Streak-O-Lean

Part 4

If you are just joining me on this story, you can read Part One, Two and Three to catch up. They are fairly short.

Brandi (that's Brandi with an "i") stood at the loading dock behind the Piggly Wiggly grinding a disregarded lettuce leaf into the ground with her cross trainer vividly imagining her father's face under her toe.  I hate him!  She brooded.  No, hate is too good for him... Death is too good for him because if I kill him he'd probably go to Hell and Hell is too good for him.  Brandi's father was self made, nouveau riche.  He had money.  Lot's of money.  Enough money to earn a membership at the country club (well, he wasn't black, Jewish, or a woman; and while he was a Yankee, he did marry on the right side of the county's tracks).  Enough money to be invited to every haughty charitable function and to-do.  The old money would greet him with a warm handshake and a gentle slug on the arm... until of course they turned their back and then they'd roll their eyes and look at each other as if to say "poor sucker."  After all, he was still a Yankee. And if it wasn't for some damn turn coat during the War Between the States selling southern secrets like tomato aspic and fat back to Ulysses S. Grant, they'd all still have their slaves and tobacco wouldn't cause lung cancer.  

Brandi's father believed in hard work and self discipline and inflicted upon his daughter these values as well.  Hence the forlorn teenager's position behind the Piggly Wiggly.  In order for Brandi to keep her car, her phone, and her pocket money, she had to maintain a part time job... of his choosing.  There would be no silly tromping through frilly underwear all day at Victoria's Secret or pretending to straighten clothes racks at Banana Republic.  He wanted her to really earn a dollar.  So he found a job for her stocking shelves and whatnot at the Pig.  It was the "whatnot" that really pissed her off.  "Whatnot" included aisle clean-ups, smooshed poopy diapers in the parking lot, sweeping the loading dock, and tasks in the restrooms that would require therapy in her not-to-distant future.

Streak-O-Lean

Part Three

Dotti sat on the french provincial couch in the living room. The living room where no one ever went unless it was Christmas morning or if someone died. The living room that was filled with furniture that belonged to her mother. Until this morning, Dotti never allowed food or drink of any kind in this room (see exceptions above) never mind the Virginia Slims Menthol she held gingerly between two yellowed fingers and the cup of black coffee sitting on the end table. She sat nestled into the corner of the sofa in her housecoat, legs tucked under her butt, staring into space.

Where did I go wrong? she thought. Did I give in too much? Is this because he didn't know his daddy? Hell! I didn't know his daddy! She looked at the mirrored wall clock above the chair across the room...6:30 am. No Teddy yet and soon she'd have to go to work. She couldn't call in again.

Curtis would have a cow! That asshole deserves to have a cow the way he's carrying on at work. Five more minutes and then I...Dotti heard the front door lock click. Teddy stumbled across the threshold nearly falling into the curio cabinet filled with Dotti's Precious Moments collection.

"Hey Mama!" He waved and gave her a stupid grin. In that grin Dotti could see her 8 year old little boy bursting into house after school. Her heart once again warmed to her son but she knew that now was not the time for nostalgia. She had blamed herself far too long. Teddy is 29 now and it's high time he shared the responsiblity for the screw up he is. Then she thought sadly, It's a sad day when you realize that you've raised jackass! Looks like I took better care of this furniture than my own son..she thought with self pity.

"Teddy," she said quite calmly.

"I know, Mama! I know!" he interrupted sloppily waving both hands in front of him.

"Teddy...I have to be at work in 30 minutes. Today I work until 4. When I get home, I want you and all of your shit outta my house. If you are not outta the house when I get home, I will call the Sheriff and he will be here while I remove you and your shit from this house. I love you but I cannot live in a constant state of fear any more." She snuffed her cigarette into the Betty Boop ashtray next to the couch, picked up her coffee and retreated to her bedroom. She closed her bedroom door and leaned up against it breathing deeply as if she had just run a marathon.

I did it...Oh my God! I just did it! I wasn't even planning on doin' it...Where'll he go? Where'll he live? NO! NO! You did the right thang! Stop it, Dotti, dammit! He needs this...and if he doesn't then he can just be bum on his own time.

