new turf in the GM's office.

Yeah. Unsupervised AND distracted. Work? Not gonna happen.

Eveyone in town is all aflutter over the new pub that's being built. For the past year or so, a handful of scruffy skateboarders, with their britches hanging down off their butts, have been using the concrete foundation as their own personal skate park. Construction finally began a couple of weeks ago and what has sprung up is seemingly three times the size of the previous structure.

It looks like a big ass saloon. The GM says it's gonna be the Holler Hooters and that me and Lulu will be table dancing there on weekends. I'll post pics soon.

Of the building. Not of me and Lulu table dancing. Some things, even the innerwebs isn't ready for.

This weekend the spa is hosting the annual civil war re-enactment. There are tents up all over the lawn and trucks rolling in hauling cannons and horses. If it's not sweltering hot tomorrow, I might take Ayla and walk down there for a looksee. It depends on how big of a dent I can make in the housework tonight. It seems that certain members of my household, since finding full time employment AND a feller, can't seem to find the time to attend to their domestic-like duties.

There is a litter box in my laundry room that is begging to have a grenade lobbed in it's general direction.

Miss Kittypuss is not amused.

As for me, I go back to the doc on the 15th to have my blood sugar re-checked and have the first great weigh-in. I went to the World of Wally last night to stock up on sugar-free, fat-free, carb-free.. basically cardboard and water.. to eat for the next two weeks for the final crunch. I'm denying myself the scales until then, so it'll be like... Biggest Loser-Mahala style. In my head anyway.

I'll be eating lots of fat free cottage cheese and turkey wienies. Don't feel bad, it's not as bad as it sounds.

Okay, really? After about the second turkey wienie lunch in a week, all I can think about is Quarter Pounder with cheese. Thankfully it's 45 minutes to the nearest Mickey D's.

Anywho, I guess I should do something. A nap might be nice.

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

Later Taters.

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Do Good, Feel Good

A Survivor's Spirit Can't Be Broken

June.

In June, lots of people celebrate Father's Day. We're not real big on that holiday in my house, Ma's was an abusive drunk,   The Amazon didn't know hers and mine.. well.. we've already beaten that dead horse to a fine pulp. June also brings Dear Old Dad's birthday, along with sweltering southern heat, slithering legless yard invaders and under boob sweat. 

I'm not real big on summers in the holler.. in case you couldn't tell.

In an effort to find some balance in my life, return to a more spiritual way of being and generally just stop being such a long winded whine bag, I've been looking for a way to get something positive out of the month of June. Make lemonade, see the silver lining, be all I can be, give my inner child a popsicle... or something. 

I've decided that throughout the month of June, I'm going to raise money to benefit RAINN: The Rape, Abuse and Incest National Network.  The funds we raise will help to maintain The National Sexual Assault Hotline and the following services outlined on their website:

All RAINN Affiliates operate 24/7 crisis telephone hotlines that serve victims of sexual violence. Volunteers and staff at these organizations are trained on issues surrounding sexual violence and can provide support and information about individual or group counseling, medical attention, reporting a crime to law enforcement as well as many other services. 

When I was 13, I was pretty messed up. I thought what had been happening to me, off and on my whole life, never happened to anyone else. It was at that age that I really started to realize that it wasn't normal, that I shouldn't have to take it and that it needed to stop. When I turned to family, I was called a liar. Some of them still refuse to admit it was true. I think it's just easier for some people to accept that a child would make up things they shouldn't even understand than it is to admit that the abuse occurred. 

Whatever... 

If I'd had an organization like RAINN to turn to, maybe things would have turned out differently. Maybe having someone to reach out to, without shame, would have helped me to grow up a little more well adjusted. In creating this small fundraising project, I'd like to think that in some small way, I'm giving another little girl that chance. 

If you'd like to donate, you can visit my project site: Mahala's RAINN Project  I'd like to raise $500 before the month is out. More would be great. 

I know money is tight. Believe me. Sometimes even a couple of bucks can break the bank. If you'd like to help, but you just don't have the $$$, a link to this post on your blog, Twitter or Facebook will help spread the word. If you'd like, you can also become a team member and use your super shmoozing skizzles to raise funds for the cause. 

Look, I know it's a subject that gets some people kinda skeeved out. I understand. Maybe you'd rather not link to "uncomforable" subject matter or spend your last $10 on an organization you're just not feeling. That's cool too. Start your own project. Find a cause. I'll probably kick myself for saying this, but it's true.. If I don't raise A DIME but inspire 10 people to begin their own project, I will consider it a success. Let's start a wave of good things. And? If you DO decide to champion your own cause, let me know in comments and I'll give you a little linky love.

A word about Crowdrise, the site hosting my project: I've donated through them a few times, the money goes directly to RAINN, you don't have to worry about me going out partying or getting a new set of pornstar French manicured nails with the money. They will ask for a tip when you donate, but it's entirely optional. I usually add a buck, but you don't have to. 

I hope ya'll bear with me through June if I get a little annoying.. it's for a good cause. 

Ya'll take care, we'll talk again soon. 

Later Taters!

Donate $17 to any Project or Charity by June 30, 2011 and you'll be signed up to win pizza for you and about ten friends. We can only deliver this prize in the states so if you're in Europe, for example, you may want to book a trip to the US sometime in early July just in case. 

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