Friday, December 4, 2009

Do Blondes Have More Fun?

After years of having the same hair do I finally decided enough was enough and made an appointment with my number one girl Jess to get my hair did. For weeks I anticipated the date and pondered different cuts and styles. I stared at everyone and scrutinized their style and color and tried to picture it on my head. I even downloaded a picture of myself on one of those websites where you can try on virtual hair.

The style was pretty easy to nail down: something sort of short but not too short. Trendy but not quite the same as everyone else. The color was even easier. I just asked my husband what he wanted me to be. Now, before I continue, it's only fair to tell you that I have had many different hair colors in my life time including purple. The box said "Tropical Burgundy" but on my head it was purple and matching purple hair with work outfits for two months while it fades out is not an easy chore.

That being said, once your hair has been purple, you pretty much become fearless in the color department. After all, it's just hair. It will grow back. And if not, well, take your pick of some pretty awesome wigs.

So when I left the fate of my color up to my husband it did not come as a shock when he said BLONDE!! And yes, he said it in capital letters with exclamation points at the end. I said ok and before I left for the salon he reminded me not to chicken out and get "other colors put in it too" which in man language means "no highlights or lowlights, just be blonde."

And that is the message that I relayed to Jess when she asked what she could do for me. So she set about mixing her magic potion that was to turn me beautiful. And what fun we had! We had a great time watching my hair turn from reddish brown to Draco Malfoy white. The cut was fun too since I went from mid shoulder blade length hair to up above my collar. The classic wedge/bob with longer pieces in the front. We were fearless. It was great.

I looked fantastic! My hair was as blonde as blonde could be and it was styled beautifully. I wanted to take a picture for all of prosperity but couldn't find my camera. And what a shame too because as all women know, the first day of a hair cut and style has a Cinderella curfew. It looks fab until you go beddy bye. And then the evil trolls climb out from under the bed and do unspeakable things to your hair while you sleep and it never looks the same.

So when I woke up in the morning and the spell had been broken, I looked in the mirror (forgetting what we had done the day before) and almost screamed. There looking back at me was a crazy bedraggled homeless lady with bleach blonde hair. Or she may have been a strung out hooker the day after a bender. I'm not sure which but I stifled a scream of horror. Then I realized it was just me and felt much better for a second. Then I felt much worse. Because I realized that I can never again just put in a pony tail and leave the house. This hair will require styling every single day. And then I had a revelation. With an empty cigar box and a dirty coat I could go sit outside the Dollar General and panhandle. Cha-Ching! This hair style had the potential to pay for itself! And at the end of the day I can go home, style my hair and take my hubby out to eat with his hot blonde wife. No one would ever know it was the same person. What a difference a curling iron & some hair spray makes.

Now that I'm used to my hair I've been enjoying the reaction of others when they see my freakishly blonde hair for the first time. Some look mortified and ask if I did it myself. Others are duly impressed. Some just stare at me. Because of all the colors I've had in my life, including the purple, I have never been this light before. And I like it. I'll probably keep it this way until next summer when we open the pool. And the chlorine turns it green. Bah, green doesn't scare me.

Friday, October 30, 2009

H1N1, My Rant of the Day

Call me sinister but this world was in need of a new plague. It's getting a little crowded around here, don't ya think? All of the great sicknesses & illnesses through the ages are Mother Nature's way of cleaning out her system. Too many humans screwing around, messing the place up, lets have a pandemic. Almost like Earth is trying to puke her guts out the morning after a bad drinking binge.

Now I know, I'm a human too, I should be shaking in my shoes & hanging Lysol soaked sheets in the doorways. But I don't care. I really don't. It's not that I want to get sick or die. I just don't care. If I become a statistic in the H1N1 scare, then so be it. My soul is prepared. Bring it on.

Will I get a flu shot? No. Do I believe in flu shots? Maybe. Are they loaded with crap that shouldn't be in my body to begin with? Probably. But I'm not really concerned with that. After all, I eat raw, overcooked, undercooked & expired foods, use silverware that fell on the floor, and lick the cookie dough leftovers containing raw eggs out of the bowl. And I don't have worms yet. In fact I think there are enough germs and bacteria camping out in my lower intestines that if I did get H1N1, it would run away screaming once it reached my stomach.

And while I'm on the subject, when did peanuts become public enemy #1? Why is every kid on the planet suddenly allergic to my favorite comfort food of all time? Peanut butter is my life. I eat it like it's my job. What kind of wussy kids are we raising these days that can't handle food that was processed within a 200 ft radius of a peanut? GOSH!!! No wonder the flu bug is such a problem for this nation. If you can't handle a peanut, how are you planning on coping with the flu? Huh? Tell me.

Perhaps, and just humor me here, that is the whole reason for H1N1. Maybe Nature is a huge fan of peanuts and their byproducts and felt the need to devise a way to weed out the weaklings that can't handle them. Thus creating our flu bug du jour. Clever. Very Clever. Don't mess with nature.

Sunday, October 11, 2009

I Ripple In the Water

Time now for more humorous poetry from my favorite local poet.


I Ripple In the Water
by Kelly C. Baker

My fat, it was floating
And I liked it not
As I lay in the bathtub
The water 'round hot

Where did this come from?
How could this be?
Where did my body go?
This is not me.

The running, the sit ups,
They all make me ouch
I'd rather be home
Watching "Charmed" on the couch

My cards have been dealt out
But my deck was stacked
It'd help if my husband
Quit buying me snacks

"I like a thick woman!"
He says with a smile
And frowns when I lace up
To go run a mile

I don't like it, I hate it
I want it to go
And if I had money
I'd just get lipo

Until then I'll workout
So my thighs don't rub
And float like fat islands
When I'm in the tub

Thursday, September 3, 2009

Dear Youth of America

This morning on the radio they were talking about the President addressing the school kids next week. The question of the morning was: If you were the President, what would you tell the youth of our nation?