Dotti started to cry. She cried for the loss of the hopes she had for that baby boy she held in the emergency room the night she gave birth and didn't even know she was pregnant. She cried for the overwhelming feeling of love and protection she felt for the tiny little person who quite literally dropped into her life. She cried, because until that little soul came into her life, she was as much a screw up as Teddy is now...maybe worse.

Streak-O-Lean

Part Two

Many things happen in a Piggly Wiggly and in the deep south, stories play out like The Young and the Restless on the crack rock. So this story goes on beginning in the local mall...hope ya'll enjoy!



Twila held the blue sequenced dress up to her chest, holding the hanger under her chin. She looked up expectantly at her boyfriend for approval. Instead of the look of rapture she expected, she found Curtis inspecting his teeth in the crome of the clothing rack.

"CURTIS!" she screeched. "I am TRYIN' to pick out a dress for the Christmas party and you ain't payin' a lick of attention!"

"Yes I am, Honey! I think that one's really nice."

"Nice? NICE?...Nice is not what I am going for CURTIS! Nice is what you wear to a birthday party when you're six! And you are NOT payin' any attention. What color was the last dress I showed you?"

"It was blue! See I am payin' you attention!"

"I meant the dress before this one! AND for your information, this is not blue. It's CO-BALT!"

Curtis stammered and shuffled his feet. He put his elbow on the rack next to him and leaned with a defeated sigh.

"I don't understand why this is so hard for you." Twila pouted. "I have to look my best and nice isn't going to cut it. SHE'S going to be there and I WILL NOT let that sow show me up!"

"Twila Honey, I'm with you now. May cain't show you up! Even if she does come to the party, I wouldn't even know it because my eyes will be on you the whole time!" Curtis smiled cleverly, proud of the debonaire way he handled the situation.

"THIS AIN'T ABOUT YOU CURTIS!" Twila hollered and slammed the blue dress back on the rack.


Life at the Piggly Wiggly was in upheaval at the moment. As the staff hung silver and gold shiny garlands (complete with card board cut outs of turkeys, hams, and unidentified casseroles), gossip was strung from Customer Service to the loading dock. The staff vibrated with excitement over the possibility that a cat fight might ensue at any moment; but secretly, they all hoped it would explode at the Christmas Party that weekend. Curtis, the store manager, had been married to May the bookkeeper for two years. About six weeks ago, he hired Twila to run Customer Service. Normally, the cashiers rotated shifts in Customer Service but it was discovered that one of the cashiers was stealing packs of cigarettes out of the cartons and then resealing the carton. Unable to decide who exactly it was, he decided to hire someone who could run Customer Service full time. He could pick up the shifts that Twila couldn't cover since that was where his office was anyhow. Twila and Curtis became very friendly. So friendly, that May would often stand and look through the glass partition above her desk to see the if the comradery had reached an unacceptable level. Unfortunately for her, May had very high hair. Thanks to Aqua Net and a good bit of teasing, Twila and Curtis could put 5 feet between them before May's eyes could surface above the brown paneling.

About a week ago, on a particularly bad hair day, May popped up for her periodic infidelity check. Instead of seeing Twila in her normal useless position, obsessively lining up the rolls of lottery tickets behind the counter, she saw no one. No one! The worst scenario imaginable! Determined to put her suspicions to rest, May pushed her chair back and kicked the small swinging door to her office wide open. The paper snowman holding fake frozen vegetables which decorated the door slid to the floor with the force of the kick. Eyes popped up over cash registers, grocery bags, and stock boxes and followed May and her limp hair. With another swift kick, May made mincemeat of the door to Customer Service (where paper Santa joined his friend Mr. Snowman on the floor). She walked past the rolls of lottery tickets and gave them a violent, mean-spirited spin as she passed on her way to the manager's office. The silence in the front of the store was deafening as the actors played their parts off stage behind green and red crepe paper streamers. Then as loud as if announced over the intercom May yelled,

"Goddamn Trailer Trash Whore! Cain't you find your own dick in that trailer park you live in? Hell! I heard your Daddy was back in town!"

With that said May stomped back through Customer Service, this time yanking the whole plexiglass lottery ticket cabinet off the counter, and left the store without a word to anyone.

