Stipulations, Schmipulations...

Well, I sent in the e-mail for NaBloPoMo, and I'm gonna give it a try.

Every day for a whole month -- a month which includes my birthday and a major holiday -- but thankfully, a month that is not part of a super-busy time like racing season.

Last night, Clay asked if I was going to avoid ranting about the HoMeSkOoLeRzZ (man, I should copyright that) for the whole month.

If I have to leave out the HoMeSkOoLeRzZ, does that mean I have to leave out their Dad too???

Yesterday while we were discussing the E-mail I got about his Auto-Trader Ad, I stepped away from the PC to let him do his own surfing and it was like he didn't want me to get too far away -- "Hey, wait, come back, how do I get to Auto-Trader-Dot-Com? Do I just type it here?" Uhm, No, that's the search engine box -- you type Auto-Trader-Dot-Com up there in the box that starts with "http://" and has www-dot-Google-dot-com in it right now.

Isn't it fascinating how there are a couple dozen porno sites in the history on this PC just since Friday, and we've also got this OUTERINFO pop-up problem that pop-up blocker will not block -- but if I'm standin' right here close, he's all cued up to act stupid if somebody's close. He has nooooooo problem finding nurse porn, but he can't seem to find Auto-Trader-Dot-Com. Seriously, if you can find pictures of porno chicks who are sooooo airbrushed and sooooo photoshopped that their junk looks like the cartoons printed on the instruction sheet in a box of Tampax, you shouldn't have any problem finding cars for sale.

Now, how could I withold such laughs from my readers??

Of course, there's always work -- but there's only so many variations on the theme of "Ford Parts means we don't have any Subaru Windshields" can there be?

Oh, but just in case the phone wears thin, there's always the satellite line -- and just between you and me, if that body shop doesn't know the difference between a Lincoln Continental Headlight in a cardboard box and a Ford Truck Grill in a plastic bag; well, I wouldn't let 'em touch my car.

November starts tomorrow, and so does my attempt at a post every day.

Seeya Tomorrow! _\,,/

It's Done!

I found some more "Lion Suede Seacrest" at Michael's Saturday afternoon; so when my two balls from Ebay get here, I'll probably start on a hat to match.

I finished it up last night, fringe and all, and I like how it turned out.

I took this picture on the towel rack in Clay's back bathroom -- just 'cause there weren't any towels hangin' there at the moment, and the light is nice too.



Oh, and about that "National Blog Posting Month" thing... I think I'm gonna give it a try. ;)

More later... _\,,/

Teach Your Children...

I swear, I'm not lettin' this whole blog be a rant about kids, but...

The Tulsa Convention Center; while large; is not what I'd call roomy when it comes to seating arrangements. Even though the whole idea of building a huuuuuge new arena seems stupid when we consider that there's not usually enough crowd to fill the present one; I was glad to hear that the new arena will have larger, more comfortable seats.

This isn't due to the size of my ass; it's due to the comfort of my elbows.

It seems that even though there's not enough crowd to fill the convention center for Oilers Hockey games; there's always just enough nearness to make me anxious about feeling way too close to people I don't know. Call me anti-social if you wish; I'm just not that interested in feeling snuggled-up to a stranger.

Now, I know that if the place is full, it's not polite to throw a purse or coat in the empty chair beside me; but if there are a couple dozen empty seats around us, I don't see why I should have to sit through an entire hockey game sharing an armrest with someone I don't know. I shouldn't have to deal with having a stranger's elbow nestled in my ribs if there's six empty chairs on the other side of him, why should he have to sit so close to me? Since there's nobody on the other side, would it be so hard to move down a chair or two so we both have more room??

That's why I got my undies in a bunch last night.

I vaguely remember where it came from -- when I was young, very young, I remember a bit on PBS about that whole purse/coat concept I just mentioned; and the same piece also covered the fact that kicking the chair in front of you is also not polite.

Last night, the people who sat behind us came in midway through the first period; came up the right-side aisle, and crawled over people who were watching the game, then climbed over chairs to get to the row behind us -- even though coming up the left-side aisle would have put them right in their seats without disturbing anyone. Most of the family sat behind us; and they sent a couple older girls to sit in the row in front of 'em; with us. They left an empty chair in between, thank God.

It wasn't long before the kicking began. Now, kicking my chair is bad enough. Last night I was repeatedly kicked in the shoulders and even a time or two in the neck. Yes, seriously, my shoulders and my neck; as in, "Honey, could you brush this floor-dirt off my sweater, please?"

The seats are so close that I wouldn't dare go to a hockey game without tying my hair up totally; because it would be insane to leave it hangin' on the floor where people's feet go -- and also insanely invasive to have it in the laps of the people in the row behind us. The seats are close, the rows are close -- the people who are there on a regular basis know this, and we're careful. The people who sit in the row in front of us know that they should probably make sure we don't have nachos when they get ready to take their coats off; 'cause we're that close. I know that I'm not particularly tall; but I need to watch my knees so I don't jab 'em in the back when I'm gettin' up out of my chair. It's not something that was explained to us when we got our Season Tickets -- it's just basic human decency, we don't invade other people's space unless there's a serious reason for it!

It's not that I'm rippin' on first-time Hockey Game Attendees; it's that I'm pissed about people not teaching their kids not to touch strangers. Good Gawd, the kicking and kicking and kicking...

