Bubbles, Lawnmowers and Airstreams

My Friday post.. on Saturday night. That's my life lately.

Those of you who've been hanging around here for a while, know that I have a hate-hate love-hate relationship with my front lawn. It's always been a challenge to keep it mowed, with working and my wonky joints. This year, with new meds and no job, I was psyched. I was going to hit it early in the spring and keep it up. 

Unfortunately, my lawnmower had other plans. 

I spent two days trying to get it started before I gave up and took it to the shop. They kept it for almost three weeks before calling to tell me it couldn't be fixed. 

My grass is ridiculous. I have no lawn mower and I'm still not 100% sure when the hell I can expect my first unemployment payment. So I watch the lawn turn into a jungle, imagining wiggly, legless critters slithering just out of sight, waiting for me to walk across the yard. 

I get anxiety watching the grass grow. 

HOPEFULLY I can get a used Craigslist special sometime next week. Fingers crossed.

News from The Cubicle Asylum

Lulu sent me a brief and to the point text message yesterday. I've been replaced. 

Are ya'll sitting down? 

They hired Bubbles back.

I pretended like I didn't care, tried to tell myself it's not my problem, but dude, I thought about that shit all night long. To be fired and told you don't have the skills to perform your job, then to be replaced by that ding dong.. it's beyond insulting. To make matters worse, I've had to listen to snarky comments from her Bubbahubby and her brother every time I run in to them in town, and that was before she got my job. 

It makes me never want to leave the house again.

The Latest on the Fire

The last I heard was that the Frog Pond Holler fire ended up covering over 6,000 acres, but we've had a crap ton of rain in the past week and I'm pretty sure it's out. Thank goodness. Now I can hang my laundry out without my clothes smelling like Smoky the Bear's been rolling around wearing them.

Around the House

I spend a lot of time looking out my kitchen window. The view is of the vacant lot across the road and there are always random critters running amok.  A gopher lives in a hole just up the bank, I watch him scurrying around and munching the greenery. There's a black cat that hunts and a pair of mourning doves with a nest up in the branches. When it rains, a creek forms and creates a waterfall that feeds the swampy pond below. 

It's my happy place.

Last night, I passed by the kitchen window, then doubled back and looked again. There was a friggen Airstream parked there with tie dye sheets hanging from the awning and a bicycle chained to the front. 

What the hell? It's right up by the road, with traffic whizzing by and hikers looking all up in the door. The man that owns it appears to be my age or older and is fond of running around shirtless. He sits over there in his lawn chair, sipping a beer, a blinding glare reflecting off his round belly, and looking straight in my kitchen window.

I've had to start wearing pants around the house. I don't like it.

I don't know if he's living over there or vacationing or what. It's nuts. There's a campground in the city limits and another one 3 miles up the road. Why would you want to camp a few feet from the highway?

People are weird. And coming from me, that's pretty bad.

Ah well. I'll adjust, I suppose.

Anywho, I'd better go finish dinner. Ya'll have a good one. We'll talk again soon!

Later Taters!!

Craig Ferguson: The Rest Of The Story

Over the years, I've shared just about every detail of my life on Hidden Mahala. I've even been accused of over sharing on occasion, but as you know, that hasn't stopped me. However, there have been times when I've had to sanitize my posts to protect myself from the prying eyes of The Holler folk.. and to fulfill promises I've made to other individuals involved.

This post is about one of those times. 

Most of ya'll remember the Fergburger days, when I wrote some funny ass posts about stalking Craig Ferguson. I imagine, some of you even got sick of reading his name.. but I was getting a shit ton of page views as a result and it became sort of addictive. 

I use Statcounter here, an awesome tool if you're interested in where your traffic comes from (not an affiliate link, I just happen to love the product, and it's free!) Statcounter gives you details about where your traffic comes from, search words that were used and ip addresses. Usually, I just use it to make sure I still have traffic, but back in 2006, it came in handy when I began getting a lot of traffic from CBS in Los Angeles.

Eventually, all those goofy posts lead to my receiving this email:

You can click to embiggen, then use zoom in your browser. It may be easier to read.

After I read the email.. and changed my drawers because.. Good Gawd.. I called Roxie for a 10 minute pep talk. Once I got my anxiety ridden head together, this was before meds, I called Michael Naidus at CBS.

That's right. I picked up the phone and dialed up CBS studios just like I thought I was somebody.

The conversation was a bit weird.

First of all, this dude didn't seem to know the first thing about where I was from, what my blog was called or anything about me. If he'd been responsible for all that traffic from their offices, he would have at least had some basic knowledge about what I had written.

You would think, wouldn't you?

Another odd bit, I never said I was planning a visit to Las Vegas. I just said I'd love to be able to see Ferguson there. This all took place on my old blog, the one I had to delete because I stupidly shared it with Bubbles, who then distributed it to all EMS employees in the county.

Also, it just so happened that the post I'd written that morning was about TA and I taking a drive through Maggie Valley. During the conversation, this guy asked me where I lived. When I told him, he asked what it was near, so I explained how far it was to Big City, etc. Then he was all... "Is that anywhere near Maggie Valley? I was just there on vacation, we took a long drive through Cherokee.."

I'm sorry, but did his email not say he'd just read my blog? It was a huge coinkidink, if you believe in coinkidinks, seemingly happening to show me that this man was lying.

The Universe works in mysterious ways.

Throughout the conversation, during which I'll admit I was terminally starstruck, he asked how much I'd traveled, advised me on rental cars and shuttles, assured me that The Orleans was a safe hotel, and continued to coddle the country bumpkin he thought he was talking to. He also advised me that I couldn't mention it to anyone, because they didn't want a bunch of bloggers calling them for tickets.

Obviously, I no longer give two shits.

Before I continue, I feel the need to explain a few things. When I was contacted by the producer, I was extremely excited. Excited to the point that I drove Lulu crazy for weeks with "what ifs." I honestly thought this all had something to do with my writing. Maybe this was going to be like one of those rags to riches stories and I was fixin' to move to L.A. to write for television.

My need to get away from Ma and The Holler was intense at that time.

Sure, I was an idiot, with my pie in the sky assumptions, but never.. and I mean NEVER, did I ever think this was going to be some kind of booty call. I am a cosmetically challenged heifer, always have been, always will be, and by no stretch of the imagination did I ever think that I was going to show up at The Orleans and wow any Hollywood comedian into wanting a slice of my ample booty.

Sometime between receiving the email and going to Vegas, I bought Ferguson's book. This was about a month after my conversation with Naidus. I sent him email and asked if there would be any way possible to have my copy autographed. I had even suggested that perhaps I could leave it with a member of Ferguson's staff, then pick it up later. When he responded, he said, "I don't see any way that's going to happen," or something to that effect. I don't remember the exact phrase, but I do remember that it sounded kind of pissy.

Imagine my surprise when I walked through the lobby of The Orleans that weekend and saw a giant poster, advertising the BOOK SIGNING after the show.

From start to finish, this whole situation was full of WTFs.

Most of what I wrote about my trip to Vegas was true. The only difference, I think, being the experience at the ticket counter. There was no record of my name anywhere. After that long conversation with the producer, giving him all my information and remember, HE emailed ME, it wasn't like I was trying to get something for nothing, after my putting my one credit card on life support to get there and thinking my life was somehow going to change... nothing. The kid at the desk even compared me to a crazed Donny Osmond fan who'd tried to repeatedly sneak into one of his performances.

