If We Couldn't Laugh...

I got an e-mail from That Ex's Mom... No, not because she reads the site, but because I e-mailed her Monday Morning to make sure I hadn't stepped on any toes. They're good people, they really are -- I hate it that they got a bad draw on the ol' genetic lottery and ended up with a jerk like him. Hopefully his Indian Name is only a hotel thing and not an at-home thing. Heh. Seriously though, they understood why I didn't say hello Saturday night -- they actually got to see some of that hostility first-hand. His Mom's awesome, I'm glad we're still friendly, and I swear it ain't just 'cause I know it would totally p!ss him off... She helped me out a lot when I was doin' the News, taught me quite a bit about the whole deal and saved me from a lot of hassle several times. His dad also showed me how to make the best, very best french fries I've ever seen come out of a skillet.

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Some azs has been calling and calling wantin' middle-brother on the phone... Several times yesterday, and several more today. Now, middle-bro runs deliveries, works on The Twenty, and also finds time to spend a lot of time in the can (uh, I've already griped about that); so when there's something that needs to be done out back, he's not always real easily available for the phone. This guy just keeps calling, will not leave a message, will not talk to anybody else. I'm thinkin' that if he wants parts, he'll eventually give in and talk to one of the rest of us, but that didn't happen. Finally, late in the afternoon today while middle-bro was in the can and I was waitin' in line for it, the azs called again. I figure since he's been trying for soooooo long, maybe that's important enough to cut a camping trip short to come to the phone. When he came out and picked the phone up, it turned out to be a Fah-Q call from the "Defendant" he'd testified against in a Worker's Comp Case. Now, isn't that just blessed? All that hassle, all those phone calls I had to answer when I could've been doing other things; just so he could say something nasty about somebody who saw him schleppin' parts across a parkin' lot while he was collectin' the work-comp cash and supposedly "injured." Nice, huh? I'll bet he's never gone to that many phone calls worth of trouble tryin' to say "Thank You" for anything... I still think it's kinda funny -- tried to screw the system and got caught, awwwwww.

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Oh the topic of Fah-Q's, I had a little fun on CraigsList today -- look for me in Rants & Raves. Heh heh...

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And on the topic of "caught," I also had a little fun at lunch today. When I went to the nifty little hometown burger joint (The Pirate Pattie, if you're Googling for a good place to eat in Sperry, try that Shrimp Basket, it's divine), I pulled into the drive-up line behind a fairly-new white Superduty. I'm not one to go gettin' impatient in their drive-up line, since I'm in my car in the cool air with no phones ringin' and all I'm gonna do is go back to the shop and eat lunch at my desk anyway, I figure I'd about as well sit back and enjoy the break.

So, I'm sittin' there enjoyin' my little break, and I notice a familiar face in the mirror of the Superduty... It's "That Kid," who's been a well-known fixture in this town since he's had a driver's license. Yeah, yeah, the salvage biz has made some cash off "That Kid," 'cause he's used up some parts -- it's just that, well, sometimes these little small-town hood wanna-be's just get on people's nerves. I can see "That Kid" in the mirror, smokin' a cigarette and hangin' his arm out the window in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, another kid appears out the window on the same side (ah, crew-cab Superduty), and he's grabbin' letters off the menu-sign on the side of the building.

Now, I'll be honest, I was once fourteen or so, I had a bit of a klepto-ish-thing goin' on for a while -- but my mischief wasn't ever out in the friggin' open, not at lunch time, not in the broad daylight with the general public sittin' in another car less than ten feet away watching what I did! I was young and mischievious and crazy and hilarious only after I was sure there was nobody to see me and there were no security cameras nearby; I hope I'm not turning into a grumpy ol' lady here, but gawdamn, out in the broad daylight?? Come on!!!

I got out my phone and thought about calling to tell 'em what I had seen, but the gripey ol' lady idea kinda stopped me.

But then he popped out there again. I was convinced I'd mention it when I got up to the window, and then I thought about it a little more... He was stretched way out there, maybe if I startled him, he'd fall out of the truck. Heh heh. But I figured he probably wouldn't do it again, and what good would the hilarity be if I couldn't pass it along? I thought about my digital camera, but it was in the trunk and I'd have to get out and run back to get it, so I didn't.

I figured surely he wouldn't do it again, not a third time, surely not, but I pulled out my phone anyway just in case, and I was waiting with my camera phone aimed and my other hand on the horn... I watched "That Kid" hand over some cash, then dig for more and hand it over, then the lady at the window handed him several drinks and several styrofoam boxes, and the truck was still sittin' there. Sure enough, he popped out the window again, so I honked and took a picture -- it was like it didn't even occur to the little punks that somebody was watching. Seriously, he was still pickin' off letters even after I honked and "That Kid" put the truck in gear and started to pull away.

