Friday, December 31, 2010

Mostly these days I'm just sad. That's it. I'm sad for me and for my sisters and my sweet little fruitcake of a Mama. No getting around it. Even though I've toyed with the idea of asking my old pal whiskey to escort me during this phase, I guess for now I'm just resigned to crawl through it on my hands and knees. Mostly sober.

No wonder I didn't get invited to any New Years Eve throw-downs this year.

Monday, December 27, 2010

Today was supposed to be my first day back to work since Daddy died but it snowed about a foot here and even that wasn't going to stop me because the dude that plows our driveway was supposed to show up at 5:30. But it did stop me because he didn't show up until 10:00. I really hate people sometimes. I'm not the most prompt individual. But if I tell you I'm gonna be somewhere at a certain time, by god I'm gonna be there. I may be ten minutes late. But I'll call you and let you know. It's just dirty and disrespectful and pretty much par for the course. So now I'm sitting here in my pajamas watching another episode of Poirot and drinking watery hot chocolate and calculating how much money I'm knocking off the rent to make up for the fact that I've missed yet another day off from work because of my ass-hat landlord and his ass-hat snow-plowing, unreliable liar of a son-in-law.

Saturday, December 25, 2010

I am back home after nearly ten days of non-stop whirlwind action. And not the good kind of Steven Segal action. The really shitty-ass phone call and funeral home and death certificate kind that requires either a lifetime supply of Valium or hourly shots of Southern Comfort. I flew into Boston yesterday afternoon and then had to do some quick Christmas shopping and then we went to Mike and Judy's for some holiday cheer and then back home so that I could torture myself by watching A Christmas Story twice instead of cleaning the house from roof to baseboards. It's not fithy or anything. But it do smell like c-a-t and I want to shove a Renuzit in every electrical socket, including my nostrils. How are you? People ask, and I don't even know what to tell them. Okay. Functioning. Sad. Pissed the hell off. Depressed. Angry. Lonely. Mostly I'm just waiting on my Daddy to call me and wish me a Merry Christmas. Aw, fuck me.

Saturday, December 18, 2010

My Daddy died Wednesday night at five minutes to 12pm and all I can think now is, so this is what it feels like to walk around with half your heart ripped out.

Sunday, November 28, 2010

When we asked him how the hell he got up there he looked really, really embarrassed for us.

Yesterday was the anniversary of John's 20th year of sobriety. Twenty years clean and sober. It's mighty damn impressive and I'm mighty damn proud of him. If you know a recovering addict who isn't a complete doucher, you should tell him/her how proud you are of them because it's some serious bidness. I mean, he and I joke about it a lot but that's only because we're a couple a socially inept sick-o's.

Saturday, November 27, 2010

My girl Adele. She of the porcelain skin and smokey voice of perfection.

Friday, November 26, 2010

snappin' necks and cashin' checks

Years ago I allowed my sister Wendy to talk me into doing a Black Friday run for her. I swore I'd never do it again. But this morning I broke my oath. At a quarter till five, John and I were sitting outside of Radio Shack chugging coffee and sizing up the competition. Four Acer netbooks. That's all they had and when it was all said and done we were the fourth folks in line. Now, I'm not really a violent type of person. I talk shit a lot. I'm almost always angry about something. But I don't recall ever being in a physical altercation. Today was no exception. But I swear that if that fifth loudmouth lady in line would've gotten my netbook I would've beat her senseless. I'm not proud of it. I am however pretty pleased with myself for getting such a kick-ass deal on this here little beaut. Been waiting a long time for my piece of the tech action. I'd like to give a shout out to my main man and the brawn behind this operation. You know who you is.
Talkin' 'bout you John. High five!

First picture taken with the new computer. I don't have any editing tools set up yet, but that's me and the Lenster. He's so sweet he poops sugar cubes.

Saturday, November 20, 2010

These crackers are ridiculously good. They're so good I'm thinking about whipping up a pseudo-dip to go along with them. They're so good, I'm contemplating putting on a bra and going to the store to pick up a chunk of colby jack cheese because they're so good they need to be introduced to a food partner so's they can conjugate and make happy babies in my mouth. That's how good they are.