One of the managers left the office, then returned and asked for my driver's license. Now, my driver's license picture looked like Mama Cass with a hangover after a partying for three days. The LAST thing I wanted to do was hand it over to someone, other than a traffic cop. But I gave it to him and he wandered off with it. I imagined the Fergburger standing back there with his PA and Gawd knows who else, laughing their asses off over my ugly mug.

I wanted to give up, but I'd come all that way... and as Ferguson used to say, when opportunities arise, "Always show up."

The manager eventually returned and acted like he was doing me a favor by giving me a seat. Hell the theater was barely half full.

What a clusterfuck that weekend was.

Obviously the email had nothing to do with a future writing opportunity. I'm still not absolutely sure what the hell it was all about.

But whatever. We live and learn. It made for a great story.,

The blog hits kept coming, but I couldn't help being a little pissed off. I mean.. I can take a lot. Growing up the fat kid, you develop a thick skin. But if you embarrass me? I will smite you with the evil eye of a thousand Gypsy ancestors.

After that, I did become obsessed. Now, before I go any further, I know what I'm about to tell you sounds like crazy talk. It's actually a well known symptom of mental illness. I think the reason I WAS so obsessive was more to convince myself that I wasn't crazy, than to convince anyone else.

Okay, I am a nutbar, but not THAT flavor of crazy.

I knew that someone, presumably Ferguson, was reading my blog posts. I knew, because aside from the blog stats, if I mentioned granny panties in a post, he mentioned them in his monologue. Okay, not only granny panties, there were things repeated all the time, to the point that I started making TA read my blog and watch my taping of the show. I also drug one of my old chat buddies in to it, sending her screen shots of the Statcounter logs. She was a webmaster by profession, and helped me dig even deeper into the addresses.

I hadn't gone so deep, internet stalking someone, since the Lyin' Assed Canadian pissed me off.. and I haven't since.

Don't anger the fat chick. We have a whole 'nother level of crazy.

I don't have the actual screen shots of the stats anymore, they're saved on my old computer, but I do have the spreadsheets I created to sort the information. Following are links to them on Google Docs.

Statcounter Los Angeles 3/2006 through 10/15/206

Statcounter Los Angeles IP Sort 

Take a look, if you care about such things, and keep in mind the following tidbits:

Hits from CBS studios are from the office.
Hits from someone's home came from ID Rback30d.irvnca 
Ferguson, at the time, had a Mac computer.
While Ferguson was on vacation in Scotland, I received hits from Dundee.

There are a lot more details, but dang, that's enough for now.

So yeah, there was a lot of weird crap going on behind the scenes of that whole story. Crap I was DYING to write about.

Anywho... ya'll can draw your own conclusions. Let me know what you think. We'll talk again real soon.

Regards,

Shy Little Panda

Of Communes, Citizens Arrests and Follically Related Issues

There is so much to tell. I don't know where to start or which direction to head. Prepare yourself for some chaotic rambling.

Ma is still in "the place." She's getting better every day, better than she's been in years. She says she knows she needed help and is happy to be there, as long as we don't leave her there indefinitely or let them put her outside picking up trash by the side of the road.

Obviously there are still some issues.

One of her doctors called the other day and we discussed things at length, like the past, how long she's been depressed and her inability to distinguish between imagination and reality. The decision was made to keep her there for the maximum allowed (two weeks) to give them the opportunity to adjust her medications and set up some kind of out patient treatment program for her.

If she can spend the end of her life free of the memories that have haunted her all these years, the chaos of recent weeks will have been worth it.

In other news....

My house looks like it's been broken into and ransacked by angry pygmies. T.A. and I both have been so physically and emotionally drained, we both just kinda sit around and stare into space whenever we get the chance. Hopefully we can muster the energy to get some stuff done in the next day or two.

Aunt Moses calls constantly, wanting to talk smack about Ma so she can run all over town and spread her version of the facts. It's all I can do to keep from ripping into her.

But I reckon she can't help it. Her crazy has been showing a lot lately.

According to Thelma, Aunt Moses flagged the town cop down the other day and told him he needed to go chase down a white truck that she said was driving recklessly. When he didn't move fast enough, she hopped in her truck and took off after him herself, causing the town cop (Thelma's Bubbahubby) to have to choose which of them to pull over first. Unfortunately, Aunt Moses was closest... and he'd actually seen her drive recklessly.

Maybe I should start calling her "Aunt Gomer" instead:







Other stuff that's happened in the past week or so that I've not had time to share:

• I was asked to meet the Big Headed German and the Cutie Patootie at a Big City bar last weekend to hear a killer classic rock band, but had to turn it down because of Ma. It's a good thing though, that much temptation mixed with alcohol when I've not had drink nor nookie in years was probably asking for trouble.
• Pupzilla ate one of my good bras
• I finally got mother effin' tires put on my mother effin' truck. Halloweffinlooyah.
• I damn near got in a fight with a racist/homophobe cashier down at the Dollar General in front of a whole store full of people, including Bubbles. I know the people in question are just ignorant assholes and probably don't even have enough effin' sense to realize how offensive they are, but dang I sure wanted to be the one to give them an education. 
• I bought new shoes. I was down to a pair of Sketcher flip flops sandals to wear to work, with snow weather just around the corner, yet I still felt I had to justify spending $30 bucks on some loafers. If said loafers were anything technology related, I probably wouldn't have given it a second thought. Apparently I still have a few issues.
• I've not had my nails done in so long that I may have to register them as lethal weapons. Thank goodness it's almost payday and I have tires. I didn't want to ask T.A. for a ride to the nail salon when she was already having to run me all over the place. 
• Also? The hag hair situation has reached epic proportions. I have to get it cut. Soon. And shave/pluck/wax some things. Or find me a man named Wheat Germ Jim and start my own commune.

I guess that's all for now. I'll try to keep ya'll posted. Hang in there. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!!
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Bubbles, Jobs and Pupzilla Goes Camping

It's nice and cool in Frog Pond Holler this morning. Bossholio isn't here, so I took my coffee and snuck outside for a little fresh mountain air earlier. It was nice. I wanted to kick off my shoes and go frolicking willy nilly through the kudzu.

But then I spotted the squished baby black snake someone flattened on their way in this morning. It sorta killed the urge.

Anywho...

Things here at The Asylum are sorta plugging right along. I spend a chunk of company time every day looking for a new job. I've given a lot of thought to how things have gone with Bossholio lately and considered the fact that I've not had a raise in a few years, never had a cost of living increase when the guys out in the plant get one every year, lost my little $50 bonus checks for "quality incentive" from our biggest customer (but the plant employees still get theirs,) stayed through cutbacks, worked my ass off for the man on 32 hours a week, put up with Bubbles' infantile bullcrap and put off taking any time off, trying to be a model employee, and in return? I get hauled in the office, insulted, embarrassed and threatened with firing.

All for a little over $20K a year.

Yeah. That's bullshit.

The challenge with finding a new job isn't my qualifications. It's finding one that isn't too far up the road. There are plenty in Big City that pay considerably more money for the same type of position but by the time I haul up there in Jolene, the cost of gas will eat me alive.

So I take my time and I look. Every day.

On a side note, I heard that Bubbles just got a new job down at the county social services department. That ought to be a hoot. She's so judgmental and gossipy, not to mention her flair for drama. I wonder if she'll be telling clients about her crotch rotting coochie crud the next time she goes to the doctor?

In the mean time, I've been spending some time each evening completing writing assignments for Textbroker. If you want to make a little extra money, I recommend it. When you start out, you get a standard low rating, which determines how much you get paid per word, but after completing five assignments you can be re-evaluated. Mine was just increased, so I'm making from $10-$15 an article. One a day, a few times a week, adds up over a month and it's enough to make a payment or two.