All I saw was a dirty look from "That Kid" in the mirror as he finally drove away...

When I got to the window, I told the folks who run the joint that I was sorry 'bout honkin' but I had a good reason -- and then I handed over my phone with the picture on the screen and told 'em that if they had any letters missing, that White Superduty was where they went.



The biggest laugh of all was the warm thank-you from the lady workin' at the window -- she said she was glad to have some "ammunition," 'cause that bunch of punks had been giving her trouble every time they were there, and she was sooooo ready to tell 'em to just get lost the next time they came around.

"If we couldn't laugh, we'd just all go insane."

A Monday Toward The End Of August...

(I'll just get it out in the open right now, this may be a long and disjointed post.)

If I had known this would be a non-racing weekend, things probably would've went a bit differently... But I had a decent weekend anyway.

Mid-America called off the races due to storm damage; apparently they lost a couple buildings and some fence in the wind late Friday night or early Saturday Morning. When Russell told me he was going to check out Creek County, I considered it for a split-second, but had pretty much already decided that even if I did go, my car was staying at home for the weekend. I wasn't real interested in taking a chance on getting roughed-up at a track away from home -- and since Creek is where a couple of Tulsa's real rough ones went to; there was a good chance of it all happening again. I'm bein' decent and not using names here (Sorry, Google), but hearing one of 'em referred to as "Chewbacca" really cracked my azs up. ;)

Creek County Speedway (Well Hello, Google) also has a considerable Message Board Problem, and the people who cause that problem are the same people who caused that problem for Tulsa. I won't go into that here though, 'cause I already went into it on my site -- there's a link on the right-hand side of the blog, just head on over to my dot-com and click "Message Board" to check that one out.

Ordinarily, I wouldn't spend the money for a pit pass if I wasn't racing -- I guess workin' for the wingies (yeah, I'm avoiding Google there just in case) and doing the Speedway News kinda spoiled me though -- I'm certainly not going to just sit in the stands by myself, for the most part, I'd just rather be in the pits even if there's not anybody I know racing. Since I came to see people I care about who came there to race, I handed over the $25 for a pit pass.

Creek County's pits were crowded like nobody's business, I ran into three or four people I hadn't seen in a while before I could even find Russell and his dad. They had a pretty good car-count, several Mid-America cars and probably a few from other tracks that had closed for weather. It's always cool to check out a hanful of different race cars -- they've got a big bunch of front-wheel mini's out there, stuff I'da never thought we'd see racing on dirt; Probes, Grand-Ams, Maximas, Cavaliers, K-Cars... I was fascinated, almost to the point of going back to my car to get my camera, but there were some pretty dark clouds around and I didn't want to have to worry about keeping it dry if it did come a downpour.

Would ya believe, I even caught a glimpse of an Ex... Now, I wasn't about to try to say hello, there's no chance of that after the bad experience the last time I had any contact with him, but he was right there hangin' out with some people who were parked right across from us. Now, there are some Ex's I've ran into and wondered "What the hell ever happened to us?" but I know exactly what happened to that "us," one of us went all nutjobby. There are some Ex's I've ran into and wondered "What the hell did I see in that?" but I know now that this one was a massive illusion. Yeah, Massive. To the point that my friends say things like "Gawd, we're glad you got away from that."

There are several Ex's I've ran into and spent a little friendly time with -- fun chit-chat about what we've been up to since the last time we saw each other; or just gabbin' about things like trucks or restaurants or music; but I know this one wouldn't have the maturity or mental capacity for that kind of conversation. This one's the one who flipped-out on me to the point he didn't even look like the same person anymore. The one who tossed his keys across the top of the SHO, but couldn't understand why that pissed me off; the one who spent the last of the gas money on a tattoo 'cause hey, Deb's got Credit Cards, she'll get us home; the one all the hotel maids know by his Indian Name: "Wipesassonbathtowel." Heh heh... I just hate it that I didn't get to talk to his dad for a little bit -- his folks are good people, it's just that he's a shitsack.

I got to watch Russell hotlap a couple sets and then during the drivers meeting the clouds got darker and darker. They'd run the first few heat races, I think they were still tryin' to finish up the FWD's when the rain came and they called it all off. When we finally got through the traffic jam and out of the mud, we went lookin' for the line to get our pit pass money back...

That's when I got irritated. That's when I lost any bit of respect I might've ever had for Ted Holt (Howdy, Google Users!) and the way he runs his race track. I can totally understand 'em wantin' to just re-use the pit passes to save the hassle, but when people come from out of town and might not be able to make it back, they should at least have the option of getting the cash instead of being expected to just save the band for next time. Next time might be a long time away if we ever do manage to make it back, and there's a lot of other things people might want to do with their $25 between now and then.

