End of Times

Have you noticed that society seems obsessed with the end of civilization?

Historically, there have always been people claiming the end was near, that we needed to get our sins in check and prepare for the end of the world, but this is something different.

I find myself obsessed with every t.v. show involving a catastrophic blow to society, whether it be a global zombie infestation, bird flu epidemic or natural disaster. The common thread with all theses scenarios, is a breakdown of societal structures, leaving behind a livable earth and enough survivors to start over.

But why? I started to wonder if I had some weird mental disorder, a morbid obsession with mass destruction. Then I realized, it's not just me. The end of the world is big business right now. You can find countless books written by survivalists, freeze dried foods by the 5 gallon bucket, even information on home defense for those who want to start construction on their fortified compound.

I think I know why.

You need only look around you. On the news, politicians are performing like circus clowns, twirling about to the calliope, willing to say or do anything, as long as they can keep the spotlight on them.

On social media, people are arguing over which bathroom other people should use, conjuring up images of masked pedophiles lurking in the next stall, waiting to peek at Little Precious. They're threatening boycotts, organizing campaigns and creating an atmosphere of hatred, all because some of those circus clowns triggered their mama bear instincts with imagined threats to their cubs.

Families are struggling to survive, no matter how hard they work, basic needs aren't met.

Nothing makes sense.

In this age of technology, what is the one thing you do when your device goes kittywampus?

You hit the reset button. Turn it off, turn it back on.

The world needs a reset button. Tear it down and start over. That's why we love shows like The Walking Dead .

When there is no money, the rich have no power. When you're taking a dump out in the woods, using poison oak for toilet paper, it no longer matters what sex you are. If there's no electricity, there aren't circus clowns screaming at us, "Listen to me or your child will die!!!!"

Don't get me wrong. I'd never make it without civilization. Just come by my house when the internet's been down for an hour. It's not a pretty sight. As for killing zombies, I gross out if I have to touch dirty dish water. I'm pretty sure the level of anxiety I'd have after scraping twice-dead zombie guts off the floor would be catastrophic.

I'm hopeful, but not very, that it doesn't come to that. In the meantime, I'm trying to stay away from national news. It messes with my happy place. I'd rather watch hunky men and bad-ass women stab the undead between the eyes.. or goopy eye sockets.. whatever.

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

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

Shady Pines, Engineers and Staying Human

It's official. Underbewb sweat season is upon us... and I don't like it.

I've spent most of the weekend doing laundry. Loads and loads of laundry. A couple of weeks ago, our snazzy new Panda washer was delivered. It doesn't do a whole load at a time, but it uses less water (and electricity) so no more worries about flooding the potty palaces with pewp water when the sewage backs up (as it tends to do in the holler.)

After at least a year of washing everything by hand, you have no idea how thankful I am. It's not so much the washing that does me in, it's the dumping of the heavy tub, the wringing out and the taking two days for crap to dry. The new gadget spins the ever living snot out of the clothes (it sounds like the sombitch is gonna take off,) and they're dry after hanging inside for a couple of hours. As we speak, the pole in the laundry room (for hanging clothes, not for shaking my groove thang) is full, as is the shower curtain rod.

Now I'll have to clean out my closet to make room and buy more hangers.

After I cleaned up everything that was in the floor around the laundry basket and labored for 8 hours straight on Saturday, the pile is the same size it was when I started.

How the crap does that even happen?

Anywho...

Last week at The Asylum was busy as crap. I worked through lunch a couple of days and stayed through 'til 6. By the time Friday rolled around, I was tired. I really wasn't pleased when I pulled up that morning to find that Kat was still on vacation, Tiny and Thelma were taking the day off and TW's father-in-law had gone to the hereafter sometime in the night. Lulu left around 10ish (she comes in at the ass crack of dawn and had her 40 hours in) and The Groper called in to inform us that.. and I quote.. "I can't get off the terlit!"

That left me and the Baby Engineer in the office with Wally out in the tool crib, doing his purchasing thang.

Of course I don't have a problem with TW being out, hell I was glad she wasn't there. With the various personal dramas she's been dealing with the past couple of weeks, she needs some time off to get her head together. Tiny, on the other hand, takes off every freakin' Friday. As the Engineering manager, you would have thought he'd have come to work after TW emailed everyone that she'd had a death in the family.

Since I was there, basically alone with the switchboard (The Baby Engineer doesn't count, in our office, if you have a tallywhacker you don't have to help answer the phone) and everything else I have to do, I streamed Wayward Pines while I worked and actually got a lot done.

Have ya'll been watching Wayward Pines? Did chit not get real freaky all of a sudden???

Sometime Thursday afternoon, I got a call from the nervous hospital. Apparently Shady Pines was supposed to have called to inform me that they were arranging a room for Ma. This was the first I'd heard of it, as a matter of fact, I'd just talked to them the day before and they assured me Ma was doing much better after they increased her psych meds. The lady from the nervous hospital was very nice, but also kinda pissy over Shady Pines and told me she'd call back later.

About an hour later, I got the call from the social worker at Shady Pines, who was angry at the lady from the nervous hospital for calling me first. After she got her feisty little ass calmed down, she told me Ma wasn't actually any better, depressed, hallucinating and bordering on suicidal.

In other words, I don't have a freakin' clue of what the fudge is actually going on. I'm getting pretty annoyed with everyone involved.

So THEN, the lady from the nervous hospital called me back while I was in the bathroom for an extended and somewhat tense visit. I was in there sweating, trying to be quiet and ya know... accomplish some things... while I answered Ma's medical history questions. I don't think she suspected anything. Apparently I'm a ninja pewper. She ended the call by telling me that they hoped to have a bed soon, possibly that evening.

I didn't hear from anyone all day Friday, so I assumed they were still waiting for a bed. I mean, I had the switchboard and several huge quotes to work on, I figured they'd call me when they had more details.

Late Friday afternoon, I got a call on my cell from the psychiatrist at the nervous hospital. Apparently Ma had been there since the previous night, had been seen, tested and her meds adjusted.

She'd been transferred clear to the other side of Big City and no one had bothered to call me.

What the actual friggen hell?

When the doctor called, I just let the switchboard ring. I had reached that effit stage of caring. It kinda ticks me off when I'm there at The Asylum, trying to keep chit running and getting my work done while everyone else is off dealing with the personal crap. I HAVE PERSONAL CRAP.

The doc said he didn't think Ma's problem had anything to do with being bipolar or dementia. He said he took one look at her list of meds and wondered how the hell she was even able to form a complete sentence.

Me and The Amazon are planning to drive out there on Tuesday when she's off work. Gas is way cheaper in her car than in Jolene. The nervous hospital is like... 2 hours away.

