The Mass Exodus of the Menfolk

It's a gray and gloomy morning in Frog Pond Holler, but I'm awake and that's a win.

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.

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.

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. 

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. 

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.

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.

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.

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. 

Big time asshole move.

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. 

There was a lot of sadness at Aunt Moses' house.

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.

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. 

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. 

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.

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.

Later Taters!!

Texting with Aunt Moses

Sometimes, I think Aunt Moses is guilty of drunk texting. This was totally out of the blue, it's not out of context or altered in any way. 

Aunt Moses: So your pasta is done when it sticks to the wall. I guess watermelon is ripe when it sticks to the wall and ceiling.

Me: Um....how did it get there?

Aunt Moses: It was thrown and spit and flipped.

Me: Did someone get the piss smacked out of them?

Aunt Moses: No! You were only 2

Keep in mind, I was thinking that she'd come home to a watermelon splattered kitchen, where she resides with 3 other adults. This is when I quietly turn my phone off for a few days.

Aunt Moses, The King of Hell and Kinfolk Shenanigans

Mark Sheppard as Crowley, King of Hell, formerly known as Fergus MacLeod, on Supernatural. I  know I'm a weirdo. Deal with it. Get Supernatural Seasons 1-9 Complete Series
here!

 

I woke up this morning to The King of Hell whispering "Hello darling," repeatedly in my ear.

It's my text alert. Aunt Moses was burning my phone up.

"I let the kids watch a movie over at the school and they got charged with trespassing. Somebody called DSS and I lost my job."

That's a lot of crap to process with one text. I told her I'd be right over, as soon as I took a shower and fed all the critters. And got at least one cup of coffee in me.

I was already freaking out before I even got in the shower. Aunt Moses worked at Frog Pond Holler Elementary. The house she rents is actually part of the school property and her rent comes out of her check. If she lost her job, was she going to lose her house too? Where would she live? Oh please, DEAR GOD let her find a place to live.

I'd already heard that my Trashy-Big-Boobed-Cousin-With-The-Lazy-Eye was losing her place up on the mountain. She also happens to be Aunt Moses' youngin. What if they all ended up homeless? I CAN'T TAKE IN ALL THESE PEOPLE!!!! Uncle Clarence has bladder cancer and TBBCWTLE is a pot head, as is her husband. I mean, they stay stoned ALL THE TIME.

And by youngins, she had to mean TBBCWTLE's girl, along with her autistic stepson. Surely they didn't arrest him. He's just a little guy.

I envisioned all the kinfolk lying around my trailer, in various stages of chemically induced euphoria, sweaty and scantily clad, arguing over whose turn it was to go buy more Oreos while I locked myself in my room, trying to make a dollar on the innerwebs.

Oh shit. THE SNAKES. TBBCWTLE's girl has three. I don't know what kind they are, I just know one's big enough to EAT MY BUNNIES. I already can't look at my family Facebook page. She posts pictures of them constantly.

Nope. Nope. Nope. This can't happen.

I took the fastest shower I've taken since the last time I was late for work. By the time I got to Aunt Moses' house, I was all in a wad, ready to get on the phone and start finding a place for her. When I pulled up, Uncle Clarence was out on the riding mower, doing his thing. Moses met me at the door. "Wull hey! Come on in the house! You want a sammich?"

"Um.. no I'm good. Are you okay? What's going on? Tell me what the hell happened!!!"

We sat down in the living room, Moses propped her feet up, tossed a corner of her turkey sandwich to her old lab and slowly spinned her story.

So apparently, when Aunt Moses said "youngins" she meant TBBCWTLE's daughter, her son and his wife. She'd given them the key to the school so they could go watch a movie on the big screen in the library. (They have a t.v. with satellite. I don't know why they had to go to the school.) The t.v. locked up on them, so they left it, but not before helping themselves to some food from one of the classrooms and leaving behind a huge mess.

TBBCWTLE's son and his wife are adults. Her daughter is 15. Aunt Moses is 60ish. They all should have known better. Moses uses her key to the school as the door to her own little supply stash. She used to bring me boxes of canned goods and toilet paper that I knew was coming from the food bank. She said it was left over, but I know she was carrying it out of the school kitchen. When I figured out where it was coming from, I told her we were fully stocked and didn't need any.

I'm not that desperate.. and I'm pretty sure she's not either.

When the charges were filed, TBBCWTLE's bunch was named and forbidden to set foot on school property. This would mean that her daughter would not be able to attend school and, technically, her son and his wife, who live with Aunt Moses, would be out on their asses.

Such a freckin' mess.

Luckily, all charges were dropped, everything was wiped clean and no one's homeless. Aunt Moses still has her job. I don't have to take care of anyone and she really just wanted me to come over and visit for a bit.

And.. Uncle Clarence is going to come cut my grass. BONUS! Because even though I plan on getting a little used mower this weekend, it's gotten so bad out there that you just about need a bush hog.

I know there are slithery things.

*shudder*

Anywho, somewhere in the middle of all this, DSS was called on TBBCWTLE. I'm still not really sure what the hell was going on there. I don't think I'm getting the whole story on any of it. I may have to give Thelma a call. Her bubbahubby is the town cop. She'll have the scoop.

It's just another day in the holler.

Ya'll have a good one. It's almost Friday, hang in there. We'll talk again soon!

Later Taters!!

They're Watching Me

A while back, Aunt Moses lost her double-wide up on the mountain, a victim of shady mortgages, medical bills and life in general. She was lucky to find a nice sized home to rent, out behind the elementary school, overlooking the baseball field. Aunt Moses does janitorial type duties at the school and drives the school bus route that goes up Fall Branch and into the backwoods.

The other night, T.A. had taken Jolene to work. Her tires were wearing thin and she didn't want to take a chance on having a blow out somewhere between here and civilization. She works the vampire shift.

The next morning, I get this text message from Aunt Moses, "Where are you? Are you home? Are you okay? Where's the truck?"

Apparently, when she went by the house in the school bus, at the ass crack of dawn, she flipped her noodle when she didn't see Jolene. Of course, I explained what was going on and she eventually calmed down. I appreciate that she's concerned, but between her and the neighbor lady across the street, I feel like I'm being watched all the time.

When all that stuff was going on with Long Lost Daughter and losing my job and.. well.. ya'll can imagine, I wasn't myself. Some days I just sat on the front porch and smoked, ignoring the phone and trying to get my head together. Well, if Aunt Moses texted me and I didn't answer, she'd walk out the front door of the school, where she could peer down into the holler and see if I was alive. I've caught her doing it a few times.

It's creepy as hell ya'll.

Woodrow lives across the street in an old trailer parked on a lot they used to rent from Dubya. He used to work up at The Asylum, but hurt his back and ended up on disability. I don't care for him much, he used to call me "Big Mahala." I had to fight the urge to call him "Crippled Up Old Woody."

It seemed only fair. But I'm a nice person, so I refrained.

His wife is kind of a nutbar but nice enough. She waddles by the house 2 or 3 times a day, walking her little dog. She had cancer a couple of years ago, did the chemo thing and seems to be doing pretty good. I'll never forget she had cancer, because she tells me every time I talk to her. And about being sick from the chemo. And every medication she's on.

I know she sits over there and watches my house, because if I step out on the porch to hang out laundry, she suddenly appears, dragging her little dog across the road.

Sometimes I hide from her.