Ted Holt (Hi Google!) does not care what else you might want to do with that $25, and he does not care what you think about the situation. Ted Holt says you should keep your band, 'cause you'll be back. No, really, you will. Yes, you will. You'll be back, just hang on to that band and use it next time, 'cause you can use it any time this year. What's that you say? Your home track may end their point season after CCS is closed for the winter? Well, don't worry, you'll be back, 'cause you're backed into a corner; Ted Holt's got your money, so you have to come back, don't ya? "You'll be back."

Uhm, no, I don't think I will. No matter how politely you try to say it, a "Fuck You" is still a "Fuck You."

With an attitude like that, Ted Holt (Google-Riffic!) will not see me again. I'm not gonna beat around the bush, I'm gonna come right out and say it, Fuck You, I ain't comin' back.

When I finally got outta there, I had a WhataBurger for dinner and then went to a nifty little bar to meet some friends who had also been at the track earlier -- and I also found a way to get at least part of my money back out of the deal. Hey Ted, remember that "Fuck You" earlier? Well, you'd better not fuck my buddy out of that pit pass, 'cause he bought it fair-n-square for ten bucks and a Colorado Bulldog; and that Bulldog was really good, almost as good as the ones I had in Colorado.

Considering the few-n-far-between nature of my bar visits, I had a nice time -- but I'm not in all that big of a hurry to go back. I had fun visiting with a table full of racin' folks and crackin' jokes with other chicks who share a few of the same experiences I've had in the past. I had a nice drink and enjoyed a nice little evening; and I got my fill for a while...

The whole deal makes me quite thankful for Clayton; and I was sooooo glad to see him when he got back Sunday afternoon. We had a lovely evening swappin' pictures and stories from our weekend apart and then we had a nice dinner at Senor Salsa in Skiatook. (If you're Googling that, forget the computer and go on over there 'cause it's good, really good.)

Sunday would've been Dave's fifty-fifth birthday... Mom and I talked about it after breakfast, but it didn't come up again and I didn't mention it to Clay 'cause once he was here, I forgot all about everything but him -- he has that effect on me. If somebody had found me four years ago and said "Four years from tonight, you'll be sittin' in that Mexican restaurant with the best boyfriend you've had in a long time, you'll eat enchiladas 'til you're sick and then even though your guts'll hurt like hell, you'll go home happier and more comfortable than you've been with anybody in a long time..." I'da never believed 'em. Four years ago, what would've been Dave's fifty-first birthday was a serious low point; and not just because it was the first "would've been birthday," not just because I hadn't discovered the magic of Enchiladas yet; but because I'd just discovered a lot of things in life were not at all what they seemed. I was at such a low point, nothing was sacred anymore and most of life was just suckin' me down to the point I was starting get where I didn't really give a damn about anything 'cause it seemed like most of the people I thought I was close to didn't really give a damn about me either... That's the thing about Death, it teaches us who thereal friends are.

I'm thankful for my friends, and for my Clayton, who's changed my outlook on a lot of things...

Clay's such a Sweetie -- he found me one of those metal signs that says "NO ENTRY" for the race trailer, and he also brought me this adorable little resin Beeeeee about the size of a softball... I was gonna post a picture, but Blogger won't let me, so I'm clickin' "Publish" and goin' back to work now.

;) More later...

The Occasional Disjointed Post...

Good news & bad news... I found the recipt for the 4-wheeler battery. The bad news is that it's two weeks past the one year warranty.

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My Hunny is on his way to Missourri right now and gonna be gone all weekend...

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If somebody owes four hundred and some-odd dollars and hasn't paid on their storage unit at all in several months, is it acceptable to just rip the back off a spiral notebook and use a Sharpie to write "You owe over $400, you don't return phone calls, we're cutting the lock off to sell your shit," and send it to 'em? I just got my ass chewed for asking if we had some kind of contract I could read through to see how the letter should read. I have never rented a storage unit and then skipped out on the payments, I have never received that kind of letter to read so I do not know how it should read. But I'm a bitch for asking if there's anything I could look at to see how to word it... Yeah.

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The Waiter was on NPR today and it was a pretty interesting show even though I didn't get to listen straight-straight through. I heard a teensy little mention of Buffets, but I couldn't hear the details because of phones and noise in here... I still think it was tacky and offensive that whoever wrote out our ticket at the Chinese Buffet took it upon themselves to just write "Gratuity" and tack on two bucks. Tacky. And. Offensive.