I've been in a funk for most of today. Gollygeewillickers...I wonder why?

While I'm super thankful that I got that monster pile of clothes washed yesterday, it took it's toll on me. I haven't been worth a chit today.

My house is slowly coming together, I just have to do what I can, when I can and learn to cut myself a break when I over do it. I have to remind myself that I'm not lazy and I'm doing all I can.

In other words, I don't suck. I'm only human.

On a side note, there is now a link to my Flickr account in the sidebar. There are a few more pictures from our Mother's Day adventure. I hope to add more soon, I found my camera charger and the card reader. I miss taking pictures.

Anywho, that's the latest from the holler. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!

Oddfellows and Uncle Jim

Good Gawd ya'll. It's colder than a witches tit in a brass brassiere in the holler today, yet it was 61° on Sunday.

Craziness.

I spent most of last weekend lying in bed, watching America Unearthed on Netflix. I was slothful and unproductive due to an unscheduled visit by Old Aunt Flo. She showed up Saturday morning, I hadn't seen her since October and it had been a year before that.

Why won't that bitch just die already?

Anywho, because my brain gets stuck on a topic and kicks in to high gear, spinning out of control, I was Googling ghost stories from the holler, pre-Colombian inhabitants of Western North Carolina, examining Google Earth maps of my property to figure out where the stream bed was, looking up the old Oddfellows Cemetery (which is up on top of a mountain off a dirt road back in the woods) and checking prices on metal detectors.

My crazy. When it gets stuck on something, it's turbo charged.

I've never been to the old cemetery, but it wasn't too many years ago that Ma rode in the back of my Uncle Donald's pickup to go visit Great Uncle Jim's grave. He was an attorney and the original owner of our land.. after the Indians. That's really all I know about him, other than he died in front of the art deco styled S & K's Cafeteria in Big City, a fact pointed out to both T.A. and I every stinking time Ma drove by it.

As for the Oddfellows Cemetary, what the sam hill it's doing in the holler of all places is beyond me. I can't find any reference to a chapter anywhere near here. If ya'll could see where it is.. literally up a dirt road where you have to have four wheel drive to get in and damn near on top of a mountain. Ma used to say they had to carry the bodies up there in a horse and wagon, long after the invention of motor vehicles, because it was the only way to get there.

Anywho.. The Oddfellows were or are one of those lodgey dodgey organizations with secret ceremonies and shady affiliations. There isn't a wealth of information on them that I can find, it looks to me they mostly still exist in the U.K.

It's one of those stories I like to dig around in and speculate upon the possibilities of ancient conspiracy theories and keep myself entertained for weeks.

So I really want to go to the cemetery. When Ma went up there last, she took some pictures of an old grave stone with weird lettering. Of course now I can't find the picture, so I have to go up there and see what it was. Perhaps I'll do a little YouTubing of the adventure. Whatcha think?

As for now, I gotta get my nose to the grindstone. Ya'll have a great weekend. We'll talk again soon!

Later Taters!

My Country is Broken

I'm not sure how to begin....

The reality, not just of the amount of my raise, but the facts behind why it was so minuscule, has been gnawing at me for weeks. The corporate office is rolling in dough, with their glass conference tables and hi-rise building while I struggle to put gas in Jolene.

The halt that was put on our monthly bonus (just me, Lulu and Thelma, all other non-management employees still get it, ya know.. just us "girls" are left out) the absence of cost of living raises (again, all other non-management employees just got .42 an hour, but the three of us are excluded,) all wear on my mind.

Since losing giving up satellite t.v. and depending solely on the innerwebs for entertainment, I've been seeking out documentaries. I love docs of all kinds. I've been in nerd heaven with everything from 9/11 conspiracies to how to live off the grid. It's also meant I've depended less and less on traditional media for my news. There's a crap ton of stuff going on in this world that you'll never hear mentioned on MSNBC, FOX, ABC, NBC or CBS. Important crap. Even the weather forecasts are warped to hell and back for shock value.

Turn that shit off people.

I started making my own laundry soap about two years ago. In the past two weeks, I've cut my own hair, made my own cruelty free, hoof free shampoo and conditioner. I've studied how to create passive solar heating for the trailer, how to collect water and make my own dog food.

It sounds like I've gone all prepper right? All those docs talking about reaching "peak oil" and government conspiracies, capitalism, consumerism.. it's all gone to my head... ya think? When TSHTF (that's prepper talk for when the shit hits the fan) we're going to have to know how to survive, right?

Well, not exactly.. not like you think anyway.

Here in the holler.. at Mahala's house? The shit already hit the fan. I make shampoo because I run out and can't afford to buy more. I make conditioner for the same reason. I cut my own hair because while I can spring for the $12 Fantastic Sams special, I can't justify spending another $30 for the gas to make the round trip journey.

I don't think I'm alone. I think it's starting all over the country. Everyone is waiting for this big "event" to flip the switch.. but this is it. We're slowly sinking.

When I was about 6, the private school I attended gave swimming lessons. The first time I went in, I slipped and accidentally ended up on the deep end, struggling and gasping for air. The instructor had to pull me out. It seems like I've been desperately trying to keep my head above water ever since.

In the coming months, as I start my little garden, get some chickens, make plans for goats and start building my privacy fence (here in the holler, people are so far up your butt you can't pick your nose without them commenting or better yet, telling you how you SHOULD be doing it,) we'll pretend I'm just going all homesteader.

Or prepper. Or new age hippie. But the reality is just figuring out a way to survive in the new America.

Land of the free.

Home of the brave.

Later Taters!

For more information on off the grid living, check out:

Off the Grid: Simple Solar Homesteading

At Least There's Ice Cream

I wasn't very productive at The Asylum today. Not that I'm ever a nominee for employee of the week, but I usually manage to accomplish something.

I think the problem started over the weekend. Due to a sudden lack of hours at the jammie job (I worked five last week) I've gotten a crap load of house work done.

Until Sunday.

First, the light blew in the kitchen, which kinda skeeved me out 'cuz I'm on season four of Supernatural and that's how all the freaky shit usually starts.

I'm still kinda jumpy being here by myself at night. I should probably watch Oprah or something instead, but anywho...

The bunnies were hopping around the house, stretching their legs and trying to take over my bed. I was gathering up trash to be taken out by The Amazon when she got home and heard a weird noise in the living room.

Did you know that bunnies LOVE to dig? They especially love the big, fluffy, white pieces of litter in their box. With the help of the ceiling fan, the living room floor looked like the Bunny Slope at Aspen. As I swept up THAT mess, I noticed that Reginald's front feet were awfully dark and dirty. Apparently they enjoy digging in cold fireplace ashes as well. He found the old pot on the corner of the hearth and went crazy in it.