(Textbroker.com isn't paying or otherwise compensating me in any way for endorsing their service. I've just used it and I recommend it. So there. Put that in your bowl bong pipe and smoke it.)

I should probably get off my butt and get some work done. I'm so sleepy, after Pupzilla woke me up at 2:30 doing the "I'm-gonna-get-right-in-yo-face-and-bark-for-no-apparent-reason-for-five-whole-minutes-and-I-don't-care-if-you-have-a-headache" thing.

Pupzilla learned to commune with nature and get in touch with her ancestral heritage at approximately 2:35.

I love my dog ya'll. But damn. 90 pounds of angry toddler attitude at 2 am is a bit much. Or maybe it was teenage angst. What is the equivalent to human years for a 10 month old pup?

Oh, by the way. I discovered my new favorite radio station while escaping reality in Second Life last weekend. It's Radio Paradise and they play this weird mix of Johnny Cash, White Stripes, techno, new agey kinda Gypsy stuff.. it's awesometastic. You can check them out here:

(Again, this I'm just sharing my totally unbiased, uncompensated opinion. They rock. That is all.)

On that note, I'm gonna go do stuff. Ya'll enjoy your Friday. We'll talk again real soon. Later Taters!

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Ma, Bubbles and Some Other Stuff

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

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

Ready?

Good. Let's begin...

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh that reminds me...

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

"She did," I replied.

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

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

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

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

Can you tell I'm a little irked?

Other tidbits from the past week or so:

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

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

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

Later Taters!

Hearing Voices

"It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood.. a beautiful day for a neighbor.. won't you be mine.. could you be mine? Won't you be.. my neighbor?"

Yes chil'ren, I've finally gone right over the edge, falling off into the abyss of terminal craziness.

I was up and at 'em early Saturday to get Sammy and Ayla to the vet over in Scary Hillbilly Town. While everyone around us was screaming about Snowpacolypse 2010, we just had a little freezing rain here in the holler, so the drive into Tennessee was uneventful.

Once there, I was pleased to find the lobby empty. That almost never happens on Saturdays. After tricking Sammy into the exam room (he's on to them) and Ayla's first offical anal probe (she was not pleased) the vet took Sammy back to get some blood (he had to carry him, he was not going voluntarily) I was left with Ayla in the exam room.

I was sorta thankful, I was having an anxiety fueled perspiration fit, because I'm not dorktastic enough and I have to break out in a sweat for no apparent reason. As I sat there in the quiet room, I tried to tell myself that I had no reason to be leaking all over the place, using every self-calming trick I knew.

Then it happened.

The voices.

Oh. My. Damn. I really am batshit crazy.

I looked around for a radio or something but aside from the laptop across the room, there was nothing the sounds could be coming from. I listened more closely, trying to figure out what they were saying.

"Meck-le-nooooome. Meck-le-nooooome."

What the freckin' hell?

I had seen two old farmer guys come in, the type that look like they only get to town once or twice a month. I thought maybe one of them had a VFD radio or something and that's what I was hearing, but it still didn't make sense.

"Meck-le-noooome."

Wait.. was that coming from my change purse? I'd left my big purse in the truck, carrying only my little mini purse with my check book and cards. I picked it up and found that yes.. that was where the voices were coming from.. or rather.. from my cellphone in the attached case.

I had butt dialed The Amazon.

"CHECK YOUR PHOOOOONE!!!"

I hung up on her when I realized what I'd done. I called her when we got out of there, apparently I'd butt dialed her when I got out of the truck. She'd had me on speaker phone listening to the whole, entire vet visit.

Embarrassing.

Once I got everyone home, we all took a nap. Going to the vet is stressful, yall. Especially when you hear voices.

I tried to go to the dump yesterday, but it was closed. I think they just open whenever the mood strikes. My front porch is piled with trash bags, I'm telling the neighbors I'm going for my second Hillbilly merit badge. Oh and the washer is still out there too.. and an old seat from the van. When you factor in that nice big whiff of sewage you get coming up the front steps.. well.. let's just say we're quickly becoming the nasty people of Frog Pond Holler.

Yesterday I loaded Ayla and a couple of loads of laundry in the truck and headed to the new laundromat. It's not bad actually and more importantly, it was empty. I left Pupzilla in the truck while I got it all going, then took her out for a walk around town. We walked down to the river and nosed around a little, then wandered around the big lawn at the spa before heading down to the post office to check the mail. When we returned to the laundromat, our clothes weren't quite done, so we sat out on the bench and watched traffic go flying by for a bit.

Oh and because I was wearing pants that were just a tad too short and no socks with my tennis shoes (they were all in the wash) everyone I knew drove by and waved.

My intentions were to get my coupons together and go to the grocery store after I got both loads of clothes home and into the dryer, but that didn't happen. By the time I carried two loads of soaking wet clothes from the truck to the house, my back was screaming, "OH MY GAWD YOU DUMBASS!!!"

The grocery store could wait. I told Ma I'd run to the dollar store for come Cokes and something for dinner, so she handed me a list.. because apparently she couldn't hear my back screaming obscenities.

I wallered my big butt back up in the truck and pulled out of the drive, no easy task because our entire yard is filled with mud. I have to use my 4x4 just to make it out to the road. I'm so farkin' redneck. It was dark by then and I spotted two headlights flying up behind me as I pulled out. They were riding my hiney pretty close and it ticked me off, so I just took my foot off the gas. Were I feeling a little pissier, I would have slammed on my brakes, but I felt like being nice.. sorta. I slowed waaay down before I pulled in the dollar store parking lot. Imagine my delight when I discovered it was none other than Bubbles, bringing the whole brood back from Sunday night services.

And? She stopped at the dollar store, parking waaay on the other side of the parking lot, then sending her Bubbahubby inside, who avoided me like the plague.

Heh. He's askeered of me.

Needless to say, I'm plumb tuckered from my weekend adventures. I don't even mind that this morning I was faced with a tub of left over water and assorted filmy substances from T.A.'s shower last night, making it impossible for me to have one before work, or that my hair is doing strange and wondrous things. I'm just thankful I can sit down for a while.

I reckon I should get back to work. I could.. possibly.. get caught up today. We'll see.

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

Later Taters!

Bubbles Returns.. Briefly

It's cold and nipply in Frog Pond Holler today, but at least it's not snowing. It's supposed to be warming up a little, but we've still got some snowy patches on the ground and the creek remains half frozen. I guess the weather gurus have a different definition of warm than I do.

Here at the Asylum, we got the news Wednesday that Bossman will no longer be required to take a week furlough every month and I'm back on a forty hour schedule. Ya'll have NO idea how glad I am that I won't have to fly solo as sales ninja anymore. Granted, Bossman doesn't exactly have magic fairy dust and unicorns shooting out of his butt, but he has been easier to get along with and his being here takes the pressure off me.

And getting a whole paycheck for a change doesn't suck either.

The same day they called Bossman back to the office, I thought I spotted another familiar face sneaking in the front door, striking fear in my heart. The cloaked figure moved stealthily from the front door to Tiny's office, clutching a manila envelope to their chest. Thelma volunteered to sneak up to the front office on an information gathering mission, returning to confirm my fears.

It was Bubbles.

Now, I know some of ya'll probably have mixed emotions about Bubbles returning to the Asylum. I have to admit, the old blog just hasn't been the same without her coochie crud, dildo phone and lengthy sex ed discussions with Louise, but I've made too much progress since she's been gone. If she came back as my co-worker, they'd have to up my medication.

There was speculation as to why in the heck Bubbalicious was up here. Of course, I was scared plumb pootless that she'd been called back in to talk about coming back to work, but she hadn't spoken to Bossman and the GM completely ignored the fact that she was here at all.