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I've also heard mention of another laptop battery recall; since I wasn't part of the last one, maybe I'll get in on this one. I can't find any markings on mine that mention it being manufactured by Sony, but it has really heated up the computer a time or two, and it oozed out some gooey crud a few times a while back. Lately it just won't do anything -- won't take a charge at all and won't even flash the status lights with the button on the bottom. I've got my fingers crossed 'cause I'm not quiiiiite ready for such an easy excuse to replace the computer.

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Oh, and I just have to say this for Clay... "HALLOWEEN LUMINARIA!!!" Heh heh...

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More later... _\,,/

Back-To-School Week: Internet Time-Wasting 101

Sharon posted a link to this and I got a real kick out of it!

Let's Play "Guess The Dictator Or Sitcom Character!"

I tried three, it guessed two of 'em, and hey, two outta three ain't bad! It figured out my "Karen from Will & Grace," and "Daphne from Frasier," but it missed my "Mrs. Bail from As Time Goes By."

A true time-waster indeed...

More in a bit. _\,,/

The Past, The Passing Lane, And My First Chase Scene...

Nineteen Ninety Three, between tenth and eleventh grade...

Thirteen Summers ago, I'd been driving for several years and had owned an actual driver's license about six months.

Early one morning on my way to Color Guard Practice, a white Chevy Corsica pulled out in front of me like he didn't even see me coming. Right. Out. In. Front. Of. Me. Since he'd just blundered right out there like he didn't even see me, I just stayed right on his ass. Right. On. His. Ass. I'd noticed the car had the brown tag that said "city" across the bottom, but I didn't figure it was a Cop, because Cops have the Big Cars, like Caprices and Impalas and Crown Vics. I figured the jerk in the Corsica must've been a Meter-Reader or something like that, 'cause first, he drives like a jerk, and second, it's a Corsica... After a couple blocks, the Corsica pulled off into a parking lot and pulled right back out behind me with red & blue lights flashing from the dash and visors.

He gave me an old-fashioned ass-chewin' about "Tailgating," but he let me go. From this experience, I learned not to tailgate the ones with "city" tags, and I also noticed, "Hey, Law Enforcement Cars have Brown tags..."

Yesterday, on my way Tulsa, I was fighting the usual US75 traffic and fighting the frustration of wondering why so many people haven't figured out how The Passing Lane is supposed to work. Somewhere along in there, I'd passed a white Crown Vic that looked like an ex-Police Car, all white, dark glass, couple antennas, still had the spotlights over the mirrors and even had the Ford "Police Interceptor" emblem on the decklid. I went ahead and passed it because it had the Green lettering on the tag just like every other "Civilian" car, three letters, three numbers, that's it. In the back of my mind, I thought of a guy I used to know who was into that whole Security-Cop-Wanna-Be thing and how he used to buy up all the lights he could get to deck-out his Mom's Lumina; and I thought of how irritated the Real Cops must get with those wanna-be's buying the old cars at the auction just so they can drive around feelin' like Billy-Bad-Ass.

After I'd made it around the Crown Vic, there was a mini van blocking the passing lane. Once the van finally moved over, I got on the gas a bit (just a bit) to move on along like I'd been waiting to do, because that's what we're supposed to do when we're in the Passing Lane -- move on along. But before I could move on along, the white Crown Vic pulled forward from beside me and gave the left signal one blink before jerkin' it over in front of me like he didn't have a clue what "check your blind spot" meant. And alas, instead of moving on along, he hit the strobes for just a minute.

Yeah. Strobes. White strobes just like out of the catalog, in the taillights and the back-up lights.

That's when I got irritated. Not only does this Cop-Wanna-Be drive like a jerk, now he's fuckin' with me with his strobe light kit. Seriously, real cops are aware of their surroundings, including their blind spot -- a real cop wouldn't cut over in front of somebody like that! As we got close to the Highway 11 exit ramp, I put my blinker on to take the exit -- I'm sure he went for the exit just as he saw my blinker in the mirror. I grabbed an ATM recipt off the visor and wrote down the tag number just in case, then I pulled out my phone as we went up the ramp. I had punched the 9 but then thought I'd wait, 911 has more important things to deal with than some wanna-be drivin' like an ass out on the highway. People drive like asses out on the highway all the time, but 911 is for when things are on fire or people are bleeding...

When we got to the top of the ramp, I checked over my shoulder and there was not a thing comin' up 11, not a single car -- so I put on the right blinker, mashed the gas, and moved over to pass the other cars that had been in front of us on the ramp.

The white Crown Vic moved over behind me with the strobes on again, and an actual siren this time. No light bar, no red spotlight, no blue lights, no red lights; just the white strobes in the park lights and headlights. The wanna-be-cop wants to try to mess with me. I remember the news articles about "Impersonators" grabbin' women off the highways that way... At a reasonable 55-or-60, I go ahead and call 911. It takes six rings for 'em to answer, and three more rings once the first operator transfers me to Police.