Here's what I'd tell them:
Don't take what you see on tv seriously. There are loads of crappy shows on VH1 and MTV & MTV2 that make you think that all teens are fabulously rich and that it's ok to be a stuck up, snobby, high heal wearing, fancy car driving, cell phone texting brat. That's not the case. Your parents may have wanted you to buy into that idea but look where that got them. They ended up overstretching their budget and now they can't afford the huge house, the huge SUV and they're unemployed. The lesson to be learned, Youth, is to WORK HARD and SPEND WISELY.
Don't buy crap. When you want to buy something, do a little math. Say to yourself "How long did I have to flip hamburgers to get that much money and if I buy this, will it really be worth working 9 hours for?"

Also, your dreams will not come true. Sadly enough. Life just isn't full of unicorns and rainbows. So if you're going to waste $70,000.00 on a college education, choose a career that there is actually a job market for. Otherwise you'll just barge right into adulthood up to your armpits in debt and be no better off than the rest of us. So you might as well stay at McDonald's and just aspire to be manager.

Don't waste your time waiting for the mailbox money to come. It's nice to collect unemployment or disability but you'll never get anywhere on that kind of money. You need real money, the kind you work for. You'll get ahead much quicker that way. And not all jobs are easy. Some are very difficult. It doesn't matter. Try them anyhow. Don't be afraid to get your hands dirty. The adults of the world will respect you a lot more if you are willing to do the hard jobs. There are enough people already sitting behind desks. They're the ones who helped get us in the mess this country is in. Too many chiefs and not enough indians.

Don't walk around being thugs. If you want respect in this world you have to earn it. It's not free. And slumming around with your pants around your ankles is not cool. It's annoying and if you come to me looking for a job like that, I wouldn't give you the time of day. Because people won't judge you based on your sparkling personality. So pull up your pants.

Girls: Don't get knocked up. It will ruin your life. He doesn't love you, he just wants a piece. He's not going to stick around and be a good baby daddy so don't waste your time. And don't waste your body. Do you really think someone who looks like that has good child rearing skills? No.
And I'm sick of paying your WIC and Welfare bill. So take it from me, stay away from the boys. Get a job, get a car, get an apartment, get your own life, then you can focus on raising a kid properly. Don't expect help from anyone. Be able to make it on your own before you think about dragging another life into this world. Be independant, be responsible.

And remember to brush your teeth & do your homework.

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

I Hate Running

I hate running. It never gets easier. You'd think after years of doing it, it would be a breeze, that I could just lace up, pop out the door and bounce down the street. Nay. It always is a miserable chore that I dread until the moment I arrive back in my driveway, out of breath & sweaty. It's only then that I feel fabulous about having done it. Sometimes just thinking about it makes me want to throw up.
I'm not athletic. I have no natural abilities. I am not speedy. I am just stupid. So I keep doing it. (And because my team for the 50 mile relay expects me to be able to run my leg of the race and not die of a heart attack.) They would like me to finish my 3 point something miles in a time less than one day. If not for them and their ridiculously high expectations (of me not dying) I would probably just settle for a nice two mile walk. Or bike ride. Down hill.
In a perfect world I would obtain a smokin' hot body just laying in bed watching tv all day. I think scientists should be working on making this dream a reality. And I should be eating while I lay there. But instead, I have to run & do sit ups and a bunch of other things that I don't feel like doing just to delay gravity from inevitably pulling my butt any closer to the floor. I am not reversing the signs of aging at this point, I'm just trying to keep up with the slow decay that's already happening. So I run.
The first mile is the worst. Then it doesn't get better. You just go numb. The worst part is trying to come up with something creative to think about while I'm out there. If I have a deep thought to mull over, the run goes much quicker. Or perhaps an MP3 player would be helpful. I don't have one though so I have to sing in my head. "Walkin' In the Sunshine" (Roger Miller) is a cheery running tune. But after 3 miles I'm usually sick of it. I need inspiration. If anyone has any inspiring thoughts feel free to share. I'm open for suggestions.

Saturday, August 22, 2009

On The Road, Part II

I would like to address everyone who drives a car. As you may or may not know, I am a flagger. I am the person who ignorantly holds you up in traffic. You sit there at my intersection, honking your horn and yelling angrily out the window at me, acting like I have nothing better to do than make your life miserable. You take it personally that I have the audacity to make you late from where you want to go. You see me as an annoyance, something to run over, swerve at, or rev your engine at. You think I have an easy job because I'm just standing there.

What you don't know is that the reason you are sitting there and not moving is because right around the corner, where you can't see, there is a paving machine. The paving machine is the size of one entire side of the road. On the opposite side of the road from that paving machine is a line of traffic that will smash head on into you if I release you from your safe little spot.

I have a radio. You do not. I can hear which way traffic is going & that is how I decide when it's safe to let you out onto the road. I am there to keep you safe and to keep the crew I'm working with safe.

As far as my job being easy, when was the last time you spent 14 hours standing in 95 degree heat, not being able to sit down, walk around, or pee while angry people drive by you and hurl insults & let their non-winning scratch off tickets blow out the window at you? Still think it's easy?

Construction is a part of life, my friend. If you have not grasped this yet, then this must be your first day in PA. I am there for your safety. Sometimes you will have a little wait but I promise you, I'll try to get you as far away from me as possible as quickly as possible. You have places to go and I understand. I want you to get there safely. I want my crew to feel safe too and be able to work without worrying about you. It's MY job to worry about you. Even if you hate my guts for it and I make you 5 minutes late for your daughter's piano practice. I assure you, there are more important things in life than piano practice and life goes on. But not if you collide with the chipper or the oil truck because you tried to zoom around me.

So please, when you're out there and you come upon a construction zone, be patient. Have compassion on your friendly neighborhood flagger and maybe smile or say thank you once in awhile. It's the highlight of our day when kind people roll past. And please, don't throw your milkshakes at us. Drive safe.