We went outside during the breaks and each time we came back, I was soooooo glad to see empty chairs behind ours -- maybe they didn't like it and decided to leave! But no, they came back, and by the time they made it back in to climb over everybody and sit down for third period, my purse (in the empty seat beside me) was catchin' the evil-eye from one of 'em 'cause she wanted to sit by her sister. The purse had been there for two-thirds of the game -- now all of a sudden, she wants that seat. And all of a sudden, there's a family who thinks it's alright to let their kindergartener move away from Mom and Dad to sit down right beside a total stranger.

I thought it might help the kicking situation, but it did not. So now I had it from two different directions. Have you ever watched a kindergartener take off a sweater?? I didn't have to watch, because I got elbowed a few times, and then I got rubbed with the sweater as she tried to hand it to her parents -- the Dad told her to put it back on; which was basically a repeat/reverse in the process of elbow banging.

Clayton, bless his heart, tries his best to avoid having to watch my psychobitch come out in public -- so he put his arm around me. It helped, it was really sweet of him -- but now instead of kicking some chick's neck and shoulders, they were kicking some guy's arm. Some rough-lookin' guy with a ponytail that still doesn't quite hide the "Chariots Of The Dead" Hearse that's embroidered on the back of his coat.

Hello? Is nobody teaching kids that it's not only impolite, but that it's dangerous to feck with strangers??

I really think that a kid who was small enough to be a kicker but big enough to sit in a seat alone would've been too short to reach the backs of our seats -- a kid big enough to reach the backs of our seats would've been old enough to realize "Hey, I probably shouldn't piss those people off."

I'm 90 percent sure the kid was sittin' in a parent's lap.

Now, even though it's fun to watch Hockey, surely it's not enthralling enough that someone wouldn't notice that the kid they were holding in their lap was kicking the shit out of the people in the next row! I'm not talking about a little toe-tapping here; I'm talking about full-on feckin' kicks, to the point that once they took to kicking Clay's arm instead of my neck, it was still shaking my whole upper body. I was ready to just stand up for the rest of the game when Clay decided we'd about as well just leave instead of watching the Oilers get beat to pieces along with my neck.

Good Gawd, I hope they didn't just buy a batch of Season Tickets.

If they did, I'll either move down a row and sit with the polite family who makes sure their kid doesn't touch people; or I'll just start standing up for the whole game -- that way I won't have to put my purse on a nasty floor, and they won't be able to kick my neck either.

"What? Oh, you can't see when I stand up? Well hell, I didn't know you wanted to watch the game, I thought you were more interested in seeing how hard you could kick my shoulders..."

More later... _\,,/

'Tis The Season!

Christmas is coming! Two months from yesterday, it'll be here!

Yeah, I know, that makes it sound real close when ya say it that way, doesn't it?

So... Saturday when we were at Snobby Lobby, I found some interesting yarn in the clearance bin just around the corner from where I grabbed up my newest "Knifty Knitter." Most of last winter, I played around with the round Knitters -- then I ran onto this rectangle one that looked interesting. Seven bucks seemed like a decent deal, so I got one -- and of course, that's a lovely excuse to get some yarn too.

Fishin' in the clearance bin, I pulled out a ball of "Lion Suede" that was mostly blue with bits of grey in it, and it felt amazing -- Since My Mom's still wearin' the white ('cause white "goes with anything") scarf that we passed back-n-forth for years. Partly because of the color, and partly because of how warm my arm got while I was fishing for more -- I decided to make a scarf for Mom's Christmas Present. I bought all four of 'em, the last there was at the 71st Street Store.



The rectangle Knifty Knitter is workin' out pretty nice; it's wider than some of the scarves I've turned out, but it's not as "too-wide" as that one I started crocheting but still haven't finished. It's a double-layer; but it's not as thick and bulky as some of 'em are, and it's not a big tube; so it holds its own shape.

And that "Suede" yarn is sooooo buttery-soft...

But when I was halfway through the two balls I bought, I wasn't anywhere near half of the length of a decent scarf. I've been to every store around here that has yarn, and there's not anymore "Lion Suede Seacrest Print" left anywhere in the Tulsa Area.

So, through the magic of Ebay, I have two more balls on the way, and I have a "connection" to get more if I need 'em...

And I just might make a few more Scarves for the Christmas Season too!

More Later... _\,,/

For My Village...

A while back, I remember reading a piece that Heather had posted about a hateful e-mail she recieved from someone telling her that letting the dog lick the plates after the humans finished dinner was "disgusting." I laugh my ass off at a lot of Heather's stuff; and yes, I do think it's gross to let the dog lick anything that's not the dogfood bowl but, it's really not anyone's place to send her a nasty e-mail about it. In my house, all my life; once a dish was given to the dog, it was the dog's dish until the garbage man got it -- but I know that not everybody sees things that way.

I laugh my ass off at the stories Heather writes on her site; but only read her site, I do not eat at her house -- so it's none of my business what she does with her dishes. Why bother writing to someone to say something hostile about something that really doesn't matter?

That's why I need to get this off my chest.

I've tried a time or two to tell myself "I don't live there, so I shouldn't worry about it," but it's not working.

This whole HoMeSkOoL thing worries me. Scares. Me. Shitless.