Friday, November 19, 2010

Yesterday I picked up Mae and smooched all over him because that's a nightly ritual I try very hard to adhere to and at the end of all the smooching I noticed that my cheek was wet and at first I was all, "Yuk, cold cat slobber." -never mind that I had just slobbered on him- but then I quickly figured out that it wasn't slobber. That it was instead, a smear of puss and infection because the Mae had himself an abscess beneath his ear that I had somehow neglected to notice. The abscess burst and left Mae with a gaping, bubbly, bloody hole in his silly little head. Now, I love Mae-Mae. God knows I do. But he's a goddamn mess of a cat. If he's not laid up with the Giardia poops then he's destroying anything precious and dear to my heart during one of his skittish jolts. But, like I said, I love him. So we hauled him to the vet where she determined that the abscess was probably caused by one of Mae's idiot brothers chewing on him like he's a candy apple. So Mae's on antibiotics. Again. And today we were back at the vets office. Again. Not with Mae this time, but with Bea who already had an appointment for a checkup. We've been trying to schedule the vet appointments every two weeks but it hasn't worked out so well lately. We're there so often I'm thinking about inviting Dr. Norris and her brilliant half-a-whack-job self over for Thanksgiving. But, Mae's head hole looks a hundred times better today and Dr. Norris gave Bea a cortisone shot so maybe now Bea will quit trying to scratch her neck off, plus, she said Bea's teeth look fine which is a huge relief because A) I was not looking forward to having to fork over even more cash to have her teeth cleaned and yanked and B) she's old as dirt and frankly, I'm scared that she won't wake up from the anesthesia. There. I said it. Of course, the little witch bit the shit out of my hand while I was trying to keep her from falling off of the exam table so she'd better start flossing if she knows what's good for her.

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Lately I've just been listening to a lot of music. New stuff and older stuff and mostly just stuff that's new to me. Tim, who's a buddy of mine from work, goes to all these concerts and festivals and has been writing down names of singers and viola players and then later on that night I do my homework. Well this is tonight's homework:

This made me well up and feel better about my generation. Because lately... well, lately I've been feeling jaded and disoriented with things. Not my personal life, but life in it's most existential form. I think that's why I'm seeking out the artists and balladeers. I need some truth sung to me.

Also, I'm all kinds of pissed that my opportunity to be Queen has been snatched away from me by that Kate Middleton broad. It's gonna take some time for me to get over this. My old friend Courtney says she and I need to make up our own titles and I'm inclined to agree. I'm toying around with Her Royal Highness Lady Janet of Lankern.

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Something you might not know about me: when I was eight years old I saw a cluster of unidentifiable creatures floating through the woods behind our house. It was winter and Mama had sent me to the woodpile because at the time we still had the wood heater in the house. I had one of the dogs with me and was about ten feet from the wood pile when I saw them. They were roundish/oblong and there were at least three of them and they didn't jump so much as they floated or bounced. I don't recall them being furry or having faces or appendages. They were more like masses. Maybe three feet in diameter and gray colored. They scared me shitless. I ran screaming and crying to the house. I was hysterical for hours. Later that day everyone came over and searched the woods but nothing was ever found. I have opinions and theories about what they could have been. Maybe someday I'll share a few of them. I've never seen anything else like that. Never seen a creature or a ghost or an alien. That was my one truly personal experience with the unexplained. That's all I got.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

oh anthropologie...

I don't know why you wanna do me this-a way.

And furthermore, you and I both know damn good and well that there's no way a pair of curtains will change my life.

So then why is it, that every time I look at these things I'm somehow convinced otherwise?


Sunday, November 7, 2010

So Bank Of America has this deal where they offer free admission to certain museums the first full weekend of every month. We've been to the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston several times, but never for free. It was a lot more fun that way because then you don't feel obligated to look at every single piece of Chinese artifacts because you've dropped twenty bucks on the place. Still, we spent a good three hours with our jaws nearly unhinged and our sense of direction all screwed up because the place is fabulous but boy-howdy is it easy to get turned around. I went on a John Singer Sargent quest only to find out that while they do have a shit-pot full of his stuff, the really good stuff is "in the New American wing which doesn't open until next weekend". Well hell.

Monday, November 1, 2010

I managed to get 1100 words into my first NaNo effort before I figured out who was talking and what she had to say. It was quite a rush. Figuring out the basis of my novel.

This weekend I went to girl's night at Shari's and it seems the theme of the evening was cheese. Cheese dip and another kind of cheese dip and a platter of nachos with cheese sauce... plus, tonight, I had cheese and tortilla's for supper and I swear to Moses I probably won't poop for a year. We watched Knocked-Up and while I love me some girl-time, I truly hated that movie. It depressed the hell out of me and I didn't understand any one's motives. I read on the Imdb board that people were upset because Katherine Heigl was wearing a bra during the sex scenes and then they're applauding her for standing up for herself, for having integrity and for not wanting to ruin her career by going topless. Then someone else responds with some lame comment about how nude scenes didn't ruin Kate Winslet's career. Seriously? Are you effin' kidding me? Who the hell compares Katherine Heigl to Kate Winslet? I would spit in the eye of anyone who blasphemed in that manner in my presence. Then and there I decided that any movie that provokes that sort of jackassery is the sort of movie I can do way without.

In other news, Happy Halloween to all ya'll.

Friday, October 29, 2010

I grew up independent and all these years I've been wearing that independence like a badge. Like a war medal. And I've spit-shined and polished that motherfucker so faithfully that today it's nearly impossible to read the one word written on it: Lonely.

