tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-295212022024-03-07T17:01:09.394-05:00Hidden MahalaMahalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03428501380180444456noreply@blogger.comBlogger1377125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29521202.post-86079718126427145372019-11-11T15:09:00.001-05:002019-11-11T15:09:08.732-05:00Of Fences, Docs and Pups<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Hey ya'll!</div>
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I say that optimistically, I have no idea if anyone even reads blogs anymore, but what the hey. I'm going to write it anyway.</div>
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Life in Frog Pond Holler has been pretty awesome, for the most part. The biggest news? </div>
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I finally got that privacy fence I've wanted forever. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQZClwYS0tU92qBl_WOE9Aqp1uojqSdy0PQQsPqhLTitBq1y8AO2k5p96Fb3ZjjCfFmxuDldRBcY3j_HnyglUugE4gtVpc_xuitGQhYrlWixhCQ8OHI7S7eG5G2zw_EZRVuhZE/s1600/Privacy+fence.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="512" data-original-width="512" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQZClwYS0tU92qBl_WOE9Aqp1uojqSdy0PQQsPqhLTitBq1y8AO2k5p96Fb3ZjjCfFmxuDldRBcY3j_HnyglUugE4gtVpc_xuitGQhYrlWixhCQ8OHI7S7eG5G2zw_EZRVuhZE/s640/Privacy+fence.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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It's made a huge difference. I can walk around my yard in my fuzzy pj pants without having to stop and say "hey" to every trail worn hiker going by. I don't miss giving tourist directions every 5 minutes while I'm trying to commune with nature either.<br />
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And? These little hellions can run loose and pee on every rock, blade of grass and stick.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfXm7Cwl2yENd_HOjqNcYP72VPyARORhY82XxWxiH8DO9rHiltmay1N9HFwH6Crw1wrhP_iwL85bFvZm1xLDHa09redIP5bFiC_GmzayCpe7JVVMLFSjVFV0OxAhgKO6z3Dycx/s1600/IMG_20191010_135751417_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1366" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfXm7Cwl2yENd_HOjqNcYP72VPyARORhY82XxWxiH8DO9rHiltmay1N9HFwH6Crw1wrhP_iwL85bFvZm1xLDHa09redIP5bFiC_GmzayCpe7JVVMLFSjVFV0OxAhgKO6z3Dycx/s320/IMG_20191010_135751417_HDR.jpg" width="273" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU6LlEClhgWFbN5Dp7XLZRLi4X-EY4KElmTin7Xx8BReciFd4vPLt_o1icth9bJFQhPhkbH87gJZ-idgS1KG8hwFT3S0bp7zmHH9nrp_CHZ_xtCdqTZKwz_K0eSaIuUTIAnJww/s1600/IMG_20191025_115523589.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU6LlEClhgWFbN5Dp7XLZRLi4X-EY4KElmTin7Xx8BReciFd4vPLt_o1icth9bJFQhPhkbH87gJZ-idgS1KG8hwFT3S0bp7zmHH9nrp_CHZ_xtCdqTZKwz_K0eSaIuUTIAnJww/s320/IMG_20191025_115523589.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Another big development is The Amazon's new job. About two months ago she was hired as HeeHaw county's newest animal control officer. It was hard at first, going from sitting in a call center all night to schlepping 50 pound bags of dog food and crawling around barns catching litters of kittens, but she's adjusting.<br />
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She absolutely loves it.<br />
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About two weeks after she started, HeeHaw county had it's largest animal hoarding case in recent history. Their tiny shelter took in 52 dogs, in varying states of distress. An emergency shelter was established at the livestock barn at the county fairgrounds and the staff had to take turns spending the night there for over two weeks. All but 7 of the dogs were either adopted or went to rescue groups.<br />
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The Amazon got broken in to her new position pretty fast.<br />
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So far, we've fostered a kitten over night until the rest of his litter could be caught and T.A. and I had some heated arguments over a blue eyed shepherd mix that was part of the hoarding case.<br />
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I'm still in therapy. I'm leaps and bounds better than I was a year ago, but I still have a long way to go. I love my noggin doc. She once told me that if I ever mentioned her on my blog, she wanted to be known as Christie Brinkley's younger, sexier sister, so Doc Brinkley it is.<br />
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I still go every week to a tiny office nestled in the back room of a law practice and spill my guts. I'm still a little shaken for a day or so afterwards, but I can go to the grocery store without having a crying fit at the cash register now and I'm enjoying the freedom of hopping in the truck and driving up to the overlook or along the river and taking pictures again.<br />
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Baby steps.<br />
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I'm still trying to conjure the nerve to get my hair done.<br />
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Anywho, ya'll have a good one. I'll be down here in the holler, holding down the fort.<br />
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Later Taters!<br />
<br />Mahalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03428501380180444456noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29521202.post-40235446469370175182019-04-16T12:21:00.000-04:002019-04-16T12:21:29.910-04:00Trying to Not be Crazy is Driving Me Nuts<span style="font-family: inherit;">Noggin docs. They're making me guano loco.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">When I was approved for Medicare, it meant I could no longer see Brandy down at the <span style="background-color: white;">HeeHaw County Clinic for Nervous People and Drug Addicts. She wasn't licensed, but she was the only female in the practice and as ya'll know, the majority of my issues are rooted in the actions of untrustworthy males. With Medicare, I couldn't even attend her group sessions. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">Brandy suggested I go back to seeing Willie, the second therapist I was assigned to. I told Brandy that</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">I thought Willie needed his own therapist to deal with his misogynistic views and his obvious, unfounded fear of Paganism. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">So that was a no.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Then came Brian. He was new at the practice and although male, I agreed to give him a shot. The morning of my first appointment, I </span>received<span style="font-family: inherit;"> a call from the clinic that he was no longer a member of their staff. They were all like, "but I can get you in to see Willie!"</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">Hail no.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">Over the course of the past year, I'd been assigned four different noggin docs. Appointments were every two weeks, every three weeks and sometimes I'd go a month without seeing anyone. When I had no resources, I had no choice, but now I could move on. The Hee Haw County Clinic for Nervous People and Drug Addicts was no longer serving me. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">The fact that I could make this decision and not sit, wringing my hands and worrying is proof, to me anyway, that I'm getting better. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">I considered taking a break from therapy all together, but I just quit smoking (<i>again</i>), I'm trying to lose weight (<i>again</i>) and generally trying to get my life straightened out (<i>again</i>), so it didn't seem like a good time to stop.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">I took to the innerwebs and found another practice just a few blocks from where I'd been going. I had my first appointment yesterday. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">The lobby was peaceful. No youngins in shackles and orange jumpsuits, escorted by Hee Haw County's finest, waiting for prescriptions, no signs on the wall saying, "We Do Not Keep Any Meds on Premises!" </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">There was an aquarium and sunlight streaming through the windows. A totally different atmosphere. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">The new noggin doc is close to my age and I'm not afraid of somehow scarring her for life by telling her stories of my own. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">When I told her that I used to love to write, that before the shit hit the fan, I couldn't wait to sit down in front of the computer and tell ya'll the stories of Frog Pond Holler, that I missed it but the words just wouldn't come anymore, she gave me an assignment, which you're reading. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">Anywho...</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">The sun's shining down on Frog Pond Holler, I've got The Eagles Greatest Hits playing, the coffee's hot and the vape fog is thick. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">It's all good. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">Ya'll take care and we'll talk again soon.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">Later Taters!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>Mahalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03428501380180444456noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29521202.post-62066016628864926342019-03-27T18:27:00.000-04:002019-03-27T18:27:14.848-04:00Times, They Are a Changin'Wow ya'll. A lot of shit has gone down since we talked last. I've got a phone (finally!!), I'm typing at a new (refurb) computer and there's money in the bank.<br />
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But how? Because my disability was finally approved.<br />
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Yay!!!!<br />
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And? I've got Medicare, which was a surprise. I thought it would be Medicaid, for which I'd prepared. I've spent the past month getting used to changes in noggin' docs, trying to figure out if I need part D coverage, comparing plans... what a colossal pain in the keister. I need new anxiety meds just to deal with this crap.<br />
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I got 2 years worth of back pay, which was awesome. I've bought some stuff, some much needed things for the house and some purely frivolous, like jeans and a comforter for the bed.<br />
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I got my nails did ya'll.<br />
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I'm currently trying to work up the courage to get my hair cut, colored and coiffed. Baby steps.<br />
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We're working on getting critters caught up at the vet, then hopefully there'll be enough left for a privacy fence.<br />
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The holler is turning in to a feckin' campground. If I can't get a fence, I'm getting a BB gun and using the hairy, pit smellin' hikers that go by the house all hours of the night for target practice.<br />
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If you follow me on Instagram, you already know we've gained a pup. Lord, I didn't want another one, but the same lady we got Cisco from had another litter. Okay, I mean her dog had a litter. It was actually a dog from a litter Grandma dog had last year who had the puppies. That poor woman is run over with dogs and puppies of every age. All I know is, T.A. gave her a ride home one day and this happened.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie2adfmgDWx1i3QwA-Y4ZtZ9GwDKuxJOEkwFjGzSMGoVNv7kY1D1ihV1McRlES2QTDr4W_GgEdx_41QRJgHVjl6peBx2b60I3EcPR_K9e2cdhDzDrzzv8s-c2NJHeup1kukH8A/s1600/IMG_20190313_091919756.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie2adfmgDWx1i3QwA-Y4ZtZ9GwDKuxJOEkwFjGzSMGoVNv7kY1D1ihV1McRlES2QTDr4W_GgEdx_41QRJgHVjl6peBx2b60I3EcPR_K9e2cdhDzDrzzv8s-c2NJHeup1kukH8A/s640/IMG_20190313_091919756.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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His name is Chewy, short for Chewbacca. He's a little terror. He's lucky he looks like a muppet. Also, reason number 5129 why I need a fence.<br />
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Most days my head is spinning, trying to keep up with everything I need to do, people I need to call and what the hell to fix for dinner. It's hard, but I have to keep reminding myself to slow the crap down. It'll get done and I've got all the time in the world.<br />
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Anywho, with the new puter, I got a fancy new keyboard without any missing keys, so now I can bore you with my life in the holler EVEN MORE!!!!<br />
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Stop rolling your eyes, you know you love it.<br />
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So we'll talk again super soon. For reals.<br />
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Later Taters!!<br />
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<br />Mahalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03428501380180444456noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29521202.post-85731411326828732912018-12-19T15:32:00.000-05:002018-12-19T15:32:12.700-05:00Talking to Ghosts and Burning SigilsIt's time for the latest Mahala news! I know you're excited. I can feel it.<br />
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My disability hearing is scheduled for early January. I'm both tickled pink and worried to death. I met with my attorney last month. I got the impression that she hasn't looked at my case since she got it two years ago. She had some pissy comments to make about my choice of mental health services.<br />
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I've been going to the HeeHaw County Clinic for Nervious People and Drug Addicts since April. My attorney waits until two months <i>(to the day)</i> from my hearing to tell me I really need to get in to see a psychiatrist. I'm sorry, but how the hell am I supposed to get an appointment with a private practice with no insurance, no income? She referred me to the Big City Hospital charity office, where it takes 30 days just to get your application approved. She couldn't mention this, like.. I dunno.. SIX MONTHS AGO???<br />
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She made similar comments about my seeing a Rheumatologist. I'm a little ticked off.<br />
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It was also suggested that I have one of my former supervisors write a letter stating the problems I had performing my duties at The Cubicle Asylum. I tried to get in touch with Kat, the HR clerk, but that just resulted in one call where she yelled in to the phone for five minutes because she couldn't hear me, and another from her husband demanding to know who the hell was calling him from Frog Pond Holler. I think her cellphone forwards to her house phone? Maybe?<br />
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Anywho, her bubbahubby Charlie isn't the sharpest tool in the shed.<br />
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I gave up trying to get in touch with Kat. It took a few days, but I eventually worked up enough nerve to call Peppermint Twatwaffle, who now works for the sister plant. She was all, <i>"I got you guuurlll!! Let me call you right back after I get out of this meeting."</i><br />
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Never heard from her. Bitch.<br />
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I'm to the point where I've just accepted that it is what it is. I don't know what I'll do if it isn't approved, but I'll figure something out. I always do.<br />
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If ya'll can just cross your fingers, say a prayer, dance under the full moon, whatever works, I'd appreciate it.<br />
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I've been spending most of my time trying to get the house back into a less embarrassing condition. It's difficult, with my wonky hands, but I'm figuring out how to do stuff differently. I'm learning to not feel guilty for being home. Brandy is trying to drill it into my head that I don't have to be constantly wringing my hands over dishes and laundry. So I read and watch Netflix. I've collected books on Appalachian Hoodoo and I've been studying the practices of the old Granny women of these hills.<br />
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There is a smorgasbord of mountain medicine growing in my front yard. I've become the weirdo standing out there with an herbal remedy book, picking weeds and sniffing odd flowers.<br />
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Old Mrs. Kravitz is endlessly entertained by my weed plucking.<br />
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I've dedicated a corner of my bedroom to an ancestor altar. It seemed the logical thing to do. I've always consulted Granny and Mamaw on any number of topics, looked for their answers in signs. I dug the old pictures out of the box in the closet and placed them in pretty frames where they can be honored. I've placed a bottle of gin, some smokes and candy, along with flowers that I change out with the season. There's also a homemade cauldron for burning sigils, because sometimes you have to burn shit to show the universe you mean business.<br />
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As far as therapy goes, I'm almost embarrassed to admit this, but it's mostly focused on my trying to get over my aversion to grocery shopping. It's really about not wanting to go anywhere at all, but I need to be able to buy food. It's been a month since I went last. There's just the one grocery store in the county. It's the one where my dad cornered me in the parking lot after Mamaw's funeral and the one where I used to cry every time I got to the checkout line. Last month, I got like two weeks worth of groceries, I had a cashier who didn't know the difference between parsnips and parsley. He totally screwed everything up, then messed up my coupons, tried to throw part of them in the trash, then when he called the manager, the manager TOOK THEM and said they didn't take printed coupons.<br />