Oh, I've told myself she's just lonely. If I was cooped up in the house with that asshole of a husband of hers 24/7, I'd be desperate for someone to talk to as well.

She's commented, more than once, that she's seen my bedroom light on at night and wondered if I was sick. She said she's debated whether or not to come knock on the door and check on me. I've calmly assured her that I'm fine, just a bit of a night owl, while on the inside I'm praying, to all that's Holy, that she never does that.

I'm a little jumpy at night after T.A. goes to work. If someone were to knock on my door in the middle of the night, when I'm here alone, I'm liable to crap my jammies. If I'm wearing any. Our porch light doesn't work at all, the only light is from a solar string I put up last fall. They barely glow. Plus, I've lost my glasses, so I can't see too good anyway...

I have been known to answer the door with a butcher knife in my hand, if I'm spooked bad enough. I'm really going to need for Woody's wife to keep her little waddle butt over yonder on her side of the road after dark.

Anywho...

I'm going to go hang out some clothes now. We'll see if I get trapped outside.

Later Taters!!!

The Latest and Greatest from Frog Pond Holler

Hey ya'll. There's so much crap going on, I don't know where to start, so let's just jump right in, shall we?

The Cubicle Asylum:
It's official. The Germans are definitely coming. August 3rd is our final inventory. The Big Headed German and his crew over at the other plant will continue to do our bean counting until the end of the year, but reporting to The Germans instead of the craptastic, soul sucking company we currently work for. From what I've been able to gather and piece together from assorted conversations, nothing much should change before the end of the year.

Don't get me wrong, I fully realize that The Germans could well be just as soul sucking, if not more, but at least it's a change.

Twatwaffle has been in a constant state of pre-nervous breakdown for weeks, breaking out in hives and flitting around like a hummingbird with a Starbucks habit. I'm sure she fears losing her job and for good reason, but we'll see.

There is speculation that they may bring back Ol' Gorilla Head, the sales manager that lasted a whole 24 hours, getting fired when it was discovered that he was still employed by the rep firm he came from. If that happens, this old girl will be going to the house. I can't stand his hateful ass while working with him as a sales rep, I damned sure ain't working for him. He's a lying snake, sucking up to your face and talking shit behind your back. Gorilla Head sealed his fate with me when he called the corporate office and complained about me, after his 24 hours were up.

Jerk.

Shady Pines:
Ma left the nervous hospital after a two week stay and went back to the home. I've only gotten to talk to her once since then, every time I call she's making her rounds, playing the social butterfly, and they can't find her to put her on the phone. The one time we did chat, she seemed much happier and content. The nurses say she's a different person. While the staff at the home seems to think she's cured and this is how she'll be, I know from experience that it's only temporary and she'll tire of putting on the happy act. Eventually she'll end up back at the nervous hospital, months or a year from now, but that's the ebb and flow of life with Ma at this point.

All the Kinfolk:
I'm pretty much done with all of them, including Aunt Moses. Their racist mouths and confederate flag waving attitudes make me ill. I tried to overlook things, citing closed minded ignorance and the possibility that they'd all been bounced on the noggin a few times, hoping they'd step up and take some of the responsibility for Ma. Their sister raised and took care of all of them at different stages in their lives. All I asked was that they call her once in a while, maybe stop by when they were out that way, but no. They don't even ask.

To hell with them.

So Done.

Around the Holler:
There's a sign up at the store saying the town garbage truck is in the shop so trash day has been moved from Monday to Thursday. Hopefully I can cajole The Amazon to haul my load to the dump tomorrow.

Since the whole confederate flag brouhaha, there are giant ones flying from the front porches of double wides all over the holler. Aunt Moses is even sporting a shiny new confederate front plate on her little Ranger. These people have never even known a black person and none of them are as lily white as they think they are, which gives me quiet satisfaction.

There was a letter to the editor in the local paper last week, from a Florida tourist who over heard the town cop making anti-gay and racist comments down at the Grab n' Go (and go and go.) He says she's mistaken, but I know him and I'm pretty sure he probably said it.

This from the man who looks so non-white that he was racially profiled while trying to enter the Big City Civic Center right after 9/11.

I don't get people.

Meanwhile, Back at the Trailer:
The grass is butthole high to a Sasquatch. The little old guy that was cutting it for me stopped as suddenly as he began. It's been around 90ish the past few weeks and I'm sorry but, my fat old ass just can't shelp around the half acre pushing the mower through it all after 8-9 hours at The Asylum.

I don't even care.

I've been out of FMF meds for two weeks now. So far I've been pretty lucky with my joints, but I have had periods of horrible muscle pain, so much so that I had to leave work for a couple of hours last week. I ordered a refill from India and it's been sitting in customs for five days now. The DEA will probably be here in a day or two to pick me up.

Whatever.

I won't be making my September doctor's appointment. The Big City practice has "dismissed" me due to an unpaid bill. My last visit came to a whopping $200, after insurance, and I don't have the money, so I guess I'll be going back to the HeeHaw clinic. I'll be cancelling my insurance at the end of the year, one way or another. If the new company doesn't have something better to offer, I'll be going to BCBS of NC. $35 a month vs. $160 and it actually covers stuff. It says something about the company I work for, the insurance industry and the state of our society when I can't afford the employer supplied insurance, but qualify for a low income discount for private coverage.

Chew on that for a second.

I'm all for the $15 minimum wage. I'll get a $3 raise.

Anywho,

Currently there are no less than 5 bags of trash tied up in the kitchen. I've been on a cleaning spree. I spend every Saturday and Sunday morning running the dishwasher and cleaning out cabinets, hurrying to get as much done as I can before it gets too hot. The only cool rooms are the bedrooms, so we spend most of our time holed up in there. I have a big a.c. on the porch to put in the kitchen window, but I can't lift it and it needs to be braced up, so it doesn't like.. yank the window out.

The kitchen is looking less and less condemable, so there's that.

We've lost three chickens this summer, two to the heat and Queen Latifa, who apparently stuck her head under the gate and got hung. All that's left are Shanaynay and Cordelia.

Maybe I'll get more next spring.

So this weekend it's been more of the same. Working on laundry pile number 2, washing lots of dishes, bagging up shit we've not touched in 10 years and trying to figure out how to juggle the light bill, the house payment and the cut off notice for the water bill that came in the mail yesterday.

Such is life.

Currently jamming to this, singing at the top of my lungs to Ayla, who's curled up beside my chair.




She keeps opening her eyes and looking at me like, "Do you mind?"

Everyone's a critic.

Ya'll have an awesome weekend... and week. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!

Anxiety, Mental Health and Real Pizza

Someday....

 I worked half a day on Tuesday, so that T.A. and I could go visit Ma down at the nervous hospital. Visiting hours are 11:30 to 1:00 and 7:30 to 8:30. We had to shoot for the latter, so we had some time to kill. We piled in her little hatchback and headed to Big City.

The first stop was the grocery store to get some prescriptions filled. $60 worth of prescriptions. Why isn't vitamin D on the $3 list? Seems kind of redunkulous that it's the most expensive thing.

While I waited, I scoped out the near-death mark down foliage. I've been working on making my office mine. Since I moved to the former manager's spot, (just the office and most of the responsibility, none of the pay or benefits,) I've kind of felt like a squatter. Comments have been made, mainly by The Groper, not to get to comfy because eventually they'll hire a new sales manager and I'll have to move.