He stayed right on me, lights and all, and I took the Yale exit. As I talked to the 911 Operator and waited for traffic to clear so I could make a Left, I held my phone up in the middle of the car hoping that would be enough to scare off the wanna-be. ('cause hey, the phone scared off the road-rage-n___ who followed me to work a few years back) It didn't work. He stayed close down Yale and the operator told me to look for a store to stop at. I told her I didn't want to get out unless there was a real TPD Cop there, and I gave her play-by-play as he went on through the intersection when I pulled into the Shell Station at Pine Street. I went through the store's parking lot slow and easy and stopped as I came back to the exit to pull back out onto Yale. While I was waiting for traffic to clear so I could pull out, he crept through the pumps and pulled back up behind me. As I got back to the light, it was Yellow, so I stopped.

The operator asked for my tag number, and when I told her, she said "It is a TPD Officer, you can pull over now."

He was wearing khaki's and a polo shirt with a TPD Badge embroidered on it, the shirt showed some age, but at least he did have a TPD Photo ID hangin' around his neck.

I am a "Mad-Woman," and he also managed to work in "Bat-Outta-Hell." He asked me why I was "all over his butt," and though I wondered why "Hell" was okay but "Ass" was not, I didnt' ask. He mentioned "Hundred-dollar ticket," but said he wasn't gonna write me up and that he understood why I didn't want to stop for the unmarked car. I can't help but wonder if maybe he knew he'd kinda provoked me when he'd been a bit of a jerk back on 75...

As I handed over my license and insurance, I asked him about jerkin' it over in front of me with very little room and told him that's why I was so close, 'cause I thought he was gonna speed up and move on along. Ten years ago, I probably couldn't have seen myself saying something like that to a cop. Ten years ago, I'da been a total kiss-ass in hopes of wrangling a little kindness when it came time to write the ticket -- but ten years ago I'd never spent a night in jail after begging a County Deputy not to take me in. I figured this guy couldn't haul me in for anything I said, so why not say what was on my mind? Let's face it, I'd already lost quite a bit of respect for this guy while he was drivin' like a jerk and lookin' like a wanna-be. Sure, he can write me a ticket, but what if I take it to court? And even if I can't get out of it, I'll pay it just like all the others -- I haven't had one in four or five years, I've got a little cash stashed just in case.

I still wonder if that was his own car though... Green Tag? Seriously. I'd just about bet he was on his way somewhere else when he ran onto me.

The "Moral Of My Story" is this: First of all, know your car so you can tell the person who answers 911 how to find you -- know what kind it is, and what your tag number is. "I Drive A Blue Car" won't help anybody find you 'cause there's a million blue cars on the road. If you don't have a cell phone, please think about getting one. If you can't call 911, just go someplace where there are lots of people, like a BIG convenience store (I'm thinkin' QuickTrip), not some dinky little one-camel quickie-mart. Don't stop for anybody unless you know for sure it's a real Law Enforcement Officer. Here in Oklahoma, the City Police Department's cars have white tags with brown letters and say "city" in raised/stamped letters across the bottom. The County Deputies' cars have white tags with brown letters and say "county" in raised/stamped letters across the bottom. The Oklahoma Highway Patrol's cars have white tags with black letters and say "OHP" or "state" in raised/stamped letters across the bottom.

If it's got a white tag with green letters and "Oklahoma, OK!" or "Oklahoma, Native America" in printed/painted letters across the bottom, it's just a regular car just like the rest of us drive.

Anybody, Anybody who's over 16 can walk right in the gate, and anybody who has the cash can go to a City Of Tulsa Auction (held every May and every November) and buy an ol' Police Car. If they have a little more money or halfway decent credit, they can bebop right into a Ford Dealership and order up a shiny-new Police Interceptor.

Anybody with a credit card or a checkbook (even if it's somebody else's checkbook they stole from somewhere) can grab a catalog or click a website and order up anything to do-up that car to look as Police-ish as they please. I get a catalog every couple months where anybody can order absolutely everything it takes to look the part -- they'll sell anybody the radios, guns, flashlights, handcuffs, tazers, beatin' sticks, and even the belt to carry it all in. They've got the vynil to deck out the car, they've got the dressy shirts and pants and nice shoes; you can even special-order your own Badge. They sell everything but the dog, and they sell it to anybody -- the flashlight and the handcuffs are in my car right now. They make their money by selling the stuff, not by asking the tough questions.

My Heroes have always been regular people; like the uncle who convinced my mom that a bee-sized bee tattoo was not a horrible offense worthy of kicking a good college kid out of the house; or the friend who convinced me to "go on and get a doctor appointment and get checked out, it's not gonna be so bad;" or even the total stranger who found me after I crashed the truck and held my hand and picked glass out of my hair while we waited for the ambulance. A Hero is someone who makes a dramatic difference in someone else's life -- sometimes by risking their own, sometimes not.