Curtis emerged quickly from his office and stumbled over the cabinet on the floor. He was zipping up his fly as he ran out of the automatic doors yelling May's name. Tires squealed over pavement outside and seconds later the "lying, cheatin' sonofabitch" (more poetry from the jilted May) reappeared through the glass doors. Everyone in the store, frozen with shock, stared at the disheveled store manager. He then staightened his tie and said with as much decorum as was possible under the circumstances,

"Uh...uh..I'll be closing your drawers out this afternoon, Ladies."

Streak-O-Lean

Part One

"Can I have a clean up on Aisle 9?"

I stepped lightly through the supermarket store, feeling somewhat guilty for choosing toilet paper without the trolls (that's my pet name for the little demons). The woman's southern accent over the intercom rang loudly once again just as I passed under a speaker in the produce section.

"Brandi! I saaaid 'clean up on Aisle 9'!" then quieter but audible" I told you we shouldn't have hired that girl...she's probably out smokin' dope in the back..."

"Dotti..." the faint male voice in the background said, "...you know, the mic's still on..."

"Oh damn, Curtis! I always forget which button to mash!"...Click..

Two old women in tweed suits to match their age sniggered over the cantaloupes. The one with hair dyed with bottled ink put her whithered old hand on her friend's shoulder and said, "Dotti shouldn't be pesterin' that girl so much when she herself is a few marshmallows shy of a jello salad! You know..." she leaned in to her friend "Evelyn said that Ruby was out in her garden after Sunday school last weekend and overheard Roy tellin' Charlene that Dotti came outta her house in her housecoat justa hollerin' and fussin' at that boy of hers as he screeched outta the driveway!"

"NO!" replied the other old biddy.

"Yes! Well, Dear, they ARE mill people and I don't care how long that mill's been closed, mill people will always be mill people."

The plump old woman in violent red lipstick finished her sentence with a wave of a hand (freshly polished in the same color as her lips) to signify that there was nothing more to say about the subject. The two then returned to the pile of cantaloupes before them, pushing their thumbs into the bottoms of the fruit as a test for ripeness. I felt sorry for the poor melons to be prodded so by those garish nails. They noticed me across the pile and I smiled politely to let them know that I meant them no harm. But these were vintage southern women, prone to gossip, bourbon, and spite. I had to be careful! Then Inky spoke in that tone that is reserved for kings and rouge tinted old women.

"I haven't seen you in this supermarket before, Dear. Don't I know you from somewhere?" Hell no! She didn't know me but this was her way of being nosy without being rude.

"I don't think you do. I don't normally shop on Wednesdays." I wanted to add, Because this is Senior Citizens Wednesday and I'd rather have a mammogram using a meat slicer from the deli than be here while the town's octogenarians rummage through coupons and repeatedly remind the check-out girl that it's Senior Citizen's Wednesday and they get a 5% discount. After the typical round of questions including "Where do you attend church?" and my absolute favorite, "Who is your father?" I was able to escape with the melon that I didn't want that she had hand selected for me. I think I had passed the "Are you Mill People?" Test. In fact, if she had dug a little deeper she would have found that I was far worse...I was an Italian from New Jersey.

BE BACK SOON!!

I've been sewing like a mad woman!!! I'll be posting sometime soon but obsessed with my machine right now.

BOOK PLUG: The Last Apprentice

Just finished The Last Apprentice by Joseph Delaney. Absolutely LOVED it and am on my way to the store to buy the whole series!! Witches, boggarts, ghosts, and ghasts...makes for great fall/Halloween reading. It's a teenage book/ children's book but pretty scary. Gonna read it to my kids in October. HIGHLY RECOMMENDED!!!

MAD MADGE is seriously in TROUBLE!

I have no idea how this award thingy works. I don't know if or how you send it so I am sure you all will let me know. This award is for Madge. It's for making blogging seem so fun (well, it is!) but never telling me that everything else in my life will become obsolete...Okay! Okay! I'm getting the baby her bottle already! It is also for those bloggers whose posts keep us from getting to the things we all need to be doing. Well, maybe need is a too strong a word.

Dearest Madge
Your madness reigns.
I've created this award
in your blessed name.

You painted pictures
of a world divine
where people like me
could speak their mind.

A place where tears
can be we wept unabashed,
and laughter rings
through this internet cache.