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OMG embarrassing.<br />
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He brought them back, after he was corrected by the other manager <i>(I've always used them there.)</i> No one apologized. The poor little bag boy feller took my big ass basket of groceries, bagged them, then tried to cram them in to one of those tiny carts for when you're just getting milk and bread. I ended up having to chase my sweet potatoes across the parking lot when they kept rolling out of the bottom.<br />
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So yeah. I haven't been back. I'll probably get a few things from the DG later, then go do the main shopping on Friday. Maybe.<br />
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Anywho, that's pretty much life in the holler these days. Nothing exciting. I hope ya'll are hanging in there.<br />
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We'll talk again soon,<br />
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Later Taters!!!<br />
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<br />Mahalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03428501380180444456noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29521202.post-73134968375967843272018-11-29T20:30:00.000-05:002018-11-29T20:30:20.055-05:00A Murder, A Mystery and a Little Spiritual InterventionIt's been a while since I've told ya'll a good story. I might be a little out of practice, but I have one to tell, so get comfy <i>(because ya'll know I'm long winded as hell.)</i><br />
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Everything I'm about to tell you is true, but the names of places and the folks involved have been changed to protect their privacy and my butt from pitchfork wielding hill dwellers.<br />
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It began on a sunny Wednesday in early September. I was fixin' to go to therapy with yet another new noggin doc. I'd been seeing Willie for a few months, but he turned out to be <strike>a self-serving, insensitive prick</strike> not a good fit for me. I was thankful when Brandy became available, but I was nervous about meeting someone new.<br />
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I climbed in the truck and gave myself a pep talk, consulted the ancestors... as you do... then drove over to Walnut Gap for my appointment at the HeeHaw County Clinic for Nervous People and Drug Addicts.<br />
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My session went well, Brandy is awesome, but I didn't realize I'd have to start over from scratch. My clusterfucked childhood, Ma, adoption, losing my job and my grandson within a week... I wasn't prepared to wade through that all again. But I did. And I survived.<br />
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That night I got an email from a DNA match on <a href="https://refer.23andme.com/s/yobvp" target="_blank">23andme</a>. He was an older gentleman named Mitch who said he'd been looking for his birth family for several years and wondered if I could help.<br />
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I do love a good mystery.<br />
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I asked him what information he had to work with and learned he was born in late August 1950, to a woman named Lucy or Leanne Rodgers, and that she'd been seen running around town with a Pruitt man. He wasn't sure how accurate any of his information was, having gotten it from some older relatives who's memories were fading. I told him I'd see what I could find and get back to him.<br />
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I started to drag out the big ass box of all my family tree stuff,<i> </i>but I figured I'd do a web search first. I had no idea how I was related to this man, it would be helpful to at least know which side of the family to start on.<br />
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The second link I clicked took me to a blog post focusing on the juicier, more scandalous family history of the author. I scrolled FOREVER, past lists of this one marrying that one, getting divorced, remarried, it was like that book in the Bible that goes on and on with the begats and begottens. Finally, I came to a newspaper article titled, "Death of a Beauty Queen." Lucille Rodgers, the 1949 Big City Tobacco Queen, had been murdered in front of a drug store by the estranged wife of her boyfriend, Elwood Johnson.<br />
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Could this be his mother? I channeled my inner Nancy Drew and began digging through news articles about the murder. This is the story.<br />
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After church on an October afternoon, Lucille Rodgers and Elwood Johnson drove to Walnut Gap for some ice cream. Elwood had been separated from his wife, Rosanne, for 2 years, leaving her to raise their two sons on her own. He'd been seeing Lucille for a year, having taken her along to Michigan when he'd gone in search of work. It was rumored among the townsfolk that they'd shared a "one bed" apartment while there. They'd been back in town for a couple months when Rosanne caught wind of the finer details of their trip..<br />
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So Rosanne left church that day, dropped her two boys off at home then drove down to Walnut Gap. She approached Elwood, sitting alone in his car, outside the drug store where Lucille was buying ice cream and a soda. After giving him a verbal lashing <i>(I can only imagine)</i> she pulled a pistol out of her purse and shot him three times.<br />
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An off duty police officer, sitting in a patrol car in front of the courthouse, sprang to action, but wasn't fast enough to stop her from marching up to the drug store towards her next target. Rosanne spotted Lucille by the door, called her some names, then shot her through the screen door, IN THE FACE.<br />
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Lucille died instantly. Elwood Johnson survived.<br />
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Rosanne immediately dropped her gun and surrendered to the off duty police officer, my Great Grandfather Charlie.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTTGCvlVIc_Ij847r7ij_OflDvEdyZpsU9UUrEiAid-7M9iwy0rn2fKkj1Z2r3fpUHXdnwB9A6NblbKnRbgbQydMj3IcdjLK1BCwFvCDGqvWrSxwWNDVLod3NTQscdNVWnh6oB/s1600/GrGandaddy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="560" data-original-width="475" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTTGCvlVIc_Ij847r7ij_OflDvEdyZpsU9UUrEiAid-7M9iwy0rn2fKkj1Z2r3fpUHXdnwB9A6NblbKnRbgbQydMj3IcdjLK1BCwFvCDGqvWrSxwWNDVLod3NTQscdNVWnh6oB/s400/GrGandaddy.JPG" width="338" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">. This shows the actual murder scene. That's the off duty police officer on the left, in the fabulous hat. He also happens to be my Great Grandfather. </td></tr>
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I was a little apprehensive about contacting Mitch with this information. I didn't know him and I didn't want to email him and be all, "Oh hey, I found your mom but she was brutally murdered by your philandering father's wife."<br />
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I figured, Lucille had given birth to Mitch and Rosanne had caught wind of it, pushing her over the edge. Elwood left her alone with their two boys and probably wasn't doing anything to support them. Mitch said he was placed for adoption at birth, but I'll bet he was given up after the death of his mother. I mean, it was 1950. His parents weren't married, at least to each other and the whole situation was too scandalous for Walnut Gap.<br />
<br />
As for the rumored "Pruitt" man, Elwood and Rosanne had lived out by Pruitt Creek. It wasn't wrong, it simply referred to the section of town he lived in, not his name.<br />
<br />
So I emailed Mitch. I tried to soften the blow as much as I could, then sent him a link to the blog post. When he emailed me the next day, he was over the moon. These were his parents. He was extremely grateful and continued to email me over the next few days. I learned that Mitch lives in High Point, NC, but was adopted in Hendersonville, way the hell out on the other side of Big City. But his adoptive mom actually grew up here. I mean, in Frog Pond Holler. Like, a block over from me. She probably knew my family.<br />
<br />
Weird.<br />
<br />
After a couple of trips to Walnut Gap, I finally figured out where the drug store was. Lucille was killed directly across the street from the HeeHaw County Clinic for Nervous People and Drug Addicts. I can see it from the window in Brandy's office.<br />
<br />
Also weird.<br />
<br />
Anywho...<br />
<br />
Rosanne was found not guilty using the temporary insanity defense. The reading of the verdict was followed by the cheers of a courtroom full of supportive housewives from the community. If Rosanne were tried today, I think the outcome would be much different. It sounds premeditated to me. Her testimony suggests that she either attended church services that morning with the gun stowed in her handbag, or at the very least, she picked it up from home when dropping the boys, about ten minutes away.<br />
<br />
Lucille's story weighed heavily on me for a while. It still bothers me on occasion. I found where she's buried, I may pay her a visit one day.<br />
<br />
Oh and by the way, I still have no friggin' clue how the hell I'm related to Mitch.<br />
<br />
As for how this all fell in to place, I know Great Granddaddy Charlie was with me that day when I visited Brandy for the first time. I suspect Lucille was lurking around as well. I've entertained the thought that Lucille couldn't be at peace until her baby son new the truth and that Charlie stepped in to help.<br />
<br />
I love a good ghost story. Or as I told Brandy, "That's some Scooby Doo shit right there."<br />
<br />
Ya'll take care, we'll talk again soon.<br />
<br />
Later Taters!<br />
<br />Mahalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03428501380180444456noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29521202.post-47675737401868425802018-09-04T13:28:00.001-04:002018-09-04T13:34:32.006-04:00Squeezing Pennies 'til They SqueakI haven't checked in for a while, I thought it was time.<br />
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<div>I started with a new noggin doc a couple of months ago. I'm playing loosey goosey with the term "doc." I doubt there's a PHD anywhere in Willy's educational background, but for our purposes here, he's the new noggin doc. </div><div><br />
</div><div>As some of you know, I've been to therapy before. Bossholio, The Cubicle Asylum and Ma's special brand of guano loco were the perfect trifecta of maddening. I was doing okay until the proverbial shit hit the fan a couple of years ago. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I ain't been right ya'll. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Lack of insurance or income limited my options, so I sought treatment at the local, government subsidized mental health provider. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Gawdalmighty. That place defines the word clusterfuck. I'll give you the lowdown on that in a future post. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Anywho...</div><div><br />
</div><div>For the past few months, The Amazon has been doing all of the grocery shopping. After looking at prices and taking my physical (and mental) limitations into consideration, Walmart seemed like the logical option. While our "local" store is about an hour away, TA works directly across the road. She could leave work in the morning, pick up what we need and we'd save on gas. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Since TA isn't in a pleasant mood after spending 8 hours in a call center and did NOT feel like dealing with, well, anything after work, I'd go on the Walmart website and create a list the night before. This was great for me. Doing a month's worth of shopping at once is a challenge, but the Walmart list gave me an exact total, so I could make the most of those food stamp dollars. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Our Walmart has grocery pick up, but you can't pay with food stamps, which sucks. TA still had to go in and find things. In the beginning, this worked out great. But then something changed at Wallyworld. The website would list things as available, but at least half the list wouldn't be on the shelves. Now, I've worked in retail as a department manager, cashier and stock person. I have a basic understanding of how stuff comes in through the back door. I'm sure the items were there, sitting in the back, but TA wasn't going to ask for them. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Slacker Walmart effed up my whole system. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Also, there was never a cashier working. Have you ever tried to self scan and bag a month's worth of groceries? The little old man who "supervised" the self-checkout damned near got his ass beat by suggesting TA bring a friend to help her when she grocery shopped. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Something had to change. TA would come home looking like she'd been to battle, huffing, puffing and growling. She was disrupting my happy place. </div><div><br />
</div><div>So here's what I've been pondering. My options are limited to what is close by, partially due to the price of gas (in the truck) and my inability to drive any farther than the next town over without being laid up for a couple of days. The closest grocery store is Ingles, 25-30 minutes from Frog Pond Holler, depending on how many tractors, wagon trains and herds of loose livestock you have to deal with. There's a Family Dollar directly across the road from there and we have a Dollar General in sight of the house. I can walk there if I have to. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I've been diving deep in to coupon policies, sales and shopping secrets for those three stores. I have $192 a month, that's $41 a week to feed two people. Ingles is expensive, but they have great meats. I know from past experience that they start slapping those "special today" stickers on stuff Monday morning. I think, if I keep coupons on hand for packaged meat, like hot dogs, sandwich meat, etc., and match them with the reduced food, I can do it. </div><div><br />
</div><div>This also means I'll have to go to the grocery store every week. I'm not excited about it. Willy says I have "avoidance personality disorder, bordering on agoraphobia," in addition to PTSD, GAD and whatever the hell other label for my crazy he can come up with. I get the heebeejeebies when I leave the house. If I have to interact with someone, I stutter and my tongue gets all wrapped around my teeth. </div><div><br />
</div><div>It ain't purdy.</div><div><br />
</div><div>I also have checkout anxiety. I'm okay in the store, doing my thing, because I'm hyper focused on figuring out the cost per ounce with a coupon and finding what I need. When I get to the checkout, what if it doesn't ring up right? What if someone makes a comment about my EBT card when I'm in line. What if, for some unknown reason, it says I don't have any food stamps? I mean, I obsessively check the balance before I leave the house, so that can't happen, but you can't apply logic to my brain on anxiety. </div><div><br />
</div><div>The last time I did the grocery shopping at Walmart, the cashier didn't hit the EBT button and I had to stand at the service desk while my whole order was entered again. I broke out in a sweat, I couldn't form a complete sentence. So embarrassing. </div><div><br />
</div><div>There is a special kind of anxiety being a fat girl with a month's worth of food piled high in the cart and paying with food stamps. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I've done the coupon thing before, some of you might remember my Pooh Bear binder, stuffed with deals. This time, I'm doing things a little differently. I'm not stockpiling coupons on the off chance that I'll catch a deal. The only coupons I'll clip (print) ahead of time are the packaged meats. Everything else will be those items that I know are on sale and are things we'll use. I won't be able to get coupons from the paper, because the Big City paper is no longer delivered to Frog Pond Holler. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I mean at all. No paper boxes, no subscriptions, nothing. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Printer ink can get expensive, so it'll be important to only print the coupons I know I'll use. I'm not sure how this will work out, we'll see. I may send out some emails to brands I know Ingles carries and has on sale often, but I'm not sure yet. </div><div><br />
</div><div>That's where my brain is this week. There have been some secret mutterings around the internet of a way to get discounted items at Dollar General. I've not personally tried it yet, but if It works, I'll let you know. I"ll have to get my nerve up first.<br />
<br />
So anyhooters, that's all for now. Maybe we'll talk again soon. Ya'll try to stay cool, winter will be here before we know it.<br />
<br />
Until next time...<br />
<br />
Later Taters!</div>Mahalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03428501380180444456noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29521202.post-41149741609715658192018-05-24T16:33:00.002-04:002018-05-24T21:14:37.904-04:00Food Stamps: Not Just for Rice and Beans<center style="text-align: left;">