I decided it was time to put the bunns back in their pen, leaving the ashes on the floor until I was done. I came back in just in time to find Kitty, who's box had been in need of attention for a day or two (yes, I am ashamed) squatting to pee in the ashes. On the floor.

In the meantime...

I'd been doing laundry all day. As the last load reached the rinse cycle, I heard a gurgling in my bathroom. Water was filling the shower (there's no tub) and out into the floor. Before I could get to the washer to turn it off, there was a half inch murky, icky backwash running across the floor and down in to the vent.

I finally said effit and went to bed.

I got up to take a shower the next morning. My bath rug was soaked and musty smelling. Kitty decided it would be okay to pee on that while I fixed my hair.

Later that day, I spent my lunch break taking the trash to the dump because the bags never made it to the curb Monday morning. Then, after work I drove to the grocery store because we were out of everything and I had to wait for payday to go... so yeah.

I wasn't worth a shit today. I probably won't be for the rest of the night either.

At least there's ice cream (it's okay, it's sugar free.)

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

Later Taters!

Mahala's State of the Holler Address

We're all still a little Cray Cray here in The Holler

Let's get caught up on stuff and things, kay?

Working Commando

I'm becoming a little disenchanted with the whole "sell-overpriced-stuff-on-the-teevee-in-your-jammies-for-minimum-wage" job. I'm thankful to be able to work from home without spending money on gas and the opportunity to work in my skivvies with a pup at my feet. I don't know what I'd be doing for money to make ends meet without it, but honestly? They have kind of an asshole way of treating employees.

And I worked for Bossholio. I know that of which I speak.

Let me clarify first that it's not the actual tv shopping company that gives me grief. It's the third party outfit I'm  employed by.

First, it's the emails. Email is the preferred method of communication by The Company. I have never not shown up for a shift, but suddenly we're getting these long, threatening emails every week detailing what will happen if we fail to log on. It spells out how the Big Boss checks at the start, middle and other intervals throughout the shift to see who's not shown up and to decide who to block. It seems to me that if you can do all that, you could do some copy and pasting of email addys and send the email to those to whom it applies.

Just a thought.

Also, five minutes after you get the threatening email, you get one begging for extra help for the night. It kinda puts a damper on your willingness to help.

I had to stop going to the discussion boards. It was constant public fights between the Big Boss and anyone who questioned why they got blocked, usually ending with the BB threatening to publish the employee in question's schedule adherence stats on the boards.

The opposite of professional.

We are supposed to keep all our calls to less than three and a half minutes and when you're taking sales calls, which is what we're supposed to be doing, it's not a problem. However, we're not supposed to transfer calls to Customer Service, even when they request customer service. We're supposed to handle it ourselves. I'm not sure why you HAVE a customer service department if you can't transfer calls to them, but whatever. Trying to figure out what Sally Mae ordered when she doesn't even remember, then after spending 10 minutes questioning her and doing item searches only to find out that she meant to call that other channel... all while having a flashing warning at the bottom of your screen telling you your call is too long... seems a bit much... even in your jammies.

I'm currently under a deadline to improve my sales. I need the job, but I'm not going to stress out over it. I do the best I can and I'll just deal with the consequences if that's not good enough. It'll be fine.

I am the sales ninja.

Life Without Zombies

It's been over a week without satellite and honestly, I don't know why we even have it. The Amazon doesn't get home from work until after midnight every night and I work so much through the week, I can't watch it either. This weekend I've figured out that between Netflix and Hulu, there isn't much I can't watch.

Except The Walking Dead. I miss Daryl.

Also? I found out this morning that there's a whole new season of Touch I didn't even know about. I LOVE THIS SHOW. I am currently getting caught up on the serious lack of Kiefer Sutherland there's been in my life.

How's The Weather Down Yonder?

It's spring in the holler, which means the days alternate between colder than penguin snot and omg wtf is up with this bewb sweat already? Right now, the sun is shining, I've got the back door open, ceiling fans going and we're under a winter storm watch. They're predicting a few inches of snow by Tuesday afternoon.

I hope the power doesn't go out, but if it does I've got some extra wood in the backseat of the truck that I've been riding around with for two weeks.

Meanwhile, Back At The Asylum

I love Sparkles. Not in a I-wanna-jump-his-bones kinda way, but in an OMG-THE-BEST-BOSS-EVER way. I tell T.A. he's Sparkles the Magical Unicorn. If he knew I called him that, he'd be horrified. It's not all glitter and ice cream all the time, I mean, sales are down this month and sometimes he walks around looking like Grumpy Cat but there's a sense of  us being in this thing together and trying to figure out what to do to make things better, instead of how it used to be, which was all "COMPASSION? I DON'T NEED NO STEENKING COMPASSION!!! DO IT SLAVE!!!

I no longer have to take medication to get through the day at work. That kind of says it all.

Speaking of Medication

I'm back on the WHERE'S MY EFFIN COLCHICINE MOTHER FECKER??? roller coaster.  I still get it free, when I get it. The company that makes it changed distributors and the new distributor isn't on Dr. Sexypants "e-scription" list. The new company keeps telling me that they sent a Rx request to Dr. Sexypants' office and Dr. Sexypants' office says they haven't seen anything and I'm trying to call them both, spending a big chunk of my life that I'll never get back in automated telephone system hell. Why the crapdammit they can't call each other is beyond me.

In the meantime, I've been rationing the remaining pills, taking way less than I'm supposed to and as a result I've got a serious case of the Rice Crispy joints. I couldn't use my thumbs this morning. You need thumbs. Have you ever witnessed a seeing eye dog make coffee? No. Why? BECAUSE YOU NEED THUMBS, THAT'S WHY.

I tried to load the dishwasher this morning. I was juggling plates like a circus performer.

I'm calling them tomorrow. I might have to get ugly.

Anywho, it's getting up in the evening on Sunday night, so I'd better hunt up some dinner and try to settle in and get ready for the snowstorm... and the rest of the week.

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

Later Taters!!

Going Green with Mahala

I wish I had some earth shatteringly fantastic story to tell you from my weekend, but other than Wally World, all I really did was nap. And apparently? That was way too much excitement for me so I had to nap some more. I guess all the fun from the last couple of weeks was catching up with me. On the plus side, I feel like kickin' ass and taking names this morning, so it's not all a bad thing.