Thursday, July 30, 2009

A Fashion Yes??!!

For years my husband has been wearing his trademark, self implemented uniform of your basic blue jeans and a plain white t-shirt. The beauty in this, he says, is that you never have to think about what you're going to wear. You just open the drawer, pick any white shirt, any pair of pants and of course all the socks are white so it all goes nicely together. Dressed in 30 seconds - ta-dah! Little did I know he was about to become a fashion icon.

A few years ago I went to the local Fall Foliage Festival with my mom. This is a craft packed place few men dare to go. When we arrived I realized that the weather was a little more brisk than I had anticipated so I dug around in the trunk of my car and found said husband's old brown work coat. It even had his name embroidered above the pocket, which was ripped. The coat was a little stained. Afterall, it WAS a work coat. There were a few rips & snags on it. I put it on figuring no one would notice in the crowd.

As we were browsing, the proprietor of one booth, a pretty young women in her late 20's who looked like she was not a native of Around Here, told me she liked my coat. I did not appreciate the sarcasm, as I've always believed it to be in bad taste to make fun of those who are less fortunate, in this case, me. I didn't know why she'd bother to ridicule me so I just stared at her like she was nuts. Then she asked me where I got it. I told her it was my husbands work coat. Then she told me she LOVED it and turned to her friend who was also now beginning to fuss over me. "Look!" she said, "It's even DISTRESSED!" Knock me over with a feather. Then she went on to ask if I knew how much coats like this were worth, because where she comes from, people will pay a fortune for one.

Needless to say I walked away laughing my head off. I couldn't wait to tell my husband he was in style. He said I should have charged her $75.00 and sold it to her.

Now I find that holey jeans are all the rage. Again. This comes and goes every generation for some reason. As I glanced through a recent Penney's flyer I showed the husband this season's latest fashion trend. Holey jeans are all he's got. Some are patched but the holes come through anyhow. He decided he'd open a boutique and sell all his clothes.

The other day I went to China-Mart to buy some t-shirts for work. I ended up with a pack of plain white t-s. They match everything and their cool in the sun. Best of all - dressed in 30 seconds - Ta-dah! The man knows his stuff.

Friday, July 3, 2009

Farkle

Farkle. I cannot grasp this concept no matter how hard I try. I even read the directions for playing. It seemed simple enough. I clicked on the dice cup. Some dice rolled out. I randomly picked ones that looked like they matched. I clicked the cup again and the dice rolled again. Then the letters on the screen said FARKLE! Which if this is anything like Bingo must indicate that I have won. So just to follow the proper Bingo rules, I yelled to no one in particular: FARKLE!
I was so happy that I won on the first try. Then all the little dice disappeared and I realized that the game was starting over. So I did the same thing again, and Farkled again. I was under the impression that I was a FARKLE genius. Mais non. (Translated to english "But No." This is the only thing I can remember from French class besides the term "Ferme le bouche", which I've probably spelled improperly.) But I digress.

So I stared at the directions again. They were as clear as mud. I even asked my mother, the Farkle Queen, about this crazy game. She began spouting out numbers and matches and what is good & what is bad & none of what she was saying was even trying to go into my ear canal. It all bottle necked outside my ear & refused to go in.

There is a clear and simple explanation for my Farkle stupidity. It's the numbers.
Numbers hate me. I hate them. The only time they are relevent to me is when they have a dollar sign in front of them or are indicating the time of day. Other than that me & numbers don't jive. It started way back in high school when my dad made me take Algebra II. He wanted me to raise the bar, so to speak. The only thing I raised was Mr. Brode's blood pressure. I was clearly not one of his A or B students.

I used to shoot pool for fun now & then. Until. My husband was helping me line up a difficult shot & I asked him how he knew where to hit the ball. "It's just simple geometry" he said. I laid down my pool stick & haven't touched the game since. The idea of pool relating in some way to math just swooped down upon me like a dementor and sucked all the fun - WHOOSH- right out of it.

I don't know why I'm number disabled. There is surely a phobia in there somewhere. Someday they'll do a study & come up with some silly name for it. Just like they did with Restless Leg syndrome. Heck, I've had that since I was wee little. We didn't know it was an actual affliction though. My family just thought I was weird & mom would send me outside to run around before bed so I could lay still. And then 25 years later - HA - Restless Leg Syndrome! So I'm very curious to see how this turns out with numbers and if there is a cure for it. In the meantime I'll just try to farkle when no one is around to smell it.

Thursday, June 4, 2009

What I Can Still Do

I was going to use this entry to go ballistic and rail at my fellow Americans for being nincompoops. I was going to sarcastically thank everyone who has paved the dreary future for me and ruined the good jobs we used to have. I was going to rant and rave about everyone's stupidity and love of materialistic things. I was going to.
Lucky for you, America, Aunt Betty gave us our yearly copy of "Daily Guideposts", which I keep handy in the bathroom so that I'm sure to read it on a daily basis. (Because, if you think about it, the bathroom is the ONE place you are sure to go and sit for at least a few moments everyday.) The scripture for today was "God does not show favoritism" - Romans 2:11 (NIV)

No, indeed he does not. But he loves us just the same. So instead of fuming (oh, I'd still like to go ahead and let you have it) I'm going to concentrate on the blessings we still have instead:

I can still walk outside anytime I please. I can come and go as I wish. I can sit on the porch or take a walk. I can still put out birdfeeders and watch the animals fight over it. I can have a dog or a cat. I can have a guinea pig if I want to. (Scratch that, the animal nazi said no.)

I can apply for any job that's hiring. I may not get the job but I still have the freedom to make the choice to try. I can talk to whoever I want to. There's not a law yet that says I can't be friendly. I can smile whenever I want to. The muscles on my face still work so why not?