I don't hide the fact that I've been getting SNAP benefits since the great Cubicle Asylum liberation. That's sort of the problem with me, discretion is not a skill I've mastered . And, the second I know someone has a problem with it, I will get all up in their face and dare them to say anything. </center>
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Getting all up in people's face is probably a wee part of how I lost my job. It's also reason #982 why I avoid going out in public as much as possible. </center>
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But anywho...</center>
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With my SNAP benefit as my only income, I've learned a few tricks along the way. There are ways to use your limited food stamp allotment for other things around the house. I'm nothing if not resourceful.</center>
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<li><b>Cleaning:</b> Vinegar and baking soda are technically food items, but they're also great for cleaning jobs. When combined, they keep your drains running free and smelling sweet. I've used them for opening many a slow drain. Once it's completely stopped up, you'll probably have to break out the heavy artillery, at my house that's my coat hanger. Baking soda is also a mild abrasive for cleaning counters, pots and pans and... your teeth. A vinegar and water mixture is the best glass cleaner there is. Use newspaper instead of paper towels for a streak free shine. I've done this forever, especially in the car. Vinegar can also be used as a hair rinse, odor remover, critter cage cleaner and laundry softener. It's way cheaper than Downy, and no, your clothes won't smell like unicorn farts wafting over a field of flowers on a spring day, but they won't smell like vinegar either. Just clean. Totally works.</li>
<li><b>Gardening:</b> I didn't realize, until recently, that you can use your SNAP benefits to buy vegetable seeds and plants. I spent $35 dollars on seeds last month, which was a big chunk of my $194, but I've got a small plot, packed with tomatoes, cucumbers, corn, herbs, flowers, lettuce, spinach, squash and like... entirely too many beans. I don't know what I was thinking with all the beans, it's a good thing I love them. I have enough seeds for at least another year, so It was well worth the investment. Everything is just beginning to come up, I'll keep you posted on the progress. More on my adventure in gardening to come in another post. </li>
<li><b>Medicine:</b> When you've got the creeping crud and the only earner in the house is between paychecks, you have to learn to think outside the box. Things to keep on hand are apple cider vinegar, local non-pasteurized-unfiltered honey, garlic and onion. The honey and ACV are a little pricey, but they last us a long time. They aren't items I buy every month and are available in town. There are countless recipes using ACV for colds, I'll leave you to hunt them down, but I add about a 1/4 cup of ACV <i>(get the one that looks like snot in the bottom of the bottle,)</i> to a 2.5 quart container, half a cup of stevia <i>(most call for honey, but I have to watch the blood glucose,)</i> fill with water and shake well. I keep it in the fridge and sip on it in the mornings, more if I feel the crud taking hold. You can also use ACV and honey to make a light salad dressing. Eating raw garlic and onions is an age old cure for just about everything. My next experiment is soaking garlic in honey and using it as a cough remedy. The most important thing to remember when using any of these ingredients is to keep them away from heat. Honey in your tea is tasty but heating the honey will kill the magical germ killy enzymes or whatever. Oh and lest I forget, elderberries. Anything made with elderberries will cure what ails ya.</li>
<li><b>Entertainment:</b> Due to a series of circumstances, we don't have television. I mean, I'm able to watch some stuff online, but not often. I spend a lot of time sipping coffee in front of the kitchen window, watching the squirrels, birds and groundhogs. T.A. is concerned that I've named them all and have an anxiety attack whenever the squirrel crosses the road, but whatever. Once every couple of months, I buy a big bag of raw peanuts. The intention was to draw the crows to my yard, but I've found it's the tiniest little birds that love them the most. I also toss out stale bread and leftover cornbread. I made a couple of feeders out of Mason jars and my old chick feeders. T.A. brings me a bag of bird seed every once in while, if she's got the extra cashola. If you're lucky enough to have a hummingbird feeder, there's no need to buy special mix. 1 part sugar to 3 parts water is all you need and sugar is cheap.</li>
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In addition to stuff around the house, there are a few other perks to having SNAP. Once you have that card, you automatically qualify for other advantages. Food banks will extend your food stamps at the end of the month and if you have an EBT card, it's easy to cut through the red tape. We go to the food bank once a month and get a 2 person allotment, while we only get food stamps for one. Go figure. T.A. rolls her eyes when I yell, "IT'S CHRISTMAS!" when she comes in with our boxes. While they always have staples like cornmeal, dry beans, milk and bread, they also usually include snacky-type things that I don't normally buy. We've gotten pasta, cereal, meat, eggs, in addition to cookies, crackers, pizza fixin's and mystery canned goods. Occasionally they have pet food. We usually have to go the week before the food stamps come. </center>
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You can also qualify for a free cellphone. Most people refer to these as Obama phones or welfare phones. I went through some drama to get one because I have a post office box, but I eventually had it shipped to Aunt Moses' address. Of course, it doesn't work in The Holler, in the middle of no-gawd-damned-where. I ended up loading it with a plant identification app, so it didn't lay in the drawer and go to waste. </center>
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Thanks Obama.</center>
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Another food stamp perk most people aren't aware of, is the Farmer's Market. There's a national program that gives recipients double their SNAP dollar at participating Farmer's Markets. It takes a little poking around on the internet to find a participating location in your area, but they're there. </center>
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If you have pets that aren't spayed or neutered, most counties offer free services to people with food stamps. Currently I have Nutmeg and Cisco that need to go for the snip snip and it would be free, but you have to drop them off at the ass crack of dawn and T.A. doesn't get home with the truck until after 9 o'clock. We're working on it. </center>
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If you know anyone who's trying to get by on food stamps or trying to scrape by on limited funds, feel free to spread the word. I'm still finding out ways to stretch that dollar.</center>
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On a side note, I've removed the link to Ko-fi for a number of reasons, but mainly because I don't currently have a way to access the funds. I have Paypal, but they won't send me a debit card, due to my having a post office box. I was using the Paypal app to pay at the Dollar General <i>(did you know it's a method of payment, like, straight from your phone to the store?) </i>but my phone finally died. It lived a good life, I've had it since 2015. I haven't had service in over two years, but it worked on WiFi at least. </center>
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Anywho, I'm trying to make myself write, even if it's babbling about food stamps. Comments are back on. Ya'll have a good one. We'll talk again soon, maybe.</center>
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Later Taters!!</center>
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Mahalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03428501380180444456noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29521202.post-51760808979247979052018-01-24T19:04:00.001-05:002018-01-24T19:05:52.441-05:00Shit Storms, Road Trips and A Confused Pig<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Lord. Have. Mercy.<br />
<br />
The past few weeks have been erm... eventful. First, we suffered our annual shitastrophy with raw sewage bubbling up out of places it shouldn't be. It was fixed faster than usual, due to my being tired of this shit every damn year leading to my meeting the town maintenance bubba in the middle of the street, before he could even get out of his truck, in my crocks, sleeveless tee and clam diggers. He tried to tell me it was on "our side," that it was because of my Locust tree, etc. I told him I was done having this conversation every damn time and to fix the feckin' thing.<br />
<br />
So he did.<br />
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That episode was followed by the deep freeze, which lead to the pipe geyser from the back of the house and several days with the water cut off as T.A. drove back and forth to Lowe's. She eventually got it fixed, after much spewing of profanity and several attempted interventions from Mrs. Kravitz. We had water for about 12 hours before it froze again.<br />
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Such is winter in The Holler.<br />
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In the meantime, Aunt Moses' Impala is on the fritz. She's threatened to take it back, let them come get it and blow it up. She'd let it slip that she could just give me gas money to cart her and her house full of youngins all over North Carolina and East Tennessee. I gently informed her that maybe it wasn't the best idea.<br />
<br />
At some point, she's going to have to put her foot down. Aunt Moses works in maintenance at the elementary school. She wants to retire, but she can barely afford to get by with a job. Her daughter, DeeDee <i>(formerly known as my Trashy Big Boobed Cousin with the Lazy Eye)</i> lives with her. DeeDee has never had a job, other than a week at Subway 20 years ago. I don't think she can work, she's not developmentally disabled but... she ain't right. When she's okay, she sleeps late, takes care of her giant, poisonous centipede and collection of tarantulas and looks for love on dating apps. When she's not okay, she's passing out drunk in a booth down at the pub or inviting random men off the internet to the house for dinner.<br />
<br />
DeeDee's adult children live there too. Cindy, who recently graduated from high school, worked about four months with her Mamaw at the school. She has a dog and an ever rotating collection of reptiles. At one time, she had about 8 snakes. I think she's down to 2 lizards and a hamster.<br />
<br />
Cousin Mahala didn't go in their house for a couple of years. But I'm cool with lizards.<br />
<br />
Cindy's older brother, Damien, moved in about two years ago with his wife Tabitha. Damien plays video games, smokes weed, goes fishing and hunting. He used to work in a garage. I don't know why he can't fix the Impala. Tabitha cleans cabins during tourist season, about two a month, and they have a chihuahua. Basically, Aunt Moses is feeding and housing all these people and their assorted critters.<br />
<br />
<i>(By the way, I fully realize I'm sitting here on my fat ass without a job while T.A. works two to pay the bills. The hypocrisy is not lost on me.)</i><br />
<br />
Moses has a little dog, Buddy, a cousin of our little Yoda who passed away last year. She also has a pig. Moses got Elvis about six months ago when he was small enough to sit in her lap on the ride home. She refused to listen to those of us who encouraged her to stick to his feeding schedule and now Elvis is almost too fat to walk.<br />
<br />
The last time I went over there, Elvis got pissed off when I got too close to his rug and barked at me. He sounded like an angry German Shepard trained to eat off someone's leg.<br />
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That pig ain't right.<br />
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Anywho...<br />
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On the day T.A. was trying to cap the geyser, Aunt Moses asked me to run DeeDee to the grocery store over in Scary Hillbilly Town, a forty five minute ride across the state line to Tennessee. Since I was pretty sure T.A. working on the leak was going to mean lots of screaming, cussing, crying, pouting and eventually anger, I jumped at the chance to flee the state.<br />
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I pulled up in front of the house and was met by Cindy and Tabitha. They hopped in the truck and asked if I'd run them to town to pick up lunch first.<br />
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"Sure!" I said, assuming that they'd called their order in.<br />
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I ended up sitting in front of the tiny grocery/deli/propane/firewood store for a half an hour. I started to think they'd slipped out the back door. Of course the store is slap damn in the middle of town, so I had to deal with Bubbles' bubbahubby, my asshole neighbor and assorted other people I try to avoid like the plague. Cindy and Tabitha emerged with three bags of food at about the time I'd decided to go in after them.<br />
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I smiled and carted them back home because I'm trying really hard to be a good person.<br />
<br />
It shouldn't be this hard.<br />
<br />
I dropped Tabitha off and waited for DeeDee to climb in. They all bitch about having to climb in my truck. Is it my fault they're all vertically challenged? I mean.... THEY COULD WALK.<br />
<br />
We were about halfway there when I asked DeeDee where all we were stopping. "Cindy wants to go to the Dollar Tree and I need to get groceries."<br />
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Cool. We had a plan. All the way there, DeeDee sat in the back seat, squished up against the door and taking pictures with her phone. I don't know what she was taking pictures of. She's been to Scary Hillbilly Town a gazillion times and for the most part, nothing has changed in all of her forty some odd years.<br />
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I waited in the truck while they bought four bags packed with stuff. "Can we run by Wallyworld real quick?" asked Cindy.<br />
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"Why sure!!!" I said, smiling.<br />
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Real quick? Was not. My ass was getting numb from sitting in the truck.<br />
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"So now groceries, right?" I said, thankful that we were almost done.<br />
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DeeDee pipes up from the back, "Cindy wants to go by the pet store and I need to run to the tobacco store."<br />
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"Okie dokie!!!"<br />
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I did not even know there was a pet store. Now I do. It was almost empty, other than a few fish and giant mutha feckin' snake. I went back out to wait in the truck. Cindy emerged with a tiny hamster. I hope she wasn't planning on feeding it to anything.<br />
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I went back to the other side of town to the drive thru tobacco store so they could stock up, and finally to the grocery store.<br />
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Hallafreakinlooyah.<br />
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I picked up a few things while we were there, it was food stamp day after all and after this ass cheek numbing adventure, I wouldn't be going shopping anytime soon.<br />
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By the way, they paid $20 in gas for me to cart them all the way to Sav-A-Wad because Moses says she can't afford to buy groceries at the local chain store 20 minutes away. But Sav-A-Wad isn't any cheaper. It should be called RipOff-A-Wad.<br />
<br />
DeeDee and Cindy had two carts full of groceries. The bed of my truck was a sea of white plastic bags. This whole time, Aunt Moses had been texting them both, asking them prices, telling them what to buy. She doesn't let them make any decisions on their own.<br />
<br />
It drives me nuts.<br />
<br />
So when Cindy told me that her Mamaw said for us to stop at the ATM on the way home, I just sighed. We had to get money for the car payment.... and then? WE HAD TO GO MAKE THE CAR PAYMENT.<br />
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I didn't think I was ever coming home.<br />
<br />
Since that day, I've been faking phone problems when they text me.<br />
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Anyhooter, that's most of the latest from Frog Pond Holler. Oh wait, somewhere in the middle of all that, my computer tried to commit suicide. It took me a few days to shift my brain back in to tech mode after honoring my inner Domestic Goddess for some months, but I managed. I had to wipe it clean and reinstall all the crap from scratch.<br />
<br />
But I did it.<br />
<br />
Ya'll take it easy. I'll hold down the fort here in The Holler. We'll talk again soon.<br />
<br />
Later Taters.<br />
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<i>P.S. Comments are temporarily disabled. It's an anxiety thing. Feel free to email me using the contact form at the left. For the time being, conversations are hard. Please don't think I'm being standoffish if you message me on any of the various social networks and I'm not very talkative. It's getting better but... ya know... I'll get there.</i><br />
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~*~ </center>
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Send a dollar to The Holler! Proceeds will help buy critter hay, prescriptions and pay for doctor visits.</center>