Well screw that bullhockey.

The other day, I brought in a lamp for my desk, a little $7 one from the dollar store. By the way everyone acted, you'd have thought I'd trucked in a purple crushed velvet living room suite. I can't wait to see what kinda brouhaha I'll stir up with a half dead philodendron.

Anyhooters, after I picked up my drugs, we headed out to the far side of Big City. We found a little hole-in-the-wall pizza place, family owned, fading paint on the outside, just up the road from Shirley the Psychic. It has been years since I've had a real pizza. Here in the holler, you can get one from the Grab n' Go (and go and go) made with frozen crust, gross, salty sauce and whatever lunchtime leftovers they can find.

When our waitress sat the pie on our table, honest to gawd, I had to wipe drool off my chin.

Sometimes I miss civilization.

We also stumbled upon a brand new bead store with great prices and a huge selection. I really miss making jewelry, maybe if I can find a good magnifying glass on a stand or something I can get back in to it. I'm good for about 30 minutes before all those little seed beads get blurry and start to run together. 

As we pulled in to the hospital parking lot, ominous clouds formed and everything turned gray. I debated whether or not to swallow a nerve pill before going inside, then decided against it. I've not had to take an emergency anxiety pill in a long time, I could tough it out.

Bad call.

We passed a large family of Hispanic people in the waiting room who were muttering comments about the two fat people passing them and giggling amongst themselves. I damn near launched my fat ass from the elevator like a heat seeking missile. I stopped putting up with that shit years ago. No longer do I bow my head and scurry past in shame. I will straight up put the truck in park and get out in the middle of the street if I catch anyone flapping their pie hole at me and especially my child.

The only thing that stopped me from possibly being arrested and being admitted down the hall from Ma was the quick closing elevator doors.

On the second floor, I had to ring the bell at the locked steel door and give Ma's security code to be let in. They took my purse, our keys and cellphones and led us to Ma's room. She was sitting up in the bed, restrained at the waist, her feet twitching, face dripping with perspiration, her expression one of confusion and agitation.

Ma took one look at me, tears filled her eyes and she pleaded, "Don't you leave me here."

That was pretty much the gist of our visit.

She cried and begged. She told me not to come up there again if I wasn't gong to take her home. She went from sad face to angry mom face, making demands and threats.

I had to step out in the hall and get the tears out once or twice. I didn't want her to see me cry.

Forgive me if I sound like a drama queen, but to me it was a horrific experience. I am not emotionally prepared to be the adult in our relationship.

When our hour was up, she cried and clung to us both. We finally had to just walk away. In that moment, I wanted to die.

The chubby little nurse with the perma-smile kept insisting that I tell her why I was crying, asking if there was anything she could do for me. Inside I was thinking, "If you don't open that fuckin' door I'm going to knock you in the head with my over-filled purse." Eventually she did and I fled.

The Amazon, bless her heart, was the voice of calm throughout the whole ordeal. During the two hour ride home, she had to listen to me babble, a nervous verbal diarrhea, all the way back to the holler. I jumped from one topic to the other, from my dad to my aunt's alcoholic rants to shit that happened with I was in kindergarten.

I'm not even sure what the hell I went on about. It's an anxiety thing.

The next day, I called the hospital to speak with Ma's nurse. She told me that Ma was going through classic drug withdraw, that she'd been that way since she got there and they'd started weaning her off all the medication the nursing home had put her on. I made comments about Shady Pines' inability to manage her mental health issues and implied that maybe that wasn't the best place for her. The nurse assured me that the doctor and possibly a social worker would be in touch with me to discuss other arrangements if that were deemed necessary.

It was possibly a mistake to make this call from the office.

I started worrying about what the nurse meant. I mean, it had taken me a long time to find a nursing home that would take Ma. The ones here in Hee-Haw county don't accept patients with mental health problems, other than those associated solely with aging.

What if she meant she'd have to go to an actual like... asylum to live? There's only one in the region, the state run facility in Morganton. The thought filled me with that gut churning doom feeling. Morganton is about two hours past Big City.

I decided to Google it. This has been the week of bad decisions.

If you want relief from anxiety about a loved one going in to a state run mental health facility, DO NOT do a Google image search. 

It took me 'til bedtime that night to convince myself that the nurse never said Ma was going to the state asylum. Over the span of a few hours, I had myself worked in to frantic state of panic, guilt, sadness and hopelessness.

This is my brain on anxiety.

It's important to note, I didn't tell anyone, not The Amazon or Lulu, no one, about the phone call to the nurse or the resulting downward spiral of mental garbage. Having allowed one's own mind to turn against them is embarrassing. T.A. would have simply said, "Stop that!" while Lulu would have just looked at me like I was crazy, that sad look you give old people who've finally gone off their rocker.

So today, I slept. I made my morning coffee at 3 o'clock. My brain is tired.

I've got crap to do. I'll probably come to life at bedtime. Right now, I'm just fighting the urge to go back to sleep.

We'll talk again soon, ya'll take care. Thanks for listening.

Later Taters.

The Fate of RiRi Nibblett

Let's get caught up on some stuff, kay?

The Asylum

It's business as usual at the crazy place. Twatwaffle's reign of terror and ignorance continues. We still don't have enough help, we're busier than a one legged man in an ass kickin' contest and angry sales reps are insulting me and my work ethic daily. The old me, the good salesperson me, would be understanding of their issues, work overtime to resolve them, take their verbal abuse. But now that I don't give five fecks if I get fired tomorrow, I just tell them, "Hey, I know it sucks. This is just how the company I work for chooses to do business."

There are limits to how much verbal abuse a person can take.

TW did decide to put Thelma back in charge of entering orders, which is fine, except that Thelma is the production control department. Thelma is also answering my phone, handling what she can, then paging me for the rest. Kat, the secretary for both plants, is also the HR liaison. Our actual HR person works at the other plant. Kat also helps Thelma with the overflow of production tasks. In TW's wisdom, she has now decided that Kat will process all the return paperwork, credit memos and miscellaneous clerical duties of the sales department, leaving me free to handle problems, quotes, new customers, reports and so on.

So I have help, but not really. The other day, when I laid a new order on Thelma's desk, she said, "Why don't I just do all your work? Is that what you want?" 

This, on a day when I was already pretty close to being fed up anyway,  I told her, "Would you? Would you really? Cuz I'd love to say eff it and go to the house."

Tiny, the Senior Engineer, spent half of yesterday loading trucks.  I had to manage the switchboard and take my own calls because Thelma and Lulu left at 10 and Kat took the day off. Thelma had to cover shipping on Thursday so that Squatch could be off.

We sent two flat bed trailers full of stuff, $300K worth to Utah last week. It's scary as hell when you consider we're doing business, flying by the seat of our pants. 

Last week we had a sales rep call and ask to be taken off our rep list because the service sucked so bad.  Six months ago, I would have been calling him and trying to smooth things over, anything to salvage a 20 year relationship. Instead, when TW gave me the news, I just shrugged and said, "Oh well. Expect more of that."

Back at the Trailer

I've re-thought the whole wood stove thing. The fact that we have a trailer and not an actual house makes it uber complicated to safely install a wood stove. There would be a lot of ripping shit out and buying expensive insulated pipe, not counting the cost of the actual stove. I've decided that instead, if I have enough of a tax refund, I'll admit defeat and get the oil tank filled. I can't afford to keep running electric heaters 24/7 when it gets really cold. If we use the fireplace, maybe I can make a tank of oil last longer. When Ma was here she ran the heat wide open all time, but me and TA tend to run more on the warm side. Our fireplace has a blower, but not much of one. I've got one of those little metal turbo fans, maybe I can just sit that in front of it and circulate the warmth a little better.