I can whistle (although it's a very poor excuse for a whistle) while I work. It's not the beautiful whistle my pap had (I didn't get all the good genetics) but it's a cheery little noise that indicates I am content. I can also hum, which sounds even more off key than the whistle.

I can go to church anytime I want to. Every Sunday, or every day. The church is there and I can go. I can send a Thank You card or Thinking of You card, or Hey How Are You card. My hands still work, the post office is still in business and it's always fun to get something besides a bill in the mail.

I can buy stupid things that make no sense. There is no law that says I can't buy fake dog poop to place strategically in other people's homes when I visit. I can go to the county fair or the yearly town carnival. I still have my teeth which means I can eat corn on the cob or a candy apple.

I can share what little I have with whomever I want. No one said I couldn't share. And anyhow, isn't sharing what it's all about? I can still try to set a good example.

I can still make small choices every day to make my life and the world a better place. We could complain and yell and write angry letters to the editor or we can start actually DOING something. It all starts with having a better attitude. Even if you have to fake it at first. So for today, let's start small. Just smile at someone.

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

Enslaved By Wildlife

I never even saw it coming. It happened slowly and gradually, like the glaciers when they came creeping across North America. I suppose looking back, this has been going on for most of my life but I never realized the extent of it until this morning. The animals have taken over my life.
As I poured my coffee a few minutes ago I paused to look out my kitchen window. There is a fantastic view of the yard, flower garden and bird feeders. Underneath those bird feeders, like hungry lions circling a fresh kill, were the ducks. They hang out like a gang of street thugs, waiting for the smaller birds to scatter down seeds to them.
My intent upon installing the bird feeders was not to feed ducks. In fact, we don't even have any ducks. These Muskovies migrated from up the creek and moved in with us like unwanted house guests. They've taken over the yard, they eat anything that grows in the garden, they poop on my sidewalk and porch, they eat Old Bud's dog food out of his dish. They will even swim in the water that collected on the winter cover of our swimming pool. The Muskovies have got to go. There is a new gang of ducks in town and I'm hoping there will be a territorial overthrow. The new ducks are black with green heads. They're domestic but I'm not sure what kind. (Not Mallards, we have those too from time to time. Er, that is, they have us.)
Sitting also underneath the birdfeeder I spotted my little buddy, Chippy. Chippy (a chipmunk, I'm sure you guessed) has decided that my flower planting skills are not up to par and so he made a few modifications of his own. Apparently in preparation for winter last year, Chippy squirreled away loads of sunflower seeds and buried them in random locations for later use. Those seeds have sprouted and the result is small clusters of sunflowers here and there. I have to hand it to Chippy, this was a wise investment. Perhaps instead of investing in my 401K I should have just given my money to Chippy. By not eating those seeds and planting them instead he will be the equivialent of a chipmunk billionaire when these flowers bloom in the fall. And my bees will be happy about that too. Yes. I have honey bees. Yet another creature to which I am enslaved.
I turned away from the kitchen and went into the living room. From there I peeked through the window onto my front porch. On my porch swing, a robin has built a nest and is now sitting on eggs. On my swing. Where I like to sit. When I first saw the nest I thought it was a joke. Kind of like a tester nest. For beginners. Low to the ground, easy to get to. But then she moved in and there she stayed. Her hubby stops by every now & then to check on her progress & see how the kids are doing. So no more porch swing till this bunch hatches & I can ditch the nest.
I turned around & tripped over the cat who was there to let me know that IT WAS TIME TO EAT NOW. For an animal that can't talk she can get her point across emphatically when she wants to. So I fed Fat Gladys. She more or less runs the house, I'm just here to dish out the food & change the litter.
My chickens in the hen house have staged a coup and will not let me collect eggs without a tussle. When I bend down to collect what's been layed under the roost, Meanie hops up on my back and sticks there. When I reach around to brush her off she pecks my hands. The best I can do is flail around until she decides the fun is over and hops off on her own. The other chickens think this is hilarious. I can hear them cackling the whole way back to the house.
My coffee is now gone and I'm thinking of going for a little run. I like to go for 3-5 mile runs but that has been limited lately. My dog went deaf but he still insists on going along. The problem is, he can only keep up for the first mile. I've tried sneaking away without him. Deaf as he is, he must be able to smell my sneakers because he still manages to catch me. I even made a clean break the other day and was a quarter mile down the road when I heard his toenails clicking on the pavement behind me. He looked at me and grinned as if to say "Hey Mom! Don't worry, I'm coming!" Great. There is no aspect of my life, save my job, that is not run by animals. Roll my eyes and grumble as I may, I must admit, I sort of enjoy it.

Monday, May 11, 2009

On The Road

I've recently begun a new endeavor as a flagger. That is, I am the person with the Stop/Slow sign that you see at one end or another of road construction. Or more commonly, in the middle of construction at an intersection safely letting people out onto the highway.

On my days off prior, I would go in town to run an errand and wonder to myself who all the people were who were driving around. Don't they have jobs? Why are there such vast numbers of vehicles on the road during business hours?

I am pleased to announce the answer. As I stood in the middle of an intersection for 14.5 hours the truth became crystal clear. Old people. The roads are covered in old people. And old people do not get along with road construction.
When the milling machine goes by, it rips up the old road and carts it off so that the new pavement can be put down. This causes a small drop off and when old people have to drive their car over it they go 3 miles an hour so they don't damage the precious undercarriage of their 1992 Buick. God forbid.

Some slow down to the point that they cannot get their car to get up over the milling hump. Their car actually stops when they hit it and then they sit & spin their tires which backs up traffic and pisses off all the welfare people (who are also out shopping for cigarettes in their beat up Cavaliers & Reliant K cars with the fantastic sounds system and booming bass.)

In addition to the Old People, Welfare People and the Working Class (vans, trucks, etc.) there are about 500 rich blond women who spend all day driving through our construction site in their white Cadillac Escalades. I'm not sure where they are going but I am positive that I flagged the same woman out onto the highway about 6 times the one day. Her purpose in life is to drive around & look pretty.