I don't live there, but I work here and that's a concern for me; as part of this family, I'm concerned. They're the only little My-Last-Name's there's ever gonna be, and I worry that they're just not as safe as they could be -- Mental health, physical safety, HoMeSkOoL EdJoOkAyShUn... I'm worried.

There was a time (probably about five minutes worth) when I wondered about all hell breakin' loose with some of 'em finding the blog, but now I don't think I care as much, I'm gonna say what's on my mind.

You can't teach a kid everything they'll ever need to know -- you have to teach 'em how to think so they'll be able to figure things out when they run onto something they weren't specifically taught the answer to.

If a twelve-year-old looks at a label on a box and can't read the word "FRAGILE," there's a reading problem that needs to be addressed.

If you're worried about what's on Cable TV and don't want Cable in your home, you really need to think about whose houses your kids go to and whether or not there's anyone there to supervise the TV watching.

Same goes only more-so for the internet. If you think there's some bad stuff on Cable, just wait 'til you see the crazy shit out here on the internet. If you're supervising the kids 'net time at home, that's great -- just please consider that when they go to some little friend's house, there may not be anybody there to watch 'em surf. Seriously, "JibJab" isn't something that an eight year old and a twelve year old get anything out of, they don't understand it, and they're certainly not "learning" anything about politics from it. They both came in here wanting me to go to that site so they could show me something "really funny," and I only found it *reallly irritating,* and the first time I hear one of 'em call the other one a "Liberal Pussy" (or any other lovely phrase they've heard there), I'm gonna kick their parents in the shins.

Speaking of going to a little friend's house, not all "Church Kids" are perfect little angels. Remember the Preacher's Kids we all went to highschool with? Yeah, you remember 'em, they were the wildest ones. I'm not sayin' I know everything about parenting, but I've seen enough to tell ya that if you push religion on 'em too much, they'll just count down 'til they can get away from it and then it's party time.

When you're deciding who to let your kids be friends with, please consider that just because "they go to church" doesn't mean everything is okay -- if your kid tells you he wants a Zippo lighter or big ol' knife and "it's okay, 'cause ____ has one, and his dad goes to church..." then you need to take a little closer look at the "church" situation. If your twelve-year-old comes home from Wednesday night services telling stories about going to Sonic with some highschool kids, you need to take a closer look at the "church" situation. I don't know the "magic answer" for leading kids to God, but I'm glad My Mom got me there -- and I do know that most "organized religion" is run by humans, who are by nature not perfect even though a lot of 'em like to make you think they are.

"Churches" are full of all kinds of people; and all kinds of people are everywhere. Please look at them individually when making your decisions. Just because someone "goes to church" doesn't mean they're "perfect;" and just because someone flings her bra at Johnny Paycheck doesn't mean she's "evil." There are perfectly evil people who show up for church every Sunday; and there's a little forgiveness for those bra-flingers too.

Whups, I kinda went nuts there for a minute, didn't I? Oh well, if it "takes a village," then it's my job as part of this village to say my piece.

What got me on such a tangent was that My Mom called me a bitch because I couldn't resist the urge to comment on the fact that there was a feckin' Razor Scooter (hello, Google!) in the middle of the floor. After several attempts at convincing the older one that it's just not good to leave a damn skateboard right in the middle of the path of traffic where people have to walk (or run to get to a ringing phone, because it's a business); I'd just had enough. I don't have the best health insurance in the world, I don't really need a fall on a concrete floor. My parents aren't getting any younger; niether of them needs a fall on a concrete floor either.

But when somebody's laid up with some broken bones, hey, it ain't my problem, 'cause last time I tried to say something about it, I was told to "Quit being a bitch."

Statcounter Fun...

I'm not as "obsessed" with Statcounter as I have been at times in the past -- I was just checkin' it for no particular reason today.

Someone found me by Googling for "Tastee-Freeze Locations in Tulsa." I miss 'em too!!! Especially the one in Owasso!

I don't think there are any of 'em left in Tulsa, but there's one in Skiatook; it's five miles from Sperry, so that would put it about fifteen or so miles from Tulsa, I guess -- but it's worth the drive if you're cravin' some good old-fashioned down-home Tastee-Freeze chow. Dammit, it's almost lunch time and now all I can think about is that Fish Dinner they make and chasin' it with a big ol' Dip Cone with that crust of chocolatey fudge over soft vanilla ice cream...

Uh, yeah, I did just mention Fish and Ice Cream in the same sentence. Clay's sayin' "Ewwww," I can hear him already! ;)

I also thought it was just fascinating that one of the searches turned up a post where I'd mentioned givin' Ozzy the 'Keet away to be a Classroom Pet -- ain't it hilarious that Misty and I were just talkin' about him last night?

Robin mentioned "National Blog Writing Month" today and I'm tryin' to decide if I want to try & get in on that or not -- commitment to write at least one post every day in November. I'm on the fence about it... Should I? Can I pull it off??

Insulin, Chicken, Tire Smoke, and Magic: Another Disjointed Monday.

The Doctor Appointment went better than I'd expected -- I'm down a few
pounds and my insulin level is down too. I go back in another three months.
I'm tryin' to "eat healthier," but I'm still an anti-vegetarian. Did I
spell that right?