As I mentioned, I had to hit Wally World yesterday. Old Mother Hubbard didn't have a damned thing on me. We were down two fish fillets and a apple and I'm the only one who eats fish. I hit Ma up for some help with the food bill, it's between paydays, ya'll know how that goes. Apparently she had a cash stash going on in her nightstand, which she handed to me, gave me a list of what she wanted and told me to get "whatever" with the rest. I'm not going to tell you how much it was because I spent every stinking penny. I had to borrow a dollar from The Amazon when I got to the checkout because I went over.

I can tell you that our freezer is full and that's one ginormous chunk of one less thing to worry about for a couple of weeks.

I had to make The Amazon haul my Christmas bonus turkey to the trash bin to make room for all of it. The big arsed fowl has been sitting in there since December, through numerous power outages and I'd already been informed by the other people living in my house that if I cooked it, I'd be eating alone.

I like turkey but not that much. I still think it would have been okay, but I reckon with all the salmonella outbreaks and brouhaha over bacteria and whatnot, tossing it was the safe thing to do.

A couple of years ago I watched a series on PBS about some people who volunteered to be gathered up and dumped on the shore somewhere remote with only the supplies that the pilgrims would have had. They formed a society and lived as they would have lived way back when. The New Age pilgrims were scraping bugs off meat and eating it and picking green fuzz off veggies before they cooked them and they survived. Don't you reckon maybe we're just spoiled nowadays? What's a little fuzz anyway? Penicillin is made from that stuff right? Maybe the fuzz is good for you, but we'll never know 'cuz the first sign of anything interesting going on and we toss what is probably perfectly good free antibiotics right in the trash.

I could give new meaning to "going green."

Anywho...

I'd better get the ol' honker to the grindstone. Bossholio is riding the attitude trolley this morning. We don't want him to derail.

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

Later Taters!!

Southern Fried Stings

When The Amazon was away at college, she made some great friends that I know she'll share a lifelong relationship with. Since moving back here to the holler, she's mentions them from time to time, a wistfulness in her voice that makes me think that she misses that big city school just a smidge.

One of her school buds she mentions often is England, the blossoming actress. Over the past few years, she's kept me posted on her latest acting gigs, mostly B horror flicks and indie films. But now? England has made the big time.

Well, sort of.

England is part of "The Jay Team" on TruTv's new show Southern Fried Stings. I hesitate to call it a "reality" show, I'll just let you reserve your own judgement on that.

Doesn't she look hot taking down this perp? It's actually Jay, but still, she looks like she's kickin' bootay to me.

On Southern Fried Stings, the Jay Team is called out when you've got a problem to solve but don't want to involve actual law enforcement.

I think that makes them a vigilante group. I'm a little afraid.

Check them out on Monday nights on TruTv at 10pm and you can say, "Hey! I read the blog of somebody who's kid went to school with that girl!" and people will be impressed with your awesomeness.

I promise.

Later Taters!

Full Figure Lingerie at Fredericks.com

It Tried to Eat me

I'm runnin' on about five hours sleep, so strap yourselves in and hold on tight. We may be in for a bumpy ride.

I'm not feeling too peachy today, not just due to the lack of sleep, but my ankles are like California redwoods, my nose is bleeding (it's allergies.. this fresh mountain air is killing me) Aunt Flo is playing hide and seek, I'm swelled up like like the blue girl from Willie Wonka and my hair looks like goose caca.

Thank God it's Friday.

~ ♥ ~

I got stuck in Ayla's doghouse this morning.  Well.. not stuck.. exactly.

She's not been eating, she's teething and her gums are swollen. They hurt me just to look at them. I ran out of the super squishy chewy puppy food, so she's had to eat the regular crunchy food for a day or two until I can get to Wally World (I'm a bad furbaby mommy) and she's barely eaten. Last night she did the high pitched puppy bark, whined, flipped and flopped in her sleep, I felt so bad for her.

This morning I remembered that I had some canned dog food in the cabinet, a freebie of a high dollar brand I scored with a coupon. I don't feed canned dog food for a variety of reasons, but if I get a free can, I take it.

I carried the canned food out to her doghouse, Sammy and Yoda trailing behind me in hopes that they'd get a taste and reached inside for her bowl. It's a big house T.A. built from a kit for Ozzy, but we lost him before he ever got to try it out. Of course Ayla had pushed the bowl way back in the corner where I couldn't reach, though I tried, already dressed for work and in hopes of not getting dirty.

I had already opened the can, because sometimes I'm not too bright, and Ayla having gotten a big whiff of it, lost her damn fool mind and tried to take me down.

She is not a small dog. Huskies are bred to pull things in sub zero temperatures and Pyrenees are bred to protect flocks of goats and sheep from wolves, bears and like.. nuclear attack and the apocalypse and crap. So yeah.. you can see my dilemma.

Luckily, the doghouse roof opens up, giving easy access to the inside. Once I got my big butt wallered back out of the front, I stood and opened the roof, leaned in and tried to dump the canned food into her bowl. It would have been helpful if it had been loosely packed, stew-like food, but it was not.

A spoon would have been helpful as well.

Using the lid as a make-shift scoop, I dug the firmly packed food from its container, being careful that I didn't lop off a finger or slit my wrist.

I like to live dangerously.

I didn't notice Ayla had moved around behind me. She was overcome with beefy-aroma-induced temporary insanity and lost all sense of judgement, leading her to pounce on my butt, knocking the roof of the doghouse loose, forcing it to close swiftly on my backside, pushing me off balance and damned near face first into the bowl of dog food.

I'm pretty sure I offended every Bible thumping neighbor within a 20 mile radius with the stream of wordy-dirties that spewed forth from my mouth.

But then? I imagined how I must look, my butt hiked up in the air like a cat in heat, my entire upper half seemingly being eaten by the angry house. Then I got the giggles, which further complicated my attempts to escape.

I swear to (insert religious figure or spiritual being of your choice) all three dogs were lined up laughing at me. I'm just thankful Ma didn't happen to peek out the door. She would have called 911 or at least Aunt Moses to come over with her camera.

~ ♥ ~

I reckon I should stop fartin' around on the innerwebs and get to work. Bossman isn't in as chipper a mood as he was earlier this week and I've got crap piled up all over the place. I may work through lunch, it depends on whether I can get a mooburger from the campground store.

Ya'll be sure and stop by this weekend. One of The Amazon's college buddies has made it big as a reality show celebrity! We'll take a look at her new show.

In the meantime, ya'll have a good one. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!!



Show Mom how much you care with fabulous fresh flowers from KaBloom.com

Friday Afternoon Quickie

It's 24 minutes 'til quitting time before a holiday weekend. Screw it. I'm done playing Lone Ranger, selling robot monkeys and their assorted parts, sweet talking dirty old men on the phone and dealing with the switchboard.

For three days anyway.