I've also discovered some pro's to flagging:
1. I get to wear the same thing to work every day if I want to. No one knows & no one cares.
2. No hair washing in the morning. Pony tail & hard hat. (I do use my Mary Kay & brush my teeth though.)
3. I can drink all the milk I want for breakfast. Because if I fart all day long no one is there to smell it.
4. Kids on the school bus think I am AWESOME and they all wave at me. Little kids in car seats yell Hello out the back window to me too. I am almost as cool as the truck drivers who honk their horn when you make the “blow the horn” signal with your hands.
5. I have the power to stop traffic.
6. People respect this power.
7. I get to laugh at horrible drivers.
8. I get to see the sun, when it comes out once a year.
9. The day sort of goes fast
10. They pay you a lot of money to stand there.
11. The hard hats are actually comfortable. And dry when it’s raining.

So far no one has thrown a milkshake at me in a frustrated rage. But the season is young.....

Monday, April 27, 2009

Humorous Poetry

And now for some humorous poetry written by my favorite local un-published poet- Kelly C. Baker:

"The following was written on January 11, 2006 as I was sitting in my cubicle trying to will the clock to move faster. It always seemed to me that the hours of ten and two were horribly slow and dreadful. And due to the time of year, I was having a little bout of Job-Hate-January. I give you "Ten and Two.""

TEN AND TWO
by Kelly C. Baker

Ten and two, I loathe to see those hours upon thy face,
For ever slow they seem to me, devoid a rythmic pace

Ten and two two, the seconds halt, the minutes cease to flow,
Suspended purgatory, a forlorn worker's woe

Eleven brings us lunch time, a recess for the grown,
And three brings four, the blissful hour when we can all go home

But ten and two, I shake my fist, you are the bane of me,
How dare you creep by dreadful slow, a long eternity.


(Pause for Applause) Thank you, thank you.

And now another fave, This one is dedicated to my good friend, Coffee, written December 3 2005:

MY SECRET LOVE
by Kelly C. Baker

Dear Coffee,
I love you, l love your smell
you wake me up & I feel swell,
After I chug your taste devine,
you warm me up and clear my mind
I love your chocolate covered beans,
I'd eat them until I turned green
You are my vice, my guilty pleasure,
my coffee mug at work I treasure
Without it, there'd be no You,
and nothing to look forward to
I'd be distressed, dismayed, upsot,
if not for your brimming pot
I grin each time I take a slug,
cause you're my favorite legal drug.

Love, Kelly

Thursday, April 2, 2009

Three Wishes

If you had three wishes what would you wish for? This is a ponderable essay question that changes for me from day to day. There are days when I feel more compassion for my fellow man and would wile away my wishes helping people regenerate new livers, find kidneys and heal their health problems. Today I'm feeling more selfish.
In the sleep deprived state I am currently writing under, my choices may not make much sense and in a few weeks I will probably wish to amend them.(And I will.) Sitting here today, coffee in hand and facing a grueling day of putting on my happy face and being a people person because that's what I get paid to do, here are my three wishes.
Wish #1: I wish it were financially possible for me to be a fulltime housewife. There are lots of women who probably share my dream. I rue the day those doggone women's libbers screwed me out of my free ride. I have a sneaking suspicion that this is the reason I don't know what I want to be when I grow up. I want to stay home. But hey, who doesn't?
Wish #2: I wish I had a new Easter dress which will also be worn to weddings this coming summer. In the 10 years I have been married I have not once bought a new Easter dress for Easter Sunday. At best I have some very nice bridesmaid's dresses that sometimes double as my Easterwear. Stacy & Clinton would burn them, they are from the mid 90's. I wouldn't mind burning them either. And new shoes to go with the new dress. My shoes are as old as my dresses. They should never be allowed out of my closet but sometimes.......
Wish #3: I wish I had compression hose. Yes. Old people stockings. I think it would feel fantastic on my old tired legs and maybe help the blood get back up into my heart. My varicose veins would cheer. I'm not sure if I would like the knee highs or the famous T.E.D. hose thigh high's, hospital issue. At any rate, it would have to help.
And those, my friends, are my three wishes du jour. Pathetically sad, but true. Stay tuned, I'm sure I'll have three different wishes in a few weeks.

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Jeff Foxworthy Must Spy on Me

I've discussed this and am fairly certain Jeff Foxworthy has been spying on me. I have a copy of his desk calendar at work and more often than not, each daily "You might be a redneck.." seems to apply to my husband and I. For example, yes, the employees at McDonald's do recognize my voice when I roll through the drive thru at lunch time.

Each Monday my co-workers ask me what I did over the weekend and the answer is always something horribly uncommon. For example, on Valentine's Day I had just finished getting prettied up for a day of possible romance (I had on my best Walmart Bra and underwear with the least amount of broken elastic strings poking out of them)when I chanced to look out the window and saw plastic grocery bags with feet sticking out of them stacked up under my pine tree in the front yard.

Our friendly neighborhood hunter had shot some Canadian geese and dropped them off for my family & I to feast upon. However, the geese were in no way field dressed. They were complete with feathers, guts, feet, heads, etc. Not wanting such a bounty to go to waste, I spent the rest of Valentine's Day scalding, plucking & gutting geese. My husband helped by building the fire to scald the geese on and then chopped their wings and feet off when I was finished. No romance that day.

Another weekend we boiled maple syrup. The week after that we spent Sunday afternoon trying to catch ducks to take to the sale barn. In the summer we all look forward to Dog Shearing day when the neighbors come down with their dogs, or we go up to their place with ours & help each other clip them off using another neighbor's old cow clippers. The men do the clipping, us wives sit on lawnchairs and critique. An annual event not to be missed for sure.