--

When I left the Dr's office, I went to Promenade (uhm, I believe it was
Chris Rock who said "The mall the white people used to go to...")
to check out the new Macy's and remind myself why I don't go to the mall
anymore. I got a couple new dressy-ish tops, bitched about the way jeans
are these days ($49 and they already look Nasty?), and then went to
JC Penney to look for some more Levi's like I got off Ebay. I was hunting
though the racks when the overhead speaker popped a couple times, then a
voice came on... It wasn't English. And it wasn't Spanish. So I left
without spending any of my American dollars...

It'll be quite a while before I do any more shopping at JC Penney.

--

We had a decent weekend, got a huge laugh out of that kid starin' at Clay in
the pizza place Friday night -- they get a little shaken 'cause Clay
stares back. He's pretty bold-n-fearless that way...

That silly bitch in the parkin' lot of Hobby Lobby Saturday afternoon didn't
get the full effect of the stare though, 'cause she was afraid to look at
either one of us after she realized there were people standing
there when she BANGED her door into the side of Clay's car. I'da been
soooo pissed... I was almost pissed anyway -- but Clay's not quite as
up-tight about the car as I am about mine. I did get a kick out of him
pointin' at me and sayin' somethin' to the effect of "If it had been her
car, you'da had to call 9-1-1." Heh. Yeah, if I'd been standin' there
gettin' my purse out of my car, I probably would've grabbed the
lugwrench out from under the seat and clanged the gold Toyota then put it
back and walked off like nothin' ever happened.

I couldn't find a mark; and at least she did say "oh, sorry." But still, if
it had been my car...

--

Speakin' of Cars, God really does watch out for fools & children; whichever
I was being, I ran a stoplight on Peoria at lunch today -- didn't realize
what I'd done 'til I saw a truck about to hit me in the driver's door &
looked up to see it was red. Whups. Yeah, it was a feckin' stupid moment,
and I don't know how I got out of it, other than "God Watches..."

--

I tried the "Drunk Chicken Cooker" yesterday and it turned out pretty good
-- I was glad Clay's brother happened to be there when I took it out of the
oven, 'cause I'm still not sure about chicken. "Uh, is this done?"
I can do beef, 'cause I know how I like to eat it, same with bacon
-- but chicken can make ya seriously sick, so I haven't cooked much
chicken...

Oh, and while The Crab was there, he let me drive his Camaro and it was
schweeet...

That right there is one more reason I'm so happy bein' with Clay -- I hopped
right in the car and left with his brother, and it wasn't a big deal at all.
I've dated guys who acted all wierded-out about me leavin' the house with
my own brother...

--

Would you believe we just had a call on a steering wheel from someone who
asked if the one we had on the shelf was leather or vynil? And then she
said she was an Animal Rights Activist and would prefer that there
not be any leather in her car.

--

My iBook is tryin' to die on me; Norton's says I have a "defect in the
surface of the drive," and it can't be fixed. I'd almost think about
putting up one of those PayPal "donate" buttons to see about gettin' a new
MacBook Pro, but I read somewhere that "when you beg for money on your blog,
you're eating from the internet's dumpster..." So I'm not.

But I do really want a new MacBook Pro; and as soon as I finish payin' off
the dentist bill, I'm replacin' the iBook, one way or another.

--

The HoMeSkOoL kids have discovered the magic of "J!bJab" (Sorry, I tried to
Google-proof that one) through unsupervised internet access at a
friend's house... Apparently the standards are changing -- it's okay to
open up a Flash Animation site that uses words like "Eggroll Weenie" or
"You're a Liberal Pussy" or "I'll kick your ass" now. Isn't that nice?
Wouldn't HoMeSkOoL Mommy be so proud?

I'm still stunned by the confusion of it all. If someone says "Go to
whatever-web-site dot com," that means type that site into the address bar
-- not go to Google and type "whatever-web-site dot com" into the box and
click "search."

--

Just please tell me you wouldn't send your kids to take Piano lessons from
someone who's never played the Piano...

--

Okay, I'll quit bitchin' for now. I'll try for a non-disjointed entry
later.

_\,,/

Home Sweet Oklahoma...

Several years ago, when I was taking ASL Interpreter classes, I remember a little class discussion about "Ebonics."

As part of the "complete package" of Sign Language Classes, the Deaf Culture was a big part of the learning experience -- history, culture, why things are done the way they're done -- and it was quite fascinating. I don't remember how the discussion got started, but our instructor was very-very interested in the concept of communication; and how at some points in history, Deaf people were considered defective and expected to abandon their language and try to "fit in" amongst Hearing folks; who saw them as people of lower intelligence because they didn't speak the language. It's not hard to imagine what a challenge it would be to learn spoken English without being able to hear...

What some people (Alexander Graham Bell, for example) failed to realize was that Deafness was not a defect caused by stupidity; but a Cultural difference caused in part by a Physical difference.

When the topic of "Ebonics" (yes, the quotes are there for a reason) came up, our instructor was quite interested in "Ebonics" as an actual Language entity, with rules, patterns, and the potential to be studied and mapped out just like English or French or Spanish or ASL. The chick who sat beside me earned a lot of my respect that day, because she boldly disagreed. She made a great point that while Deaf People have an actual physical limitation (lack of hearing) that leads them to ASL, "Ebonics" is a choice that is not led by any actual physical need.