Not every Cop is a "Hero." Cops are just like any other professional group, there's all kinds of 'em -- Some are funny, some are, quick, some are lazy, some are absent-minded, some love their jobs, some are burned-out, there are a few pricks in the bunch, a few heroes, but most of 'em are just regular folks tryin' to do their job so they can pay their bills. Most of 'em are probably countin' down 'til time to clock out just like everybody else who wants to go home and have some dinner.

I still think the one I encountered yesterday was a bit of a prick, but I hope he doesn't end up with somebody who pulls a gun on him, 'cause hey, everybody's got a Momma, and no Momma should have to deal with that.

End-Of-Rant.

More later... _\,,/

There's A New One?

I Loooooove my Macintoshes, and it's not just because I've been havin' problems with the PC at work. But seriously, that PC is a piece-o-crap... That's another rant though. I can't believe I ever thought about buying a PC Laptop just 'cause that one particular store had a "deal" on 'em.

Those Apple commercials with a guy in a suit and a guy in a hoodie just get me every time -- "I'm a Mac!"

Today when I signed into Blogger, one of the "Blogs Of Note" was a Mac Update Blog, so I clicked it, 'cause I'm a Mac Nerd through and through. Apparently there's a new commercial I haven't seen yet, and it involves Linux! There was a YouTube link to it, but when I clicked, it said YouTube was down -- something about brushing off the cobwebs or something like that.

If it's anywhere near as cute as "Out Of The Box" and "Digital Camera," I can't wait to see it!!

I swear it's not just because of the ads, I really do want a new Mac -- it's gettin' to be about time, ain't it? I'm still kinda back-n-forth between getting a Mini or a new 'Book... This iBook is still doin' okay except for it's little battery problem (as in completely dead) and I've got all those monitors from the city auction so it wouldn't be a big deal at all to just keep a monitor here and a monitor at home if I wanted to carry the Mini with me...

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On another note of "new one," Clay's SHO is all done and ready to go, the deal is goin' down tonight -- Clay and Debbie officially become a "Two-SHO Couple." ;) Ain't that cute?

I love my automatic and I wouldn't trade it for anything -- especially not somethin' red, but that five-speed is a cool little number.

There's somethin' about rowin' gears in one of those cars, it's just a ton of fun to drive.

I drove it home last night and back to work this morning just to be sure everything we'd fixed had stayed fixed -- drove it to lunch today and then to the post office this afternoon and almost sold it to some punkass highschool "playa" in a half-ton Chevrolet.

It's not that I specifically try to mess with stupid people, it's just that I get such a kick out of it... And yes, I do realize that sounds a lot like "Well, we must've been drunk when we said we'd stop drinkin'..."

I could see the truck comin' across the "diner" parkin' lot when I backed out of my spot here at the shop -- they were harassin' a couple girls who were walking close by. I could tell he wasn't about to stop, he was gonna just pull right out into the street without stopping or looking. I wasn't gonna let him hit me, but I wasn't gonna just let his ass go either -- so I drove on up the street and as he was comin' over the drain with two wheels out onto the pavement, I honked. A Long Honk. Both girls screamed. A Long shrill girlie-girl scream.

As the truck stopped pointing the wrong way in the oncoming lane beside me, the little punkass on the shotgun side popped out the window with both hands in the air to the effect of "What the fuck are you honking at?"

I. Could. Not. Resist.

I hit the button and ran my window down to let my rotten temper out with "THINK THERE MIGHT BE A CAR COMING?" and the kid says "I didn't see ya!"

Didn't see me? "WELL GOOD JOB LOOKING."

While I'm a bit irritated by the whole deal, I can't help but giggle at the thought of scaring a couple highschool boys -- who knows, maybe I made a difference, maybe I scared 'em into being a little safer next time. Didn't fucking see me?? He didn't stop at all, and certainly didn't look, he was just tryin' to get his little highschool playa-game on and not paying attention to the fact that on streets, there is traffic. If he had looked he would've seen me -- that's the brightest red thing I've had on the road in years, and also the loudest street-legal piece of rollin' stock I've had my hands on in quite some time.

I am quite sure that if he'd been in the car with me, Clay would not have been as fascinated as I was... They'll give him a new tag number when he changes the title over though -- he won't catch any he11 on account of any of my Road-Raging, or anything from the chick who had this car before we got it. Heh heh... I really do try to be more careful when he's with me, it must be out of respect. I'm pretty sure he got kinda mad at me when I wasn't exactly "decent" to the chick who pushed her baby stroller out in front of the Merc and then yelled at me after that Independence Day concert at the lake, but hey, if she's dumb enough to push her baby out in front of a car, somebody needs to yell at her azs, even if it's only for the baby's sake. Geez, push the stroller out into a line of moving cars and yell "AREN'T YOU GONNA STOP?" Uh, hello? If you don't know if the cars are going to stop, is it really worth risking your baby to find out?