So now I give you... Mahala's Weekend Plans:

1. Nap. More than once.
2. Clean that funkified kitchen. And the bathroom. I won't go in to details.. just trust me.. it needs to be done.
3. Learn to turn mint tins into decorative boxes with clay. Because I've become that weirdo spinster lady who lives at the edge of town with all the animals and does crafts.
4. Buy groceries.
5. Spend some time blogging, tweeting, plurking, second lifing, even.. at times.. simultaneously because there's really no point in my trying to deny my innerweb dorktasticness at this stage of the game.
6. Laundry

I might not do any of these things. I may accomplish them all... and I may end up somewhere else, doing something entirely different, but that's the plan for now.

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

Later Taters!!

Life in Perspective

After venting here yesterday, spending three hours alone at the Asylum with PG, stealthily watching Eddie Izzard and Minnie Driver on my computer and an hour of meditative prayer, I thought I was over my pissy mood by the time I left work yesterday.

I discovered I was wrong when I got to the bank and ran in to Anthony and his wife.

Ya'll may remember Anthony, I told ya'll about him back in November when he suffered a run of bad luck. Okay.. that's probably the understatement of the year.. but anyway.. I hadn't seen him since the accident and I was a little surprised to run into him.

I was about three people back in line behind them and could hear the conversation taking place between him and an old school buddy while his wife made the deposit for the dollar store. As his friend assured him that whenever he was ready to get back to work, he'd have a job waiting for him with his company, I felt the tears welling up.

"I can't do no mechanickin' anymore," he said as he held up what was left of his hand. "But if you got something I can do, I'd shore appreciate it."

The tears were beginning to seep from the corners of my eyes at about the same time Anthony looked up and noticed me. I'm not sure if he saw how hard I was trying not to lose my shit right up there in the bank, in front of God and everybody or not. I hope he didn't. "Hey girl! You doin' okay? Yer Mama n' them alright?" he asked, grinning from ear to ear.

I nodded, forced a smile and told him we were all doin' just fine.

Thankfully, the 184 year old man who was cashing in a trash bag full of rolled change at the next window was just finishing up. Anthony went back to talk to the bank manager, his step dad (I think, sometimes I get the family connections all mixed up. He's also my Uncle Mullet's dead wife's uncle... I think.. keep up if you can.)

I kept it together while I made my deposit. I tried not to think about how it would have been more, if the powers that be hadn't decided that office staff would no longer receive the piddly little $50 ($35 after taxes) bonus all employees used to get every month when product returns were kept below a certain level. Instead, I thought about how petty and childish I was to whine about anything at all while Anthony, his wife and two girls were trying to figure out how they were going to make it now that part of his body was gone.

Anthony was back by his wife's side as I left the bank. "Girl you take care now!" he said.

The tears began to flow as I walked across the road. It wasn't a dainty, girly cry either. No.. it was one of those full face, squished Playdoh lookin' cries, the kind that makes you say, "bless her heart, she ain't one of them that can cry purdy." I was bawlin', right there in the middle of town, crossin' the state highway. I got in my truck and drove around Frog Pond Holler, blubbering like a fool, trying to get get my shit together.

I still had to stop and buy dog food at the dollar store before I went home.

When I felt I could make another public appearance without becoming the main topic of discussion at the Sunday night services, I parked back behind the Pump n' Go and made a beeline for the dollar store. As I made my way past the mark down rack of Christmas shirts, I was damned near run over by... Anthony.

Oh the Universe was all up in my face yesterday.

"Well HEY! again!!" he said, smiling.

"Well HEY!" I said, trying to sound cheerful. I kept walking, back to the pet food, grabbing a bag of chow for the mutts and slinging it over my shoulder. I lingered around the cat toys for a bit, to give Anthony time to pay for his stuff and leave... because that's the kinda social retard I am.

I got to the register and dropped my big bag on the counter. The cashier was Lucille, Louise's sister, who also happens to work up at the Asylum, out on the plant floor.

"Well hay! Did you work up yonder today Miss Mahala?" she asked.

"Yep, just me and PG in the office " I answered. "It made for a long day."

"Well we're just going to be thankful we've had a chance to work at all," she said and I agreed.

When I left and got in my truck, the tears started welling up again, but I took a deep breath and asked myself just what the samhill my problem was. Anthony was the one missing a finger on one hand and most of the other hand, but he was smiling. He didn't look all hopeless and sad. Maybe it was the shock of running in to him, when no one's seen him in so long. Maybe it's the crush I had on him when I first went to work at the Asylum. He had long pretty hair, smiled all the time and always went out of his way to speak to me and call me by name at a time when I felt like the square peg, trying desperately to squeeze in to a round hole.

Maybe it's just that I need to suck it up and get the hell over myself.

I dunno.

I've got all my fingers and toes. The lights haven't been cut off. I'm not living in a car. I've got nothing to complain about. I need to keep reminding myself of that.

Ya'll have an ass kickin' helluva weekend. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!

Erupting Emotions and Eddie Izzard

Okay ya'll. I know I've not been posting much this week and when I have it's been slim pickins.

Someone's mama always said, "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all." I've been having a hard time finding something "nice." Today, I give up.

Get comfy and let the whine fest commence.

Here at the Asylum, Bossman is so full of doom and gloom, you can feel it settle over you like a dark ooze when you come in the door. He never speaks, only barks and if you can get a smile out of him, you can be sure he's probably just passing gas. While Thelma, Lulu and myself are working hard and actually getting along quite well, all the managers are stomping around like big babies because... Oh My Gah... they're losing some pay now too.

Ya know what? I feel for them.. but.. welcome to the party. The rest of us have been scrimping and saving for months now. Put on your big boy bloomers and shut the eff up. I'm sorry that the mention that WifeyPoo might have to get a part time job brings tears to your eyes... oh sweet Baby Jesus.. the horror you must be going through.

I'm sorry. I'm only returning the level of compassion I've been shown by them the past six months or so. You reap what you sow.

Next on my list.. Bubbles and Louise. Bubbles big azz, Cousin Fester lookin' bubbahubby has been runnin' his mouth all over town about what a sorry place the Asylum is since Miss Bubbaliciousness got laid off. He also made a point of sharing how he didn't think it was right that the ones who were left got to work 40 hours (if only for two weeks) in front of the Amazon.

Oh boo fricken hoo. He makes damned good money as a Paramedic and their house is paid for. They won't be doing without a flippen thing they need. This is the last year Precious the Younger will be home before starting kindergarten next fall. They should shut up and be thankful that Bubbles can sit her big butt at home and draw unemployment while spending this precious time with her kids. So maybe they won't get to haul their 80 foot camper to the beach this summer.