When The Amazon came home from job #2 at the Frog Pond Holler library today, an old Cutlass pulled in behind her, gray and rusted, the type of vehicle you expect crap to start falling off of every time it hits a pot hole. Driving the car was none other than RiRi Niblett, her hubby and their month old baby girl. Ya'll may remember RiRi, one of TA's school chums. RiRi got married about a year ago to Little Al, one of the guys from the plant. He's four foot nothing, spent his whole life on the backside of Loreli mountain, has about four teeth and is well in to his fifties. This is the same little feller that I may or may not have mentioned previously, let everyone at The Asylum know he was lookin' for him a woman with a big butt and that I'd suit his fancy. 

This is the dating pool I have to choose from. This is why I'll be forever alone.

I was later told, by Martha down at the campground store, that I should have went for it. She said she used to date him (she to possesses a sizable derriere and bodacious tattas) and that he was.. and this is a direct quote, "hung like a stallion."

Considering I have to see this man every Monday through Friday, this was information I could have lived without. 

Anywho, RiRi and Little Al came to look at the Blazer TA totaled when she rear ended the local state trooper. I don't know what kind of dealings went on between TA and Little Al, but he handed her a wad of cash and she handed him the title. I played with the baby, a month old and just 7 pounds, while I took note of RiRi and TA standing side by side. RiRi had no front teeth before she'd even turned 30, married to a man as old as her daddy, probably destined to popping out babies for the next decade. As much as I bitch about TA, at that I moment I was both proud, that my daughter was going to use her tax refund to take the GRE so she can go on to get her Masters and saddened by RiRi's fate. 

In Other News

Aunt Flo is still here and I'm whining like a 12 year old girl in gym class. I know ya'll care, I am the Queen of TMI. 

I haven't had colchicine in like.. a month. The fevers have started back, low grade, just enough to grace me with a nagging headache. The aches and pains.. Rice Krisy joints.. are a given. For a couple of years I've been getting colchicine from the manufacturer for free, but when I sent in my application for this year, it was denied, citing the health care act as the reason. There's insurance available to me, so I should be able to get it elsewhere. 

I have drug coverage, but it has a $300 deductible. The prescription costs almost that much. Even after I pay the deductible, I'd still have to pay $75 for a month's supply. I asked around on the FMF board to see what other people do and found that most of them order it from other countries. My first attempt was from Mexico, but their website seemed kinda shady and made me nervous, so I used a Canadian company recommended by some of the other board members. Apparently, you don't need a prescription to get colchicine from some countries, it's a common OTC drug. I paid $56 for 300 pills, a 100 day supply. I tracked it this morning, it's coming from India. 

I hope it works. I can afford less than $20 a month. 

I've got shit to do people. I can't be lying around whining all the damn time.

Wrappin' it Up

We're under four different weather advisories for the next three days in the holler. I made a gas station run earlier so I've got a carton of smokes and a bottle of wine. I'm ready for whatever happens.. or most likely does not. 

I'm meeting Ma at the doctor in Big City on Wednesday, so I'm taking off work that day. An extra day off from the madness at The Asylum for a couple of hours of madness with Ma. 

As for the rest of the weekend, I'll probably lay around and try to muster as much sympathy as I can from TA, for my aches and pains and what we've started calling, "The Granny Rag." Yeah I know, it's gross, I don't care. My granny was still having babies after she had grandchildren, so I must have inherited my fertility from her.

I found a website with the local paper archives back to 1912. I've found pictures of my Papaw and my dad in their tobacco field, the wedding announcement of Pappaw and his first wife from 1930 and mention of her with her darling little twins.. my aunts Irlene and Irene. I'll be digging around in there while I whine.. and wine. 

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

Later Taters!

Shades of Cray Cray

When I was finally able to get Ma placed in a nursing facility, I made the decision to give up my Girl Cave and take over Ma's bedroom.

I am entirely too old to be humping it across the yard in the middle of the night when nature calls.

Anywho, this meant simultaneously going through Ma's things, deciding what to do with it all, moving my stuff back over to the trailer and hauling out all the excess in the process.

I'm not done, but I'm making progress. Slow, tedious progress.

Ma had four dressers in her room, none of which contained a stitch of her clothing. It was all pictures, old makeup, baby clothes. The Amazon and I wheeled and dealed, eventually deciding she'd keep one, I'd keep the ginormous Victorian monstrosity and we'd get rid of the one with the bad stain job and contact paper top. I took a load of stuff to a local charity thrift store and they agreed to send someone out to pick up the dresser. There was just no way I could load it on the truck myself.

After about a week of walking around the dresser on my front porch, I called another charity thrift store over in the next town. They had fliers up, saying they'd gladly pick up any donations.

You wouldn't think it would be so hard to give something away.

Last week I got a call from the lady who runs the place, hoping to arrange a time they could come pick it up on Friday.

Hoo-Ray.

So Friday morning I got up around 7:30, which is like the ass crack of dawn for me on a day off. I brushed my teeth, put on a bra and tied my hair back. I didn't bother changing out of my leopard print stretchy pajammy britches.

No need to get all gussied up.

Around 8-ish, the phone rang. The voice on the other end was deep, very southern and made my heart skip a little. "Ma'am? This is Skip from (whatever the name of that place was.) We're at the bottom of the mountain heading into town now."

I don't remember, but I'm sure I said something sexy and alluring like, "OKIE DOKIE!!"

They pulled up a couple of minutes later, a short, stubby little woman and a man. A sorta youngish looking man, with a slightly dark complexion, black hair with just a touch of gray at the temples and full sleeve tribal tatts.

Dayum.

The Amazon would later say that she could tell I was flirting by the goofy way I was laughing while I was outside. I don't think I was. I think I was just trying to be friendly.

The older lady (who was probably actually close to my age) suggested they remove the drawers first to lighten the load, which they did. As Mr. MuscleySexyPants removed the drawers, I spotted something shiny inside the dresser. I thought I had gotten everything out, but I didn't think to look back behind the drawers. I reached inside and retrieved what I thought would be a toy left behind by one of the youngins, but no.

I found myself standing on my front porch between the short stubby woman and Mr. MuscleySexyPants, in my leopard print pajammy britches, my mouth agape, my eyes big as biscuits as I lifted my hand, letting the pretty metal handcuffs dangle above my head.



Not the fuzzy kind you get at the racy store at the mall. No. Regulation, cop toting, I mean bidness kinda handcuffs.

What. The. Hell.

Mr.MuscleySexyPants giggled like a little girl. I know my face was blood red. There were jokes. Mr. MuscleySexyPants said he might want to meet my Ma.. if they were really hers.

Wink-wink. Nudge-nudge.

I promised them I'd bring them more stuff this Friday. I've got two big box fulls packed up. Maybe Mr. MuscleySexyPants will be there.

Think he'll remember me?

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

Later Taters!!

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Circus Folk and Whispered Answers

Lawrence the Camel

It's overcast and kinda bleh in Frog Pond Holler today. I've got a ginormous pot of turtle beans on the stove, future veggie burgers, and the washing machine is going full speed. I would lay around and take it easy today,  seeing how it's a holiday and all, but I spent yesterday in a Benedryl induced coma.