Monday, October 25, 2010

For any iphone users out there. Why don't you go ahead and download the iRate Cats app. Why? Well, because our Ernie boy is one of the top ten cats of the month over there! We're so proud. I feel like such a stage-mama. Before you know it, he'll be wearing false eyelashes, developing an eating disorder and beltin' out "Tomorrow" at the top of his furry lungs.
My damn head hurts. I've got a stack of books to read and I've got zero interest in reading any of them. I'm also participating in National Novel Writing Month again this year. I have absolutely no idea what I'll be novelling about, but it's sure to be chock full of smart-mouthed southern women who eat a lot and have way too much gratuitous sex with persons who are either rock stars or demons. Oh. And it may or may not contain a chicken. I say this only because that's pretty much how last years NaNoWriMo effort unfolded.

I'm home alone this evening. John's playing darts with the farmers and I'm about to eat a head-ache pill and maybe some wheat thins and veggie dip. Earlier this evening we took a ride to get away from home and my face suddenly got super-ass hot and my stomach turned queasy. We took a detour through McDonalds so I could get a small Coke to cool me down and settle the belly and the voice through the box says, "Welcome to McDonalds! Would you like to try a McRib sandwich?". And John and I did one of those what?!?what?!? double takes and before I knew it, we were sitting in the Target parking lot making faces at the seagulls, stuffing our mouths, wondering if we were the only two people in the world today who actually high-fived over a McRib.

Sunday, October 24, 2010

matou en peluche

Big, big love for this girls art.
I've spent the entire day attempting to upload music from cd's and my ipod onto the computer and then onto my new phone. Aggravation times a hundred. Then I spent a couple more hours uploading pictures onto Facebook. Aggravation times fifty. I'm not the least bit tech savvy but I know how I want things to look and sound and when they don't look or sound that way I get pissed off real fast like. Whatever. If you're a friend of mine on Facebook, there are pictures over there you've probably already seen here.

Yesterday John and I bought jeans because most of mine have holes in the thighs from the old chub-rub and John says he's using his weight to keep up with the gas prices. You know, going up a few cents every day. Really though, I think it's just because he's finally off of the Interferon. Either way, we've decided to lay off of the shit food for a while. See where that gets us. Evidently it's genetic because we took Ernie to the vet Friday for his check-up and he weighs a honkin' 18 pounds. He's a truck. And before anyone decides to get on our shit, he's really not even fat, so much as he is just BIG. The vet said just to make sure he stays active. Today I watched him chase grasshoppers across the yard, so he and I have totally fulfilled both our ends of the bargain.

Saturday, October 23, 2010

Because it's fall and fall is my favorite season, I'm offering up some nice fall music. At least it's fall music to me. Dave Mallett is one of those musicians that John's been listening to for 30 years and because I've known John for a while now I'm well aware that that's not exactly cause enough for me to drink the kool-aid. (ie James Taylor, Bruce Springsteen) But in this case, John was right on. Listen if you want. Dave Mallett's a poet. A writer of poignant ballads and a pretty swell guy.

**** John's making me print a retraction: He wants everyone to know that he's never, ever liked Bruce Springsteen. But I could've sworn otherwise.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Cat Versus Human

I swear I just found this cartoon like five minutes ago. Which is freaky-deaky because this morning I downloaded this picture from our vacation:

Bea loves to ride. This is her wedged in between us, perched on her very own pillow, happy as a clam. She's been riding in cars since the get-go and actually prefers it to just about any other recreational activity. We prefer her in cars too. She gets to be the queen of the road and she morphs into a sweetheart. So much so that we've decided to make regular car rides with Bea a part of our lives.

Monday, October 18, 2010

julie morstad

My whole life I've been secretly convinced that at some point I'm going to be able to pick up a pencil or a paintbrush and just be able to create something like this. In my mind, it's not so much about being born with a talent as it is discovering it at the exact right moment. Like all of the atoms are moving and I just have to be in tune with myself and the universe enough to know when's the right time.

It all makes perfect sense in this musty, fusty head of mine. Meanwhile, I love Julie Morstad's illusrations. There's something creepy and romantic and cover of a 1970 children's book about them.

Saturday, October 16, 2010

livermush and pecan pancakes

I'm someone who gets more sleep when I'm not on vacation. Mostly because when I'm visiting my family or some place other than the trailer out in the woods, I'm afraid something really awesome is gonna take place and I'll miss it. I ate breakfast every morning at 6am with my Daddy and Papaw and my Uncle Jimmy. I like breakfast. But it totally wouldn't break my heart to wait and eat it around 8 or so. It would however break my heart to miss out on sharing it with the men-folk. My sisters joined in on a couple of mornings. My doll-faced niece Katie B. even managed to crawl out of bed and show up wearing the same thing she'd had on the night before. I've been there. I was 18 once too. So that picture above is my Daddy driving us home from b-fast one morning. It's a classic kind of Daddy picture. Gimme cap and clutching the wheel. If you had smell-o-vision, you'd be whiffing Naugahyde and Lance's cheese crackers and kudzu and burning leaves. Those are Daddy smells.