Friday: Things That Create A Vacuum...

Timeline:

July 10th: Ordered four books from Amazon.com.

August 9th: Got notice in P.O. Box, went to window and was handed this box that looks like it's been backed over by a truck; it's barely sealed, and all four books have cracks & creases...



August 11th: Try one more time to get Blogger to let me post a picture...

So, there it is -- Lovely, isn't it?

Amazon is attempting to handle the problem -- They sent a polite, apologetic e-mail and now I'm just waiting to see if it takes another month for the New books to get here.

Even more fun: Today at lunch when I went to get the mail, I had a pretty good-sized envelope in my box that had middle-bro & sis-in-law's names on it. The folks at the post office had written My PO Box Number on it with a question mark. Now, is it just me, or would it make sense that if the address on the envelope was number-number-number-number-street, that envelope probably does not go to an address that is P-O-Box-number-number-number??? I mean, seriously, the numbers aren't even close and only the last names are the same. Wouldn't it make more sense to put that envelope in the stack with all the other envelopes that are going to number-number-number-number street instead of just tossing it into a PO Box??

I guess I'm just crazy -- maybe that's why the postal service wouldn't hire me -- surely it's not just 'cause I'm too caucasian, right?

Oh, speakin' of that... Al Sharpton was on NPR this morning talking about "Leadership," and I got so irritated I can't even remember exactly what point he was trying to make. The interviewer asked him a question and he answered with a two-part-er, "Well, Numma One, (blah-blah-blippity-blah), and B, (blah-blippity-blah-blah)..." B? Numma One, and B?? Come on, Al, you're comin' off dumb there! Even dumber than pitchin' such a fit about Dave Chapelle!!

On an entertaining note, that whole deal about "The Chapelle Theory" is fascinating... Even though I sometimes get a little tired of it all when Chapelle's show is on TV, I'd almost go right out and buy his DVD's just 'cause he did such a great job of p!$$ing off that particular "Group" of people. Check out that link and see if it doesn't look like a bad case of "Shooting The Messenger." That group of people is real, real mad about what Chapelle points out on the show... They're not mad about what's going on, they're just mad that Chapelle's so open about making fun of it.

Wouldn't it make more sense to fix the problem, so there wouldn't be anything for him to make fun of?

Oh, no, wait, if I'm too Crazy to work at the Post Office, I'm probably too Crazy for television too...

Longer-Lasting Than a Giggle or a Rant...

Yesterday after work, on South Mingo somewhere between the BA and 51st Street, I ended up behind a little black car, probably something imported... I know, that being a car-chick I should know what kind of car it was, but I didn't really pay attention to that 'cause I was puzzling over the tag.

"PCEBSTL"

It's crazy to think it took so long for me to recognize it. I was tryin' to think of names like P. Ceb-something or what the letters might individually stand for, and then it hit me...

"Peace, Be Still." Like the Bible verse, "Fear not, I am with thee, peace, be still." Duuuuh!!!

And I walked around singing and humming the song the rest of the night.

Now, ain't it nice to know that in all of that Tulsa Traffic, there's at least one person out there who's not just trying to p!$$ people off? ;) It just really made my day!

It's the little things...

My next job had better have an actual separate ladies room.

It's not that I'm pissy about "Ewww, it's dirty," or anything like that; it's just that I've been standing here waitin' and dyin' for forty-five minutes while he's in there camped out. What the feck is goin' on in there? He didn't take a magazine, so he's not reading. Is he building a ship in a bottle? Does he have a health problem? Is he tryin' to get off in there?

Forty-Five Gaw-Damn Minuntes! What am I going to have to do here? Should I try & hunt up one of those paper funnels like they have in the gas stations and go make a Trucker Bomb?? I shouldn't have to do that, should I? I'm indoors, I'm at work, this should not be a "desperate situation," but I'm thinkin' about goin' outside and finding a place to hide!!

Even when that asshole comes out, it'll still be a while before anybody can get in there 'cause he either thinks he's too good for air freshener or can't read well enough to figure out what that little spray can is for.

Other people have to use that bathroom, today, and dammit, your sh!t stinks too! Don't torture other people with it!!

Why?

Why does TwentyCarlo.com say "Made With A Macintosh?"

Because this PC is a POS.

I run the dot-com with my iBook, but every now and then I use the PC at work to sign into Blogger and write a post or two because with the PC, I'm one click away from looking busy -- if I have the iBook out on my desk, it's pretty obvious that I may not actually be workin'.