Much like some people once passed judgement on the mental capacity of the Deaf, there's certainly a question of the same nature about "Ebonics." The point that was made in class that day may or may not have changed the instructor's view, but it was still a great point -- one of the things that was said was that "'Ebonics' pisses me off; it isn't a language; those people can learn and use English, 'Ebonics' just makes them sound stupid, so some people will hear someone who speaks that way and conclude that all Black people are stupid like that one; just like the ones who call each other by 'the n-word,' it's stupid."

That's where I was headed with this piece... Intellegent, Educated Black People get pissed off about "Ebonics" because it makes 'em all look stupid. Smart Blondes get pissed off about blonde jokes that make 'em all look stupid. I'm sure there are some high-level Homeschool kids who'd be pissed about these HoMeSkOoLeRzz that I bitch about all the time makin' the rest of 'em look dumb.

A small number of people making an impression that doesn't fit the rest of the large group -- not all large women are slobs, not all blondes are dumb, not all Arabs are terrorists.

There are some scummy people in Oklahoma... We're not all like that, I swear, but there's a family somewhere in Florida who lost their Grandma because of some shitsack in Oklahoma. I just hope they understand that we're not all like that.

That article on the news last night just made my ass want to chew crackers -- that lady moved here, and was happy -- she told her family back in Florida how great Oklahoma was and how happy she was here.

Some shitsack who wasn't intelligent enough to know right from wrong opened the driver's door of this lady's car, hit and punched her, crowded in beside her and drove off in her car as he shoved her down into floor and kept hitting her until she was unconscious. He tossed this lady out of her own car beside the road and kept driving, leaving her for dead. After this shitsack was through with the car, he drove it back to the apartment complex parking lot and backed it into a space where the tag wasn't as easily seen.

The lady, who was just minding her own business and not bothering anybody when some shitsack decided to invade her privacy like he did, woke up to find herself laying beside the road, her face on the pavement as traffic sped by. After spending quite a bit of time in the hospital, she died.

She Died. Somebody's Mom, or Grandma, or Sister, or Friend; just a lady living her own life died, not by illness, not by accident, not by commiting a crime, not by smokin' in bed, not by medical malpractice, not by flashing the wrong "gang sign," not by wearing the wrong bandanna, not by pissing somebody off in traffic; she died because of someone's severe lack of respect for others. She died because some shitsack didn't know or care enough about the difference between right and wrong.

This lady died because some shitsack didn't know that if you want a '91 Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme 4-door, the best way to get one is to go find a used car lot or read a few classified ads; and thought it would be "no big deal" to just beat the life out of somebody and steal one. Who knows, that shitsack is probably stupid enough to think he "did the right thing" by taking the Oldsmobile back to the apartments to leave it where he took it from. Hello, shitsack, you forgot something there... And you can't give back the Grandma you took away, now, can you, you dirty shitsack?

There's a shitsack runnin' around out there somewhere, and I hope they catch 'em.

I just hope that the people in Florida understand that not everybody in Oklahoma is like that shitsack.

Just please remember, most of us are kind and warm hearted people, and we miss our Grandmas too.

God bless my Grandmas, and your Grandmas, and that Family in Florida too.

More later... _\,,/

But Not About A Motel Near The Border...

Last night was the first time we weren't able to get the car ready in time to go race... Finding the valve problem after lunch on Friday just didn't leave enough time to get it out & fixed or get it swapped out. Maybe if I'd been more prepared to whine/bitch/yell/run-to-Mom about it, they could have dropped the ol' spare back in, but I didn't. I also didn't whine/bitch/yell/run-to-Mom about 'em waitin' 'til Friday afternoon instead of checkin' that shit out on Monday -- now, aren't ya proud of me?? We've been ready for a rest for a while; and after Ron helped me with the math & assured me I could keep my top ten if I missed a night, we skipped the night.

Clay and I went to watch; we had a nice time and it didn't mess with my head near as much as I'd thought it might. In seven seasons, this is only the second time I've missed a points race. Up 'til now, the weekend that David died was the only time I'd ever missed, and that was when I wasn't completely sure if I'd ever go back. I'm still glad I went back...


That must be the reason for the dream(s) I had last night. There were lots of people involved; my folks & lots of other family, some of my friends & racing buddies, Clay; near my house or close by just doing all kinds of stuff, like building a deck or putting up a pool (the pool was one of those soft ones with the inflated ring around th top, and it was huge -- I looked out the garage door just in time to hear the hiss off air escaping and watch the ring deflate & let all the water flow out into the yard). Somewhere in the mix of it all, I went in the house and found David sittin' in that papasan chair that I've had since highschool... Now, I'll be straight and honest here, in my waking world, that chair is the world's largest laundry basket and junk-catcher; I haven't actually sat in it in probably ten years, and David never laid eyes on it at all. But in the dream, he was sittin' there waiting for me to come sit down with him. Sleepin' cuddled up to Clay, I dreamed that I was curled up with Dave... It was one of those vivid, detailed dreams that have been coming further and further apart as the time goes by; I could see him clearly and feel him touching me. We talked about all kinds of things like what's been going on since he's been gone, and he understands how my life has changed since then, and how I like it when he "comes to see me in dreams," and how I'll always carry little bits of him around in me. It was odd that I was almost afraid to ask the question of someone I was once the most comfortable with; but it was like he knew what I wanted to ask, so he told me what he thought of Clay...