Our dead Christmas tree stayed on the porch until it almost blew off at the end of February. That's when I put my foot down & asked that he at least throw it onto the lawn below. There is a beehive in my dining room. It's waiting for me to paint it. No, there are no bees in it, incase you're wondering.

My toilet has a Step-N-Pee pedal on it. Our very, very old house is crooked which caused the toilet seat to fall down at inopportune times for my hubby. He fixed that. Now you step on the pedal, the seat goes up. Take your foot off, the seat goes down.

My yard is littered with dead animal parts that my dear old dog found and brought back home to roll around on and chew. I can only imagine the horror we've caused those dear little children on the school bus who have to drive past each day and see the carnage. We clean them up & Bud brings home more.

The ducks we spent last Sunday chasing, think our pool is their pool. They enjoy swimming around on the rain water that has gathered on top of the winter cover. They perch on the railing around the deck and leave golf ball sized "presents". This is why we were having the Duck Round Up to begin with.

We still have a rotary dial phone. Our very first computer was purchased Fall of '08. Last year I hit a deer on the way home from work. Then I gutted it, butchered it & we ate it. (I hate to see food go to waste.) Yes, I'm pretty sure Jeff F. gets most of his material from spying on my house. But just to set things straight, I'm not a Red Neck. I'm a Hillbilly.

Sunday, March 22, 2009

Why I Do It

I usually go to Apheresis (platelet donating) every two weeks or if that's not feasible then at least once a month. It's a pretty cushy experience provided by the American Red Cross. All I have to do is sit there on a recliner, covered in a blanket with a heating pad under my back & watch t.v. for 70 minutes and not move move my arms. When it's over I get to partake of snacks, drinks and sometimes sandwiches that the dear ladies who work on me (Peg & Deb) make & bring in for all of us donating patrons.

Your body will replenish these platelets in about 72 hours as opposed to the 53 days it takes to replenish whole blood. This allows for more freqeuent giving.

Now, you may ask, what is the point of just donating platelets? Why not donate whole blood? I used to donate whole blood. This is a wonderful thing and when I die I hope someone has a blood drive in my honor. The reason I donate platelets is because there is an unwillingness in the general public to give platelets. And they are sorely needed in the medical community. Do you know someone who has cancer, or leukemia? Someone with a blood disease that requires a lot of transfusions? Someone who had to undergo an emergency operation? Most likely these people needed platelets at some point or another.

Receiving platelets is like giving a little adrenaline shot to your blood. It gives it some pep, it keeps you going. It gets you over the bad spot you find yourself in. It keeps you alive to see your loved ones again.

Due to the path my life has taken, I will probably never get to serve in the armed forces. I will probably never get to be the intervening force between an innocent bystander and harm's way.
So donating platelets is my alternative, my way of standing in the gap for someone else. If two hours of my time once or twice a month is all it takes to keep someone alive, then it's worth it. Who knows, maybe you've had to receive platelets. If so, you might have a little Gretta in you.

Anyone with questions about Apheresis and how to give, please leave a comment. I would be more than happy to answer any and all questions.

Wednesday, January 28, 2009

Sci-Fi Original

On Monday I was asked what I did over the weekend. After rewinding for several seconds (I have a bad memory) all I could come up with was "I watched the Sci-Fi channel all day Saturday." Oh the horror.

Some of you out there may be wondering what a nice girl like me would be doing wasting a day in front of the boob tube watching THAT. I wonder myself. To me the Sci-Fi channel is like a continuing train wreck, one that I cannot turn away from. Even when I want to.

It's the fascinating movie titles that drew me to it initially: "Frankenfish", "Crocodile II- DEATH ROLL", "Wyvern", "Ice Spiders", "Gryphon". The first time I watched a Sci-Fi original I realized that there was more to laugh at than Comedy Central usually provides me with. As a fairly optimistic happy person I am drawn to things that make me giggle. And therefore I have been watching Saturday Sci-Fi ever since.

This past Saturday I viewed the above mentioned "Ice Spiders" and "Wyvern." As a self proclaimed movie critic for this particular channel I must say that Wyvern was the better of the two. Ice Spiders had all the cliche's that a proper Sci-Fi Original must possess. It had the spoiled Brat (Chad, of course, what other name would there be for such a character) who was an Olympic Hopeful for the ski team. It had the Washed Up Olympic Has-Been (Dan "DASH" Daishnell) who is now hanging out on the slopes giving ski lessons to rich people. We also had The Professor (name unknown) who wore glasses and thought of the huge killer spiders which he created as government property that must be saved at all cost. And of course we had the Hot Black Doctor Chick who Dash wanted to ask out but was afraid to. All of these elements combined with some really lousy animation on the part of the spiders made for prime Saturday entertainment. But other than the shaky moving spiders, this movie rated lower (which is good in this case) on the Cheesiness Scale of 1 to 10. I would give this movie a 5 which is pretty good for a Sci-Fi Original.

Now "Gryphon", which I've only ever managed to catch bits & pieces of, would be about an 8. The swords looked plastic, the gryphon was practically cartoon-like. The characters shout their lines in an exaggerated Shakespearean manner. The actors who can't manage Shakespearean-ness sound like they're reading their lines off of cue cards. It rates extremely high on the Cheesiness Scale as well as the You Will Laugh At Them Not With Them Scale (it comes in at about 9).

I know I should be more productive on a precious Saturday. I like to call Sci-Fi Saturday my all day Abs workout. Come Sunday my stomach will be sore from either laughing or retching at their sad attempts at a serious movie. Tune in next week.

Friday, January 23, 2009

Celebrity Look-A-Likes

I was at the Work Place on Wednesday, ho-humming my way through the morning when one of our patients got my attention.

"You know who you remind me of sometimes, when you're walking around? And don't take this the wrong way, 'cause it's sort of a compliment, but you sort of remind me of Captain Jack Sparrow."

I paused to reflect on that. Capt. Jack? Really? Hmmm, I guess that IS sort of a compliment. It could also mean that I'm wearing way too much eyeliner. I tried for a brief second to imagine what I must look like when I walk to the average bystander. Do I really have such an exaggerated swagger?