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Mahalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03428501380180444456noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29521202.post-28212388504143081742018-01-01T14:57:00.000-05:002018-01-01T14:57:52.179-05:00The Slithering<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwSWk6LE3XJ10hkaf8XMbxYL4XWF60xbN9DJ15LOefMXHetvJFqrHtErULkPGnJIyTZVnbcNX0LjPavWAjJweuHrszsj58N9petTTIMKS6_JjN3f4NmRKAXVW2ux3DMDqaM5yO/s1600/snake-clipart-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1530" data-original-width="1600" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwSWk6LE3XJ10hkaf8XMbxYL4XWF60xbN9DJ15LOefMXHetvJFqrHtErULkPGnJIyTZVnbcNX0LjPavWAjJweuHrszsj58N9petTTIMKS6_JjN3f4NmRKAXVW2ux3DMDqaM5yO/s320/snake-clipart-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I sat on the porch steps, performing my little self healing ritual. I like to take my shoes off and bury my toes in what's left of the grass, close my eyes and feel the sun. I let it's warmth soak in to my skin, while my feet stay firmly planted against the earth.<br />
<br />
I know it's hippy dippy, but my feet feel so much better after.<br />
<br />
It was unseasonably warm for December, in the high 60s. Cisco was perched on the steps beside me, ready to sound the alarm if a hiker wandered by. As I blinked out of my self-imposed trance, I caught something from the corner of my eye. A streak of critter blur from under T.A.'s car to the scrap wood pile, overgrown with vines and weeds.<br />
<br />
I couldn't tell if it had legs. It could have been Eddie Lizard, who spends summers basking on the porch, but it seemed much smaller. My mind went back to a blistering hot summer night and I wondered.<br />
<br />
It was late in the season and daytime temperatures were hoving near 100°. I don't like summer. My ankles swell up, along with everything else, and I'm convinced there is a slithering, legless creature hiding under every rock. I do a mean fat-girl waddle from the house to the truck if I'm forced to go outside.<br />
<br />
On this particular night, I was sprawled out on the bed, in front of the fan, airing my bits and pieces. I was almost asleep when Ayla started sounding the alarm. She barks every night, the Great Pyrenees in her forcing her to stand guard against anything that moves.<br />
<br />
I used to worry about the neighbors complaining, but after they violated the property line and cut down my black walnut tree, they can just deal with it. I dare them to say a word.<br />
<br />
But anywho...<br />
<br />
This wasn't Ayla's normal "MOMMY THERE'S A POSSUM IN THE TREE" bark, she sounded kinda freaked out. I got up and opened the back door to find a giant wad of black, wiggling mass at the bottom of the back steps. I couldn't tell for sure if it was a snake, but I didn't know what else it could be. Whatever it was, it was not small.<br />
<br />
I was instantly nauseous, sweating and shaking all over. I closed the door.<br />
<br />
Now, before you start judging me for leaving the dog out there with whatever the hell that was, you need to understand that when it comes to snakes, it's every critter for themself. Just ask The Amazon who, when shopping in a pet store, a woman rounded the end of the aisle carrying a ginormous python. I instinctively shoved my 7th grader between me and the snake and waddled like the wind for the door.<br />
<br />
She will never let me forget it.<br />
<br />
I called to T.A., who happened to be off that night.<br />
<br />
"COME HERE AND SEE IF THIS IS A SNAKE." She came to the kitchen, expecting something of the garter variety under a cabinet. "Look outside. Ayla has it cornered. I don't know what it is. It's in a wad. It's as big around as my arm."<br />
<br />
"What do you mean "see if it's a snake?" I can tell by your face it's a snake. Why did you leave the dog out there? WHAT IF IT'S POISONOUS?" She opened the door and started down the steps.<br />
<br />
I was torn. I didn't want her or the dog to get bitten, but I sure as hell wasn't going out there.<br />
<br />
"Hi snek!" she says, as if it's a fluffy kitten. "Leave it Ayla, you're scaring it."<br />
<br />
Seriously, did this kid come out of me? WHAT IS WRONG WITH HER?<br />
<br />
I cracked the back door and peeked outside. T.A. was in the yard, leading Ayla back away from the massive hell beast that was going to eat us all. "Okay snek, you are safe now. Move along, " she whispered.<br />
<br />
When she came back in, she tried to reassure me. "It went away, very fast. It's gone."<br />
<br />
"Did it go under the house?? It's going to come up through the hole in the bathroom and nibble my sausage toes while I pee. You really need to fix that hole. Sweet Jesus, can I sleep with you?" I had visions of seeing it's head poke up through the floor, sending me screaming out in to the street with my skirt hiked up to my neck and my granny panties around my ankles.<br />
<br />
"No Mama. It was way too big to fit through the hole," which didn't make me feel better at all.<br />
<br />
<i>(There are holes in the bathtub where it's cracked. It happens in trailers. Everything is plastic and we are Goddess sized women. I've already replaced it once. Also, a few years ago we had a church group come and fix the floor in the bathroom and now there's a half inch wide crack between the floor and the tub. Frankly, I'm shocked nothing has crawled inside yet.)</i><br />
<br />
She determined it was a rat snake of some variety, but there was no explanation for it's size, until she came home from work the next day.<br />
<br />
"I talked to Hunky Viking Boss <i>(an expert on all things reptilian)</i> and he said it was probably full of eggs."<br />
<br />
Well that's just effin' great. I was convinced it was going to lay it's eggs under the house, then it's 500 babies would invade the potty and we'd have to move.<br />
<br />
I was thankful for the first frost of the year. I thought it was safe to sleep again, until that unseasonably warm day when I could have sworn I saw a tiny slithery thing running for cover under the brush.<br />
<center>
<br />
~*~ </center>
<center>
Send a dollar to The Holler! Proceeds will help buy critter hay, prescriptions and pay for doctor visits.</center>
<br />
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Mahalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03428501380180444456noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29521202.post-10030374176142909692017-12-18T17:56:00.001-05:002017-12-20T14:27:06.382-05:00I'm Still Alive, Just Not Kicking Quite as High<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEite0lrhRVWcs3n40xqkhMXoTqwoyBlLhm8JwO1p1dKMXZzfU2O3er2AtCpqjfv-qhSwg8f6va8-d0p7xbIWNX-xfUTRs6GECgZuKi4v_6pUej5pX9_MgcpTpXbsyZ6a-RPQj1S/s1600/SAM_0355.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEite0lrhRVWcs3n40xqkhMXoTqwoyBlLhm8JwO1p1dKMXZzfU2O3er2AtCpqjfv-qhSwg8f6va8-d0p7xbIWNX-xfUTRs6GECgZuKi4v_6pUej5pX9_MgcpTpXbsyZ6a-RPQj1S/s640/SAM_0355.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was taken down by the river at sunset (<i>duh and duh</i>.) I've been reading up on camera settings and experimenting.</td></tr>
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On December 26th, it will be 25 years since Ma, T.A. and me packed up our stuff and moved to The Holler.<br />
<br />
And it still feels like I got sucked in to a parallel universe.<br />
<br />
Anywho...<br />
<br />
Things have been quiet in Frog Pond Holler. The last of the hikers have shuffled past the house, dragging their packs behind them. The number of tourists has dwindled. You can actually get in and out of the Dolla' Store in less than an hour and the post office doesn't smell like pit funk.<br />
<br />
We've had our first snow of the year. It wasn't huge, but it was pretty to look at. I have to admit, it was nice to gaze out over the frozen tundra knowing I didn't have to bundle up and go out in it. I could just put on a pot of coffee and lay back down until it got done.<br />
<br />
I spent the better part of last year asleep when everyone else was awake. It didn't matter what sleep promising concoction I ingested, I was wide awake until the sun came up. Once day broke, I'd drift off to never never land. I was finally able to convince Dr. Dingaling down at the HeeHaw clinic that I wasn't trying to get narcotics. He gave me a prescription for an antidepressant known for it's sleep inducing qualities.<br />
<br />
Now that I've been back in the land of the living for some months, I've been trying to figure out my life. I mean, I'm still waiting for my disability hearing. It will likely be the end of next year. In the meantime, TA is working nearly 60 hours a week between two jobs and paying all the bills.<br />
<br />
I have so much mama guilt.<br />
<br />
I've tried different things to make some extra money. I did surveys for a while and they're legit, but you have to fill out a crap ton of them to get a $25 gift card. I tried going back to the freelance writing, but the last two posts I wrote, for an immigration lawyer, were declined. His reason was that they weren't legally accurate, but I know they were. He declined every post that was written for him with the same reason. That wasn't the only thing that ticked me off, it was just the final straw.<br />
<br />
Also? I really hate writing those articles.<br />
<br />
I figure I've spent my life doing crap I hate. It's time to get back to what I want to do. So, when T.A. gets paid and there's a little spare gas in Jolene, I grab my camera and ride around the backroads, listening to classic rock and looking for pictures to take.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr7nE6n9Jq0a3ZlwszycxRHvnW-hWti4SBGXmcKAT3l9C44AFaBAYv7bym2tbNvCf0wX-RbWe84jGW8bj3ipFS7U7EpS2hjfDqs7KUxISsqSXPtyuWPn4Bn8kIXDuT7pVoYwYW/s1600/SAM_0360.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr7nE6n9Jq0a3ZlwszycxRHvnW-hWti4SBGXmcKAT3l9C44AFaBAYv7bym2tbNvCf0wX-RbWe84jGW8bj3ipFS7U7EpS2hjfDqs7KUxISsqSXPtyuWPn4Bn8kIXDuT7pVoYwYW/s640/SAM_0360.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
Hopefully T.A. will be able to get her car fixed after the first of the year, then Jolene will be mine again.<br />
<br />
I miss my truck.<br />
<br />
And someday I'll have my disability approval and I'll be able to buy gas on occasion.<br />
<br />
It's not a bad life.<br />
<br />
Ya'll take care. We'll talk again soon.<br />
<br />
Later Taters!!<br />
<br />
<br />
<center>~*~<br />
<bold>Send a dollar to The Holler! Proceeds will help buy critter hay, prescriptions and pay for doctor visits.</bold> </center><br />
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<div class="shareaholic-canvas" data-app-id="" data-app="share_buttons" expr:data-link="data:post.url" expr:data-title="data:post.title"></div>Mahalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03428501380180444456noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29521202.post-57568139419110556882017-12-15T12:23:00.000-05:002017-12-15T12:23:01.832-05:00Slappin', Whackin', Hollerin' and Driving the Short Bus<i>This was originally posted 100 years ago (in blog years.) I thought it was worthy of a repost!</i><br />
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
It's official. The search engine issues are fixed. Thank goodness. Now I'm back to getting hits from people looking for crap like "nude bloopers" and "coochies."<br />
<br />
Tonight, I made an earth shattering decision. I decided that it was too far to drive to the nail salon in 105 degree heat without a/c in the van, it is clear over in the next state for goodness sakes. Accepting defeat, I attempted to remove my fabulous, holicious, pornstarrific, glorious nails. It didn't work, so I chopped them off as best I could. Now I'm back to my fat little sausage looking fingers. It had to be done. They'd gotten so long that I'd nearly ripped my left pinky nail off on more than one occasion, even getting it hung in the data printer in work a few times. They had to go.<br />
<br />
Let's have a moment of silence.<br />
<br />
*sniffle*<br />
<br />
*brushing away a tear*<br />
<br />
Okay, moving on.<br />
<br />
Ma is on my case to either get my car fixed or buy a new one, she wants her van back. That's fine with me, I really don't like driving it, I feel like I'm cruising around in the special bus, but I'm afraid to take my car to the mechanic. Oh, don't worry, I won't be taking it to Jethro and Gomer down at the filling station. There is one other mechanic in town. His garage is adjacent to his other business venture, the new Frog Pond Holler Steak and Seafood restaurant. I ask you, just how fresh can the seafood be up here in the freakin' mountains? That's neither here nor there, when it comes to my car, but I have to wonder. The last time I drove my car, thick black smoke came billowing out of the back. I haven't taken it for repair because I'm afraid he's going to tell me it's too far gone.<br />
<br />
I've told ya'll before about my hoochie mama neighbor. It's no exaggeration, she really is a thirty dolla' ho. She's got a camper out behind her ass-crack flauntin' stepdad's house, on the other side of the creek <i>(okay, it's really more of a drainage ditch, but I'm trying to paint a picture here.)</i> In the summer, when it's hot and she's um.. entertaining clients.. she leaves the door and windows open. It has become apparent on my late night quests for some peaceful solitude out on the porch, that she's quite the enthusiastic performer during her profitable encounters. The Amazon finds this greatly disturbing, which became apparent the other night while the she was stomping around the house hollering about something <i>(I don't have a CLUE where she got her loud mouth from *cough*)</i> and I told her she needed to hush, that there was a noise ordinance in Frog Pond Holler and someone was going to call the law if she didn't tone it down. Her response:<br />
<br />
"Well it obviously isn't enforced, what with all the FAT SLAPPIN' SEX NOISES coming from across the street!!!!"<br />
<br />
Yeah, that's my kid. No doubt about that.<br />
<br />
I'm off to feed critters and head to bed. Ya'll try to stay cool.<br />
<br />
Later Taters.<br />
<br />
<br />
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Mahalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03428501380180444456noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29521202.post-1787921272949613762017-10-09T21:27:00.002-04:002017-12-13T14:43:31.239-05:00Death by Basketball, Fatal Zits and Abraham LincolnPoking around in the ancestry files over the past few months has unearthed some weird stuff.<br />
<br />
<div>
</div>
<div>
I made some discoveries that:<br />
<div>
<ol>
<li>Make me wonder how we've survived this long and</li>
<li>Convinced me that we're cursed</li>
</ol>
I'll start with Genevieve.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
From the February 23, 1928 issue of the Forest City Courier, I learned of the untimely demise of 15 year old Genevieve Hollifield, young cousin of my grandfather, he being named as one of the pallbearers at her funeral.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
A year prior to her death, Genevieve sustained an injury while playing basketball which lead to the amputation of her leg, followed by a year of bed rest and eventually, her death. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Now, I made some pretty cut throat moves on the court when I played for Brewbaker Academy back in the seventies, but I'm pretty sure there weren't any feckin'<i> amputations </i>as a result. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Good Lord.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
A young mother <i>(my great, great aunt I think,)</i> expired prematurely when she developed "blood poisoning" <i>(I think that's sepsis)</i> after popping a zit on her nose. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Let's take a moment to appreciate the festering, puss filled mass she must have had in the center of her face, for her to have developed blood poisoning AND DIED as a result of trying to pop it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Go ahead, I'll wait...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Another of the kinfolk lost some of his sight when the belt popped off a sander he was using and whacked him right in the eye seein' hole. I reckon this was way before OSHA regulations were a thing. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The 1920's were rough.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The other side of the family had their share of misfortunes, although they tended to drown rather than developing raging infections. Most of their entries in the Forest City Courier archives were on the social pages. They seem a little high fallootin' and obviously, not in my direct line. I'm pretty sure my ancestors were the poor, working class cousins across the tracks. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The socialite side of the family loved to sing, one of the cousins leaving the little town to go on to Boston for the beginning of her concert tour.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I did not inherit that gene.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Anywho, they always participated in Music Club, which met monthly, and gave a performance surrounded by a theme. Following is the description of one such night:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
The program consisted of Indian music, and as the guests entered the home they were directed to a wigwam made of leopard skin, with the skins of other animals. Inside the wigwam were pots and pans and an old black kettle, out of which delightful coffee was served with sandwiches, served by two Indian squaws. Just outside of the wigwam door, Miss Jeanne sang an Indian lore song accompanied at the piano by Mrs. P. Another solo was also given by Mrs. Weathers, which was greatly enjoyed. The life of the composers of Indian music was studied during the afternoon. </blockquote>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm sorry, but that's some Lucy and Ethel shit right there. As I read it for the first time, I may have snorted so loud I scared the dog .</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Meryl Streep plays Mrs. Weathers in the version in my head.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I found some weird stuff about Abraham Lincoln while chasing ancestral ghosts. There's a story that Lincoln wasn't actually born in a one room log cabin in Kentucky, but on Puzzle Creek near Bostic, North Carolina. I happened across the story because legend has it that two of my Hollifield cousins </div>