It made me ask myself some interesting questions; most of which did not have disturbing answers... But still, that whole deck thing makes me wonder if dreams really are "just your brain emptying the recycle bin."

...Last Night I Dreamed;
About a Motel Near The Border,
Dim Light, And A Twenty Dollar Room...

Critter Immortality?

With the magic of the new high-speed connection (I know, I know, we're the last people to get it, just like the VCR, the Car CD Player, and the DVD Player), I've been checkin' out a few videos just because it's simply stunning to see 'em download faster than they play.

On a certain humor site, I found a link to this news piece about a huge dead whale that washed ashore in Washington. The voice-over finishes up the piece with "...to try and figure out why this wonder of the world died and washed ashore..."

Do the news people really just keep talking just to be talking?

Why did it die? Because nothing lives forever.

Why did it wash ashore? Because it's dead, and dead critters don't move on their own.

Did they really have a hard time figuring that out?

Does somebody need to be sure & tell 'em that it's not a smart idea to try & eat that?

Just figured I'd better make sure...

Retail Public Revisited...

After the cable installer dude left, I was standin' here by the PC tryin' to get it to open up the 'net through the new router and the new cable modem, and here comes the walk-in retail public. I say hello, and as he's pullin' up a bar stool, I'm finishin' up with tryin' one more thing, 'cause I'd been trying "just one more thing" to try & make it work.

This guy says "Well, if you can pull yourself away from your solitaire game..."

Grrrr... Oh, no, feckin' around with trying to make the PC work didn't have me in a mood at all, did it? Maybe I'm not so bad off with my people skills -- I really wanted to just say "feck-u" and walk off, but I didn't, so I'm doin' pretty good!

Later, after lunch...

So, I'm standin' here talkin' plumbing with the UPS Man (I know, we're wierd), and the phone rings. As I'm answering it, the UPS Man waves buh-bye and heads on out the door.

The voice on the phone asks "Who else is there besides you?"

Still in a happy mood from laughing and joking with my UPS Man, I answer "Well, right this minute, it's me and the UPS Man."

The voice on the phone comes back with, "No, I mean working there, who else is there besides you?"

Uncle Feckers.

Seriously, it would probably be really nice to just do it all in writing; I'm a lot better at composing a well-written piece than I am at dealin' with gunkies on the phone.

On the brighter side, we have High-Speed at the shop now! And it's pretty damn sweet...

Contagious: More Than Just A Hokey Motivational Poster

I know some people worry about blogs being "forever," and "what if a future employer found that?" but I'm just writing the truth about what's on my mind right now. I'm bein' honest about what I'm thinkin', and what's more important than that? What's wrong with being honest with my (small in number but large in heart) group of readers here?

Ten or twelve years ago, I was gettin' up early enough to be at school by 6:30 or so; and now I don't know how I ever did it. These days, I come to work at 9:00 and that seems to work out just fine for me. Maybe I'm gettin' older, maybe I'm gettin' lazier, whatever -- I don't have to get up that early anymore, so I don't. I also used to have big (really big) hair every once in a while too, but I don't know if I even remember how to "do" it anymore -- it's not a skill I use that often anymore, so it's kinda slipped away.

Five (or so) years ago, I used to be able to jump into the middle of an "angry customer" situation and do enough ass-kissing to smooth it all over and straighten things out -- but lately, it's more like "Oh, kiss-my-ass." Have my skills in that area been slipping? Am I turning into my ol' man? I'm proud to be known as "the friendly-bubbly-fun one" on the phones around here, but I just don't have the patience to talk anybody down off their cactus like I used to. Maybe I am gettin' just like Dad, if they're in the mood to be nasty about it, I'd just as soon not mess with 'em.

I've said (several times) that I'd prefer that my next job did not involve the retail public. Today was one of those days that reminded me why I'd said that.

I cringed as I listened to the half of the phone conversation that I could hear; I could tell the ol' man was gettin' irritated. Maybe he doesn't always handle 'em quite like he should, but we can't be everybody's everything -- this guy was tryin' to get him to tear apart columns (which usually sell as a complete item, wheel and all) to try & match a part number on a clock spring. We had a hard time finding the clock spring for my car when it was less than a year old -- and this guy's workin' on a car that's older than mine. Think they're any easier to find? I'm guessing the "window of opportunity" has already turned into a peep-hole on that one.

It's not that I wouldn't just loooooove to be remembered as the chick who found the part this guy had been oh-so-desparately searching for; it's just that I got in on the deal way too late to change things -- by the time he got me on the phone, he was already pissed off; and it sounded like he was just wanting to pass it along and piss me off to.

When I answered the phone, unaware of what I was about to be gettin' into, he asked me how long we'd been in business... We're a small family operation, we started this deal in '86. (yeah, I was nine, I've been here forever) Then he asked me how we stayed in business. "Well, sometimes I just don't know..." I was thinkin' of all the dippy little jokes I could think of, since "Terrorist Attack really slowed things down," is gettin' old, I was somewhere between "It's just fun," and "we're just to hard-headed to quit," when he told me he didn't know how we ever stayed in business and proceeded to have himself a little bitchy fit, all about My Dad. Now, even sneakin' up on thirty, I'm still "kid" enough to bitch about my ol' man every now and then -- but from a stranger, it just kinda puts me into "defense" mode; and from this guy, it just put me into "eh, feck this," mode.