Cry me a river.

I've been told that the only reason he's so hell bent on Bubbles working, is because he doesn't like her out running the roads all damned day. Well, I reckon if everytime I left the house, I ran home and told bubbahubby that every Tom, Dick and Junior Joe Bob I saw was trying to hump my leg, I could expect he wouldn't want me out running the roads either.

As for Louise, Miss Nose-Up-Everyone-Elses-Ass has spent more time hanging around the office at the Asylum than she ever did when she worked here. She sits in town at lunch time, watching everyone's coming and going, then she makes a round of calls to everyone in the office (not me, she's learned) then sits her big butt down at the Grab N' Go (and go and go) the rest of the day, putting her own spin on everything she's heard and spreading it all over town.

This is no exaggeration. I can't even stop at the mutha freckin' dollar store to buy a pound of coffee with no less than four people stopping me and interrogating me before I get to the door.

I've had it up to my nose hairs with this crap and I'm fixin' to let everyone in ear shot know all about it.

You can add to the list that Ma is pissed off at me. It's nothing new.. it's just one. more. thing.

So there you have it. What's really going on in my life and in my head. Yesterday, I spent my lunch break up at the lookout with a cheeseburger from the campground store, watching the birds fly and the river flow because I just couldn't stand the thoughts of being in town one more second than I had to.

I feel like I'm going to snap.

Anywho.. Bossman is off today, he's playing golf all weekend with some of his buddies. Poor feller. This means, I'm unsupervised for the whole day. I've got about two hours worth of work to do, then I think I'll spend the afternoon watching episodes of "The Riches" on Hulu. Gypsies, Eddie Izzard and a giant wedgie in the butt crack of corporate America.. just what I need.

Ya'll have a good one. I'll be around here somewhere.

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!

Hot Wheels and How I Unwind

My full time job has been cut to 30 hours a week. I've got a house payment, a truck payment and my shop sales are still on the puny side. So what are we going to do this Saturday afternoon?

We're going car shopping.

Oh yeah.. I know how to live on the edge.

The Amazon is hell bent on buying a car today and I've had it up to my nose hairs with trying to be the voice of reason, so if and when she ever drags her lazy keister out of bed awakens from her peaceful slumber, I reckon we'll be hitting the Big City car lots. I imagine I'll be popping Valium and swiggin' a wine cooler by nightfall.

Ya'll keep your fingers crossed, pray or run out in the woods to perform the Pagan ritual of your choice for me that things will go well. I'd rather have a tooth pulled than shop for vehicles.

Moving on...

Born in the mid late sixties, I was part of the latchkey kid generation. By the fourth grade I was going to school with a house key on a string hanging around my neck, like most of my friends. We'd come home in the afternoons, let ourselves in, call Mom at work to let her know we hadn't been abducted on the way home, then raid the kitchen for junk food. We were under strict instructions not to go outside or have anyone over, so most of the afternoon was spent parked in front of the television.

I blame those years for the way television has become such a part of my life today. As long as someone is awake, it's usually on, but mostly just in the background. It's unusual for me to find the time (or the attention span) to sit down and actually watch anything in it's entirety anymore. I was thinking about this the other day when I decided to keep a log for one week of shows I actually sit down and devote my undivided attention to on the boob tube.

The following list isn't in any particular order, I didn't keep track of times or channels.

Sanford & Son This was one of those shows from my childhood that I quote often, cracking myself up, although no one around me seems to know what the hell I'm talking about, so I just end up looking a little insane ("IT'S THE BIG ONE ELIZABETH!!!") In this episode, Aunt Esther was entering a beauty contest, coached by Fred. They performed together in the talent portion, giving us a peek into Redd Foxx's other talents.

VH1's 100 Greatest Hard Rock Songs Ronnie James Dio, Ozzy, Ratt and be still my heart... David Coverdale, slinging their AquaNet coiffed heads to and fro to gut rumbling bass beats and axe burning guitar riffs. And ya'll know how I feel about men in spandex and black eyeliner. Nuff said.

The Children's Hour Holy monkey toes Batman! Who knew they were making racy movies like this back in 1961?? An evil little spawn named Mary spreads rumors of lesbianesque frolicking by two boarding school teachers, leading to the eventual demise of the school. Of course, none of it's true.. or is it?

Run's House As a rule, I don't like "reality" shows, but this is an exception. It's obvious that a lot of this is staged, but I can't help but love this family. My favorite episode so far? When Kid Rock sneaks a Hooter's bumper sticker on the Rev's prized car.

The Big Bang Theory Currently, this is my one, can not miss, I don't care if it's a rerun, I love it to pieces show. Monday nights, CBS. If there is one iota of geekness coursing through your blood, if you're married to someone even slightly nerdy or if you spend any time at all on social networking sites, you'll get humor of this show.

The Ellen Degeneres Show Now that I'm getting off work at three every day, I get home in time to enjoy a little day time television. I'm cheating a little with this entry, I didn't watch the entire show on this particular day, I tuned in to catch an interview with Depak Chopra.

Dreaming of Tibet A great documentary airing on LinkTv about Tibetans fleeing their homeland to escape the oppression of the Chinese government. When you can't afford to get your nails done or the new soccer shoes you need for Little Precious are putting a strain on your wallet, spend some time watching this little film. You'll have a new perspective.

My Name is Earl If they made a show about the people of Frog Pond Holler, this would be it, only the holler is way smaller. It's just funny. Lulu's favorite character is Joy and I have to agree. She makes the show.

There you have a roundup of the shows I found interesting enough to sit down and unwind with this week. Did I miss anything really juicy? Let me know your faves in the comments.

And now.. I'm heading out to Big City. Wish me luck.

Later Taters!

Eddie Izzard & Graham Norton: When Baboons Attack

After about an hour of walking around looking at crafts and being screamed at from across the fairgrounds by greasy, snaggle toothed carnies the Amazon and I got bored at the big Hee-Haw county fair. By the time Preacher Bob jumped in front of me for the third time, trying to save my soul, waving his pretty little pink copies of the New Testament in my face, I'd decided I needed to get home anyway.

County fair or not, Eddie Izzard was going to be on The Graham Norton Show at ten and I needed to get situated in front of the boob tube.

I have my priorities.

Of course it was hilarious.. with Izzard and Norton (and Harry Shearer) how could it be anything else? Somehow though.. the conversation turned to the evilness of baboons. Apparently Norton witnessed some sort of chaotic picnic lunch devastation by a wild baboon while vacationing amongst the wild things (Dude.. seriously? Next time.. just go to Miami.. or come back to Dollywood, we'll do lunch.)