<i>(or aunts or whatever)</i> were friends of Lincoln's mother and helped care for him when he was a baby. You can read the account<a href="https://www.ncbankers.org/uploads/File/lincoln.pdf"> here</a> and decide for yourself. I thought it was interesting.<br />
<br />
Digging in the past is a great distraction when your world is kittywampus. It doesn't hurt that T.A. is the weekend librarian at the Frog Pond Holler branch.<br />
<br />
Anywho, I'd better get the dishes washed, earn my keep<i> *insert eyeroll.*</i><br />
<br />
Ya'll have a good one, we'll talk again soon.<br />
<br />
Later Taters!<br />
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Mahalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03428501380180444456noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29521202.post-22797465357304398572017-08-03T20:38:00.000-04:002017-08-03T20:39:31.251-04:00Riding the Crazy Train, Mrs. Kravitz and BubblesHey ya'll. Guess what? <br />
<br />
I AIN'T DEAD!<br />
<br />
I know you've wondered. I don't know what to say 'cept I've been trying to get my head screwed on straight. Between the drama of last year, our current governmental clusterfuck and my riding the crazy train, it's been all I could do to just keep my chit somewhat together.<br />
<br />
Don't be fooled, it's not at all together, but it is togetherer than it's been in a while, and that's a good thing.<br />
<br />
So settle in, strap it on or whatever and have yourself a hot toddy while we tackle the Reader's Digest Condensed books version of the latest and not so greatest news from Frog Pond Holler.<br />
<br />
<u><b>Aunt Moses and the Gang</b></u><br />
<br />
When we last discussed Aunt Moses, her Bubbahubby had packed up his bike and headed for Missouri to stay with their son and MTBBCWTLE <i>(My Trashy Big Bewbed Cousin with the Lazy Eye, let's just call her Lazy Eye, kay?)</i> was suddenly single.<br />
<br />
Since then Lazy Eye and her youngin have moved in, along with Lazy Eye's son and his wife. That's 5 adults in one house, along with 7 pet snakes, some weird poisonous Vietnamese centipede thing, three tarantulas, a pet stick bug, two dogs and a cat. Oh yeah, and Elvis, Aunt Moses' pet pig.<br />
<br />
I ain't even lyin'.<br />
<br />
I have pictures of everyone but the snakes, but I'm too lazy to upload them from my camera at the moment. I promise to share, especially pics of Elvis, the cutest mutha feckin' pig in the world.<br />
<br />
A few months ago, when Aunt Moses cleared up some IRS issues and suddenly had some disposable income, she bought an Impala and started showing up 2 or 3 times a week to take me for a ride "through town," the rides slowly becoming long treks along the back roads that most people don't know exist. Sometimes Lazy Eye and the youngin would be there too <i>(the youngin just graduated high school, so I guess she's not a youngin anymore, but whatever.)</i> I'd climb in the back seat and Moses would toss me a Coke, a Milky Way and a pack of cheap smokes, because even though I'd quit, I couldn't sit in a car with three people puffin' and not expect to partake.<br />
<br />
So now I smoke again and after months of long rides, Aunt Moses suddenly stopped showing up.<br />
<br />
Aunt Moses is totally a pusher.<br />
<br />
I made a deal with TA, sorta, she caves and buys me about a pack a week. I try to keep her fed and her laundry done, as much as I can. I figure, a pack or two a week is better than the 3 packs a day I was smoking two years ago.<br />
<br />
As for Moses, <i> </i>I haven't even heard from her in weeks. I have no idea what the hell is up with her.<br />
<br />
<b><u>Around the Holler</u></b><br />
<br />
Mrs. Kravitz, the nosy neighbor with the little dog, said the other day that they'd be moving their trailer in the next two years. The out-of-towner who bought Dubya's old place is planning to build tiny houses to lease to the the tourists.<br />
<br />
Peachy feckin' keen. What we really need are more abandoned cabins and rude ass tourists <i>(can you smell the sarcasm?)</i><br />
<i><br />
</i> Directly across the road, the airstream was back for a few months. John, the Ron Pearlman lookin' dude who owns it, put in a picnic table, a clothesline, a satellite dish and a storage shed. He told us he was in the entertainment business, movies and t.v., like he expected us to be impressed. Me and Mrs. Kravitz figure he must be into illegal porn trafficking or some chit.<br />
<br />
After dealing with the blinding glare from the airstream illuminating my living room for several months, John suddenly hitched up his trailer and left. He told Mrs. Kravitz he'd be working in Richmond for a while and probably wouldn't be back for a couple of years.<br />
<br />
There is something fishy about that dude. I can't put my finger on it.... but something.<br />
<br />
<b><u>Meanwhile, Back at the Asylum...</u></b><br />
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I was down at the Gas n' Go the other day, grabbing a cup of that high octane, gas station coffee, when a long haired, snaggle toothed dude, who was in dire need of a sandwich or two, turned around in line, looked at me and smiled.<br />
<br />
"We've sure missed you."<br />
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I soon realized he was one of the fellers from the Asylum, hired after the Germans took over. He went on to explain that the sales department was now staffed with a manager and three sales associates, yet sales were at an all time low. He went on and on about how the buzz around the manufacturing floor was that they were better off when it was just me by myself.<br />
<br />
Now, I have no idea if it's true or not, but it doesn't matter. He made me feel better about myself than I have in the past year and half. I hope some of that employee chatter makes it's way along the gossip train, back to the sales office and Bubbles' ear.<br />
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That shit would piss her off. And I'm a vindictive bitch.<br />
<br />
Some things you can't medicate away.<br />
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Anywho, I'd better finish whipping up dinner. It's spaghetti tonight with fresh green peppers from TA's little garden. Ya'll take care. We'll talk again soon.<br />
<br />
Swear.<br />
<br />
Later Taters!<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #274e13;">P.S. Have you signed up for <a href="https://www.ebates.com/r/DOLPHI1269?eeid=28187">Ebates</a> yet? If you EVER order stuff online, it's a great way to earn rebates. My favorite way to use <a href="https://www.ebates.com/r/DOLPHI1269?eeid=28187">Ebates</a> is ordering onlne from Walmart, getting the <a href="https://www.ebates.com/r/DOLPHI1269?eeid=28187">Ebates</a> rebate, then having T.A. pick it up the next morning. The convenience of ordering online, no shipping charges AND cash back!</span><br />
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Mahalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03428501380180444456noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29521202.post-26097442396448182772017-01-12T12:20:00.002-05:002017-01-12T12:20:58.043-05:00Getting Back Down to Business in The HollerI think it's time to return my focus to the happenings in Frog Pond Holler, instead of.. ya know.. The Swamp.<br />
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</div><div>The Outhouse People left the week before Christmas. I guess they got tired of sinking in the mud. I nearly stood in the yard cheering as they drove away, but I decided it would probably be in poor taste. </div><div><br />
</div><div>A week later, the big baked potato looking Airstream from last year returned to the lot directly across the road. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I can't get a break.</div><div><br />
</div><div>At least it's unoccupied. The guy who owns it lives over in Big City and is using it for an occasional weekend getaway. I can live with that, not that it's up to me, but I like my solitude.</div><div><br />
</div><div>I damned near went to the pokey on New Year's Eve. Some a-holes on the street behind me, probably the same neighbors who stole the black walnut tree off my property a few years ago, were setting off fireworks. Not your typical backyard fireworks, but loud, booming, obnoxious explosions. </div><div><br />
</div><div>It sounded like friggen downtown Baghdad. </div><div><br />
</div><div>All the dogs were shaking, I wasn't much better. I may have gone out in the backyard and screamed, "COULD YOU JUST F*CKING STOP ALREADY?" Which was followed by hysterical laughter from the offenders and more earth shattering kabooms. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I called the po-po and basically told them that either they could go up there and put a stop to it or I was going to go up there and they'd end up having to intervene for a totally different situation. The dispatcher let me know fireworks were against the law in N.C. and they'd take care of it. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I've become THAT crazy lady. They're going to have my name on some kind of list.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Anywho, it's supposed to be in the high 60s today and an internet fairy gifted me with a giant jug of laundry detergent, some Downy and a can of coffee, so I'm fully caffeinated and hell bent on making a dent in the multiple laundry piles scattered around the house. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Also, if any of you have a Roku device, you need to look in to "private channels." I'm getting the major networks and news feeds for free. Email me for specifics using the contact form on the left. This is not a paid endorsement, I'm just spreading the word.</div><div><br />
</div><div>You may have noticed that I've taken a huge step back from Facebook. My unmedicated anger issues are easily set off by hateful comments and unsolicited advice. I have to control my bubble. I still log on and read your posts, but for the time being, I won't be commenting much. Please don't take it personally. Maintaining my sanity is a battle right now.</div><div><br />
</div><div>You can, however, witness my outbursts in real time by following <a href="https://twitter.com/Mahala">my Twitter feed</a>, but don't bother if you're a Trump supporter. I occasionally live tweet C-Span, with commentary. </div><div><br />
</div><div>That's all from The Holler, for now anyway. Stay tuned. More to come.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Later Taters</div><div><br />
</div><div class='shareaholic-canvas' data-app='share_buttons' data-app-id='' expr:data-title='data:post.title' expr:data-link='data:post.url'></div>Mahalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03428501380180444456noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29521202.post-68998223861822038362017-01-05T16:28:00.000-05:002017-01-06T11:41:52.012-05:00American Mahala: The Predator Elect<span style="color: #073763;"><i><b>None of this information is new, but I've taken the time to, hopefully, compile it in a way that makes it easier for readers to make an informed decision. There are many misleading headlines on the internet regarding this subject. I've linked to actual court documents whenever possible.</b></i></span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br />
</span> <span style="color: #073763;">Jeffrey Epstein is a convicted sex offender. In June of 2008, he began serving an 18 month sentence for soliciting prostitution from girls as young as 14 in Palm Beach, Florida. He only served 13 months.</span><br />
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</span> <span style="color: #073763; font-family: inherit;">Epstein owns Little St. James Island in the Virgin Islands where, according to <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jeffrey_Epstein">Wikipedia</a>, he entertains royalty, businessmen, actors, well-known members of the scientific community and... politicians.</span><br />
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</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">It has been reported that his private plane, while en route to Little St. James Island<i> (a.k.a. "Orgy Island" and "Sex Slave Island)</i> hosted gatherings of young girls, imported from other countries, and forced sexual acts.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">President Elect Donald J. Trump had this to say about Epstein: from <a href="http://www.motherjones.com/politics/2016/05/trump-said-no-opposition-research-vetting">Mother Jones</a>:</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #073763;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "calluna"; font-size: 18px;">In 2002, Trump had </span><a href="http://nymag.com/nymetro/news/people/n_7912/" style="background-color: white; background-position: 0% 90%; background-repeat: repeat-x; font-family: calluna; font-size: 18px; text-decoration: none; text-shadow: white -1px 0px 0px, white 0px 1px 0px, white 1px 0px 0px, white 0px -1px 0px, white -1px -1px 0px, white 1px 1px 0px, white 1px -1px 0px, white -1px 1px 0px;" target="_blank">said</a> <span style="background-color: white; font-family: "calluna"; font-size: 18px;">of Epstein, "I've known Jeff for fifteen years. Terrific guy. He's a lot of fun to be with. It is even said that he likes beautiful women as much as I do, and many of them are on the younger side. No doubt about it—Jeffrey enjoys his social life."</span></span></blockquote>
<span style="color: #073763; font-family: inherit;"><i>"and many of them are on the younger side." </i>Was that a nod to Epstein's love of underaged girls, as young as 14? Did Trump choose to look the other way?</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-family: inherit;">Court documents dated September 30, 2016 name Donald J. Trump and Jeffrey Epstein as defendants, accused of assorted sexaul assault charges. The details are disturbing. The plaintiff was 13 at the time of the alleged attacks.</span></span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpFSjtKDZAP7_KKPWoWrXFlNmGLJr19WG7ptcEztB-97vu-ucxydrB1QYz-rYSb2nBUiuWwBmZwopCNZg8kA4oZuPEnXmiyx4K7-Afj6Nfm3A0rSclJs-gogedkXVNWeQ7h0kM/s1600/Untitled.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: #073763;"><img border="0" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpFSjtKDZAP7_KKPWoWrXFlNmGLJr19WG7ptcEztB-97vu-ucxydrB1QYz-rYSb2nBUiuWwBmZwopCNZg8kA4oZuPEnXmiyx4K7-Afj6Nfm3A0rSclJs-gogedkXVNWeQ7h0kM/s320/Untitled.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #073763;">View full document <a href="https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/3130729-DOE-V-TRUMP.html#search/p1/TRUMP">here</a></span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: #073763;">The charges were dropped prior to the January trial date. Please consider Trump's reputation for bullying and buying his way out of countless lawsuits while forming your own opinion as to why.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;"><br />
</span> <span style="color: #073763;">We already know the thoughts of "dating" his own daughter have at least crossed the mind of Trump. This is not speculation, we have him saying it, with his own words, from his own lips, on "The View."</span><br />
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</span> <span style="color: #073763;">Trump was also accused of rape by Ivana Trump in the book<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 17px;"> </span><i>Lost Tycoon, The Many Lives of Donald Trump. </i></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #073763; font-family: "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif;"><i><br />
</i></span> <span style="color: #02141f; font-family: "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #073763;">Sexual assault allegations are nothing new to our president elect, but did he ever visit Epstein's "Orgy Island?" </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #073763; font-family: "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br />
</span></span> <span style="color: #02141f; font-family: "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #073763;">I was unable to find a flight manifest listing Trump as a passenger, although the flight documents found online do name both Hillary and Bill Clinton, as well as actor Kevin Spacey, comedian Chris Tucker and several fashion industry players.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #073763; font-family: "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br />
</span></span> <span style="color: #02141f; font-family: "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #073763;">Bill Clinton is on there A LOT. I scoured through all 73 pages that were available. View the documents here: <a href="https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/1507315-epstein-flight-manifests.html">Flight Manifests</a></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #073763; font-family: "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br />