Then I recalled something the same person told me a month or so ago. He said I could be one of the Wiggles. I don't have any small children (or large children for that matter, just a really fat, bossy peach colored cat) so I have never watched the Wiggles. It made me want to run home and You Tube it and see what results would pop up. He went on to mention that I was rather theatrical. I never thought of myself that way. In a last ditch effort to salvage my self esteem I filed the comment about being one of the Wiggles away under "Things People Say Under Duress." Perhaps he was in such pain from the physical therapy that I was inflicting upon him that he was hallucinating these comparisons.

The very same day as the Captain Jack comment, another fellow came in. He was an older gentleman I hadn't met before, but I was pretty sure we were gonna get along. Who can't like a guy who wears a sweatshirt that says "Geezerjock"? As I was working with him, he looked up at me & said "You know who you look like?"

Golly Nell, not this again. I was hoping he wasn't going to start naming the TeleTubbies or the cast of Blues Clues.

"Sandra Bullock. You know, the one that was in the movie about the FBI agent that gets in the beauty contest?"

Oh thank heavens, something I can deal with. Thank you, thank you, thank you....

"Yeah", he goes on, "I like Sandra Bullock, she's sexy and funny, you know, not beautiful..."

Not beautiful? Drat. But sexy & funny is ok I guess, so I'm gonna just take this at face value & not delve too deep. My boss from the Former Work Place used to say I looked like Sandra too so maybe I do. I see people that remind me of celebrities too. One guy who comes in to the office is Robert Plant incarnate (Robert from the 70's that is.) Another guy looks just like Santa Clause. So much so that the week of Christmas I started asking him what his favorite snacks were and reminded him that I was definitely on the Nice List. And there is a lady who comes in that reminds me of Ol Golly's mom in the book "Harriet the Spy." I could definitely live with looking like Sandra.

This perked me up until lunch time, when I had time to recall these comments and put them all together. I can only imagine the picture this must paint for those who never met me. Sandra Bullock's face, and Jack Sparrow's body language with choreography by the Wiggles. What a bizzare scene to behold. How did I manage to elude Hollywood for so long? Or the mental institution for that matter. And society is letting me walk around like that? No wonder crazy people in Walmart find me so approachable. They think I'm one of them. Maybe I am since I actually don't mind.

Maybe this is why my husband hardly ever takes me out to dinner. If he ever does, you'll recognize us right away. Just look for the girl who reminds you of Sandra Bullock holding the hand of the guy who looks like Dale Jr.

Saturday, January 17, 2009

They're All Idiots

I'm usually a Live & Let Live sort of person. Patience is a virtue that I try to embrace. I don't mind people going about their business as long as it doesn't interfere with me going about mine. However, it seems that I do get a little defensive when it comes to honeybees. Me & the bees are like this: (picture me twisting my "Pointer" and Middle Finger together). We're tight. Just the honeybees though, I'm really not into wasps, yellow jackets, hornets and Maybees (the fat black ones that buzz around - "Maybe" they'll sting you & "Maybe" they won't.)

But I will go to great lengths to rescue a drowning honey bee, or pick one up & just let it walk around my hand. They're beautiful if you take the time to look at them up close, instead of running & screaming, or crushing them with your flip flop.
They are very intelligent. I've pulled many out the swimming pool & let them dry themselves off on my hand, watching them. They usually preen the water off themselves, flutter their wings dry and when their ready they'll fly away & go about their business.

My obsession with the little creatures is such that my goal for the year is to get some of my own. I was on the Internet the other night browsing around for more bee suppliers, catalogs, etc. when I came across a website, written by vegans to discourage others from eating honey. They claim (it makes me po'd just remembering it) that beekeepers are nothing better than slave drivers. We hold the bees captive and force them to work. If they swarm we try to catch them & stuff them back in the hive. We truck them around, not caring at all for their well being (or "Bee-ing", ha ha, bad pun, lets move on) and not only that but was the public aware that honey is made from BEE SPIT?!! Needless to say I was FUMING by the time I got to the end of their article.

I'm surmising from their At One With Nature attitude that vegans only eat acorns and grass. Everything else needs bees to make it grow. Vegetables. What pollinates vegetables? Bees. Fruits. How does fruit grow? On a tree of course, which blossoms in the spring and is pollinated again by, class? Yes, bees.

Now let's talk about the part about honey being made by Bee Spit. This is a true fact more or less. Just like eggs come out of a chicken's butt and milk comes out of a cow's udder, and most vegetables are grown in poop. To be more scientific, here is how honey is made:
Sucrose is a 12-carbon sugar molecule and also the most predominant sugar found in nectar. A Bee collects nectar. On the way back to the hive, it adds an enzyme called invertase to the nectar. This changes the 12-carbon sugar molecule to two six-carbon sugars: glucose & fructose.
When Miss Worker Bee gets back to the hive, she hands off the nectar to Miss Receiving Bee (they are all females, it's true, look it up) who adds more invertase then finds a nice little empty honey cell she can store it in & tend it.
Evaporation occurs reducing the water percentage in the nectar from 80% to 18-19%. In addition, due to the enzymes the bees so thoughtfully added, the sugar content rises from 20% to just over 80%. And that my friend is how honey is made.


Now for the part about trying to prevent swarming & stuffing bees back in the hive. I'm am totally offended by this. This is almost as offensive as cell phones, ha ha.
Bees swarm when the hive gets too croweded. Half will fly off looking for accomodations that will fit them. The other half stays put & keeps on keeping on.
A beekeeper doesn't catch a swarm of bees and jam them back into the box they came out of. That's preposterous! But whatever. The Vegans can think whatever they like. As for what I think, I think they're all idiots.

Maybe that's what I should've named my blog. "They're All Idiots".