When he got to the part about being hung up on, I said "Oh, yeah, somebody made him mad earlier and he's been in an irritated mood ever since; sounds contagious, I'd just as soon not catch it myself." Then I hung up on him too.

Apparently there's a perfectly good reason I'd never make it workin' as a Waiter -- I'm just not the "people-person" that some folks are.

And if any of you need us, we'll be on the roof, playin' hockey.

More later... _\,,/

New Hole!!!

Saturday night, really the only night Clay missed (the weekend he was in Springfield was arain-out), the Orange Car got it's first Mid-Am win. After a disappointing lunch and a fantastic draw, the track was beautiful and it just worked out right. :) The heat race was so nice I can't really gripe about the crummy A-Feature.

Sunday morning, I celebrated with a customary New Hole; which I thought I'd post a picture of, but Blogger is apparently having picture problems today. There's a shot of it on the dot-com though -- http://www.twentycarlo.com

Other than that, it's an ordinary Monday...

More later. _\,,/

Disjointed Friday With Philosophical Happy Ending...

Our Hotlines tech support guy is a good salesman, he finally talked the folks into hookin' these computers together -- now we've got an Inventory screen on the satellite/internet PC so it's all hooked in together. It's a pretty sweet deal, I'm glad to be able to just switch over and not have to get up and go to the inventory machine every time a phone rang. The only thing about it is that the he's hooked on it now; the satellite searches the inventory on it's own so that we can price out parts easier, so he's been on it all morning like he's addicted to it worse than that damn card game I deleted off the "start" menu. I didn't get to check my e-mail 'til lunch -- I figured I'd probably have to just wait 'til he was camped out in the can for an hour (again). I can't check my mail 'cause he never moves, but I can't get much of anything else done 'cause I have to "help" every couple minutes. "It Went Black..." No, it didn't "crash," it went to the inventory window because you clicked on the inventory window instead of the satellite window. I tried to explain that having two windows is like having two computers -- one that works just like the satellite always has, and one that works just like the inventory terminals always have; I don't know if I can "dumb it down" any further than that, especially not for someone who has, in the past, deleted everything I'd ever saved on this PC and then played dumb enough to convince everybody (but me) that he "wouldn't know how to do that." I wondered if I was going to have to just wait for the "new" to wear off; but then I got good news -- we're getting Cable Internet at the shop. Finally. That means I can mooch high-speed at work instead of having my dial-up mooched off me. Once UPS brings the Router, I'll be able to plug the iBook right into it too; and if that ain't a sweet deal, I'll kiss-yer-ass.

My only worry is that the iBook may have a little problem... Norton's says there's a "defect in the surface of the disk." I'm trying to decide if I should call my buddy Pete (who listens politely while I whine about whatever Mac problems I might have) and see what it'll take to fix it, or if I should just use that as an excuse to replace it. Heh. I know I really shouldn't buy anything "big" 'til I get done payin' off the dentist. But... But... A brand-shiny-new MacBook pro just sounds so nice.

The HoMeSkOoLeRs just left; earlier this morning, they were talking about wanting a pool table and the older one said, "We can play together, I can learn him how to play!" I could almost feel the veins popping out... When you're two or three years old, that might fly for a little while; but by the time you're twelve or thirteen, it just sounds stupid. Stew-Ped. Stoooh-Puhd. Stouu-Pid.

The HoMeSkOoLeRs cousin got cable a few weeks ago; I'm sure that's where the latest lovely little response came from, because surely it didn't come from the other kids at "Church." Every time I hear one of 'em say "That's Gay," I just want to tell 'em to "Cut it out, son, or people are gonna think yer retarded." I know, I know, takin' a jab at retards ain't no different from takin' a jab at gay... But that's pretty much the point I'm tryin' to make -- If it ain't cool to say "That's Retarded," then it's probably not cool to say "That's Gay," either. I can't help but wonder if their mother has heard it yet; and I can't wait to hear who she blames it on.

Clay called, he made it to Helena alright; just hadn't opened "The Box" yet. I wish I could be there, but I guess there's a bright side to it all, 'cause he told me I could drive the Red SHO while he was gone. The little white ragtop is fun to run around in, but the five-speed SHO is fun to drive. I love my green paint, and I love my automatic, but there's just somethin' about rowin' gears; especially in somethin' with a little power.

The other bright side is when he gets home... It's so nice to be so "on the same wavelength" with someone -- Clay said that the first thing he wants when he gets back is Senor Salsa, which, hey, is the very same thing I've been having vivid dreams about ever since right before I went in for all that dental work. It's so nice to be happy & comfy; and I swear it's not just 'cause we're both jonesin' for the same Mexican Food Joint. It's not a "you complete me" thing; I see it as more like each of us is an individual piece, like jigsaw puzzle pieces; and each of us has just the right shape to fit right up to the other just perfect.