Obviously we needed more information. We sent Lulu, who marched right in there with a big ol "Hey!" and came right out and asked Bubbles what she was doing up here.

I love Lulu.

It seems that Bubbles, who's been laid off for a year now and who's been telling everyone in town that she was going to get a job up at the elementary school, was kindly informed by her Bubbahubby that it was time to stop pussyfootin' around and find herself gainful employment. Bubbles, acting like the delicate, unworldly little hausfrau that she wants everyone to think she is, called Tiny, our plant manager and a.k.a. Bubbles' work hubby, telling him that Bubbahubby was upset with her and she needed Tiny's help because she didn't know how to create a resume.

Seriously.. what kinda person has the balls to go to the company that kicked them to the curb a year ago to ask them to spend two hours of company time on her resume?

Lord.. please let that child find herself a job so she'll stop sniffing around here like an old hound.

Anywho...

In other news, Ma claims she heard something outside her window the other night, looked out and found a big doe looking back at her and all up in her bedroom. She said they had a nice little talk and it's come back to visit a couple of times since.

Great. Between the possums, stray cats, screech owls and now deer, I could probably open my own petting zoo.

Ah well.. I suppose I should get back to the grind. Before I go, I wanted to thank ya'll for your response to yesterday's "De-Lurking" day. It was great to see some names I've not seen in a while and a few I didn't even know were out there. Just for the record, I am the world's worst for lurking. I read everything on a feedreader to make it easier to do from work without opening too many windows, so I'm cool if you wanna lurk in the shadows.

Lurk on!

We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!

Bubbles, Bossman and the Latest Gossip

As I was walking down the hall yesterday, Lulu motioned for me to make a pit stop in her office. We have to be stealthy to get any gossip, everyone's scrambling for every hour they can get, no one wants to be accused of having any free time.

"I stopped down at the dollar store yesterday after work and I seen Bubbles sittin' in the parking lot with her girls. I got by her without her seeing me, but then I got cornered by her Bubbahubby over by the Pepsi and chips," she said. "I asked him how she was doin' and he said he told her she was just gonna have to stop waitin' around for the plant to call her back and find her a job."

"Mmmm hmmm... he don't like her having all this free runnin' around time now that the little one's in school," I added.

"Uh huh.. he said she's been a'helpin' his daddy mow grass for people and he's havin' to pay her, but Bubbahubby don't like it. He said his daddy needs his money. In the meantime, Bubbles' Bubbahubby is working FOUR jobs," Lulu added. "He's working for the hospital, over in the next county as a paid firefighter, he's mowing for people AND he's working part time for the town. Now, I KNOW their house is paid for and I KNOW he makes good money up at that hospital, so you can't tell me he ain't workin' all them jobs just to keep from being at home."

I thought about how wide open Bubbles was when she worked beside me up at the Asylum. Then I imagined her without anyone to talk to for hours on end and how glad she'd be to see her man when he walked in after a two day shift on the ambulance.

"I'll bet, if she doesn't find a job soon, Bubbahubby will be finding him a fifth job, just to keep peace in the family," I said.

 Just the thought of her coming back to work up there puts a knot in the pit of my stomach.

In other news...

I've known for a while that Bossman keeps a full woodworking set up in his basement. He occasionally brings in pictures of stuff he's made and openly admits to having a framed, autographed picture of Norm Abrams hanging on his wall for inspiration.

After spotting an article on casket making in the paper, PG showed it to Bossman and suggested that perhaps he should go into the coffin crafting business. I joined in and as PG and I got as much mileage out of it as possible, Bossman reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a woodworking catalog, flipped to an earmarked page and proudly displayed a listing for "coffin hardware."

He never would say if he intended to build his own or build them for other people, but don't be suprised if you hear of an angry looking bald man on the side of a Tennessee mountain road, surrounded by a collection of custom crafted caskets for sale.

I'll be sure to get pictures if I spot him first.

Anywho...

It's Humpday ya'll. Let's hump it like it's our last day on earth.

We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!

Cowgirls, Gropers and Afternoon Visitors

Holy booger fest Batman! Everything from the neck up is either swollen, hurting or expelling mystery substances. My head is just one big, festering infection.

I know.. my sexiness is overwhelming. Try to control yourselves.

Saturday was the Amazon's birthday. It began with my putting my mouth up to the hole where her doorknob used to be (you might be a redneck) and singing "Happy Birthday" loudly and purposely off key. Later, she indulged in some brownies and some Wii action, while I napped.. because I'm a walking, raging cesspool of infection (my therapist says I need to stop making everything about me,) then that night she walked down to the local watering hole to meet a few of her closest friends.

I could tell her friends hadn't arrived when she got there because she immediately began texting me with a list of who all was there.

"The Groper is here. He's standing behind me."

Oh. Ma. Gawd. Ew.

When she got home, she had to give me the lowdown on everyone. It was still sorta early, but she said her friend had been overcome with heebeejeebies when she saw The Groper on the dance floor with some chicklet we've dubbed "The Cowgirl," because only in Frog Pond Holler do two women decide to go out for a little Saturday night excitement, saddling up their horses and riding down the main drag after dark. The heebeejeebies began when the friend, watching The Groper and The Cowgirl on the dance floor, witnessed the digital anal probing going on right there in front of God and everyone.

Yes my friends, this is the same man who likes to rub my arms and feed me Christmas candy.

After I told both Thelma and Lulu about The Groper's Saturday night shenanigans, I was forced to make butt juice jokes and several references to hand sanitizer due to my being catty and bitchy today.. BECAUSE MY ENTIRE HEAD IS INFECTIOUS.

But it's not all about me. Really.

In other exciting Asylum news, we had a visitor on Friday. I was sitting at my desk goofing off on Plurk and reading stuff working diligently when I heard a voice at the front of the building.

"HELLLLOOOOOO... is anyone HEEEEERRRREEEE? Oh HI mister!!! How the heck ARE ya???"

I felt my left eyeball begin to twitch. Beads of perspiration formed on my brow. A feeling of impending doom began to rise through my gut in a primal warning of self preservation.

It was....

Bubbles.

I'm assuming she came to shmooze, her unemployment is probably getting ready to run out and Bubbahubby can't possibly work another job. She also did not expect to encounter Bossman in the hallway.

"Oh HI! What are YOU doing here? Your car's not out there."

Dang.. obvious much?

"Yes it is," he answered.

"No it's not, your black car, it's not out there," she insisted.

"I don't have a black car anymore," he explained.

"Oh.. well.. I finally got to go play golf. I really liked it!" The bullcrap was so deep in there, I nearly gagged. In the past she also said she liked the Colts (Bossman's favorite team) when she wouldn't know a football if it flew up her big ol' butt.

"Nice seeing ya. Hope you're doing ok," Bossman added before trying to walk away.

"Oh, so you don't wanna talk to me huh?" Bubbles said, trying to be cute, but managing instead to sound desperate and pathetic.

"End of the month, lots to get done," he answered as he fled out into the plant. I didn't see him again for almost 45 minutes.

She finally left. My mind raced with all sorts of possible scenarios, but I know she was just nosing around because her Bubbahubby probably told her she'd have to find a job after her unemployment ran out.

See? If I can get a job working from home, everyone will be happy, even Bubbles. She can come back to the Asylum and have it all to herself. Okay so, Bossman probably won't be happy, but he never is.

Anywho... I have a call in to the Big City doctor for some antibiotics. I'm dunno why I called. She never calls them in for me, but I'm clinging to hope. Ya'll have a bootay kickin' week. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters.