Tuesday, January 13, 2009

Super Powers

Super powers, do humans really possess them? I think yes. In fact, I've been assigning powers to people throughout the day today. It all started with an email this morning to my dear old mom. She asked how my husband was doing and I answered that he is obsessively fixing antique wind up mantel clocks, kitchen clocks, steeple clocks, and cuckoo clocks.
The man is genius. He looks inside at all those cogs & gears & knows just what needs done. Somehow he has cracked the code and seems to understand clocks like it's no big deal & everyone should be able to do it. I've decided to call him Tick Tock the Clock Man. The only thing he can't do yet is learn how to speed time up until I get home from work & then slow it back down. If he were fictional I'm sure he could do it. Or if he hates me then he could do it in reverse & speed up the time that I am home & slow down the time when I'm at work. That's how time seems to go as it is so, HEY WAIT A MINUTE!!
My sister I would call Bad Luck Woman, Deputy Sheriff of Murphy's Law. If there is a policeman in the area, he will find her and pull her over for some mundane reason a normal person would not get pestered for and this will happen to be on the one day that she can't find her wallet with her driver's license in it. If there is one sharp object on the road it will give my sister a flat tire. If she runs out of water for some strange reason, it will be while she's got shampoo in her hair. If she's in a hurry, her dog will dash off when she opens the door and make her chase it for 45 minutes. If she tries to bake a cake she'll be one ingredient short of success. If she does achieve success she will wreck her truck on the way to where the cake is going. If she's actually ready to leave on time for once she'll spill something on herself moments before leaving. If she goes on a flight, she will check her bag (which she has put her car keys, phone, etc. into)and it will get mixed up at the baggage claim and be taken home by some old guy who didn't have his glasses on & thought he had the right bag. I know. You laugh. Most of these examples are true. I assure you, my imagination is not THAT good. She makes Bella Swan look like a walk in the park.
I think my super power would be the ability to eat absolutely horrendous food & not get sick. I scoff at expiration dates. They are merely a guideline, not a rule. A little green fuzz never hurt anyone. Last year I wanted to make myself some dip & needed some sour cream. Too lazy to run to the store I hunted up some in the way far back part of the fridge. The part that makes Harlem look bright & friendly in comparison. I opened it up. The expiration said Feb 08. It was Sept 08. Since I was the only one eating it I thought, Oh what the heck. Afterall I hadn't had a sick day in over 3 years, I figured I was due. I ate it all. Nothing. That is just one example. I also revel in stinky food, spicy food, seafood, landfood. I'd be a fantastic hobo or homeless person. Maybe I'll call myself Super Immune Girl. Able to eat E Coli and say "YUM!" Salmonella runs when it sees me coming. It knows I'll just digest it & move on. No reason to linger here! The bacteria living in my stomach would make the Italian Maffia look like a basket of kittens.
My other super power is book reading. Nerdy yes. I can finish off a book in less than a day now. Twighlight, New Moon, they didn't stand a chance. Harry Potter & the Deathly Hallows, that was a marathon. Didn't go to bed till 2:30am that night. I was well prepared to call in sick or late the next day.
If you have a super power, post a comment, let me know!

Wednesday, January 7, 2009

Stupid Cell Phones

Even though this is going to tick off 99% of the world's population, I'm throwing this out there anyhow. Afterall, no one is reading this blog anyways. If they did I would see a comment now and then. So here goes and let the chips fall where they may.
You cell phone people are driving me crazy. Yes. You heard me. You're rude and I'm sick of it. Everywhere I go people are yakking away on their little plastic phones. LOUDLY too. What is it that would make someone want a cell phone to begin with? I'm curious.
When I confront someone about their cell phone (yes, I'm brash enough to do that) they give me the excuse "Well, I like to have it with me for emergencies."
Really?
When was the last time you were standing in line at the store & heard this phone conversation behind you:
"Hello? Oh my word!! Are you Ok?!! You're WHERE?!! Pinned underneath the burning wreckage of your car????!!! I'LL BE RIGHT THERE!!!"
Another example:
"Hi Sweetie. WHAT?! THE ROOF CAVED IN?!! I WILL BE RIGHT HOME!!!"
Those are just two of many examples of what could be classified as an emergency.
Here is what we usually hear:
"Yeah, the judge said he had to pay $500.00/month in child support. You know the bastard will never pay a cent."
Or:
"Totally. Yeah. Uh-huh...... I got the red one too....... Do you think red makes me look fat?.......Thanks............ Yeah, I got the strapless kind. Ha ha....... He wishes..."

Seriously folks, when was the last time you used your cell phone for an emergency? A REAL emergency? I classify an emergency of a matter of Life, Death, or Perishable Goods. Perhaps my family has set the bar so high that I no longer think of anything as an emergency.

"What? My sister dated a 40 something man with a trach, traveled around America with a car full of illegal Mexicans & then decided to settle down & date a midget? My dad's been deployed to Iraq? My dad's been blown up? My mom's got breast cancer?"

You see where I'm going with this. So don't give me your stupid excuse about needing cell phones for emergencies. I've not needed one for any of the above emergencies and somehow managed to live to tell the story.
Why does America feel the need to be available to everyone day and night? What is wrong with you people? Don't you want to be left alone? Maybe if they were related to my family, they'd feel different.
When I leave the house I don't want bothered. If the car breaks down, I'll start walking. No wonder everyone is so obese. When their car breaks down they just sit comfortably & call a tow truck instead of walking to the nearest house & borrowing a phone.
When I leave the house I give the cat strict orders: "If anyone calls & leaves a message, erase it for me before I get home."
A few years ago my dad threatened to give me his old cell phone. I told him if he did I'd throw it in the Raystown Lake. So there.
In summary I'd just like to reiterate that I think people are idiots. If everyone would just think for themselves instead of relying on dialing their network of other idiots, we might be a little further ahead than we are now. It's a good thing I'm not president. But I digress.