</span></span> <span style="color: #02141f; font-family: "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #073763;">It's fair to say that Epstein likely held fund raisers for the Jeffrey Epstein VI foundation on the island and I'm certain that many politicians and business people were in attendance, oblivious to what was going on behind closed doors. </span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #073763;">View original document <a href="https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/1508968-affidavit-of-edwards-exh-n-to-stm-undisputed-facts.html#search/p2/Epstein">here</a>.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="color: #02141f; font-family: "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #073763;">The above document at the very least proves he was on the plane (<a href="https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/2923934-Depositions.html#search/p1/Jeffrey">as well as this one, go to page 74</a>) but it also places him at the West Palm Beach home where attacks took place. When you consider the deluge of contact information Epstein had for Trump, it is safe to assume they were much more than casual acquaintances. In another document, found <a href="https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/1509484-alessi-depo.html#search/p4/Jeffrey">here</a>, a maintenance worker for Epstein places Trump at the residence, having dinner, on more than one occasion.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #02141f; font-family: "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #073763;"><br />
</span></span> <span style="color: #073763; font-family: "georgia" , "cambria" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">I believe it is clear that Trump was aware of what was happening, if not actively participating in the repeated sexual assaults against children at Epstein's estate and should be prosecuted. </span></span><br />
<pre class="DV-textContents" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: content-box; font-family: courier, monotype; font-size: 14px; line-height: 1.4em; margin: 46px; overflow: hidden; white-space: pre-wrap; word-wrap: break-word;"><span style="color: #073763;">105. In his deposition, Epstein took the Fifth rather than answer the question: ?Have you
ever socialized with Donald <span class="DV-searchMatch DV-highlightedMatch" style="background-position: 0px bottom; background-repeat: repeat-x; border-radius: 3px; border: 1px solid rgb(245 , 232 , 0); box-shadow: rgb(102 , 102 , 102) 0px 0px 5px; box-sizing: content-box; padding: 1px;">Trump</span> in the presence of females under the age of 18?? Id. at 89. (Page 37, <a href="https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/1509485-exhibit-16-epstein.html">here</a>.)</span></pre>
<span style="color: #073763;">I rest my case.</span><span style="color: #073763;"><br />
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Mahalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03428501380180444456noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29521202.post-50360849018067500512016-12-30T14:46:00.002-05:002016-12-30T14:46:20.298-05:00Waiting for the Good DaysThe sun is shining bright on Frog Pond Holler today, but the wind is taking down trees all over.<br />
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It's a good day to own a chainsaw.</div>
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I wish I could say things were looking up, but a combination of a ginormous, frozen, Thanksgiving turkey, my lack of sufficient oven cleaning skizzles and a pan of cornbread have rendered my oven unusable. </div>
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It's the cleanest damned broken piece of shit you'll ever see.</div>
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T.A. bought a little electric burner at the DG and I still have my Easybake oven (the combination toaster, baker, microwaver gifted to TA by Junior six years ago,) so we're not completely without fire, I just have to do some finagling and planning before I cook.</div>
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I am nothing if not resourceful.</div>
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Still no decision from disability. The last time I called, I was told it would 120 days (vs the 3 months I read on the internet.) So I'm counting down the days to January 10th. A word of warning; most of the information you find on the web concerning disability claims is written by law firms using scare tactics to make you think you won't get approved without one. </div>
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Having said that, I have already talked to legal aid in Big City, but I really don't want to have to go to Plan B.</div>
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Most days, I try to stay busy. The years of neglected domestic diva duties have left me with a ton of little projects. I rarely leave the house, other than the grocery store once a month. Even then, I start sweating and shaking all over when I get to the check out line. </div>
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It's been some months without anxiety meds.</div>
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I half expect someone to make a comment when I whip out the EBT card, so I'm like... ready to fight.</div>
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And I <i>will </i>pitch a bitch when they do. </div>
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That pretty much sums up how I feel when I go anywhere in The Holler. I walk around the DG in fear of running in to Bubbles, her bubbahubby, her brother or her daddy. I don't want to see anyone from The Asylum. </div>
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I haven't even seen Bubbles in over a year, at least, yet I have mental throw downs with her at least once a day. There's no reason for me to feel this way. I'm just constantly in a state of battle preparedness whenever I venture out. </div>
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I've been taking St. John's Wort and Tumeric to make up for the lack of real drugs and honestly, they do seem to help some, but not 100%. </div>
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It's tiring to walk around pissed off all the time.</div>
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As for today, it's better than most. I spent most of yesterday moving the bed and the day before that cleaning off the porch, so today I'm walking around like Fred Sanford. Other than fixing dinner for TA, I'll probably play with my wood burning doohickey and watch Netflix all day. </div>
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This bitch is tired.</div>
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Ya'll have a good one. Fight the good fight. Stand up for what you believe in, like the Rockettes refusing to perform at the inauguration or the person who left the Mormon Tabernacle Choir to avoid the whole shit storm. It will not be <i>comfortable</i>. It will mean personal sacrifice. But we still have to Stand Up.<br />
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<i><span style="color: purple;"><b>When I was a young pup, our summer day care would take us to the afternoon movies once a week, where got to see all the Tammy movies. This is how I'll remember Debbie Reynolds.</b></span></i><br />
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Mahalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03428501380180444456noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29521202.post-9520505021408631402016-12-17T18:22:00.001-05:002016-12-17T18:54:24.878-05:00American Mahala: It's Time to Stand UpI've been mulling over this topic for a while, but when I start thinking about it, I get so worked up and pissed off that I have to drop it.<br />
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So I'm not going to give you my opinion on the election. I'm not going to point fingers or lay blame. What's done is done. Now we have to put on our big girl (or big boy) britches and figure out how we're going to survive.</div>
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Frog Pond Holler is a sort of micro society, with no real racial tension. There are no black people in the holler or anywhere nearby. There are a handful of folks from beyond the future home of the wall and one token Puerto Rican, Pepe, Louise's husband. There are a shit ton of Melungeons, but they either don't know it or don't want to, so I suppose it's safe to say that The Holler is mostly either white or perceived as white. </div>
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It's been my experience that most "white" people really aren't, if they dig deep enough. "Human" should be the only race choice on government forms and job applications... but that's another post for another day.</div>
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I spent the first 20 plus years of my life in a culturally diverse metropolitan area and have lived here, in the middle of no-gawd-damned-where for 23. </div>
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Until relatively recently, the only access these mountain folks had to the media were one or two t.v. channels they could pick up over the air, if you were lucky enough to live on the east side of the river, and newspapers. </div>
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I was utterly grief stricken when landing at the old house up on the bank and learning there was no MTV. We could pick up the ABC affiliate out of Big City if I stood by the t.v. and held the antennae. That was it.</div>
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As the years rolled by, bringing a new road across the mountain and satellite bewb tube, a new reality began to emerge in Frog Pond Holler. The quaint simplicity of the remote mountain folk began to slowly melt away. Youngins who had never even MET a black person in their lives began flying giant confederate flags behind their pick up trucks. Racial slurs were being parroted from what they'd heard, conspiracy theorists were born. </div>
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If you weren't paying attention, you probably wouldn't notice. But I was. And I did.</div>
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But now?</div>
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With the selection of our current president elect, it has become socially acceptable to a handful of ignorant individuals who exist in every community to lash out at women, attack people of color, discriminate against immigrants and abuse people of assorted sexual orientations and identities. </div>
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The president elect did not create these poor, ignorant souls. They were always there. I know. I worked for one. The former general manager of The Cubicle Asylum loved to call our UPS driver a "crazy old nigger." He said the driver was cool with it, he'd known him a long time. That was the first time I damned near got fired from The Asylum.</div>
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He also spotted a spot of leftover lunch splatter on my blouse once and told me if I kept feedin' them titties, they'd just keep growing and they looked big enough to him.</div>
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He had three sexual harassment suits brought against him, that we knew of, which resulted in the harassees being paid off. He was protected by corporate, receiving a hand slap from the 1%. </div>
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Anywho, my point is that as it is slowly becoming accepted to attack, abuse and discriminate any one who isn't a straight, white man and while the guilty segment of society has always existed, now they will be normalized. </div>
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We need to arm ourselves. Not with guns (for gawds sake please don't run out and buy a gun.) Personally, I'm ordering myself and T.A. each big ass cans of pepper spray, not to run around town willy nilly, hosing down everyone who calls us names, but just in case some ignoramous suddenly decides they want to emulate the leader of the free world by grabbing themselves a handful of hooha.<br />
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And honestly, I'd probably just use the can of pepper spray to wail on his ass.. but anyway.</div>
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We also need to arm ourselves with information. Do you know what to do if you see someone being harassed? Remember "see something, say something?" Let's change that to "if you see something, DO something." </div>
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Ask if the victim needs help. Engage the person being attacked in conversation. This will help them to ignore what's going on around them. Stay with them. Call 911. Try not to endanger yourself.</div>
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Now, I fully realize it's easy for me to sit here in the comfort of my hillbilly mansion and tell you to go out in to the world and take a stand. In all honesty, I'd really just love to build that privacy fence, turn off the news and abandon the world. </div>
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But I can't. </div>
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Last week, my little cousin was forced to drop out of high school after coming out on her Facebook page. The harassment she received from both students AND STAFF became so great that she was having full blown, hyperventilating, crying anxiety attacks when faced with simply boarding the school bus. </div>
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This is not okay. </div>
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I'll admit, the same thing may have happened if someone else had won the election, but it would not have been ignored by school board members as trivial and "her own fault." Lord knows, I had to call the same high school and rip the principal a new asshole after T.A. was forced to sit through a FCA presentation telling a tale of Christian cowboys shooting and killing the "Gypsy trash" that had brought their evil, Pagan ways to their community. </div>
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Not at a Christian school. A public school. Your tax dollars at work folks. </div>
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It may seem this would be a situation limited to an extremely rural area like Frog Pond Holler, but an estimated 46.2 million people in the U.S. reside in rural communities, or 15% of the population. It is my opinion that discrimination on this level is much more likely to be swept under the rug in smaller communities. </div>
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The town cop goes to church with the teacher's daddy. The school board member is the principal's sister. You get the idea.</div>
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Look, I've been called a lesbian (by Bubbles' daughters, no less) in the DG parking lot. Jillybean, former sales clerk at The Asylum, told her daughter to be afraid of the "real witch" across the aisle the week before Halloween. And I've hung my head and scurried off both times. </div>
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Being a lesbian or a witch are not to be ashamed of, but were intended as insults. And she was SCARING HER CHILD. .</div>
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And just in case Prince Charming is out there... or Duke Doofus... or Peasant Peter, I'm totally in to dudes. Just saying.<br />
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I truly feel bad for people who choose to surround themselves only with people of their own faith, ancestry or culture. They are missing out on endless enrichment of their lives. Why are we so afraid?? People are people.</div>
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So join me in lifting our voices and our heads in being proud of who we are, in supporting our brothers, sisters and cousins. Now more than ever we must stand up to the bullies, arm ourselves with words and hug our children. </div>
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Please join me in remembering the following organizations while making your year-end, tax deductible donations:</div>
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<li><a href="https://www.plannedparenthood.org/" target="_blank">Planned Parenthood</a></li>
<li><a href="https://action.aclu.org/donate-aclu?redirect=donate/join-renew-give" target="_blank">ACLU (American Civil Liberties Union)</a></li>
<li><a href="http://blacklivesmatter.com/getinvolved/" target="_blank">Black Lives Matter</a></li>
<li><a href="http://www.hrc.org/" target="_blank">HRC (Human Rights Campaign, fighting for LGBTQ rights)</a></li>
<li><a href="http://standwithstandingrock.net/"><span id="goog_2005521065"></span>Stand With Standing Rock<span id="goog_2005521066"></span></a></li>
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If you don't have money, donate your time. No time? Then lend your voice.<br />
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Go tell it on the mountain.<br />
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Because for the next four years, our country is going to need us.<br />
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Mahalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03428501380180444456noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29521202.post-79813999749489608652016-12-16T15:38:00.002-05:002016-12-16T15:44:13.990-05:00The Outhouse People<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Earlier this year, some time or another, my peaceful, deserted holler was invaded by a tiny house. It is owned by a little hipster dude who went on and on about his grand plans to build on the property, funded by his cute little cook job at a pizza place over in Big City. That's it on the right in the picture above.</div>
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Bless his heart. </div>
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I and a few other holler residents tried to gently warn him that he was going to have issues. See, Frog Pond Holler didn't get its name just because its an adorable description. Before the big flood in the late 1800s, Fall Branch ran right through here. There's still a small creek at the bottom of the embankment you see pictured above. When it rains, you can't walk around over there without sinking a few inches and it gets worse the further you get from the road. Factor in the state law that requires any new structures be at least 50 feet from the center of the highway, well, now you see the problem.</div>