As the Cubicle Turns

Let's saddle up that Drama Llama for the latest brouhaha at the Cubicle Asylum and around Frog Pond Holler.. shall we?

It all began last Friday when Bossman started trying to herd me out the door at 4:50. It was totally out of character for him. If he had wanted to sneak out 10 minutes early, it wouldn't have been anything out of the ordinary but his insistence that I follow him out the side door for a stealthy escape seemed odd.

Until I got outside. And I spotted "the box." It was Bubbles' shiny white all terrain assault vehicle. I'm still not 100% sure if Bossman was trying to avoid her, but if I had to bet money...

Then? Yesterday morning, as I barrelled up the hill towards the Asylum, I spotted Louise with her trusty new sidekick, Thumper, sitting in her tiny little red car, behind the parked cars next to the new restaurant. It appeared as though they were trying to hide.

What the crap?

I'd been here for a couple of hours yesterday morning before I conjured up the nerve to ask Thelma if she knew what the sam hill they were doing down there. Little did I know that by mentioning Louise's name I'd hit a nerve, resulting in a gush of emotion from Thelma about how Louise was driving her insane, calling her constantly all weekend, telling her every little tidbit of what she'd heard around town.

Apparently Louise has been calling everyone here (except me) to tell them she heard we were shutting down in three weeks.

Louise likes to get everyone in a wad, then sit back and watch the mayhem she's created. I'm sure there's an official name for that particular flavor of psychosis.

Poor Thelma was all flustered. It's so difficult to just stay focused and do your job when others are trying to give their own insecurities a little boost by dragging everyone else down. She and I had a long discussion, a sort of mutual pep talk and we both felt better when we were done. I still didn't know why Louise and Thumper had the road staked out like Starsky and Hutch at 8 o'clock in the morning, Thelma and I figured they must have been just nosey, looking to see who showed up for work.

But then?

Right before lunch I walked up to the front office to check my mailbox and caught a glimpse of someone in Tiny's office. There sat Louise with a stern look of determination on her face and beside her, with arms crossed across her belly, red faced and giving me the "die bitch die" hairy eyeball sat... Bubbles.

You'll have to tune in tomorrow for the rest of the story. Duty calls and I can't keep Bossman waiting.

Hang in there.

Later Taters!

Murderous Thoughts, the FBI and Why I'm a Rock Star

In my attempt to be a kinder, more spiritually evolved being, I've been been making an attempt to be nicer to Bubbles. The fact that we now spend a grand total of three hours a day together has helped matters, but I don't mind telling you that when she started smacking that chewing gum yesterday afternoon, it took all the self control I could muster to keep from leaping over the cubicle wall, all silent and ninja-like, wrapping my chubby little fingers around her neck and choking the snot out of her.

Not that I have violent tendencies or anything.

And seriously? If you're only working six hours a day and the GM is watching every move you make, would you take a long break in the afternoon to go on a nature walk with the GM's secretary?

Really?

*Deep breath... exhale slowly... moving on*

Ya'll will be glad to know I de-clogged the backed up sink Sunday night. I only plunged for about a half an hour, alternating between each side, before the non-inbred part of my brain kicked in and I realized I needed to block off one side in order to do any good.

I'm slow.. but I do catch on eventually.

Afterwards, it dawned on me that the clog might be the reason the dishwasher leaked water all over the kitchen the other day, not a busted pipe. So I tried it and there was no leak.

So yeah.. I'm feeling like a Home Repair Rock Star right about now.

Did ya'll see where the FBI is filling a bunch of job positions? I was all over their website, praying that there was a field office over in Big City, but unfortunately the closest one is in Knoxville, with another in Charlotte.

Seriously.. I would have applied.

Do you ever watch "Criminal Minds?" You know the character Garcia? I'd love to be her. While it's true that I don't posses her haxor skizzles, I love digging up dirt on people on the web. Just ask the Lyin' Assed Canadian. If it's out there.. I'll find it. Oh yeah and like Garcia, I could go for a sexy man with twinkling eyes calling me "Babygirl" whenever he needed information... just sayin'.

Anywho.. it's almost time for my cud chewing co-worker Bubbles to come in. I'm going to go say a silent prayer for the strength to keep from slapping her upside the head with Desk Monkey find peace.

Ya'll have a good one.

Later Taters!

Baby Snakes and Soggy Bubbles

Yesterday, in a cold medicine induced fog and obviously not in my right mind, I had the bright idea to haul a bunch of stuff to the dump. We had accumulated some "stuff" on the front porch, giving the house that "Appalachian Poor People Documentary" look and neighbors were starting to comment. Most of it was some of Ma's packrat loot that I'd hauled out there a couple of weeks ago and one kitchen chair that was busted way beyond ever being fixed. It was tilting precariously to the left, it was only a matter of time before it tossed someone in the floor. Ma protested, hollerin' "I got some stuff to fix that with... don't throw it out!!" but I managed to get it out to the truck without having to resort to physical combat.

By the time I got done cleaning off the porch and dragging a few more bags o' clutter out of Ma's room, Jolene's bed was full and ready to go. I didn't bother taking a shower before I went, I mean.. it's the dump... and I was sure I'd need one when I got back anyway. I pulled my hair up in a lopsided ponytail, confident that I wouldn't run in to anyone I knew and headed out.

The lot around the dumpsters was full of trucks. Trucks belonging to everyone who lives in Frog Pond Holler that I've ever argued with, given the stink eye to or been told off by. I pulled in behind an old, beat up truck that I soon recognized to be the same pickup a certain Bubbahubby drove back when he started dating his future wife... Bubbles.

But there is justice in the universe. Apparently Bubbles didn't realize that water had pooled in the bed of Bubbahubby's old farm truck, because as she tossed her giant boxes, still partially covered in pretty Christmas wrapping paper, in to the dumpster she flung nasty, stagnant water over her coiffed little head.

I may or may not have giggled uncontrollably.

When she reached in for that last bag of trash, raising it high above her and I saw the big ass hole in it where dogs, possums or hell.. maybe Precious the Younger had been chowing down on some garbage, for just a moment... a second.. I considered hollerin' out the window and warning her.

But I did not.

She rared back slinging the bag, brownish liquid dripping from the gaping hole, showering herself with wet, slimy garbage goodness. I believe she said, "Oh My!" as she tried to shake it off, glancing around to see if anyone was looking.

I may or may not have wet my granny panties with laughter, snorting so hard there may be permanent damage to my sinus cavity.

After the trip to the dump I piddled out in the yard a bit, then came in and moved the Christmas tree. It was blocking the air conditioner.

That's right. It was pushing 80° up in this trailer by yesterday afternoon. IT'S DECEMBER. Sheesh.

After that I knocked dust off the furniture, sucked it up off the floor, swept all sorts of unidentifiable matter up in the kitchen and scrubbed the fireplace hearth. On my hands and knees even. Oh and laundry. Lots of laundry.

In between all of this, Ma was still having her massive holiday hives attack. She took lots of Benadryl. When combined with her failing eyesight (or as she says, "I'm blind in one eye and I can't see out the other") and all her other assorted medications, around 9 o'clock last night she decided that she'd seen a baby snake in her bathroom. And to prove she was off her noodle, she thought I was going to come in there and look for it.

You can ask the Amazon. When it comes to snakes, all my mothering or care giving instincts become null and void. Once, when turning a corner in a pet shop and being confronted by a woman holding a 20ft long python pet snake, I shoved my precious child between myself and Satan's Pawn the animal, an incident the Amazon likes to bring up whenever I comment on my Mother Teresa-esque parenting qualities.