Thursday, October 14, 2010

More Vacation

So here’s how it went down.  John and I left at four on Thursday morning during what turned out to be a freakin’ tropical storm.  It rained –no-  it !!!RAINED!!! for the first twelve hours of our drive.  Remember that part in Forrest Gump when he’s in Vietnam and he talks about it raining and he says it rained all the time, it rained sideways and frontways, and one time it even rained upside down?  Well, it was like driving through a car wash.  Cars were all pulled over on the sides of I-78 and I-81 with their hazard lights flashing.  But not us.  Hell naw.  We kept on plugging along.  Which is why it took us over 15 hours. 

Now having said all of that, the weather for the rest of the trip was nothing less than purrfect.  Mama and Daddy and John and I went to Boone one day:


I ate boiled peanuts and John ate too much $8 a pound “penny candy” from the Mast General store and then got himself a sugar hangover.  I came real damn close to getting my forearm tattooed.  A chick at one of the tattoo places helped me design one, but by the time I made up my mind it was nearly dark and John had donned his hypoglycemic pants and I started having nervous-nellie palpitations, so I decided it just wasn’t meant for right then.  

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Our vacation was kick-ass. Filled with food and family and thrift stores and tattoo parlors. Here's some pretty to look at.

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Little Do He Know…

ernie travel

I am unofficially on vacation.  Officially it begins Friday.  However,  I’m calling in tomorrow morning so that we can get a head start on the 12+ hour drive to Lincoln County.  And by “we”  I mean me and the sweet doofus and the three sweet feline doofuses and the bitchy old granny lady.  Aggie’s staying home.  Sometimes it pays to have a social anxiety disorder.  I’m thinking about cultivating one myself.  Of course, after what’s about to go down tomorrow in the AM, I’m afraid we’re all gonna be certifiable. 

So, I’ll leave y’all with that.  I’ll see some of you in a day or so.  Others, I’ll probably be in touch with via the text message and the Facebook.   Plus, I’m finally breaking down and getting a mobile with the internet.  I’m having my new Palm Pixi Plus sent to Mama and Daddy’s.  It should be waiting on me when I get there.  Ahhhh, sookie-sookie now. 

Monday, September 27, 2010

Happy Birthday John!

john 001-1 To my one and only.  My sweetheart doofus of a man. 

Sunday, September 26, 2010

This weekend I went to Savers and found a pair of purple corduroy culottes for five bucks. Then today I found a dress at Target marked down to ten. This is all well and good, only I don't really have the money to spend on those types of things even though everyone knows I did it anyway. As a result, we're having oyster stew for supper rather than the lobster and truffles we'd normally be shoveling in.

I cleaned out the fridge a few minutes ago and I'm feeling a bit queasy. *Note to self: if you leave green beans in the refrigerator for more than four weeks they'll become reallyreally green beans.

What I'm reading: The Forgotten Garden by Kate Morton and still trudging through Boneshaker.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

The Lenster's back home and we're so giddy that we had to go out to dinner to celebrate. That's just how we operate. He's a happy baby and we told him he could sleep with us and Bea tonight. Usually we keep the bedroom door closed at night or else we'll wake up at 1am with one of them doing the polka on our faces. We keep night time special for the old granny lady. Not tonight though. Tonight is for toothless baby boy-o's.

Monday, September 20, 2010

I’ll Chew His Food If I Have To

iPhone 4 Photos 549

Some pussy cats just have bad teeth.  It’s not their fault.  And it’s not their people’s fault.  It’s more or less the fault of their trifling ass birth parents and their no count genetics.  John took  Lenny- the best baby boy-o in the world- to Dr. Norris this morning to have the Lenster’s teeth cleaned.    We were hoping he’d be okay to come home tonight, but they had to remove six teeth (!!!) and he was still really groggy when we called this evening to check on him, so Lenny’s spending the night at the kitty hospital.   He’s always had stank breath, but he’s never had any problem chewing so far as we could tell.  And he’s only two years old, not really the age you’d expect for such terrible tooth troubles.  I had just started noticing that whenever I’d scratch his chin in certain areas, he’d do an almost involuntary chatter.  Like nerves were jumping.  So I pried his mouth open and took a look inside and sure enough, red puffy gums.   Dr. Norris has assured us that he’ll be better than ever now.  I said, “Lookit, lady!  This is my precious baby boy-o and if you don’t make him well I’m gonna strike down upon you like the hand of God!”.  Not really.  I didn’t say that.  In fact, I wasn’t even there.  Instead, John told her, “This one’s Jan’s favorite.  Try not to kill him, okay?”.

