Friday, September 30, 2011

Season Finale

I've decided to stop blogging for an indefinite period of time. This is something I've been thinking about doing for a while now. Ever since Daddy died. And there's so much else that's weighing on me that I feel like I'm not being very forthcoming. I think that what I want to write has become too personal and emotional for me to share in a public setting. I'm frantic with the need to express what I'm feeling. I only ever started blogging in an attempt to make it easier for my busy and far-off family to keep up with me and also because I came to love and admire my fellow bloggers. But the time has come. I am tired. So I'm going back to pen and paper journaling. At least for a little while. I'll still be tweeting occasionally over on the Twitter if anyone cares to follow the happenings there. You can find the link in the side column. I love y'all. I really do.

Monday, September 26, 2011



This is pretty much the most perfect song ever. You can disagree with me if you want, but you'd be wrong, Colonel Sanders. Also, Marcus Mumford resembles a younger, fleshier Alan Cumming. I have a ridiculous crush on Alan Cumming.





I was gonna post more stuff, but it seriously took me like an hour and a half just to blog this little bit here. And I stole 2/3 of it from other innernet jokers.

Funny stuff of the day: John called out the station owner of WINY radio for leaving news teasers on their FB page. I don't blame him, cause I hate when news stations do that crap too. It's irresponsible and manipulative. Anyway, they got into a post duel and then John told him his station was "little more than a fifty watt bulb at the end of the dial".

We've been watching Raising Hope on Netflix. I haven't laughed this much at a sitcom in forever. If you have the means, I highly recommend it.

Sunday, September 25, 2011

Tomorrow I'm back to work. So tonight I'm gonna party like an Arquette.

Not really. I'm gonna make cheese ravioli and watch Inspector Lewis on Masterpiece and maybe take an Ambien or a Valium so's I can get to sleep before midnight. Sometimes John and I go to bed at 9pm and then wind up tweeting and reading and what-noting until 2am. It's ridiculous. I read somewhere that if you want to rest well, you're not supposed to do anything in bed but sleep and have sex. While that may be true, I still think it's dumb ass. Especially if you live in a one bedroom trailer and you need a little bit of alone time. Maybe if we had another room or a decent porch. But even then, I'm pretty sure I'd have pillows and blankets within arms reach out on my porch. I think that sleep and sex thing is for people who have big, fancy-pants, intellectually stressful jobs and who have to pencil one another in for naughty time.

It's been a decent two months off. My arm feels really good. No more numb and aching. I got to spend good times with Angie and Rachel. I got to spend good times with John and the boys. I got to have forty-eleven infarctions over Bea. But we've all come a long way during this time and I feel like it was highly necessary for our development as spiritual beings who love one another.

Bea had a couple of under the weather days and we were worried that we might have to assist-feed her again. But she rallied last night and has been eating well and interacting all day. I uploaded my first youtube video today:



It's nothing special, she's just happy and high and gorgeous.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

It's rainy here. Dreary and cool but humid all day. I say "all day" like I've been up since the crack of dawn, when infact, I only got up at 6:30am to see if the Mao had eaten (she did) and to offer her more tasty vittles (she accepted). Then I was back to bed until nearly ten. Like I was saying, it's rainy. So here's what's been going on at the Chez Shit-hole, as we call the trailer:

I went to the arm doctor yesterday and a workman's comp rep came along. She was nice as can be and we all agreed that I should return to work next week, but only for 8hrs a day. This was a huge relief to me, because the thought of going back to work for possibly 10 or 12 hours a day, the thought of just throwing myself back into my physically stressful job full steam ahead, was sort of giving me the vapors. I don't talk about my job on here because, while I don't hate the actual job itself, I do hate the way the company treats everyone as if they're non-entities. But... I am extremely grateful to have a job. I know all too well the stress and utter fear of being out of work and losing everything. I also don't talk about my job because it has so little to do with who I actually am. When I'm at work, I work my ass off, because that's just how I was raised. I want to be able to hold my own and I don't ever want to feel like someone has to pick up the slack for me. In the past, I've worked with stoners and 20 year olds and chronic whiners and bitchers. They didn't make anyone's life any easier. Most definitely not their own. So when I'm working, my main priority is to do the best I can to make sure someone else's life is easier. Pass it on, man. That's my theory. I have lots of acquaintances at work. I'll talk and socialize with anyone and everyone. But I'm also very private. If you ask me something, I'll most likely tell you what you want to know. But I'm not big on volunteering information. That's what this blog's for. I know a few people at work read it. It's not hidden. It's on my FB profile and I'm FB friends with just about everyone at my job. Also, I'm really big on holding my own counsel. Usually, if I can just write something out, then I don't need to talk about it. I'm not saying this is healthy. I'm saying it like it is.