Don't look at me like that. She was like fourteen at the time. It's not like it was going to eat her.

Anywho, I yelled back to Ma's room and told her she'd have to take this ride on the crazy train solo, I was not coming in there and looking for a baby snake hiding in her room on the rare chance that it really existed. She yelled for the Amazon to come in there about 12 times, claiming she'd seen it again before the Amazon barricaded herself in her bedroom.

Fun times.

So as you may have guessed, today I'm plumb tuckered. Pooped. Tared. I don't plan on doing anything more strenuous than lifting my coffee cup for the rest of the day. The Amazon is workin' down at the Pump N' Go all day, so I can even have the t.v. remote.

Ya'll have a good one. I'm gonna go daydream about sweet nothings whispered in foreign accents.

Later Taters!

Fighting Fire, Chimp Sex and Why Technology Sucks

I hope ya'll can forgive me for being so late with my Humpday post, because honestly? I've been humping it like the last horny girl chimp in a midwestern zoo breeding program, courting six big, hairy, knuckle dragging suitors.

The only reason I'm here now is our inventory program pulled a crash and burn a few minutes ago and I can't work anyway.

Well.. I have stuff I could be doing but.. meh.

Aside from some customer driven drama (I'm sorry, I can't wave my wand and get your 400lbs of chit from Frog Pond Holler to Indiana in 24 hours for less than $650. I am the Sales Ninja, but even I have my limits) things have been pretty quiet around the Asylum. I retired my earbuds for radio listening. I still use them when I want to sneak on Hulu to watch reruns of "The Riches" or some YouTube work of art, but I'm not going to sit over here with my ears plugged up while Bubbles enjoys her chit kickin', backer spittin', coon dog lovin', yeehaw bull crap. I keep my musical selections at a reasonable sound level, unless she peeves me off. I figure, if she's hootin' and hollerin' so loud I can't hear my radio at my desk, I just turn it up.

When she pops her gum, I smack my lips loudly, mocking her. When she gets on the phone and starts telling everyone in the holler about her crotch rot, I pick up the phone and call someone, usually Lulu, and share information that I feel is important. Like that the store brand peanut butter has the consistency of runny baby poo, taking care to describe it in great detail. I do it loudly, so I can make sure Lulu hears me.

It's nice to hear someone else on the phone with a customer going, "I'm sorry, can you repeat that?" besides me.

Am I being childish? Spiteful? Immature?

Maybe. Sometimes you have to fight fire with fire.

Anywho..

The order I was entering when the system crashed has been tossed in to some weird state of suspended animation. It's there, but I can't get in it.. and I'm not done with it. Now I'm going to have to call The Geek.

I don't like to call The Geek.

On days like today, I seriously reconsider my decision to quit smoking.

Seriously.

I hope you went ahead and got started on that humpin' thang. Do it like you mean it!

Later Taters!

Black Belts, Watermelon Smells and Booty Calls

Happy Hump Day Eve!!

I think I just trumped Bubbles on making stupid comments to our customers:

Customer Bob: "Hey, just how did you come up with this freight quote anyway?"

Me: "Ya know.. sometimes we just have to pull things out of our ass."

I really shouldn't be left unsupervised.

Anyhooter, it's cold as crap in the holler this morning and the heat here at the Asylum is on just enough to keep the pipes from freezing.

But I'm not complaining.. no really.. I'd rather work in my coat than spend the day with smelly sweat delicate beads of perspiration trickling down in my butt crack my back.

The Amazon made some awesomtastic pumpkin cheesecake last night, only we didn't have a spring form pan and the bread pan she used only held about a third of the filling, so there's a ginormous bowl of pumpkin cheesecake filling in the fridge.

In other news: Ya'll keep your fingers crossed for me. I think I figured out a way for me to finally get actual office walls. The Hai Karate Super Chop-Chop meeting I went to the other day ended with our being required to bring a project from our area of the plant that we felt could be improved. I presented an in-depth explanation of how the sales team's desks being practically in the hallway was counter productive, with 75% of our job description involving interaction with customers on the telephone. I then pointed out how employees like to scream up and down the hall like they're still working in the tobacco field and how everyone on our management team likes to keep their shiny, new, company provided cell phone ringers turned way up, because being loud in the hallway somehow over compensates for other "issues" in their lives where they feel inadequate.

Okay, I didn't really say that last part, but I wanted to.

I then suggested to the Super Hai Karate Chop-Chop Black Belt Master that he hang out in the extra sales cube that afternoon and just listen and imagine trying to conduct business on the phone while all the hollerin' and ballyhooin' was going on around him.

Which he did.

During which, Bubbles got hold of a pack of watermelon flavored Bubbalicious (I know because the scent of pseudo watermelon hung like a big pink and green cloud over her cube for the entire afternoon) and proceeded to chomp, pop, smack and suck the ever living hell out of it.

Shortly thereafter, the Super Hai Karate Chop-Chop Black Belt Master came by my office, cut his eyes towards Bubbles cubicle, nodded and winked in that Top Secret way that only managers do when you might, possibly, be getting what you asked for.

Or... he had the hots for my bodacious tattas and by not following him down the hall, I missed the opportunity for a Cubicle Asylum booty call... but I'm pretty sure that wasn't it.

Anywho.. I'd better get it in gear and get some work done. Ya'll get ready to hump it, it's almost time!

Later Taters!

Jasper Shunned and Bubbles' Meltdown

Dang ya'll, I'm running behind schedule today. We've been sort of busy for a change, which is good, but I've been expected to like... work and stuff.

By 9 o'clock we'd already had our daily dose of Bubbles drama. Precious the Elder called from school. Depending on which version of the story you want to believe she either fell or was shoved and either chipped her front tooth and is a little addled or she broke half of it off and was on the ground writhing in pain. Bubbles was quick to initiate the RED ALERT TELEPHONE TAG FAMILY EMERGENCY RELAY system, where she dials with rapid, quick firing accuracy, Bubbahubby's cell phone number, rattling off the details to him, sending him flying through town in the ambulance towards the elementary school. Okay so... he's a paramedic and that happens to be the only vehicle available.. but still. Then.. no lie.. she hangs up and immediately dials the in-laws because they MUST be informed of EVERY fart, sniffle, scratch and bicycle wreck WITHIN SECONDS of it's actual occurrence. Apparently, if they are not notified immediately, the signs of Armageddon will begin to present themselves and there is no turning back, bringing an end to the world and the eternal damnation of our souls to the fiery pits of hell.

She may or may not inform her own parents.

As much as I adore Precious the Elder (and I truly do, she is the only hope for that family) I sat in quiet prayer that her unfortunate morning would result in Bubbles leaving the Asylum for the day. After hearing Bubbles call the dentist office ("Oh THANK YOU, THANK YOU so MUCH for seeing her today, I don't know what we would have done!!!") I realized that Bubbahubby would be taking Precious the Elder to the dentist. At first, after Bubbles called their office, then called her in-laws again, then Bubbahubby, she had said she'd meet him there (Yes!) but he must have told her to stay here (Dang! So Close!)

I really wish someone would share the wonders of speed dial with Bubbles, because she beats the living beejeebus out of that phone when she starts calling all the kin folk.

Oh and by the way, Precious the Elder is all fixed up, fine and dandy.

The meeting we had yesterday on Sexual Harassment and Hostile Work Environments amounted to the HR manager reading the same piece of paper she reads to us every year, then handing us a page to sign.. which I did and quietly went back to work.

But...