When a disagreement erupted between Izzard and Norton over whether or not baboons were consciously, deceptively evil or perhaps, simply wanting a nice picnic lunch, the Amazon and I both laughed so hard we had tears streaming down our cheeks.

You see, the Amazon and I often have the same argument. It all stemmed from an incident at the zoo, one I wrote about a couple of years ago on my old blog.

Here's a re-post of the incident:

"Tuesday, March 08, 2005

The Girl Child and the Angry Baboon

I took a vacation day Friday to go gather the Girl Child from college. I left early Friday morning, picked her up around noonish and took a side trip to the zoo. Anyone who's read my posts in the past understands that I'm a critter freak. I love zoos, I even worked as a volunteer at the zoo back home when I was thirteen. I guess I should make myself clear, I don't love all zoos. There are some pretty crappy ones out there, especially the roadside monstrosities with big animals in tiny cages pacing and panting. I have a problem with circus' as well, I stopped going to them years ago.

Sorry, didn't mean to go off on an animal rights rant. Back to the story.

The Girl Child and I started off in the "North America" exhibit, making a bee line for the polar bears. Seems we got there just in time for their afternoon nap, huge hairy critters sprawled out on rocks looking like a bunch of frat brothers on the morning after an endless night of chemically altering their consciousness and assorted acrobatic mating rituals.

We moved on to the other exhibits, which were spaced kinda far apart. The African section of the park was really nice. There was this huge dome.. thing, that you walked through which had inside and outside areas for some of the animals on display. Most of the baboons had gone inside where it was warmer and there was a sort of deck area outside where you could get a much better view. The Girl Child and I ventured outside away from the small crowd and watched the baboon "children" rough housing and pushing each other off of rocks and trying to get their mother to put the baby down and pay attention to them instead. Every once in a while the big male baboon would run over and try to establish order over the youngsters, mostly ignored, kinda like human parents.

At one point the big male looked over at us standing on the deck and came bounding over towards us. He sat down close to the glass right in front of the Girl Child. We were like.. awwwww.. a Jane Goodall moment!! She sat down on the deck in front of him and he reached forward and grabbed his toes and rocked back and forth on his lil baboon butt.. lookin' all cute. Then he pushed his nose against the glass and made faces at her, it was so cool.

I was half expecting him to start doin' something perverted, because it's been my experience that all male primates seem to do that if you get too close.. again.. much like humans.

Then.. suddenly..he jumps up making that psycho-rabid "I'm gonna eat your eyeballs" kinda face...smackin' the shit out of the glass, screeching like the soundtrack of a bad Tarzan remake. I do believe the Girl Child came closer to crapping her pants than she has since her Pampers days. Of course, all of the zoo patrons inside the dome thingie watching us, were pointing and laughing hysterically. I was laughing pretty hard myself.

I should make the Girl Child a nice t-shirt with a baboon on the front. Or a pillow for her bed.. yeah that's it. I'm so not going to let her live this one down."

And.. I haven't. She still gets this look of sheer terror on her face whenever someone mentions baboons.. the exact same look Graham Norton had as he told the tale of his primate encounter.

Personally I think the poor things are just misunderstood and appreciate a nice picnic.

I hope ya'll are enjoying your weekend. We'll talk again soon.

Later Taters!

Camo Sales, Snake Charmers and Getting Organized

Wal-Mart at 10 o'clock on a Sunday night is scary enough. Walking in to Wal-Mart at 10 o'clock on a Sunday night with a mile long shopping list from Ma and realizing that a. they are in the middle of extensive renovations and b. nothing... and I mean absolutely effing nothing.. is where it used to be, is enough to strike terror in the heart of the most seasoned shopper.

It was nice to see they've moved the firearms and camo fashions closer to the front of the store.

*insert eye roll here*

There were only two things on the list we didn't get. Scott tissues, because they'd roped that section of store off to rip up the floor, and Hannah Montana pencils. I'm hoping that last item was for my trashy big-boobed cousin with the lazy eye's youngin.. or Ma's spending too much time in her room, watching the Disney channel.

The only thing I got for myself was a package of baseball trading card collector sheets and some page separating tabby thingies.

"But Mahala.. baseball trading cards? Really? When did THAT happen?"

There, there dear readers. I've not gone all Sporty Spice on you when ya'll weren't lookin'. I bought the collector sheets in order to create the latest in-thing among the coupon clippin' royalty. When you clip, sort and file as many coupons as I do, regular envelopes or even those little $1 coupon keeper thingies just aren't big enough. For just a couple bucks, you can create the uber coupon sorter. By inserting trading card sheets in a binder (and after 16 years of the Amazon's education, we've got plenty of binders) you can sort more coupons and see what you've got at a glance, instead of standing on the cereal aisle, blocking traffic and pissing off little old ladies while you sort through the stack of money saving goodies you've got stuck in the "breakfast foods" section.

There will be photos when it's done. Some blogs show you pics of naked tattas, sexy moms and prize winning recipes. I'll be showing you my coupon file.

Try to contain your excitement.

In other news...

After my very long, very fulfilling nap yesterday, I got up, washed a few dishes and straightened up a bit with the television playing in the background. It was on the Hitler History channel, some program about the lost writings of Nostradamus (or the newly discovered writings or the writings sorta like the old writings or some chit.) It was on mostly for background noise, half the time I couldn't tell you what's being shown.. but rest assured it's always on.

Anywho.. they were talking about the Anti-Christ and Nostradamus and the end of the world, because as ya'll may have noticed, one need only turn on the boob tube to discover that the sky is falling as we speak.

Is it any wonder that anti-depressants are the most prescribed drug in the U.S.?

As I was saying, they were talking about impending gloom and doom and the predictions thereof, when they mentioned a male child being born.. yadda yadda.. then Sagittarius.. but not Sagittarius and a thirteenth zodiac sign.

Say wut?

Apparently there is a 13th sign of the zodiac, Ophiuchus, the snake charmer, that used to be commonly known but through the years has been forgotten. It is associated with healing and is the only sign to be based on a person who actually lived.

"That's all very interesting Mahala, but um... so?"

Well, they had my attention, so I looked old Ophiuchus up on the innerwebs and found that .. low and behold I was born under this sign. That is.. according to the internet... and as ya'll know... if it's on the internet it has to be true.

Did I ever mention that under the Chinese zodiac, I was born in the year of the snake?

And now.. under the "real" zodiac.. under the sign of the snake charmer?

OMG ew.

I don't like snakes. No sir. No way. No how.

Now that I've shared my tales of Wally World, teased you with promises of upcoming exciting photos and expanded your knowledge of the zodiac, I'm going to go do laundry.

Ya'll have an awesome Monday.