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The same day we brought Cisco home, this showed up. I call it the outhouse. There are two adults, two cats and a lab cross mutt all living in it. To get an idea of scale, note that the truck it's hitched up to is very small. It has no heat (I asked) and I doubt it has any erm... facilities.</div>
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It became painfully obvious from the beginning that these people were going to be a pain in my arse. They keep most of their stuff packed in their trucks, constantly in and out. They work at the pub, so they keep late hours. Ayla doesn't appreciate all the door slamming and late night chit chat. I'm expecting the popo to show up with complaints from my trespassing neighbors any day now. </div>
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Cisco is slowly learning to go outside by himself, deal with the steady stream of hikers and sweet jeebus, Mrs. Kravitz walking by with her little Peekihuahua Every. Damned. Time. I walk out my front door. The Outhouse people's constant coming and going keep him too freaked out to pee without looking over his shoulder.</div>
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The other day, as TA was leaving for job #2, I saw the Outhouse going by the kitchen window.</div>
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Hallilooyer!! They were leaving! </div>
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Then it went by again. And again. What the hell?</div>
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They were moving it. The Outhouse now sits 2 feet from the road. I'm assuming that after the drenching rain we had last weekend, the unhitched structure was probably sinking in the swamp. Now, when Mr. Outhouse gets dressed to go for his morning run, I have to look at the bottom half of his scrawny little, long john clad body hanging out their door. </div>
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Apparently they got pissed off when TA was leaving for work the other night and her headlights were shining in their window (because they're on the friggen road, practically,) so they stuck one of those high powered flashlights up to the window and BLINDED her as she pulled out.</div>
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I don't want to have to go have a talk with them, but I will. If you want to camp out, there are two campgrounds in walking distance.. for you know.. CAMPING. And if you don't want headlights invading your space, don't park your outhouse on the side of the road. Also, WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU POOPING????</div>
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Because I need to know.</div>
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I'll bet ya'll a dollar (I'll have to owe ya,) they're on the run from somewhere. Their vehicles have plates from two different states. I'll keep you posted. </div>
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Between them and Mrs. Kravitz, who is a very nice old lady for whom I simply have no patience, I may never leave my house again.</div>
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Mahalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03428501380180444456noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29521202.post-80140015752407352222016-12-08T16:18:00.000-05:002016-12-08T16:19:16.860-05:00What Goes AroundSo, as ya'll know, I worked at The Cubicle Asylum for 20 years (and two months) and was proud to be the booty kicking Sales Ninja. We had several sales managers over the years, but no one stuck around for long, especially <a href="http://hiddenmahala.blogspot.com/2015/08/gorilla-head.html" target="_blank">Gorilla Head</a>.<br />
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Peppermint Twatwaffle went against my advice and hired the jerkwad sales rep, after I told her how crooked he was, repeatedly. He was on the payroll for 24 hours and fired after refusing to produce a social security card because he was trying to hide the fact that he was still employed by his Granddaddy's company, the one he'd been over for six months before sending it in to bankruptcy. </div>
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I puttered along. I won new accounts, I increased orders, I busted my ass, all on a clerk's pay. My only request was that I not have to work in the hallway. I blamed my assorted anxiety diagnosis's, but apparently, "over stimulation" is a symptom of fibromyalgia too. Regardless, I didn't think it was much to ask. There were empty offices all over the building.</div>
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Enter the Germans, who, against my advice, hired Gorilla Head again. I was faced with working for the man who had talked down to me and was a general asshole for the ten plus years that he was my Atlanta rep, then upon getting fired from The Asylum the first time, had called our corporate office to tell them that both me and TW were worthless, among other equally insulting comments. </div>
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But I'm a trooper, I sucked it up. I tried to make it work. As soon as Gorilla Head found out about my anxiety problems, he went to Pillsbury Doughboy, the new GM, and had me moved <a href="http://hiddenmahala.blogspot.com/2015/08/gorilla-head.html" target="_blank">back to the hallway</a>. </div>
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I (and several others) went to PD and HR about GH repeatedly, but I was belittled and spoken to like a trouble maker. On several occasions, I overheard GH and PD making fun of me. I was a big joke.</div>
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As a lifetime fat kid, this was nothing new to me. I could handle it.</div>
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After a family tragedy struck, leaving me pretty much useless, HR sent me home and approved my taking a week off (I used vacation time.) The morning I came back, I was fired. PD never said, "Sorry for your loss" or anything. </div>
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A couple of weeks later, orders came down from Germany and GH was fired. I should probably mention that I emailed and spoke with Germany on a daily basis. We were tight.</div>
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Apparently, PD pitched a holy effin' fit over being told to fire GH and began his own personal downward spiral. </div>
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The last time I spoke to Lulu, about a month after GH got the axe, HR had quit. HR was PD's right hand. He couldn't wipe his own dainty little doughy ass without her. I reckon she got tired of it. </div>
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Are you with me so far?</div>
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Somewhere in the middle of all of this, Aunt Moses' grandson, TBBCWTLE's oldest, went to work at the plant. I had a source.</div>
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A couple of months ago, I think, hell even I'm confused at this point, Aunt Moses said PD had a melt down and had been taken to the nervous hospital. The evil, vindictive part of my soul wanted to call him and say, "WHO'S LAUGHING NOW MOTHER HUMPER?"<br />
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But that would have been really mean, if not enormously gratifying.</div>
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He was there for a while and as far as I know, never came back to work. </div>
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So today I ran in to TBBCWTLE at the dollar store and we were standing around in the parking lot with our other cousin, who happens to be visiting from Norfolk, like a bunch of food stampin' system leeches, when she informs me that PD had "resigned." </div>
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I may have laughed maniacally and woohooed like a big ol' obnoxious hillbilly.</div>
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But here's the kicker. Guess who they're considering to take his place?</div>
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<a href="http://hiddenmahala.blogspot.com/2013/04/the-stalker-groper-zombie-preparedness.html" target="_blank">THE MOTHER FECKIN' GROPER. OMGWTFBBQ!!!</a></div>
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Thank you Universe for sending me out of that place. It was a shock to my system at the time, but with every trickle of gossip that rolls down off that hilltop, I am truly grateful I don't have to deal with it anymore.</div>
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Mahalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03428501380180444456noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29521202.post-11485651108732163272016-12-05T10:43:00.000-05:002016-12-05T10:44:47.832-05:00The Mass Exodus of the MenfolkIt's a gray and gloomy morning in Frog Pond Holler, but I'm awake and that's a win.<br />
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I borrowed T.A.'s phone and called the Social Security office yesterday to check on my disability claim. No lie, I waited an hour and fifteen minutes for my call to be answered, only to be told that I should know something between now and January 10. I applied on September 1st.</div>
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I fully realize that it may all be in vain, what with the lying, Cheeto dusted, butthole mouthed, psychopath threatening to dismantle the whole system once he moves in to the White House. It's okay, I've been fighting my whole life, I'll fight that too.</div>
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I've got a whole tirade on Forest Trump started, but that will have to wait. Sometimes you just have to shut the whole world out for a while when the absolute ridiculousness of it all overwhelms. </div>
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I emailed Shady Pines to check on Ma. I explained that I was really worried, needed to know how she was and that I wasn't able to call due to lack of a phone or visit without a vehicle. I received a reply from the director asking why I hadn't provided a phone number, that it would be so much easier to keep in touch with a phone call. </div>
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I wanted to email him back and say, "I'm sorry, CAN'T YOU READ?" But I didn't. I replied and explained again. That was a few days ago, but I've not heard anything else. I'm sure Ma copped an attitude, but I can't keep beating myself up over it. I've done all I can do.</div>
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Things have gotten a little crazy over at Aunt Moses' house. A month or so ago, my trashy-big-boobed-cousin-with-the-lazy-eye announced that she and her brood were moving to N.Y. Her internet hubby was from there and had apparently had enough of back-to-nature mountain top living.<br />
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They got rid of all their dogs, which pissed me off, and started packing. They'd been living in a doublewide, formerly owned by Aunt Moses' inlaws and now the property of Aunt Moses' oldest son, James. James started the ball rolling to sell the place as soon as he found out about the move, he's been wanting to unload it for years.</div>
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When moving day came around, TBBCWTLE was informed by her NY bubbahubby that HE was moving to NY, taking his son with him. He had no intention of taking them with him. </div>
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Big time asshole move.</div>
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So now, TBBCWTLE, her daughter and her snakes have moved in to Aunt Moses' house, which had already been squatted by TBBCWTLE's son and his little wifeypoo. ON THE SAME DAY, Uncle Clarence announced that, since he was done with chemo, he was moving to Montana to live with James. He loaded up his motorcycle and left. </div>
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There was a lot of sadness at Aunt Moses' house.</div>
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There are now 4 adults and one angsty teen living in a two bedroom house. Only 2 of those people have jobs. I think TBBCWTLE gets a check for her daughter.</div>
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In the weeks following Uncle Clarence's move, he had another heart attack, a stroke and something else involving an aneurysm. Aunt Moses has had to take off work to go up there a bunch of times. </div>
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Aunt Moses is currently mad at me for not coming over for Turkey Day, but I'm sorry.. snakes. It's probably healthy for her to have someone to be angry at and if she wants to take it out on me, that's okay. </div>
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When I start feeling all woe-is-me-ish, I stop and give thanks that at least it's not as bad as it is over at Moses'. Lawd.</div>
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Anywho, I should probably take little Cisco out for a few minutes. I think I saw Gladys Kravitz walking her little pooch earlier, so it should be safe to go outside. Ya'll have a good one. We'll talk again soon.</div>
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Later Taters!!</div>
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Mahalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03428501380180444456noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29521202.post-37596037832084733392016-12-01T16:01:00.001-05:002016-12-01T16:01:54.019-05:00Cisco Kid Was a Friend of MineLawd ya'll, the sun is shining and it's a beautimous day here in the holler. And? I'm awake to appreciate it. I've been on a "day awake" roll for a few now, fingers crossed that it will last a while.<br />
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That night-walker, vampire bullshit was getting old fast.</div>
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The other day, through a series of messages from T.A. and under the premise of an early birthday present, I was coerced into bringing home another eater-pooper. </div>
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He's five months old, a habitual cuddler, licker and coffee stealer. His name is Cisco. Don't ask me about lineage, I only know that his mother was a shih tzu. </div>
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No seriously. I met her. </div>
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There <i>was</i> high falootin' chihuahua/pit bull, pimp daddy lookin' little mother fecker running around the trailer park in a fancy fur lined coat, but he just kept creeping around us all shady and shit, watching us. I suspect he was the baby daddy.</div>
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We didn't really pick Cisco. I'd had my heart set on a female, but of the five, he was the only one that didn't do the stranger danger bark the whole time we were there. As a matter of fact, he pretty much stayed next to T.A. the whole time. It was like he'd been waiting for us.</div>
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If you look closely at the picture above, you'll see that the middle of our couch is broken. Earlier today, I got a wild hair up my butt and with a pair of scissors and my duct taped hammer, I tore that whole section out. Now it perfectly frames the window. If anyone asks, I'm going to tell them we had it custom built. It's like a little doggie window seat.<br />
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I'm still waiting for word from disability. It's been three months, to the day. In the meantime, I've been trying to get over the "my life is over" mentality. I have accepted that getting another job is out of the question, and that's okay, but I need to be able to keep the lights on.<br />
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I still harbor a lot of anger over The Asylum, but it's getting better. I'm a little afraid of running in to the Pillsbury Doughboy lookin' mother fucker that gave me the axe, only because I don't want to go to jail, but there's a part of me that's willing to take that chance for the satisfaction of calling him out on his bullshit up in the grocery store and possibly pelting him upside the head with a bottle of ketchup.<br />
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Anywho, I've got pieces of couch to toss out on the porch. It'll just have to lay in the pile until I get the brakes fixed on Jolene. I'm sure old Mrs. Kravitz will have something to say about it. She can bite me.<br />
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Ya'll have a good one.<br />
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Later Taters!! </div>
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Mahalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03428501380180444456noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29521202.post-59073045941902431792016-11-23T01:57:00.000-05:002016-11-23T01:57:38.472-05:00Checking InHey ya'll. It's been a while, huh? Well don't despair, I'm still alive and I hope ya'll are too.<div>
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I'll just jump right in with the latest news of all things Mahala.</div>
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As of September 1st, my monthly income has been $0, unless you count the $196 a month I get in food stamps. My health comes and goes. I might be a cleaning machine for a week, then lying around pissing and moaning for the next two. Not being able to keep myself in meds has made it somewhat worse, but that's how it is with no money, no insurance. </div>
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On the advice of Aunt Moses, Kat from The Asylum, Ma and T.A., I applied for disability. I have been diagnosed with 6 different ailments that are on the SSD list. Everything I read says it takes 3 months to find out if you're approved (the first round anyway,) so maybe I'll hear something soon.</div>
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In the meantime I've gone from Miss Independent, to having to ask T.A. to buy everything for me, on top of her paying all the bills on her own. </div>