Me and The Amazon went to the circus Thursday night, in sorta celebration of her birthday. She brought Boy Wonder along, whom Ayla greeted with a super nut punch, sending him to his knees.

My dogs have no manners.

It was a tiny circus, the kind that smells of popcorn, poop and desperation. It had one tent and a hand full of people who ran around like crazy from selling souvenirs to performing to moving equipment. I think I smiled the whole time I was there. Well, except for when they brought out the snake. I could have lived without that, especially sitting on makeshift bleachers in the dark with grass under my feet.  I managed to get a couple of pictures before my camera battery died. Next time I'll be better prepared.

Circus Horsey

Saturday I went to visit Ma, stopping at Goodwill on the way. I found some old storage jars, the kind with the metal latchy bit, 2 quart sized, for three dollars a piece. I picked up a few pairs of pants for work too and some postal scales (for a DOLLAR!) not a bad haul.

I've been working, slowly, on getting moved into Ma's old bedroom. I've had a lot of mixed feelings as I go through her things, deciding what to put in storage and what to give away. I worried that I'd go to all this trouble and then she'd get better and they'd send her home.. THEN what would I do? So then, I'd feel guilty hoping she didn't get well enough to come home.. which is kinda screwed up.

I've been really torn through this whole thing.

Earlier in the week, during a particularly emotional time, I sat at my desk and just asked The Universe, God, Big Ernie.. whoever.. to give me some kind of assurance that this was what I needed to be doing.

My head knows it is, it's the rest of me that's having a hard time.

So when I visited Ma on Saturday and as I started to leave she hugged me and said, "Now don't you worry about me. I'm doing a lot better here than I thought I would. It's such a relief to not worry about falling or not being able to get to the bathroom on time. I'm right where I need to be."

So I bawled some more when I got to the truck, because I know someone whispered in her ear and told her I needed to know that.

I get the weepies all the time anymore. I'm wondering if I need to call the Noggin Doc for a tune up.

Anywho...

Bossholio is having surgery on Friday, then he'll be out for at least a week to recover, so his misfortune is a nice little break for me. I didn't bother asking him what kind of surgery he was having, I'm done trying to show the man any compassion or kindness. He obviously doesn't expect it or he'd show a little himself.

I smell the beans cooking, I'd better go check on them. Ya'll have a good one. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!


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Ernest The Drunken Snake Slayer

I was hanging bloomers out on the front porch clothesline Saturday, in true hillbilly style, when I heard an excited voice calling from the other side of the pine tree at the edge of the yard. All I heard was "black snake!" and "a big'un!!"

I started doing the pee-pee dance, because that's what I do when someone says snake. I'm not sure why, other than maybe in my head I think quick moving toesies make for a more difficult target.

I tried to peek around the towels and sheets to see who was yelling. I needed to see just how "big'un" the slithery visitor was.. like it mattered one way or the other. I've been known to hyperventilate at the sight of a garter snake. Right about then, a face appeared from behind the pine tree. I saw a toothless grin and a ballcap.. a face that can only be described as this guy's twin, less teeth, plus a mullet:

No chit. Ernest goes The Holler.

There was no snake. Thank gawd. Apparently Ernest II was the crackhead redneck who ran up on our porch and grabbed our shovel a few weeks back and used it to kill a black snake. He was just making sure I knew about it. The smell of alcohol coming off him would smother a mule.. and he was about five feet away from me. Of course, he had to stand there and talk about snakes for 10 minutes, causing me to damn near break out in hives.

I love my neighbors.

In other news...

The new plant manager started last week. She's worked at two of our other plants during different times in her career and everyone Lulu and I know from those locations has made a point to call us to both warn us to watch our backs and to revel in the glory that she's out of their lives.

This isn't going to end well.

I believe in giving people the benefit of the doubt, rumors can be a destructive thing, but when someone who has NEVER spoken ill of anyone to you before calls and tells you to keep your distance, it probably pays to take note.

No one has had anything positive to say about her. No one.

I give it about a month before all hell breaks loose.

Meanwhile, back at the trailer...

Those of you know that I share my humble abode with both my daughter (who is grown, but I had her when I was like.. 8.. okay?) and my mother (who is slowly driving me insane in return for all the evil chit I did when I was 13.) Our three bedroom trailer has a master bedroom with a full bathroom, ginormous closet, etc. Ma's room. At the other end, The Amazon and I share a small bathroom and because of pecking order, she has the tiny, walk-in closet sized bedroom and I have the only slightly larger one.

Clearly we need more room.

When I thought Ma was going to the home, I figured I'd eventually move into her room and things would work out, but now that it appears that she's going to stay here and slowly drag me down into her spiraling whirlpool of nutcase, we have to do something. The Amazon's stuff is basically spilling out into the hallway.

I really do need to get a camper to use as an extra bedroom. I can't afford an Airstream, as much as I'd love to, but I should be able to find something with enough room for just me and my crafty bits for under $5000. I'm going to wave down the Leprechaun the next time I see him (the little hairy feller who fixed our sewage line) and see how much it would cost to add a sewer tap down on the other end of the yard. The garden will have to be relocated, but it's too big for me to manage anyway. I figure, if I do all this then something happens and I move back into the trailer, I can always rent the camper out to hikers on weekends for $50 a night.

So there ya go. Easy peasy lemon squeezy.

Sound like a plan?

I have no idea how I'll pay for said camper or how I can wing yet another payment, but what the hell. I'll figure something out.

I always do.

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

Later Taters!!

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Courthouse Hippies, Refurbished Airstreams and Rice Crispies

Created with flickr slideshow.

I am happy to report that I took 4 hours vacation on Monday and went to the courthouse to see about getting my tickets reduced, found that not only is the D.A. a little old hippy woman who looks kinda like Kathy Bates, but she had just gotten back from the festival across the river, celebrating Jerry Garcia's birthday and as a result (I suspect) all my fines were forgiven. 

Seriously. There was a "Jerry Garcia's Birthday" festival. 

I tried to get there at one, hoping everyone would be back from lunch, but that's what time they GO to lunch, so I had to kill time walking around town in the blistering heat for an hour. It was only like a bizillion and a half degrees with nine hundred and eighty nine percent humidity. 

Under bewb sweat was the least of my personal hygiene concerns.

But anywho.. that was my Monday.

Also, remember the clusterfuck that was my colchicine prescription? Dr. Sexypants filled out all the paperwork and returned it to me right away and I stuck it all in the mail with hopes that I can get it free from the manufacturer. They said it would take about two weeks for my drugs to arrive at Dr. Sexypants office. In the meantime, there was a horrific FIRE at Dr. Sexypants' office AND IT'S NOT THERE ANYMORE.

I swear.

I'm not making light of the fact that there was a serious fire, a fireman was killed in the blaze and several were injured. It's a horrible, horrible thing that happened and ya know, the noggin doc DID say I needed to stop making everything about me...

BUT SERIOUSLY????

Yesterday I was finally able to get in touch with Dr. Sexypants' nurse, who had to call me back because in all the confusion, she wasn't even sure where the mail was going. After a couple of conversations, we finally determined that my little package of goodies hadn't been received yet and she'd call me when it was.