An Eden so tempting,
a red apple with appeal.
But Pandora's Box
was cleverly concealed.

So today is your day
to be honored, Fair Queen!
Or perchance might your name
really be EVE?

I Smite Thee O Jackass Who Parketh in the School Car Line!

As I waited in the car line this afternoon for Son to get out of school, the lady in the car in front of me decided that it would be quicker if she GOT OUT OF HER CAR (yes, while the car is still in the single file car line which has now begun to move forward) and WALK to the front of the school to pick up her child. So we, and about 20 cars behind us are blocked from either moving ahead or back. When said jackass returned with jackass son, I got out of my car and asked if she was having car problems. She said "No." So I told the super sized jackass that her parking her car in the car line caused many problems for all in the car line. Jackass replied snidely, "Thank you for the information." I replied, "Well, maybe you'll learn something from the information because IT'S ALL ABOUT YOU!" I didn't hear anything after that because jackass's son was simultaneously yelling obscenities at me. He was probably all of 11 years old but not too young to learn jackass ways from jackass mother! Then I told the principal on her.

I miss him...

Tony's been gone a week...He comes back today... I must miss him terribly because now I have resorted to cleaning my dining room crystal chandelier to occupy my mind as he gets on a plane for the 11th time this week...

ENTITLEMENT is NOT a VIRTUE!!!

NOTE: I read Tootsie Farklepants post at Vintage Thirty and became inspired to write this post. I had the math homework conversation last night with Son (see below). I hope she doesn't mind my comiserating with her but I had to vent and after reading her post, I felt so much less alone in the world of tween parenting.


I am SICK SICK SICK to death of the sense of entitlement that these shitbird (sorry, there goes that word again) kids have nowadays. (Oh God! I sound like my grandparents). Let me make it more clear with a few examples:



1. "It' not my fault."

Example: We're sitting at the table and son pulls out math homework and announces he has taken home the wrong math sheet. So I ask him about the unfinished mathsheet in his hand. Son says that was last night's homework. So, I blow a gasket and tell Son that he is not being responsible. So he gets upset and says, mind you, seriously, " How is it my fault that I picked up the wrong math sheet?"

2. "What d'ya mean I...?!?"

Example: Son does not have cell phone. Occasionally, Son uses one of my cell phones when at the park, or going to functions outside of the home like sleepovers, etc. Son looses the cell phone we allowed him to use. We tell him that he will have to pay for the lost cell phone. "What d'ya mean I have to pay for it...I didn't mean to lose it!! That's unfair!"

3. "They (as in school teachers, administrators, etc.) can't do that to a kid!"

Example: My husband is an artist and I am sure that this does not help situation at all! Son goes to school and gets caught drawing in class. The teachers at his school are very accomadating to Son's skill in art and try to incorporate his abilities into school work. Hell! It's an arts magnet school! He get's two hours of art everyday! The rule however, is no drawing in class. Teacher takes son's art (after third time of warning) and pitches it into the trash. Son says to me when he gets in the car, "You need to go up to the principal's office and get her fired! They can't do that to a kid! It's my ART!!!"

SICK! SICK! SICK! does not even begin to cover the crap this child...yes, CHILD! is throwing my way. It's time for a COME TO JESUS MEETING!!



I disagree...Sometimes you do need a proctologist for a cerebral hemorrhage...I am the one hemorrhaging and he's the one who needs my foot up his butt!!

Christmas in August!

Hello Everyone! So it turns out that my three children are all born in August. Evidently, Thanksgiving is more fun than I remember. Tryptophan must be the new date rape drug...anyhow, the birthdays are August 3, 13, and 23. Please don't ask how I managed that. The first two were both inductions so maybe I could've fudged those but the third one (last year) came on her own to my huge delight. (Those of you who have had an induction where the epidural did not work will understand). So August is like a mini Christmas for us financially but strategically it lasts for pretty much the whole month. To add a little something special, school starts in the middle of it all. Why haven't I thrown myself off of a cliff you ask? Because crazy people don't know they're crazy...AND a good dose of any psychopharmaceutical will keep you on the straight and narrow.

The point of this post is that I have a first and thirteenth birthday left to plan (Geez.. must have done something really wrong somewhere). I am going to take a bit of a break to muddle through August. Come September first, I will probaby be either dead or really hungover. See you then!