That's what I was doing a few minutes ago, I was writing a little post for the blog on the PC, IE crashed and everything disappeared. I had quite a piece going about the twenty two illegals who crashed the Suburban in Yuma; I'm sure it would have been fascinating once it was finished, but now it's gone. Completely feckin' gone.

I'm waitin' to see if I get motivated enough to try again.

Monday, Monday...

Well, it wasn't exactly a stellar night of racing, but it was better than the last two weeks. At least it was a finish... It sucked with a burned plug wire, but at least it was a finish.

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The neighbors are gone now, finished moving over the weekend. I miss 'em already, they were cool, and I hope we don't end up with scumbags wantin' the place.

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Gawdammit, PATSY ROGERS, you need to FILE A CHANGE-OF-ADDRESS and get your mail at your address, not mine. I've had my mailbox for six years now, how the he11 am I STILL getting mail here with your name on it??

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This Shooter Jennings CD I picked up last week is pretty cool -(I think I like him better than Bobby Bare's kid, heh)- it's a diverse mix, some of it's country-ish, some of it's bluegrassy, and some of it just kicks azs; I really like "Steady At The Wheel." I was thinkin' Clay might like it, and when he got in my car Friday Night, he said "Oh, I have this one, it's good..." How connected is that?

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If you'd like to leave comments (here, or on my DropShots account), don't be a dumbazs about it, okay?

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I got a less-than-decent ALL-CAPS e-mail from an someone (with an AOL Address) who surfed onto my iOnet page the other day; you'll be glad to know I'm saving hers, since I didn't save the last bunch of dipsh!t ALL-CAPS e-mails. If this one turns into a flame-war, expect a page on it...

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Yes, I've written a disjointed blogger entry...

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More Later... _\,,/

Now, About That Shower Curtain...

Yesterday after I wrote that little post that involved a certain bodily function, I hopped in the parts truck to take a Dash to one of the bodyshops on my way to the Ear specialist's office...

My patience with local radio is limited, and I forgot to grab any CD's so I was stuck with the one that I leave in the truck all the time. Then I remembered my MP3 player -- the fun little item bouncin' around in my purse almost all the time now. (BTW, don't try to drive with the headphones on, okay? It's just not very smart.) Aha! A PodCast!!

So I flip through to my "Love And Radio" folder and start playing the next one I haven't listened to yet ('cause I downloaded 'em all).

You'll never believe the topic...

Get ready...

Elimination.

Yup, people tellin' stories about pee. Ain't the internet grand? Their stories were pretty funny, not quite as side-splitting as that one that "former friend" told me about her man yankin' back the shower curtain on her, but still, pretty d@mn funny. Heh.

The internet is fascinating, it's a people-watcher's dream. It can tear things down, and it can build things up; I choose to believe in and support to positive aspects, the things that bring us together and remind us that we're not that different after all.

Everybody does it -- so who knows, as a discussion topic, it's probably safer than politics or Nascar or gay marriage.

More later... _\,,/

"I'll Give You Something To Write About!"

"Don't Play With That."

I just love it when something so simple can bring about such a hearty laugh; and then bring a smile several times the next day.

I'm so happy and so comfortable with Clay, it's just amazing. I haven't felt that way in a long, long time. It's so nice to feel "settled in" without feeling like I've "settled for." I'm so glad I don't have to worry about silly little things anymore; little piddly stuff that used to really stress me out isn't even a concern anymore. It's great to feel comfy, like my heart is at home and the rest of me isn't worried either.

Happy & comfy... He's not gonna fan the door and yell "Are ya cold yet?" while I'm combing my wet hair, I'm not gonna catch him out in the driveway emptying everything out of my car into a big cardboard box, he's not gonna mess with any of my friends, he's not gonna spring some stupid witch/warlock/multiple-personalities bullsh!t on me.

He's damn sure not gonna jerk open the shower curtain and pee on me while I'm taking a shower. Now, I'll admit, if you're gonna get peed on, the shower is about the only place where you could wash it right off right then; but a man who'll do that to you doesn't have any respect for you -- and if you'll stay with a man who doesn't respect you, then you probably don't respect yourself; hey, if you don't, who will?

No other man has come anywhere close to a straight-n-simple "Don't play with that," because I'd never let my guard down... And it's sooooo nice to just relax and not have to be on-guard all the time.

Where Are We? AOL?

Just a tip: If you come in here and tell me the three-oh-two in your eighty-some Ford Truck came out of a "Sixty-Three Model Mustang," your credibility goes straight in the can from there on out. I'll try my best not to laugh in your face, but I'm not gonna take ya too seriously. Just a little tip... That's all for now.