I miss Clayton already, and he only left this morning. I guess I just got all mushy & girly there for a minute 'cause this shit right here kinda pissed me off. "Resist the temptation to criticize, belittle or dismiss their husbands..." Uhm, hello? If you're going to "criticize, belittle or dismiss" him, then why is either one of you stickin' around? Why do you act mean to someone you supposedly care about? Why does he stick around and let you? If you didn't care about him anymore than that, why'd you marry him??

I believe that Love is about Giving... Giving of oneself; but I really don't think anybody should have to give up every crumb of their own self -- if I gave up every bit of myself, would I still be the woman who got him to take notice of me in the first place? If he gave up every crumb of himself, would he still be the man who caught my eye? I remember several little details of the night we "met," but what I remember most is his smile when he laughed; and I don't ever want to lose that. We give of ourselves to make a relationship work; and I like to think that it's what we give to each other that goes into making each of us happier day by day.

More later... _\,,/

Double-Shot: Et-Pay Eeve-Pay Ant-Ray & Aave-Ray.

Alternate Title: "Why I Don't Keep A Gun In My Car, Revisited."

Last night on my way home in the little white ragtop, I watched in the mirror as a blue Caprice came up in the passing lane. Traffic was pretty minimal and I was doing a reasonable 60 or 65 in the right-hand lane. As the Caprice came by, it got closer and closer, and by the time the cars were even & side-by-side, it was really, really close. Closer than I'd ever want to park beside another car, I wouldn't even think about getting that close at highway speed.

I honked the horn, but honestly, if I was makin' bets, I'd put my money on "not a clue." A '91 Capri doesn't have a whole lot of horn to begin with, and a "distracted driver" isn't likely to hear anything outside their own car anyway.

I followed the Caprice and watched it weave all over the place, a foot or two over either line of any given lane; and believe me, I would have called 9-1-1 if I thought I could have used the phone -- but I had the top down, and there's almost no chance of hearing or being heard in that much wind; and there's no way to put the top up while still moving. I stayed with it all the way from US75 & 41st Street (where he almost ran me over) all the way around the "loop" to where he got off US75 at the Peoria Avenue exit.

I'll admit, there was a little part of me that said "Oh, North Peoria, how'd I know?"

Are there no more Driver's Ed classes going on out there? Why do people think it's okay to go ahead and back the car out of the driveway when they know they haven't maintained it to any state of trustworthiness? Why do people think it's okay to go ahead and get on the highway even if they don't have the skills to do the driving? Why is there never a cop around except that one jerk in the unmarked car that I see on the highway every Wednesday night now?

If you're doing seventy miles an hour in any car (but especially one with three big-ass gold "rimz" and one tempa-spare that bounces like it hasn't seen new shocks since the Carter administration), you should be holding the wheel and watching the road and the traffic. You should not be typing a text message, or "rollin' a blunt," or eating a sandwich. At highway speed, you should be driving, not checking your pager, not drinkin' a tallboy, not tryin' to get the last bit of BBQ sauce onto your chicken, not packin' your crack pipe.

Yeah, I flipped you the bird, big-feckin'-deal -- the next person you nearly sideswipe may have a gun to blow your ass away; or a bigger car to run your ass off the road with.

While I'm ranting...

"Why I Don't Have A Nerf Crotchbat In My Desk At Work."

Seriously, if I'm talking to someone; telling me to "Hush" so you can say something is really the same as interrupting, only worse. Interrupting is an underhanded way of saying "Well, what you're saying isn't important..." Telling someone to "Hush" is essentially an out-and-out-loud way to say "What you're saying isn't as important as me, so shut up!" What kind of example does that set for the HoMeSkOoLeD kids??? Come-the-feck-on, just let me finish the sentence and then you can find a way to fit what you want to say into the conversation if it fits at all, but I know you don't care if it's on-topic or not, 'cause what you want to say is way more important than anything we were just talking about before you walked up!

The Only logical reason I can think of to walk up and interrupt a calm, ordinary conversation between two other people is to say something very, very urgent like "FIRE!" "TORNADO!" or "CALL 9-1-1!"

I've said it before, I'll say it again -- the spoken word (along with the "rules and patterns" of the English Language) is what separates us from animals. If nobody pays attention and everybody just talks louder and louder to try to be heard over everybody else, then what's the difference between us and all those animals grunting and hooting and screeching in the trees?

Ragtop Fever Makes Tuesday Feel Like Friday...

My TwentyCarlo.com has Gone Pink as of this morning, it's a bit of a drastic change, especially since I'm usually not that into pink; but it's for a good cause, Breast Cancer Awareness. Here's one for the Grandmother I barely knew -- and also for millions of women everywhere, 'cause everybody loves boobies, right? Yeah, everybody loves boobies; just ask that massive bundle of mardi-gras beads I wore home from the Chili Bowl a couple years ago.

Last night, I got the little white ragtop out for this lovely bit of warm weather -- probably the last of it before winter gets here.

We're goin' to The Fair tonight, just 'cause it's Tuesday, and I'm sure it'll be the usual festival of people-watching.

Someone found me by Googling something about a Cop; and now they'll probably find me by that Chili Bowl reference. Heh heh...

If "Tonni" is Googling for her own name, maybe she'll find me too... Hi Tonni, I just bought your Mac at a Pawn Shop in Tulsa, I found your porn, and I found that letter you were writing. Yeah, you know the one, and that ain't even right!

Clean off the hard drive before you sell those things!!

More later... _\,,/