What the hell was my point? Oh yeah, I'm going back to work and I don't have to work more than 8 hours a day.

John started Hep C treatment this past week. Basically he feels like he's got the flu. This will go on for at least 24 weeks. Ain't nobody doing cartwheels anytime soon, is what I'm getting at.

I've been trying to find a moving company that isn't going to charge me a bazillion dollars and John and I are discussing the possiblilty of holding off on the move until he's more established in his treatment. We are as conflicted and stressed as can be. I want the good fairy to swoop in and make all our decisions and appointments for us and to generally be the adult in our lives for the next couple of months. Any takers? I'll walk your dog and babysit your younguns for you. I'll fix dinner for you. But it'll have to be at your house, cause we haven't had a working oven in over three weeks. Can't even bake a damn batch of gooey, chocolatey comfort brownies. This is no effin' way to live.

Good stuff: Bea's eating like never before. She seems like her normal Bea self. I'm not doing so good with the sticking a needle in her neck and hydrating her part of it. We attempted earlier and it ended with John getting punctured in the leg. I could stick people with needles all day long. Animals... I'd rather stub my toe. Or bark my shin on a coffee table than stick a needle in an animal. Plus, they're really furry and you can't see a damn thing.



Also, spell check wouldn't work for this post. I'm usually pretty anal about my spelling. Not so much with this long-winded litany.

Saturday, September 17, 2011


We got to bring Bea home yesterday from her vet vacation. You'll notice in this picture she's flipping us off. She was hooked up to an IV for two days so you can understand her anger. Anyhow, she's home now and we're giving her fluids under the skin for the time being. How it's working is, keeping her hydrated is boosting her appetite and her all around general happiness. Her appetite is pretty damn awesome and she looks good. I mean, look at her... she's a dang rock star.



She even got a pink leg warmer! Not really, it's a bandage from the IV. Ain't nothing more sad than a cat or a baby with a bandage.

Thursday, September 15, 2011

Again With The Cat Talk

She was better, then she wasn't, then she was again, but then she totally wasn't. We took her back to the vet yesterday where she spent the night hooked up to an IV, hating us and you and the vet and the fishies in the sea. The vet is concerned that it might be liver cancer. On that happy note, we visited her this morning and she was thrilled as hell to see us. She ate three bowls of food for us and purred and snoodled with her little arm attached to an IV bag and a sticker on the door of her little kitty condo that read: "Bites!". The vet was impressed. We were ecstatic. So now, we're waiting a little while longer before we bring her home because we want to make sure her food stays down. As far as the "C" word... it can go eat a dick, cause if my cat's eating and not showing signs of pain or distress and as long as she's not shitting up a storm, well, she's not going any damn where.

Ya'll are all welcome to come visit me in the nervous hospital when the time comes. Maybe they'll let us make macaroni art together.

Saturday, September 10, 2011



Abby and Sage. Great-nieces #1 and #2. These two little things were both born since I've been living up here which kind of puts time into perspective. They're my sister Wendy's grandchildren. Wendy's responsible for a whole breed of pretty little blonde-haired, blue-eyed girls. I got caught up in it a few years ago and felt out of place and decided I should try blonde. It was okay for a minute. But every time I looked in the mirror I was a teensy bit startled.


She's still holding her own, is our Beatrice. I was able to grab a couple of decent pictures of her a little while ago when she was sunning it on the kitchen table. We don't actually eat off of that table, by the way. I just wanted to make that clear.