I've been out of the little magic pills since about last Friday. I'm really starting to feel it. I've got Rice Krispy joints, especially in my shoulders (snap, crackle, pop) and the funky fevers have started.

Remember the psychiatric appointment for Ma that I was so excited about? They called from that office on Tuesday to say they'd had a cancellation for Wednesday. I jumped all over that chance. Of course, I had to ask Bossholio if I could leave at noon for the second time in a week, this after having to ask him for a ride home twice last week while The Amazon's Blazer was broken AND if I could leave early on Friday, also because of the Blazer.

I don't like to ask Bossholio for favors. But I did. For Ma. I printed out all the "new patient" forms Tuesday night and filled them out, got the directions, planned how I was going to get Ma into my truck... I was ready.

I rushed home at noon on Wednesday and asked her if she was ready to get in the shower.

"I don't feel like going."

*blink*

I told her she had to go. She got up with her walker and took two steps, feigning weakness before falling back gracefully onto her bed.

"You'll just have to call them and reschedule."

In my head that translated to, "You'll just have to ask Bossholio for ANOTHER favor."

I went into "oh fuck this" mode. I was so angry I was shaking. I told her that the next time she wandered out in the road in the middle of the night, she'd better hope some one happened by and took pity on her, because I wasn't chasing her trifling ass at all hours anymore. I had too much to do with a full time job, cleaning up after every damn body, making sure everyone got where they needed to be, cooking and then.. when I had FREE time, working on my shop...BECAUSE I LIKE IT. I needed my sleep, I didn't get to lay in the bed all damn day.

I know, I'm a horrible person. I'm sure there are times when she's off her noodle, but I also know that there are many times that she knows EXACTLY what she's doing and I'm tired of trying to figure out what the hell is going on at any given moment.

I want this so bad I can taste it:

The day I found it on Craigslist for $8000, I got one of those pre-approved credit thingies from a local loan company for $7500. If that's not a sign, I dunno what is. It's got a full (although tiny) bathroom, a nice sized bed and full hookups.

And it's so me.

The orange would have to go though.

Anywho.. that's the latest and greatest news from the Land O' Mahala. How are ya'll?

We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!

Mahala's State of the Holler Address

I have a feeling this is going to turn into a huge, babbling mess, but that's never stopped me before.. so here goes.

My recent absence from the blogosphere, Twitter, Facebook, etc has been due to an array of life's little complications, the main two being a sudden avalanche of work at the Asylum and the destruction of my netbook charger by Pupzilla.

Seriously, when do they outgrow the need to gnaw every remote, charger and battery in the house?

I ordered a new one online and it came Friday. Hoo-ray.

Speaking of the Asylum, PG will be retiring at the end of the month. He was the purchasing manager since way before I got there and had recently taken over as the plant superintendent. It didn't take him long to figure out that it just wasn't worth driving all the way from Sevierville (the land O' Dolly) to load trucks and get bitched at, so he's cruising along on his wife's insurance and leading the life of leisure, looking forward to a future career as a Wally World greeter. He's also a pervert and likes to talk to Lulu's boobs, so no one's really heartbroken over his leaving.

The rumor was that the Cutie Patootie would be taking his place, news which tickled the flippen chit out of me and Lulu. The Cutie Patootie is our age, fun to work with and he smells REALLY nice, all important qualities to have when being considered for a management position. At least where me and Lulu are concerned. We were giddy with the prospect of having the Cutie Patootie back at the Asylum with us, but alas, it wasn't to be. Instead, PG will be replaced by someone that is sure to rattle a few cages. The official announcement was made earlier this week. Bossholio, Jasper and a few other select knuckledraggers will now be answering to...

A WOMAN.

I'M SO EXCITED!! I MAY TINKLE MY GRANNY PANTIES!!

Seriously. This is going to be SO DAMN AWESOME.

I've never met the new plant super, but I've heard she's a no-shit-taking kinda gal.

Meanwhile, back at the trailer...

Since I checked in last, I've spent one whole night at the E.R. with Ma. After it became painfully obvious that the Hee-Haw clinic's efforts to refer her to a mental health specialist were half-assed and getting us no where, I loaded her up in The Amazon's truck and hauled her to the hospital, with the intention of giving her a short vacay at the nut hut which would hopefully result in some extended care options. We were there for about 12 hours. She was evaluated, questioned, x-rayed and examined. We spent about an hour with a psychiatrist around 4 a.m. when we were told the nut hut had a waiting list and I really just needed to take her back home and call doctors myself instead of waiting for the clinic to refer her. I swear to you, he actually said it was "crazy" for me to expect them to handle it.

BECAUSE OBVIOUSLY EVERYTHING IS MY F(&&%#@$ FAULT.

And for the record, while we were there, the woman who had been searching the house for "the baby" for two days, insisted that there was a house full of people partying there the night before and who's been meeting Romeo in the middle of the night when he sneaks in the house regularly, was suddenly completely sane.

It was then that I decided, I just don't care anymore. She can walk around and either be or play crazy all she wants. The next time she goes out in the middle of the highway with her walker and someone calls the law, they'll just have to take her somewhere. I don't know what else to do.

In the meantime, I set out to find a psychiatrist who will take medicare, a feat everyone told me would be nearly impossible. I made two phone calls. TWO. I found a psychiatric office in Big City that has two nurse practioners who take medicare.

Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. Her appointment is next month. In the meantime, I just tell her I don't wanna hear her made up crap when she starts babbling nonsense. It might not be what I should do, but ya know, she pretty much treated me like crap my whole life. I've mustered all the compassion I'm capable of.

Since we're on the subject of health care in America or rather, the screwed up state thereof, I went to get my colchicine refilled last weekend and was told Wally World didn't have enough to fill my prescription. I had mentioned before that it was being taken off the market and I'd be forced to buy the same drug from a "brand name" manufacturer once that happened. Well, to have my 90 day supply filled with the new supplier, the cost would be $541 vs. the $12 I'd paid before.

Okay, maybe that's not the exact amount. After her mouth formed the words "five hundred" my eyes kinda glazed over with shock and I may have yelled "GOOD GAWD ALMIGHTY!" right there at the drop off window at the Wally World pharmacy.

Luckily they had about 10 days worth of the old, non FDA approved stuff left, so I took that instead. When I got home, I went to the Colcrys website and found that you can make up to six times the national poverty level and still be  eligible for a discount. After entering our family income and household size, it was determined that I could get it for free.

Which is awesome.. and sort of sad at the same time. I got Dr. Sexypants to fill out some forms and mailed them in, along with proof of income and I've got my fingers crossed that I'll get it before I run out of the old stuff.

I'm thankful I can get it for free, but when they can offer that big a discount to people making WAY more than I do, it makes you wonder if they're not just sticking it to the insurance companies like crazy if they're charging them over $500.

Just a thought.

Let's see.. what else? Well, It's hotter 'n demon snot here in the south, but I figure most of ya'll know that already. My grass is butthole deep to a heifer and I can't get to the garden at all. It looks way too snakey out there. If there's ever a break in the heat (less than 100 would be great tvm) I'll at least cut a path to the tomatoes. The garden has pretty much completely gotten away from me. Next year's will definitely be smaller and there will be way less zucchini. Once I get the tomatoes harvested, I'll probably just till it all up and start over next year. I got myself way in over my head.

Live and learn.