Sunday, September 19, 2010

We've been watching the crap out of some movies lately. This weekend John and I together watched The Secret Life Of Bees and Burn After Reading. I cried so much during Bees that I gave myself the snubs. Tonight I watched Precious and The Squid and the Whale. Though they're completely and totally different movies, I thought it was kind of interesting that they're both set in the same time period, the same year as a matter of fact, in the same city. I had not planned this, it just happened that those are the two that got shipped to me via netflix. The older I've gotten, the less tolerance I have for asshole characters in movies. I understand it's just a damn movie, but I can never seem to fully comprehend how no one ever sat the asshole down and explained to them that they're being an asshole and if they'd just stop all of their assholery then everyone would stop hating them and their life would be a lot peachier. It probably wouldn't have worked for Precious' mom. But I have a feeling that that whole family in the Squid would've greatly benefited from being called on their shit. This is the same reason I can't watch television anymore. Because I'm forever screaming, "Why doesn't someone stop him?!? He's got a family/friends/co-workers! Why don't they tell him to knock it off?". For anyone reading this out there, if you know me in real life and you feel I'm being a straight up tool, then by all means, intervene. Please. It might hurt my feelings but I'll definitely take that shit to heart.

Story About A Bag

travelongreenA few weeks ago, if you’ll recall, John “accidentally” broke the strap of my pocketbook and I was mildly devastated.   I’d been carrying that thing across my body for like two years.  Bought it at TJ Maxx for $10 and it’s everything I need in a bag.  It’s got all those nifty little compartments and since I tend to fly a lot, it’s a cinch getting to my ID and credit cards and all that jazz.  Anyway, since that hateful incident with the car door and John’s super human strength, I’ve been using a safety pin to hold it together.  Yesterday, we drove to Webster, MA for the sole purpose of eating at Friendly's – a fine New England institution and home of the Fishamajig and the Fribble.   We ate burgers and a Whoopie Pie sundae and as we’re strolling through the parking lot I notice a new consignment store has opened next door.  Here’s where it gets good.   I’m browsing and quickly figuring out that there are no books and little kitsch and so I’m probably wasting my time when, BAM!  My pocketbook falls to the floor.  I pick it up and sure enough, the safety pin has popped open.  This is the first time this has happened and I’m thinking damn, now it’s gonna happen from now on and I’m gonna tear my old bag up piercing it with new pin holes and eventually it’s just gonna tear and I’ll have to break down and buy a new one.  So I head over to the pocketbook section and I’m sure you can guess what I found.  Brand new.  With tags.  For $4.  The same damn bag.  Only the new one’s green and my old one was purple.  Seriously, you can’t make this crap up.  It’s like the time my friend Lynn found a scarf that was hand-knitted in Iceland for $3 at the Goodwill.  This was like two weeks after she had just gotten back home from her vacation in Iceland and she said everything costs about a jillion dollars over there and she refused to pay $75  for a scarf. 

Thursday, September 16, 2010

Ernie The Nesto



Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Before I forget-  for those of you who aren’t yet privy to this information, just so’s you know, you can buy The Avett Brothers album I and Love and You on Amazon for FIVE DOLLARS !  That’s the sort of stuff that makes me silly happy as the brothers Avett are particularly talented and lovely to look at and they’re also from my neck of the woods.  Well, my original neck of the woods.  The northern Carolina woods.  I told John, “I just downloaded an Avett Brothers album for five freakin’ dollars!” and he said, “What are the Abbot Brothers?”.  So I made him listen and he liked them but then he wanted to know why they didn’t have accents like mine.  So we argued over that for a while and later that day we were watching The Andy Griffith Show and discussing how we should’ve named the cats after Mayberry characters (Juaneeter, Floyd, Helen Crump and Rafe Hollister) and he had the nerve to tell me that I sound just like Ernest T. Bass.  Someday I’ll youtube a video of the sigh and eye twitch that I have created expressly for those types of comments.  It’s like Frank Costanza’s “Serenity now!” mantra.  Only less loud. 

What I’ve watched:  The Young Victoria and Whip-It.  Loved both. 

Monday, September 13, 2010

I take back everything I said about my four and half foot tall physical therapy chick, Lily. Because today I learned that she knows how to ring a chicken's neck. Any girl who can kill her own food is someone I want on my side. Because if worse comes to worse and we find ourselves facing end-of-civilization type circumstances, I'm gonna be fucked. There's no way I could kill a chicken and there's no way John could do it unless he accidentally tripped over it. So I'm either gonna have to depend on my fat, domesticated cats or get all buddy-buddy with tiny-Lily. The chicken choker.