Later Taters!

Hurricane Hannah, Holler News and Linky Lurve

Have ya'll seen the weather reports? It sounds like hurricane Hannah might be heading right for the holler. I thought living this far inland, I wouldn't have to worry about those anymore. I was proven wrong when Ivan came through a few years ago, drowning Big City and turning the holler in to mush.

We need the rain, but not THAT much rain.

And now.. The Latest 'Round the Holler

County For Sale - When me and the Amazon went joy riding last Saturday, I noticed "For Sale" signs everywhere. Acreage, houses, vehicles.. anything you can think of was being offered up by the side of the road. Down at the little town market, beside the "For Sale" signs are those begging for work, doing odd jobs, babysitting, you name it.

People are desperate ya'll.

I don't "do" politics and I honestly don't give a rodent's rump who wins the upcoming election. I just know they'd better do something quick because we're all in a financial tailspin down here in Frog Pond Holler.

When Nature Attacks - In the past two days I've heard of two, separate snake bite incidents. The first was right up the road from my house, when a little old lady was struck by a rattler while pulling weeds in her yard. I should note, that while it's true that I live "in town," it's still pretty rural and you only need travel a few yards south before you're in an actual National Forest. Anywho.. the victim will be fine. Her attacker was apprehended and probably relocated because.. rattlers are a protected species.

The second attack occurred up at Aunt Moses' mountain top home. My trashy, big boobed cousin with the lazy eye's youngin informed me that their big lab mix was struck in the face by a copper head over the weekend. They said his face was all swollen and he looked real bad.

I didn't ask if they'd taken him to the vet because, well, they probably didn't and I didn't need one more reason to be pissed off at my relatives that day. Knowing them, they probably like.. spit tobacco on it or some chit.

You Like Me.. You Really Like Me - Poopie, who's always keepin' the faith over at her place with Butterbean, Babygirl and the gang, was kind enough to bestow an award upon me:

I've known Poopie (in a friendly, blogger buddy kind of way) since the beginning, back when I was learning the ropes with my mountain Gyspsy blog.. back when I thought Bubbles was my friend.. when I had to delete the whole stinkin' thing because I suddenly started getting hits from the Big City hospital because she couldn't keep her big yap shut... but I digress.

Anywho.. I'm sure Poopie would love it if ya'll would stop by and say howdy. Poopie also occasionally writes for another web publication, Dew on the Kudzu. The editor of The Dew is another of those blog buddies I've known since day one. As a matter of fact, her stories about spreading her daddy's ashes and commune living were what inspired me to begin a blog of my own, so I'd love it if ya'll would go by there and show them a little bloggy lurve.

As for awards, I'm never comfortable choosing blogs, so consider this a personal invitation to check out any of the links in the "Brain Candy" section of my sidebar. Just be sure and tell them I sent ya.

We'd better get to work. Bossman is going to kick our butts to the curb if we don't start being productive.

Have a humpalicious Humpday ya'll ... hump it like George and Weezy!

We're gonna get our piece of the pie. I promise. Just keep humpin' it.

Hunting, Gathering and Watching the Boob Tube

Good Monday morning ya'll. Ya know, I was a little upset when they told us we'd be working four days a week until things picked up at the Asylum, but it sure felt nice to lay in that big ol' comfy bed this morning. It was even a tad bit chilly with the new ac doin' it's thang. I might see things a little different when I get my next paycheck, but for today, it feels nice.

Since I spent most of the weekend laying around on my big butt, trying to get my mental chit together after last week, I plan to spend today doing a bit of laundry, working on my shop and making a run to the grocery store.

Old Mother Hubbard ain't got nothin' on us.

Ma is still unhappy about my having bought a window unit instead of getting the central air unit fixed. She swears it's not been below 80° in her bedroom, which I know is bullshit. I sent the Amazon in there to check after Ma went to sleep. It's nice and comfy in there. She insists she's still calling "the man." I don't think she will. I think she recently witnessed a taste of how insanely whacked out I can get when backed into a corner and I suspect it put the fear of God in her. I even scared myself a little.

I took advantage of a quiet house yesterday morning and watched the last episode of the first season of "The Riches" on Hulu. Finally, it all makes sense. Now I worry that it won't be picked up for a new season, season two being cut short by the writers strike. With the impending actor's strike looming overhead, things aren't looking promising.

Have ya'll been able to find ANYTHING worth watching on television? Everything is game shows and bullshit "reality" t.v., neither being genres I care for. It's all crap. I'm tired of crap.

By the way, my favorite episode of "The Riches" so far? It has to be the meth overdose episode where Eddie Izzard really shows his acting chops. Besides.. who knew Squanto was such a feckin' bastid?

Anywho, I'd better get busy clipping coupons. Ya'll enjoy your Monday.

Later Taters!

Early Morning Tushies

Okay.. I'll try not to dwell on the fact that it's hot as hell up in this office, but first I have to say that 9 a.m. is ENTIRELY too farkin' early to be dealing with under boob sweat.

When it starts running down my butt crack I'm outta here.

And seriously.. the dang blasted ac unit here freezes up EVERY YEAR the first day it gets over 85. It's done this for at least SIX YEARS. It wouldn't take a rocket scientist to know that it needs to be replaced.

Jiminy motha effin' crickets ya'll. Ain't no damned sense in this chit.

Moving on.. before I overheat...

Thank ya'll for your advice concerning my whacked out dreams. I'm a bit calmer about the whole thing today, having decided to simply write them down in detail and stop trying to analyze what they mean. In the past I've learned that time spent trying to decipher their meaning is usually time wasted. I'm seldom right in what I assume, it's best to just stop thinking too hard and follow my nose.. metaphorically and metaphysically speaking.

How's that for some mental deep dish pie on a Friday?

Anywho..

I told ya'll the other day that I'm a big fan of "The Riches" on FX. I missed the pilot and part of the first season before I discovered it, so I've been slowly getting caught up, watching episodes on Hulu. So this morning I caught about half of the pilot episode in the bit of un-wind, wake-up time I had before I had to start getting ready for work. Imagine my squeals of unbridled glee shocked surprise at the sight of Eddie Izzard's naked hiney right there on my computer screen.. in full techni-fuckin-color!!!!

Okay so it was sort of a sad little sex scene, the kind that makes you wanna go, "Awww.. bless it." Definitely not the type that makes your eyes glaze over, sending you off in search of the battery stash. But still.. tushie.

Oh yeah.

Anywho.. It's nearly lunch time. Holla-freakin-loo-ya. I can go home and stand over the ac vent for an hour.

Ya'll have a good one.. and try to keep your bits in the shade. It's hot out there.

Later Taters!