All the critters are fat and sassy, spending most of their time soaking up the a.c. The Amazon is still working at the call center for the pretend bank. I've been stuck at home most of the time, sharing my truck while she waits for payday so she can buy a new fuel pump for her Blazer. It's business as usual here in Frog Pond Holler.

I hope ya'll are having an awesome summer, free of boob sweat and skeeters. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!!

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I'm Trapped in Bizzaro World

Lawd have mercy ya'll. We've got lots to cover, so strap yourself in and grab some liquid refreshment. It's gonna be a long, bumpy ride.

The Amazon ended up not buying Dubya's old property. She was approved (on her own, mind you) for 85% of the asking price, but there was some horsechit about the selling real estate company not accepting the financing. I thought, the bank cuts a check, they get their money. Apparently I don't know jack squat. After it was suggested that I just have our property refinanced to pay for it, I said effit. More debt for me was not in my game plan.

In gardening news: One end of my garden is all weeds, but the other end is full of zucchini and beans. It seems the seeds I bought from someone on Etsy were of the mutant, hughnormous variety. There are zucchini as big around as your arm. I suspect they're actually leftovers from some shady government experiment in world domination. You could use them as lethal weapon.

No tomatoes yet, but there are plenty of blooms. The green beans seem unusually large as well. The cucumber vines have taken over everything else and are covered in blooms. I'm a little afraid.

I was off from The Asylum from last Thursday until yesterday. I cleaned carpets, moved furniture, evicted one dog crate doubling as an end table, scrubbed the kitchen floor and got my license and tags renewed.

I'm all legal and crap. Broke. But legal.

I'm supposed to get my new license in the mail. I fear the photo.

I took Ma back to the doctor last week. I told him she was hearing things, talking to people who weren't there, seeing things. I HOPED he'd ship her to the home suggest it was time for a nursing facility. Instead?

"Let's get her an appointment with a psychiatrist."

*blink*

I think I've already been down this road. Last time, they sent her to a non licensed therapist who couldn't prescribe medication.

What good does it do to sit down and talk about your problems when you're in another world?

Anywho... that was last Tuesday and I've still not heard back from the service handling her referral. Yesterday she was waiting to babysit a 4 ½ month old. Then she was going to fix it some tea, because it had intestinal problems. Later, she called me in her room to take care of Michael. He'd made a mess of himself and she couldn't get in there to clean him up. She demanded that I go get him cleaned up.

Apparently I'm the maid now. Or the nurse.

And? Who the fluck is Michael? She had an old crackhead /drunk boyfriend named Michael and he did make a mess of himself quite regularly. I also have a cousin named Michael (his real name is Damien, like from The Omen, but it freaked the family out so much that they refused to call him by his first name) and I've got a one legged uncle named Michael (at least that's what I've always been told. I found out his namesake, a son, is actually named Miguel when he was arrested for having sex with a high school student a couple of years ago.. so my one legged uncle might actually be Miguel.)

Confused yet?

Thelma suggested I have her committed. That would mean that Thelma's hubby, the town cop, would come get her and take her to the nuthut in the police car. After some discussion, we decided I could just take her to the E.R. and have the same result, without involving the PoPo.

Lawsy.

I know ya'll are sick of hearing about it. I know you're sitting there going, "Oh My God would you just take her to the home already!!!"

I don't blame you. Really.

But seriously, you take batshit crazy to the doctor and tell him she's hearing voices and talking to people who aren't there you assume he'd have enough sense to DO SOMETHING.

Maybe they have an extra bed for him.

Hopefully The Amazon can make room in her suddenly very busy social schedule so that we can use her vehicle on her day off tomorrow. Ma says she can't get in and out of Jolene, although after watching her take off across the road with her walker the other day, I doubt that's true.

So we'll see.

In the meantime, life goes on.

Ya'll have a good one. We'll talk again soon. If I don't beat Ma to the nuthut.

Later Taters!

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The Dubya Estate and Baby Zucchinis

Not that Dubya and not a baby zucchini

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

I'm lovin' it.

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

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

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

But I have to stick to the plan.

Anywho...

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

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

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

Don't tell her, kay?

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

Later Taters!!

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Frequent Rider Miles on The Crazy Train. I Haz Them.

This has nothing to do with my post. I just really want an effin' donut. 

I woke up this morning to the sound of someone knocking, dogs barking and muffled voices. I assumed Ma had gotten up and woke up The Amazon then shuffled back to bed, so I didn't get in any hurry. As you know, once you're awake, the need to tinkle outweighs any ideas of going back to sleep, so I wallered out of bed to find The Amazon gone and the front door standing wide open.

And Yoda wasn't barking. Which was weird.

I thought it was The Rapture, a week and a day late. That is, until I looked out the door and saw the ambulance across the road (formerly the Dubya estate) over at Crazy Dave's house. Bubbles' brother was leading Ma over to the truck and The Amazon was standing there in her pjs with Yoda on a leash.

The Rapture would have been way more logical.

Apparently Ma thought the town had called to tell her they were going to burn the house down and she needed to leave or get fined. Apparently she's more afraid of being fined than dying in a horrendous house fire. She also had the presence of mind to save Yoda, but the rest of us are on our own.

All her vitals checked out and although she fell up Dave's steps and landed on his porch, she seemed physically okay. Ma couldn't understand why Crazy Dave and his wife wouldn't open the door and let her in. If it had been her, she reasoned, she would have let THEM in. Which is true. She would welcome Sasquatch in the front door and offer to fix it dinner.

She's been having a bad spell ever since her brother in law died. Yesterday she angrily explained that she was NOT going to be hypnotized.

*blink*

Hopefully she'll pass out in an hour or so and sleep through til tomorrow. That's usually how these episodes end. Then? We're having a talk about signing papers and seeing lawyers.

Thank goodness tomorrow is a holiday. I still need to mow and weed and.. ya know.. stuff. I laid around and whined about my Rice Krispy joints all day yesterday, but it's better today. I've been taking a sleeping spell lately too, which might be why I was hurting. Who effin knows anymore? When FMF and "The Sugar" (as we say down here) meet Aunt Flo, my body just kinda goes into a big clusterfucked state of WTH????

That's my diagnosis anyway.

I hope all is quiet down your way, if quiet is what you need. Ya'll take care and we'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!

Things That Won't Suck

First, let me say I'm still haunted by yesterday's lunch. I ordered a spinach salad. When bacon and egg were included in the ingredients list, silly me thought bacon bits and a hard boiled egg. When I opened the box to find two strips of thick, salty bacon and a fried egg on top of my otherwise lovely salad, I was dumbfounded.

Seriously. Did these people not watch Sesame Street when they were kids?






Bacon and eggs = breakfast (or 3 a.m. drunken stupor snack.)
Spinach salad = healthy lunch

Ima need the extremely masculine woman who cooks down at the campground store to have at least as much sense as friggen Cookie Monster.

Anywho...

Ma chickened out about going to check out Shady Pines, but The Amazon and I had a long talk the other day and we agree that it's going to happen sooner or later and that Ma would probably be much happier. A Facebook friend sent me a link to Medicaid regulations (God bless the innerwebs) which explained that if you're the child of the senior and have lived in the same house, providing care, for at least 2 years, you're exempt from the having to turn over your home to the government.. thingie. I contacted an attorney this morning (thanks b.fez) for a consultation so that I can find out exactly what I need to do, cost, etc.

At 45.. it feels weird to have to be the grown up.