What I'm reading: The Physick Book of Deliverance Dane by Katherine Howe. It's very, very good. In fact, I'm about to go shower and take said book to bed with me. John's gone to his first Dart-Ball game of the season. I'm home alone. It's so quiet I could weep with joy. I love him to death, but a girl needs a quiet house every now and again. Today I took a picture of goose poop in the parking lot at work and texted it to him with the oh so clever caption "Holy goose shit, Batman!!!". Three exclamation points, mind you. And he texted me back, "Goober?" which is what my mama calls peanuts. And upon closer inspection, it did indeed look like a peanut as much as it did goose poop. But before I could reply he texted me again, "Don't eat it, ok?". And I laughed like hell until I realized that he's to blame for my increasingly high-brow sense of humour.

Monday, September 6, 2010

Mason, Kendall and Cooper.
Yesterday was Tyler's christening. It was a lovely, symbolic service. The priest had everyone bless the baby and explained all of the rituals in detail. It was all superstitious in a way that only Catholics and voodoo practitioners can properly exhibit and I enjoyed it thoroughly.

John is Steve's godfather and I look like I should be representing the lollipop guild in this picture. One has nothing to do with the other. John's dad was Lithuanian and they're notoriously tall people.

Afterwards, Mike took us all out to eat and Kendall provided the entertainment by waving hi and bye at everyone and displaying all around general cuteness.

Today, we've been invited to a cook-out and I'm currently in the process of making this:

Death By Chocolate

I plan on drinking beer and trying to stay awake. I went to bed at 6:30 last night, woke up at nine to drag my sorry ass to the couch where I promptly fell back to sleep. John woke me up at eleven and made me go back into the bedroom, where I stayed until 7:30am. I'm trying to make up for Friday nights cluster-fuck of excruciatingly pain-filled sleep. How bad did I hurt? Real effin' bad. Like, crying and waking up John to have him rub my back and shoulders bad. All that night I moved from the bed to the floor to the divan back to the bed back to the divan where Ernie sat on my face and kneaded my crotch. Guess what cat? It ain't that kind of party. He's been very kind through all of this. John, not Ernie. A real sport, that giant goober of mine is.

walking kendall through church

Tuesday, August 31, 2010

I'll Kiss You Right On The Mouth Kenny Rogers

What I'm reading now: The Darling Dahlias and the Cucumber Tree by Susan Wittig Albert. It's set in 1930 which I really dig. For the most part I prefer books that take place anytime but the present. This is not a hard and fast rule, but it's just a little something about me that I thought I'd share.

What I've read: The Little Giant of Aberdeen County by Tiffany Baker. It was a book that had no idea what it wanted to be. Whoever edited it should lose their job.

As it turns out, I don't have Lyme. Rather, I have the arthritis. Today Lily, my new physical therapist who's about four and half feet tall and weighs about a hundred pounds wet, worked me over Sumo style. She told me I have shitty posture and a hump on my back. I told her that's where I store all of my magic.

Monday, August 30, 2010

Summer, you were fun for a while. But now I'm ready for you to lighten the hell up. Honestly, summertime. You take yourself waaaaay too seriously. I'm sweating so much that I now OWN the term perspiration. I'm breaking out in the most unsavory of places. Places that can only be explored with tiny flashlights and 10X mirrors. Remember the drain-fly plague from a few weeks ago? I think the next one is taking the form of blind pimples and boils.

This is why I haven't been blogging lately. Because all I have inside of me is upset whiny words. I truly wish it were otherwise.

Thursday, August 26, 2010

I'm feeling about a million different things at once. Most of these feelings aren't of the warm, fuzzy variety. Most of them are of the punch, stab and maim and then break down and cry persuasion. Yesterday I told someone at work that it felt like an off-day. Like something's just not quite right. It turned into an off 24 hours. So I don't know whether I conjured the whole thing up with some pissy mojo, or if I was intuiting. I'm more comfortable thinking the latter. I will say this about the shitty times I've been having: they sure as hell make me sit up and take notice of all of the sweetness. I keep looking for positive affirmations and I keep finding them. Even if it seems like I'm drowning in the hurt and disappointment, I'm not really. I'm actually wading through it, and the following is what's helping me keep myself afloat:

My BFF John. My crazy mama. My passel o' cats. And my suhster Angie, she of the ever-listening ear.

Also, here's The Fruitcake Lady to give everybody a little what for on behalf of yours truly:

Sunday, August 22, 2010

It's raining buckets here and I'm not at all upset about it. Instead, I've been wallowing around in bed reading The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. It's wonderful and I'm absolutely loving it. I spent a couple of hours on the phone with mama and Angie and then I made a huge pot of spaghetti. I took a shower. I did dishes. I ignored the wads of loose cat fur attached to the rugs. I poked Bea every time I walked by her to make sure she's still breathing, because she's about a hundred years old and that's what you do when you share your life with the elderly.