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My sleep is all jacked up. Sometimes I go for three or four days of four hour sleep/awake rotation, losing track of what day it is all together. Yesterday I woke up at noon, then stayed awake for 25 hours straight, eventually falling asleep, sitting straight up on the couch this afternoon. I don't know if it's due to a lack of drugs, depression, anxiety or some new fucked up ailment.</div>
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I rarely leave the house. I will occasionally venture outside to witness the daylight, but I usually sleep through most of it. Since the brakes went out on the truck, I can't even get out and cruise around when I feel antsy. </div>
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My phone was cut off over a month ago. I don't have any way to check on Ma. This fact, combined with the lack of anxiety meds, fuels the most fucked up nightmares you can imagine.</div>
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When things get really rough, I go sit in the bathroom floor and feed cucumbers to the guinea pigs. There's something about their tiny little mouths and round booties that make me forget everything else. Geriatric mutt Sammy stays glued to my side most of the day and Ayla makes me feel safe at night.</div>
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Nothing is coming in here on me with my scary looking hellhound charging after them.</div>
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It's not all bad. Using a series of private Roku channel apps and one shady website, I watch more t.v. for free than I ever paid for before. My weekly doses of zombie killing and cowboy robots are therapeutic.</div>
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Anywho, I guess I just wanted to check in and tell ya'll Happy Turkey Day. I'm not going to promise to check in more, because it seems that any proclamation made of promised future accomplishments seems to guarantee it won't happen. </div>
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Ya'll take care. We'll talk again. Sometime.</div>
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Later Taters!</div>
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Mahalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03428501380180444456noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29521202.post-9324884028128880722016-08-15T11:23:00.000-04:002016-08-15T11:23:33.488-04:00The Bean SituationI decided I'd put some soup beans on to soak before going to bed the other night. I got the big, metal mixing bowl from under the counter and sat it on the one dead stove eye. The beans went in, then the bowl was filled with water. Soon after I plodded off to bed.<br />
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I got up some time during the night to visit the potty palace, as you do when you're, ya know,<i> of an age.</i><br />
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On the way back, I checked on the beans. When you have two precious kitties and one a-hole cat, you have to check all the things, all the time. It's a good thing I did, because the water was gone. I thought I'd put more than enough in the bowl and I was slightly suspicious that someone may have mistaken it for a kitty open bar, but it was late and I'd used up all my brain logic for the day so I just filled it back up with water and went back to bed.<br />
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The next morning, after staggering in to the kitchen and putting the coffee on, I reached for the bowl of beans. They were dry as a bone and looked like they hadn't soaked at all. I lifted the bowl.<br />
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Drip.<br />
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Drip.<br />
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There was a pin hole in the metal bowl. HOW DOES THAT EVEN HAPPEN????<br />
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All of that water had drained down through the eye of the stove and created a water-grease... situation. It was one of those mornings where you just have to pour your coffee, sit on the couch and gaze into the kitchen, trying to figure out how the hell you're going to fix this shit without electrocuting yourself.<br />
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I had to sacrifice the last good towel, but I managed. I'm no worse off, the only stove eye that would have been seriously effected was the one that hasn't worked in 5 years anyway.<br />
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I never did cook those beans. There may be a large metal mixing bowl, tossed up on the bank, resting among the trees in it's final resting place, surrounded by English Ivy.<br />
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Ya'll have a good one!<br />
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Later Taters.<br />
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</script>Mahalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03428501380180444456noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29521202.post-55675732049843998832016-08-03T20:46:00.001-04:002016-08-03T22:10:29.301-04:00Jolene Tried to Kill MeThe other day, I ventured out over the mountains, through the woods and past Grandma's house to do the hunting and gathering. Me and Jolene were jamming out to 80's hair metal as we flew past little patches of corn and tomatoes, leaning in to the curves that I've memorized after 20 years of traveling the road leading out of The Holler.<br />
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We had almost made it to the grocery store, about 30 minutes from the house, when the driver of the truck in front of me made the sudden decision to slam on his breaks. Apparently he had an urgent need to visit Family Dollar. A need so great, it was worth damned near causing a three car pile up.<br />
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It ain't like they don't have THREE more friggen entrances to the strip mall.<br />
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I slammed on my brakes, <a href="https://hiddenmahala.blogspot.com/2013/02/omg-i-almost-died.html" target="_blank">which we know from past experience tends to piss Jolene off</a>, but nothing happened. I mean, shit was happening, the opposite of nothing, but the thing that was not happening was stopping. I swerved into the turn lane, barely missing Farmer Methuselah as he turned, putt-putting into the parking lot. I coasted to the grocery store, just across the road, STANDING on my feckin' brakes.<br />
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The readout on the dash changed from the odometer to "BRAKE SERVICE NEEDED" or something to that effect. I was like, "YOU COULD HAVE MENTIONED IT SOONER JOLENE. BRINGING IT UP NOW IS JUST A LITTLE ASSHOLEY."<br />
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I got stopped and parked without killing any hill folk, so that's a plus. I called T.A., mostly just to tell someone that I ALMOST DIED. I really wanted her to come get me, but I wasn't crazy about leaving my truck there until I could get it towed. I decided I'd just get the shopping done and pray for an epiphany in the mean time.<br />
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I called T.A. again when I finished. I wanted to try to drive home, but it was pissing down the rain and I needed to cross two mountains, brakeless and just in time for rush hour. Oh and? My tags are expired.<br />
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My tags are always expired.<br />
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T.A. assured me that coming down the mountain in low gear would assure I didn't lose control and suggested I keep my flashers on.<br />
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Way to blend in and not get noticed by highway patrol.<br />
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I imagined what would happen after I wrecked. If I survived and had even a sliver of consciousness, the state trooper, with his angry face and ugly assed hat, would put his mouth close to my ear and say, "Ma'am, you knew your brakes were broken, it's raining, WHAT WERE YOU THINKING???"<br />
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It didn't stop me though. I gave myself a pep talk, reminded myself of all the stupid things I've survived in my life and drove on. Slowly.<br />
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The rain had stopped by the time I got to Pecan Ridge, which I crossed without any problems. I pulled over to let traffic pass a couple of times, passing lanes are scarce up on the mountain. I made it to Froggy mountain and climbed to the top.<br />
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Uphill is easy peasy brakeless.<br />
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When I got to top, I dropped Jolene down in to low gear and started creeping down the mountain. I am not used to going down the mountain slow, it's usually like the Indy 500 downhill. I decided to take advantage of the snail's pace, whipped out my phone and took some video. I think you even get a glimpse of my eyeball in the rear view mirror about half way through.<br />
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I'll admit, this is probably the boringest thing you'll watch <strike>today</strike> this week, but you get a nice glimpse of the mountains surrounding the holler and the orange trash bags left at the side of the road by the work group from the local prison.<br />
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Anywho, needless to say I made it home in one piece and, more importantly, without a ticket. Jolene is sitting in the yard, grounded so she can think about what she did... and I can afford to take her to the shop.<br />
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It's all good. T.A. has been awesome about sharing her little car. It's not like I have anywhere I have to be.<br />
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In other hunting and gathering news, I found out the other day that "our" Wallyworld is going to start their online grocery shopping program soon. Their prices are WAY cheaper than the local chain, but I don't get to go often since Wally's is about 45 minutes away. However, T.A. works third shift RIGHT ACROSS THE ROAD. I will be able to shop and pay online, schedule the pickup and then T.A. can go pick them up when she gets off work. They even load the groceries in the car.<br />
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It's going to be so much cheaper. For example, I can get a 30lb bag of dog food at the DG for about $20, but for the same price I get a 50lb bag at Wallyworld.<br />
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I'm so excited that I'm almost ashamed.<br />
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Anywho, if you haven't signed up, <a href="http://r.wmt.co/d_eXd" target="_blank">please use this link and I'll get $10</a> when you place your first order!<br />
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I haven't tried this yet, but I'll bet you can also use your Ebates account to get a 2% rebate on your Walmart groceries. If you don't have one and you EVER buy anything online, you're missing out. Dude, it's free money. <a href="http://www.ebates.com/rf.do?referrerid=ixSNP%2FcK0Q6KQ82qL8CWjw%3D%3D&eeid=28187" target="_blank">Sign up here if you haven't already. </a><br />
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It's almost time to get T.A. up for work, so I'd best get to cookin'. I'm planning an angel hair pasta, broccoli, mushroom concoction for dindin.<br />
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Ya'll take care, we'll talk again soon!<br />
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Later Taters!<br />
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</script>Mahalahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03428501380180444456noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29521202.post-52078838437676777992016-07-22T09:00:00.000-04:002016-07-22T09:00:25.267-04:00Redefining Normal<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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As much as I'd like to tell you I've always embraced the flight of my freak flag, the truth is I've strived for normal. My goal has always been to look normal, act normal, anything to shield the world from my own little internal shit storm.</div>
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You get up, go to work, get your paycheck, pay your bills, go home and go to bed. Rinse and repeat, Monday through Friday, add a little partying on the weekend and voila! Somewhere along the way, you find a significant other, go forth and multiply, grow old together, sit around farting and scratching until one of you dies... you know.. life. </div>
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I'd already given up on most of "normal." I no longer need or want a significant other and my breeding days have long past. I was trying, however, to hold on to the working part of normal, at least to some degree. I've accepted that it's going to be damned near impossible for me to find a regular job, less than an hour from here, which, unless they're going to pay me a doctor's salary with my G.E.D., isn't going to work. </div>
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I was determined to find a work-at-home customer service job like I had before, but companies with positions available either require newer computers or faster internet, two things I can't do anything about right now. I've applied to a total of about 8, I've been through three interviews and offered two jobs, but there always seemed to be a roadblock. </div>
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When you keep running in to a brick wall, it's time to change lanes. </div>
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In the meantime, I've been struggling with my sleep schedule. It's not insomnia. I can sleep, usually right around 8 hours a day, but not at night. Today I was up at 4 p.m. I have taken all kinds of crap to try to make myself go to sleep earlier. I've stressed out to the point of crying, because how can you find a job, working a set schedule, when you can't get up? </div>
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So, I've been thinking about normal. Is it abnormal to sleep all day, coming to life just as everyone else is settling in for the night? </div>
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Probably.</div>
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Is it worth getting in a wad over? Absolutely not. </div>
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Since throwing my hands up and admitting defeat over the work-at-home, slave to the phone job, I've been exploring a freelance writing career. I had to finally admit that the phone thing wasn't going to work anyway, with Fat Kitty soaring across the room like one of the Flying Wallendas, landing on the back of my chair and chewing on my hair every five minutes or Ayla spotting a hiker out of the kitchen window and going all Cujo.</div>
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I may not have kids, but I don't have a "quiet office environment" either. </div>
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I've been writing for one company, off and on, for a few years. The pay has been, well, terrible. There was no way I could make a living wage from it, but I was recently offered a few, more profitable opportunities from them. </div>
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It's a sign ya'll.</div>
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I've also applied to another company that provides blog posts to large companies, whose forte' may be more nuts and bolts than a flair with words. I've been through a multi-leveled approval process and am currently waiting for news on the final step. The pay is good and writing blog posts? I can do that.</div>
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At least, that's what ya'll keep telling me.</div>
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I've also got an application in with a company that does internet research for corporate accounts. Again, I went through several testing steps and am currently waiting for the final word on the last step. I have no idea how it pays, but getting in seems pretty competitive, so fingers crossed. </div>
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Most importantly, what better job for a middle-aged-vampire-hillbilly? Write all night, sleep all day. I always have been kind of a night owl anyway.</div>
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Admittedly, I think the problems I was having with... as T.A. and I call it... The Beetis... is what got my sleep all kittywampus. Slowly, it's getting back to normal. Well, normal for me. </div>
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But wait, there's more!</div>
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In addition to all those plans, I've got a new blog in the works. I played around with some "blog for profit" type formats before, but I was still an inmate at The Cubicle Asylum then and didn't really have time to do it properly. I'm planning a Gypsy/Boho Style site, I'll let you know when I get it up and running. </div>
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I know, ya'll are over there like... "Mahala has a new idea every two weeks. IT'S GETTING TIRING AS HELL."</div>
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I know ya'll. I know. </div>
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But my unemployment runs out in September. Something's gotta work.</div>
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Anywho, ya'll have an awesometastic, booty kicking, chocolate lickin' weekend. We'll talk again soon.</div>
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Later Taters!</div>
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