Once I accepted the fact that it will happen and that it's not because I'm not good enough or that I could have worked harder, etc.. I found myself trying to come up with a positive spin on things, compiling a list of:

Things That Won't Suck If Ma Goes to Shady Pines:

1. I'll get the big, grown-up sized bedroom, with a private bath. I'll have room for MORE CRAFT STUFFS!!! And to WALK. And for Ayla's bed without having to rearrange furniture every morning and every night. 
2. I'll be able to cut the grass myself, without waiting for Aunt Moses to get a wild hair up her arse to come cut it, usually after it's turned into a black snake wildlife refuge, so that Ma can give her $30 for the pleasure. I'm going in the morning to buy a lawn mower. BOOYAH! 
3. I can expand the dog lot.
4. I won't have to worry if The Amazon and I want to go somewhere together, that there won't be anyone at home with Ma.
5. I also won't have to stress out every time I buy groceries, wondering what Ma will eat, if she can get the package open herself, if she'll understand the directions. I'll know she's getting fed regular meals.
6. The Amazon can move from her tiny, closet sized bedroom to my room. If you've ever lived in a trailer, you're familiar with the tiny bedroom. She has a full sized bed with a computer desk facing it, blocking the closet, about six inches away. You can't walk between them. She has to turn sideways to get through her door then dive on her bed.

Of course, there's just as many, if not more, things that WILL suck, but I'm trying to stay positive.

For now, I guess I'll run. We don't wanna get Bossholio's panties in a wad.

Ya'll have a good one, we'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!!

P.S. I ate the whole thing

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It Ain't Shady Pines, But It'll Do

We've been under a freeze warning the past few mornings here in the holler. Hopefully it's the last real cold spell, I'd hate to be out cutting my grass in long johns and a parka.

Ma went to her noggin doc yesterday and apparently there's been a lot of discussion about nursing homes. I found out via text (with our schedules, it's either text or groggy 3 a.m. chit chat) that The Amazon is taking her to look at the less skeezy of the two homes here in Hee-Haw county tomorrow. Ma's noggin doc has her mom there so she seems to think it's A-OK.

I'm a little hurt that Ma is so gung ho to move to the home. I spent most of last night wringing my hands, snoozing off the affects of a nerve pill, blubbering like a fool and eating myself damned near sick... because that's what chubby girls do when they're stressed.

I'm not EVEN gonna log those calories on my fitness pal account.

Combined with hurt feelings and.. you know.. making it all about me... were fears about paying bills.. stressing out over whether or not the government is going to take the land (it's a Medicare/nursing home.. thing.. I'm not sure) and everything in the world I could possibly think of.

But today? Whatever. If that's where she wants to be, fine. I've done all I can do to please her. Whatever happens happens. I need to stop being so selfish, she'd be way better off somewhere where she doesn't have to be alone all the time anyway.

Anywho..

I'd better get back to work. I'm up to my hoo-ha in filing. Ya'll have a good one. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!

Etsy TatteredMare

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Churnin' Snot and Shovelin' Snow

Let's jump right in and get caught up, shall we?

The snow is finally melting after two decent sized storms graced Frog Pond Holler this winter. I didn't mind it too much, the power never went out and Jolene's 4X4 got me everywhere I needed to go. I am becoming such a friggin mountain woman, popping it into four wheel drive and taking off through the mud, snow and muck without giving it a second thought.

Ma, for the most part, is doing pretty good. Her physical health is improving and she's started fixing her own breakfast, instead of depending on one of us to get it for her. I rigged up an old purse of mine on the side of her walker so that she can carry stuff around with her, making it easier for her to haul bottled water or packs of crackers around. She's stopped obsessing about her bed.. for now. She has mentioned that she would have been happier with a full sized bed instead of the twin she got, but I think we convinced her she wouldn't have room with her walker and stuff.

Don't get me wrong. She still gets on my last nerve, but it's better. At least she isn't making comments about wishing she'd suffocated me as an infant like she did when she was in the nut hut.

You can't take enough medication to undo what that chit does to your head. Seriously.

The Amazon is still working at the Pump N' Go and I'm still at The Asylum. We're both diligently searching for new jobs, although I'm still a little shell shocked after my last job interview. I'm almost afraid someone will actually call me.

I've been battling the black plague of death, decay and pestilence a cold since the day after Christmas. I finally gave in and went to the doctor last week. My regular doc wasn't in, so I had to see a 12 year old who looked like Opie Taylor.

He gave me antibiotics at least. I think I may live.

Oh yeah.. and my blood pressure was 160/98. No lie. That's with THREE blood pressure pills A DAY. I'm hoping it was just because I was out of batshitcrazy pills and hadn't slept for two days. No worries now though, I'm fully medicated and back to normal.

I think. I should probably get it checked.

I knew something was up when I woke up Thursday morning and felt like I was vibrating.

Anywho...

I'd better get back to work Bossholio is.. well.. he's Bossholio. Who knows what kind of mood he's in, he's always such a miserable bastard.

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

Later Taters!


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Christmas? ALREADY?

From: 

http://www.motifake.com/index.php?front

Frog Pond Holler was covered in a thin layer of ice this morning. Every surface twinkled like sugar candy as the light eased over the ridge tops and bounced around from truck hoods to frozen leaves and crunchy grass.

My weekend was kinda hectic. I went straight to Big City after work Friday because apparently, Christmas is like .... this week or some crap. What the hell? I think I missed a month somewhere. I braved the mall, which wasn't too bad, then headed to a few other places before heading home at some ungodly hour with nothing to show for it but two tiny bags.

My Christmas spirit has gone flat.

I plan to make another attempt Thursday  morning, heading back to Big City and hitting up a couple of specialty shops, which will remain nameless for the time being. We don't want The Amazon to suddenly decide to read my blog and find out where I went.

Ma's been complaining of dizziness when she moves her head to one side, so Saturday morning we went down to the Hee-Haw Clinic. She saw a new doctor, you never know who you're going to get down there, especially on weekends. This guy seemed to almost have some sense, until he started explaining about tiny rocks in your inner ear that get misplaced and stuck where they don't belong.

Ma said she'd never been to the doctor and told she had rocks in her head before.

Her P.T. came by Saturday afternoon and explained it so that it made a little more sense. Either way, Ma has some prescription antihistamines now that she takes three times a day and makes her sleepy. I'm all for anything that knocks her out.

She's currently pissed off because T.A. and I won't buy a tank full of oil. Before I go any further and you get the impression that I'm a cold hearted bitch, allow me to explain that we have a 1/4 tank and it only has to last until her check comes on the first of January. We started the season with 1/2 so we've only used a 1/4 so far this winter.

But she obsesses. And wrings her hands. And she threatens to sell off half the land to get some money. After I'd spent the better half of Saturday night hurling egg noodles, I really didn't have a lot of patience for the great oil debate yesterday, so when she started threatening to sell stuff, I sorta lost my composure and made a few threats of my own.

Not a great plan when dealing with someone recently diagnosed with a mental illness.

But, I suppose, we do the best we can and everyone's entitled to be human once in a while. I ended up hiding in my bedroom and watching Fringe on Hulu for the rest of the night, leaving T.A. to deal with her Nana.

My guilt, it runs rampant.

As for now, I should get to work. Bossholio is out for the week and my inbox overfloweth. I never heard from that other job I applied for, but I've not completely given up hope.

We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!
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