Last night we hung out at Bill's house for a few hours. There are really so many things I could say to elaborate. But I'll just tell y'all like I told Angie. An hour with Bill is a lot of fun... anything over that and your life starts resembling a Tim Burton movie: you're pretty sure you're enjoying yourself, but everything's starting to feel surreal. Afterwards, like way afterwards, John and I laughed ourselves stupid doing re-enactments of the evening. Days from now I'll be at work and suddenly get the absurd giggles because a phrase or gesture from last night will pop into my head. Probably it'll be the story about the night thirty years ago when John showed up at Bill's apartment with a bag of lobsters in one hand and an 8-ball of rock in the other and how they spent the rest of the night living like kings. Bill said at 9 o'clock the next morning, John shows back up and Bill says, "Man, I just saw you three hours ago, didn't you sleep?". And John answers, with his eyes the size of dinner plates, "Yeah dude, I slept. I slept like a baby: I shit my pants and woke up screaming."

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

John broke the strap on my pocketbook this morning and now I’m just going through the motions, pretending  I still love him. 

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

No one wants to hear about my aching, stiff and swollen joints.  I know this.  And yet I can’t help but put it out there.   I also can’t help feeling blasé and bored.  I have yet another doctors visit today and so I stayed home from work, swallowing ibuprofens the size of grapes and pretending like there’s not a sink full of dishes to be washed and a pile of clean clothes to be put away. 

John dvr-ed Mad Men and we watched it yesterday while eating salad and frozen pizza.  I made him pause it after the part where the Life magazine chick tells Peggy she looks ‘swellegant’ and then leans in and kisses her.  We had a brief discussion about what folks back then must’ve thought about  women who dressed masculine or men who were effeminate.  Were they thought of as homosexual or just ‘tom-boys’ and ‘sissies’ and that’s it.  Throw a label on it and go about your day.  I told John about the time my sisters and I were going through Daddy’s old high school annuals and we came across a certain boy whose name my sister Wendy recognized.  She asked Daddy if this boy wasn’t the same boy who had been the first known AIDS victim in our county and Daddy said that he was indeed.  So we asked more questions.  What he’d been like in school.  Was it obvious to everyone back then that he was gay?  Daddy said it just never occurred to him.  That he’d played on the basketball team with him and yeah, he was a ‘fancy-boy’ and acted kind of silly but no body really cared.  I guess when there’s only 30 people in your class you get used to things pretty quickly.  Daddy said the first time he ever thought about anyone being gay was in about 1960 when he was 20.  He’d found a job a couple of counties over and was staying at the YMCA.  I know, right?  He came in pretty drunk one night and was fumbling for the key to his room when a ‘fancy-boy’ strolled by him and said, “Hey big fella, how’d you like to take a trip around the world?”.  Daddy said, “Hell,  this is the first time I’ve ever been out of Lincoln County.” 

Saturday, August 14, 2010

After a full day of partying John and I are pooped and pleased to be home relaxing with the pussy brigade. I love youngun's and such but I swear if we had one there wouldn't be a head-hair left between us. I've said it before, but it surely bears repeating: I'm a chick what knows my limitations.

What I'm reading: Affinity by Sarah Waters. So far she's my favorite novelist of this century. I'd almost say the same thing about Joe Hill, but I haven't read Horns yet.

What I've read: Changeless by Gail Carriger, and Still Life by Louise Penny

What I'm watching: Inspector Lewis and Wallander courtesy of Netflix

What I'm eating: mater sammiches every day of my life. So far this is the summer of the tomato. Sometimes I eat them with salt and pepper and Dukes mayo between two slice of oatnut bread. Sometimes I eat them plain, like an apple.

This morning I told Mama that I have a hard time opening doors and bottles because my hands go numb and she said, "Yeah, I know what you mean. I've got a jar of pickles in my refrigerator that I've been working on for six months. I feel like one of them damn otters trying to crack open an oyster shell."

Of course no party is complete without John taking at least one profile picture of me holding a beer bottle. I could give lessons on how to be a classy lady.

A Whole Year Old

Happy Birthday Kendall!

Thursday, August 12, 2010

Oh Boy Cat Toy

This is my new favorite Etsy shop. It makes me laugh out loud.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

a plague upon your house

Last week Rotorooter unclogged our tree-root entrenched drains and then we got a fancy new commode.  Or “toilet” as everyone up here calls it.  But I can’t say “toilet” without feeling trashy.  Anyway, about 24 hours after all that went down, we found ourselves on the losing side of a drain-fly war.  Seems the rootering stirred up a nest of them and I swear to all that’s holy in this universe that we’ve got ourselves a veritable plague. 

A PLAGUE I tell you!

We’ve ordered some rock-em-sock-em-kill-em-dead stuff off the internets, but for the time being Clorox is my weapon of choice.  There’s nothing on earth that Clorox can’t fix. 

Sunday, August 8, 2010

More prettiness from Wilmington... six weeks after the fact. We've been having minor computer issues and wound up losing all of the pictures we'd downloaded or uploaded or whatever you call it. Also, for some reason, blogger isn't always privy to my company. I get half-way through a post and then I get kicked off. It's kind of annoying and my patience is super-model thin.