Friday, September 9, 2011

I'm Gonna Talk About My Cat Now

So last night I was feeding Bea and in the middle of it she puked a river. Like a literal-ass river. Projectile. Slimy and watery with tiny chunks of food and half of a hairball. I was mortified. And nauseated. Afterward, after I cleaned everything with Lysol and hot water and bleach, including Bea, I noticed that her nose was all congested and her eyes were streaming water and a whole miasma of other non-appetite conducive symptoms. So I figured she had something stuck up a nostril. I tried helping her sneeze it out, but well... let's just say, my bag of tricks was all together unproductive. It was a long night. We took her to the vet today because she's still snuffly and listless and her nose and ears were all hot and dry. I swear to god she sounded just like a little snuffed up baby. It nearly killed my soul. I cried for a while on account of I'm as attached to that cat as I am anything else on this earth and she's been right there with me for 15 years and I really don't know what I'll be if I'm not Bea's person. It'd be like having the key to my Mama's house taken away from me, or even cutting the Southern out of me. Things just ain't gonna jive no more. I'll be a wandering soul in this world. But for now that's not gonna happen. Cause Bea's not checking out on us just yet. The vet gave her a lot of fluid and said her throat is scratchy and her left nostril is clogged and sent us home with Clavamox. She perked up once we got home. Goddess bless crazy animal doctors who wield syringes full of feline Gatorade. I fed her a goodly amount of wet food and I even gave her some Greek yogurt... cause why the hell not.

Sometimes there's not enough alcohol in the world. Or at least within my reach.

Thursday, September 8, 2011

Things and Such

It's been a very book-ish time for me. Even though I'm not really plowing through them, I've been having a lot of luck finding good ones. Last week, I took off on a pilgrimage to two different Barnes and Nobles in search of Sinful by Charlotte Featherstone. I had read about it and how sort of controversial (I guess) it's supposed to be. I've tried refraining from learning too much about it while trying to glean the gist of the controversy. I didn't find it at either BN. Then I remembered that there's a Border's that's going out of business- and it also happens to be within the same area as the new Anthropologie store RAWR!. So I figured why the hell not. 70% off just about everything over at the Border's in Garden City. I got a couple of books that I'd been after for a while (Heartless by Gail Carriger and The Dark Enquiry by Deanna Raybourn) and I also found The Witch of Hebron by James Howard Kunstler which is the sequel to World Made by Hand. All for the grand total of $17. I was so stoked about my good fortune that I went ahead and ordered Sinful online. A few days go by and I finished the book I was reading and decided that I needed to read the next book in the series so I go to the library to see if it's there. Well, it wasn't. And the library is undergoing some major reconstruction so they only have one tiny room of random books. I gotta say. I effin' love tiny libraries. I like being surrounded by books. I think in bigger libraries you have to walk around too much to get to what you want. Whatever. Despite the size, I still managed to find five books that've been on my gotta read list. It was terribly satisfying. Plus, on the way out I held the door open for this older gentleman who was carrying a couple Faye Kellerman's and wearing a snazzy newsboy cap, an awesome worn-in pair of overalls and a lovely chambray shirt. Of course I had to compliment him on his choice of attire and he thanked me and told me he'd been wearing overalls for forty years because he always had a problem keeping his britches up. It totally made my day. Of course, I had to cry about it a little bit later because overalls make me think about my papaw.

All that leads me to what I'm reading now. All That Is Bitter & Sweet by Ashley Judd. It's really having a profound affect on me. Spiritually, emotionally. I'm re-thinking and taking inventory and all that stuff. I'm not sure I'm necessarily enjoying it. But I think that I need it.

Tuesday, September 6, 2011


Who the hell needs a marriage certificate when you've got matching arm scars? This is what my surgery scar looks like nearly seven weeks later. I went back to the doctor last week and he said to come back in a couple more weeks and he may release me to go back to work then. For once in my life, I kept my big, fat yap shut and didn't argue. John's scar is more than twenty years old and is the result of drug-abuse and a pair of sewing scissors. The story behind his is a lot more interesting and tell-worthy than mine.

Thursday, September 1, 2011

I Heart Moneena



Once again, Tonya was reading my mind and posted a Curb video. I have a love/hate relationship with this show. I hate to love it and I love to hate it. The marijuana episode is by far my favorite. John and I quote it all the time. Actually we can't even speak to one another without throwing a Seinfeld or Curb quote into the mix. It's pretty sad, actually.

"I'm gonna go in there and white that shit up." --Leon