Yesterday afternoon after Bubbles left for her appointment to determine whether her vajayjay should be placed in quarantine for the protection of the general public from the spread of her crotch rotting bacteria doctor's appointment, the GM and Bossman stole the Easter Basket of Halloween candy from Bubbles cube, then camped out in mine while they pillaged. The GM made a reference to some comments that were made during the morning manager's meeting the previous day, comments that had upset me greatly. I thought he had said them and told him so. The GM then went on to explain that it wasn't he who made hate filled statements of a racial nature, it was Jasper.

Since he brought it up, I took the opportunity to remind the GM that although they think the morning manager's meeting is private, the entire office staff can hear what is being discussed without much effort. I also gently reminded him that not everyone in earshot of the meeting appreciates that particular brand of humor and while the person who heard those statements would be willing to look the other way this time, any future statements of that nature would definitely and without hesitation result in a formal report of said statements to the corporate office.

I also mentioned that I'd witnessed Jasper in attendance of the "training meeting" earlier in the day and suggested that this might present the perfect opportunity to bring up statements as were made in the meeting and how they are a violation of our company policy.

Jasper won't even look at me today. Ask me if I give a possum's butt.

Anywho.. it's Humpday ya'll. Let's hump it like an AIG executive, 'cuz they seem to hump it real good.

Later Taters!

Bacterial Invasion

And now... back to our regular nonsense.

I'm going to jump right in, so hang on...

Bubbles left early yesterday for a doctor's appointment. I know it was for a raging coochie infection because in the two hours she was here, she had to call Bubbahubby three times. She also called her mother-in-law to inform her of where she'd be, apologizing for not telling her that she had an extreme case of the coochie cooties for the past two weeks, because she didn't want to worry her to death.

During her absence yesterday, Lulu and I debated the origins of her flaming bits. Lulu suspects it's her two-sizes-too-small clothing combined with the fact that to Bubbles, naked is a sin, therefore I doubt her bits ever get the opportunity to air out.

At first, I figured it was the soaking baths she is so quick to tell everyone she takes. For reasons I don't understand, showering is uncommon among the women in the holler. I am often looked upon as a Big City snot, what with my daily showering and shunning of Mr. Bubble.

But now that I've thought about it, I figure Bubbles has probably caught a rare case of goat herpes. She hangs her bloomers out on the clothes line, which extends over the goat pen. You know there's some goat germs getting on her delicate underthings, which she then wears, way too tight and in constant contact with her "business."

I'm just sayin...

This morning, I heard her on the phone with a customer.. named Ed.

"I'm sooooooorry.. I had to leave early yesterday for a doctor's appointment.. They had to prescribe antibiotics.. I have a bacteria.. they're sending it off for testing and said they'll let me know when they get the results... Oh THANK YOU.. I'm in sooo much pain but I couldn't afford to miss any more time... I just hope I make it for the rest of the day..."

Later, as I sat here sipping my coffee, Tiny came strolling down the hall.

"Hey Bubbles, where were you yesterday? I missed you. They said you left. Are you okay?"

"Oh, I just don't know. I had to go to the doctor. I've been suffering in pain for two weeks, but I haven't told anyone because I didn't want to worry them. They said I have bacteria."

"Oohh.. OH.. I see," Tiny said as he realized what she meant. He started to move away, like he wanted to go back up the hall.

"I'm on antibiotics. I'm on a strict diet. I can't have anything to drink but water. I don't know how I'm going to do it. I never knew bacteria was so painful."

"Well.. I'm sorry you're a' feelin' puny. I hope you feel better," he said as he started walking. Bubbles got up from her chair and filed in behind him in the hallway, talking as she went.

"It really hurts.. I don't know if I can make it through the day..."

In fairness, I've not had an infection of that kind since I was a kid, so maybe she is in pain. But seriously? Does she have to keep telling everyone, well.. only the men.. that she's "caught the bacteria" like it's a disease in it's own right? And doesn't she realize that telling everyone that she's got coochie crud that has to be "sent off" for testing, like the CDC is involved or somechit, instills images of fuzzy green growths and sprouting mushrooms on her nether regions?

I'm really trying to fight the urge to peek over the wall and say, "Um Bubbles? Could you keep your nasty, bacterial coochie business to yourself? Because honestly? That's just nasty."

I won't, but I want to.

In other news...

Bossman came by this morning to let me know that after the upcoming three day weekend, the two following weeks will be full time pay.

Yay!

Oh and those of you who are watching the gloom and doom reports on the news, let me share some of what's been going on around here. October was our largest $$$ booking month in 2008 and election day was the single largest day of sales since early summer.

I figure, here in the holler, we've been in a recession for a long time, it's just now trickled up to the rest of the country. Maybe things are starting to swing around and this is where it will be felt first.

We shall see.

Anywho.. for those of you who think I'm unusually cruel to Bubbles, know that when I was in sick and in pain and shared it with her, because I thought she wanted to be friends, she walked over to her desk and called her Bubbahubby, telling him she had been listening to me whine. Then she told him, "There's nothing wrong with her, Mahala just likes to be miserable."

So yeah.

On that note, I'm going to go find the mind bleach to try to erase the image of Bubbles' fungus filled coochie.

Ya'll have an awesome day.

Later Taters!

Drunken Debbie, Bubbles and Banking in the Holler

Today is supposed to be Bubbles-Free Friday, but it is not. Miss Bubbaliciousness is here. I don't know why she's here, I just know that I am grossly disappointed that she is. I'm silently praying that she's only working a half a day and trying, unsuccessfully mind you, to remind myself that it is none of my beeswax.

She was here a total of SEVENTEEN MINUTES before she had to call Bubbahubby. Perhaps it was an emergency. Perhaps he needed to wipe his own ass for a change and she had to talk him through it... I don't know.

*Deep cleansing breath... let it out slowly... ohhhhhhmmmmmmm.. ya'll*

For another aggravation sticking precariously in my craw: PG went out of his way about a week ago to tell me about the car he was going to be selling. It's a 1998 Grand Am and he only wanted $1000 for it. The Amazon has been saving diligently for a car and had saved almost that exact amount. He said his wife had just made her mind up that she wanted a new one and was now being nit picky about it, so he knew he's have to sell it. He said he would make sure nothing was wrong with it and let me know, although he wasn't crazy about selling it to someone he knew.

So yesterday I was in the production office, gathering some paperwork when Drunken Debbie came in to tell Louise about the car she was getting.

Drunken Debbie is notorious here in the holler for doing shit like, getting dog drunk over the weekend and showing up to work on Monday morning with a new haircut... one she gave herself with a pocket knife. She's also the go to person for all your lunchtime, parking lot, drug buying needs.

I was ... well not surprised to be honest... to hear her say she was buying a 1998 Grand Am from PG, if she could get the money.

I shouldn't let it bother me... but dang.. it just does.

*Deep cleansing breath... let it out slowly... ohhhhhhmmmmmmm.. ya'll*

I should go marching in PG's office and tell him what I think, but I'm not going to. It's his car and he can sell it to whoever he wants. At least, that's what I'm going to tell myself.

Moving on..

I've been anxiously awaiting a letter from the Hee-Haw County bank. My mortgage has a variable rate and for the past two years, my payments have gone down a little in November because of the lowered interest rates. This year I'm hoping it drops even more, since they've gone apeshit crazy dropping rates this last quarter. Ya'll keep your fingers crossed for me.

Lawsy ya'll.. at least it is Friday. It's still a little muggy here in the office, but it's rainy and cool outside, the highs promising to crest at 66°. Maybe I can make it to five o'clock without accumulating a pool of butt crack sweat.

Maybe.

I'll leave ya'll with that visual and go enter this ginormous $27K order. Then, I figure, I can skate the rest of the day. Ya'll have a good one.