In other news:

My honey-bunny niece Katie B. is pregnant. Word on the skreet is that it's a baby boy and while I'm sure this thrills my sister Wendy to no end because she's -and I quote- "sick of stinkin' girls with their boobies and periods", it's still a very odd occurence in our family as we've only had one in the past fifty years. Literally. Anyway, if the baby turns out to be a boy-o I'm voting we give it a lovely old-fashioned name and then ruin it by nicknaming him "Skeeter" or "Pee-Dab".

For those who have never or for those who have before but just haven't in a while, please check out An Apple A Day which is where this picture came from. She has a created a picture perfect world of romance and beauty.

Saturday, August 7, 2010

We've finished season three of Mad Men and are now ready to start the new and current season. Other than my doctor telling me I have Lyme Disease, that's about all that's going down. I've been having this issue lately where I think that it's fall instead of summer or I think that it's Tuesday instead of Friday. Not for prolonged periods, but briefly and frequently. For a couple of seconds I think, 'oh good, we can pick up some cider at the orchard this weekend. Wait, crap, it's August and it's two jillion degrees outside.' Whatever, I just want a Lucky Strike and a whiskey. The bouffant hair I can take or leave.

Sunday, August 1, 2010


I'm feeling really generous today so here you go: If you haven't already, go browse through Awkward Family Photos. It's chock full of poor taste. We were up until three this morning having a laugh or twelve at other folks misfortune.

Friday, July 30, 2010

Netflix recommended I add Lovely and Amazing to my queue, which reminded me how much I enjoy looking at Catherine Keener. I think it's her big beautiful nose that does it for me. And maybe her slightly gapped teeth. She's very arresting and stare-worthy. She's also 51 if you can believe it.

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

John and I are Netflix-ing it again for the sole purpose of finally catching up with MadMen. I'm so infatuated with Don and Joan and Peggy that I can't even tell you. Everyone is so dreamy and delicious and I don't envy them one little bit. It's like watching a train wreck. Or like watching your out of control best friend make a shambles out of her life despite your repeated warnings. Only a lot more fun because there's minimal emotional investment. All you gotta invest is a netflix membership.

Anyway, we just watched an episode that closed with a Peter, Paul and Mary song and I do so love Mary Travers. She was a hotchie-totchie and damn-sam could she wail.
Judy gave us a jar of bread and butter pickles that she canned and I was all, hey, that's cool, because even though I'm not really jiggy with pickles of the bread and butter persuasion I'm always jiggy with anything that someone has canned themselves. So I tried them. Half an hour later the entire jar was gone. They're like candy. Like juicy, onion-ey, sweet and sour candy. Yesterday she sent over two more jars and I made it half way through one of them before I realized that my love for the pickles was about to turn into a full-fledged intestinal nightmare. I'm talking to' up from the flo' up. Like bent over double in agony because no matter how vehemently I deny it - I am allergic to onions. And I was slurping those bad boys down like there's no tomorrow. So that's the pickle story. The sickest part is that I'm still not 100 percent certain I'm going to be able to stay away from them. That's how flippin' good they are. Alright, maybe that's not the sickest part... but it's the sickest part I'm most comfortable sharing. You know, before I cross that line and this becomes one of those blogs.

Monday, July 26, 2010

Me and Molly. Yeah, I'm down with canines too.

Sunday, July 25, 2010

More of my favorite youtube chick.

Still haven't made it out of the house. Have however shampooed all of the rugs and carpeting in this tiny, tiny home of ours. I'm pretending like it smells better for John's sake. "Doesn't it smell a hundred times better?" he asks me, dripping with sweat, his bald head covered in errant cat fur and lint balls. "Like a fucking rose garden, sugar-boog." I answer emphatically.
I'm trying to talk John into seeing Despicable Me today. It's not the movie he's opposed to so much as it is the leaving the house part. It's about 9,000 degrees here and John hates hot. I'm not crazy about it either, but having lived the first 24 years of my life in the ol' dirty-dirty, I'm a tad more accustomed to it. Last Monday we saw Inception and have spent the rest of the week discussing how much we hated it and also reading about how much everyone else loved it. John says it's very telling when a movies good reviews are mostly comprised of comparisons to other "great" movies. Particularly if the other "great" movies also sucked ass. Of course, this opinion is coming from a couple of moes who text one another Step-Brothers quotes on a daily basis.

Thursday, July 22, 2010

I'd really like to be able to add something new to the conversation but truly this is what I do most of the time. I hold sweet-ass babies whose breaths smell worse than the county dump. Sometimes I read - Changeless by Gail Carriger - sometimes I watch something decent on tv - P!nk's Funhouse Tour on the Palladium Channel - sometimes I browse Etsy and thank sweetbabyjeezus that I don't have a lot of money or else I'd be up to my eye sockets in feminized men's button-down shirts and hipster nerd t-shirts and steampunk jewelry.