Later Taters!

Why God Made Earbuds

It's still entirely too warm here in Frog Pond Holler for October. I know.. I know.. in a few weeks I'll be bitching about boobsicles.. but for now it's hot.

There's still no air conditioning here at the Asylum and on top of that, OSHA showed up bright and early yesterday morning.. on a day when the GM, the Plant manager and PG all didn't come strolling in until 10 a.m.

This right here? Would be a great place for a factory.. don't ya think?

Anywho, we all had to unplug and stash our desk fans, so the tiny bit of relief we were getting from the mugginess is gone. The forecast for today is 83°.. which would be fine and dandy if you're outside where there's a breeze.. but in here under the fluorescent lights and nestled in beside the office equipment.. things are going to get hairy. I may have to go sit out in the truck and run the air conditioning at regular intervals.

I know.. that makes me an ecological asshat but dang.. I'm dealing with the impeding eruption of Mount Vesuvius and trying not to stab Bubbles in the forehead with a spork.

Oh.. I didn't tell ya'll her latest. Yesterday, my allergies were really kicking in and I had a slight earache, so I couldn't deal with the earbuds and was forced to listen to Bubbles on the phone with a customer:

"Up from our church, there's a Buddhist camp.. thing.. whatever you call it. They don't like when we have services because our church bails rang and it bothers thar quiet time. Wull I say tough for them, my Bible says make a joyful noise! Let them bails rang!!! WOOOOOO!!! AMEN!!! hahahahahahahha! AMEN!!! That's what they git fer not believing in God. I heered they run around up thar without no clothes on and wirship cow statues.. least that's wut our preacher says."

The fact that she's not running around with a fluorescent pink Hi-Lighter shoved up her left nostril is a testament to the fact that there's a special place in heaven waiting for me in the hereafter.

Anywho..

Hopefully the OSHA guy will finish up today and get the hell out of here so I can turn my fan back on. I hope he leaves soon.

Happy Humpday. Let's hump it with the cool sensation of a York's Peppermint Patty.

Ya'll have a good one.

Later Taters!

David Blaine, Satan and Bubbles

I stopped at the dollar store on the way home for lunch yesterday. We were almost out of dog food and we needed a loaf of bread.. if I was going to fix any lunch. I didn't bother getting a cart, which meant I was standing in line with a big ass bag of kibble slung over my shoulder while Irene, Erlene and the cashier, Wanda got butt cheek deep in a discussion over David Blaine.

Irene dropped three bags of kitty litter on the counter as she said, "I seen him do things that sent chills up my spine. Lookey here.. it's a'givin' me the goose flesh just talkin' 'bout it!" She extended her tattooed arm, evidence of the life she had before she found Jesus and the imagined goose bumps she seemed to think were there.

"I think it's spirits does them things. That feller's in cahoots with them. He's a spiritual CAHOOTER!!!" Wanda added, her eyes growing great big as she clutched the crucifix at her neck.

The line had come to a screeching halt while the local ladies discussed David Blaine's spiritual connections. There was a tourist in front of me, the look in her eyes making it clear that she just wanted to pay for her box of Pop Secret and get the hell out of there.

She looked afraid.

Erlene began to add her opinion, a stern look of seriousness washing over her face, much like the look she gets as she preaches the evils of putting on short dresses and getting all liquored up when she's teaching her Sunday school class. "If you ask me, that feller is in alliance with the devil," she said. Irene and Wanda nodded in agreement. Erlene then looked around, scouring the front of the store before she continued in a loud whisper, "That look he has about him, neither black nor white, runnin' 'round shirtless, that sinful look of temptation in his eyes.." she paused for a second then continued, "I've often thought that he may indeed be the dark prince, Mephistopheles... the devil himself!"

Wanda and Irene both turned white as ghosts.

Me? I just wanted them to shut up and get a move on. My lunch break is only an hour long and hell.. that bag of dog food was getting heavier by the second.

And honestly.. who knew David Blaine conjured up such devilish sexual tension among the Sunday school clique? Personally, I think he's a hack.. but anywho..

I eventually did make it back to the Asylum to finish the work day. Around three o'clock, Bubbles began her daily cud chewing gum smacking. I had New Age Native American drum and flute music playing through buds at ear bleed levels, but I still couldn't drown her out. Imagine my absolute fecking glee when I over heard this exchange between her and Bossman:

Bubbles, sickeningly sweet asks: "Mr. Bossman, would you kindly come over here and sign my time card?"

Bossman, with his usual lack o' emotion: "Yeah, you sure it's right?"

Bubbles: "Oh yes sir! Well.. at least I don't think I lied about anything! HAHAHAHA! I'm such a liar.. HAHAHAHAHA! Oh My!!! HAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Bossman, signs the card and hands it back to Bubbles.. then adds, "You're sure chomping the hell out of that gum this afternoon, aren't ya?"

Bubbles was quiet for a second then says, "Thank you sir for your signature!!"

I tried not to laugh out loud, but I'm pretty sure a snort or two escaped my face.

It's amazing what little things can make your day, isn't it?

Ya'll have a great Friday.

Later Taters!

Apes, Ninjas and Jesse James

As I sit here, pretending to work looking busy while intently eavesdropping on the morning manager's meeting, I realize just how much our supervisors sound like another governing body:

"It's not MY fault"

"I don't know how to fix it"

"It's not MY job"

Maybe some of our managers have a future in politics.

So how are ya'll this fine October Humpday? I'm recovering from last night's grocery trip ($16.25 in coupons) and thankful that it's the first day of the month. We can't enter any orders or do anything in the system until the bean counters get done with their month end junk and change the system date, so it's filing, reading the Hee-Haw County weekly and sipping coffee for most of the day. While there are times when I miss the accounting department (my first seven years here at the Asylum) the month end crush is not one of those times. There's way too much stress with the screaming, big headed German, calls from the corporate office and deadlines looming overhead.

Yeah.. sometimes it's good to be the sales ninja.

There were two more articles about the upcoming fair in the paper this week. They've announced the entertainment for Saturday night, Jesse James and the Junk Man's Daughter will be taking the stage at 9 p.m.

I'm not making that up.

In other news...

Bubbles must be feeling spunky this morning. She's over there in her jeans, popping gum and smacking those lips together like somebody's toothless granny with a can of snuff. I think she and the Bubbahubby are having "issues." I've heard her telling everyone in earshot that Precious the Elder has been pitching crying fits every morning before school, apparently due to math anxiety. She finally let it slip that Precious was all in a wad because her daddy had put the fear in her if she didn't ace every math test.

Bubbles' Bubbahubby is a loud, obnoxious, knuckle dragging neanderthal anyway, I can just imagine what he said to the poor child.. who by the way.. is nothing like her parents. I'm certain she'll grow up one day to write her own blog, explaining how she was raised by apes, struggling to overcome her family ties.

Okay.. that was cruel of me to say. I happen to love and respect apes.. so I take it back.

It's only fair that I point out that while Precious the Elder is an adorable and loving child.. a joy to be around, Precious the Younger, at four years old, is demon spawn. You need only look in to her devious little eyes to see the faint outline of the orange flames of an eternal pit dancing in her pupils.

I'll never forget her mother telling the story of how Younger hauled off and mule kicked some 75 year old man.. at church no less.. because she didn't like the way he looked at her. Bubbles laughed loud, snorting often as she relayed the story.

Anyhooters...

It's our first October Humpday of 2008. Let's hump it like a Congressman in a D.C. coat room with a Hustler magazine.

Because I'd like to think they're doing something constructive..

Later Taters!