P.S. I REALLY miss being pregnant. I will hate it when, on the 13th, I will not be able to say "Last year at this time I was pregnant." DH just doesn't understand this at all. Maybe no one does but me.

Why Do I Do These Things?!?

I do a lot of stupid things, some of which I attribute to being overworked, exhausted, stressed to breaking point, lack of personal time and space, etc. But then there are really just plain ol' stupid, lights on-no one home, things. I thought I'd share some of them with you...

1. Why do I think that I can go into a Target and get only that which I need, i.e., toilet paper, vacuum bags, batteries, etc.?

2. Why do I rationalize going into Target for said items by saying to myself that Target is so much cheaper than the supermarket when I have never even bothered to see what I pay for these items?

3. Why do I have a serious compulsion to buy things at Target when they have those little orange markdown stickers even if I don't need them or have a place for them?

4. Why can I not leave Target without spending $100 on ...well, I don't know what I bought...where's that receipt?

5. What is so attractive about a red bullseye?

(okay, no more Target)

6. Why do I go into restaurants where they have TVs and sit there, mouth open, staring at a stupid screen that I cannot hear showing some sports event I couldn't care less about? I barely watch my TV at home....what gives?

7. Why do I still judge a book by it's cover knowing full well that photoshop and a crafty publisher can make the worst written crap look good?

8. Why do I bring that glass of Diet Coke to bed with me each night only to wake up to a full glass of flat Diet Coke on my nightstand the next morning?

9. Why do I still think, after being late to just about everything in my life, that I can get out bed and get ready 15 minutes before I have to leave the house?

10. Why do I buy self-help books when clearly they are not working?


Just being a little introspective this evening...Gotta go now. It's bedtime and I haven't poured my Diet Coke yet.

Love to all!

Tony at Work

I wanted to answer Phd in Yogurtry's question in the comments but I couldn't post the pictures there. I found these on the internet (I don't keep a lot of Tony's art on my computer because the way he scans in his art makes the images huge for printing..yada yada yada). These images are small and I tried to make them bigger sorry..Here's Tony actually doing work.



Here's an example of his work. This is a nice cover because the guy who poses for the man character in Ex Machina is married to the character in the background in real life. Just the prettiest people you'd ever like to meet and so nice too.



I wish that I could match up some photos with the art but that would require my going into his studio and I make it a point to NEVER go into his studio.

Living with THE ARTIST

Hi All! I am married to an artist...for those of you who are not married to an artist you might think that this is fun and interesting...and yes, it is. BUT (of course there's a BUT!)being married to a comic book artist can drive you right to the door of the looney bin! Not a problem, I am quite familiar with how to get there.

I guess I am lucky because I "get" to stay at home with my kids but that also means I "get" to stay home with my husband too. My husband's work is VERY photorealistic and that means he takes lots of photos of lots of people doing lots of crazy expressions and poses (don't worry, nothing kinky). He knows that I H*A*T*E his taking pictures of me and that if he does I will NOT make stupid expressions...For example...

Here he is very threatening...



and here he has made himself a homeless dude...yes, his hat says "Smart Ass White Boy." Heeyyyy! That's my vintage quilt he's dragged outside!



and this is one of my favorite pics!



and now for the action shot!



This makes for very interesting conversation at neighborhood get togethers...except ALL of my neighbors are in his comic books. One actually has a fan base. I'll bet if I brought her to conventions fanboys would line up to see who poses for Amy Angotti in Ex Machina (yeah, that's one of his books...no, I don't read it either).

Good Lawd! I was just looking back at one of those pics and my floor is NAST-EE! OCD aside, he has been known to bargain with me for photographs. NOT THOSE KIND OF FAVORS! GEEZ! Well, not all the time anyhow...

So, fair warning, should our paths ever meet, you might have a camera stuck in your face by a bearded crazy man shouting "A NEW FACE! Gimme mad, no I mean REALLY mad...okay, now act like your climbing stairs, do you know how to hold a gun? Don't worry, it's not real."

This post is like my ultimate payback for all the pics he's conned me into or just taken without asking. On the downside, he knows I'm posting them and he doesn't care. Well, I had fun anyhow.

Look What I Can Do!!

Do any of you watch Mad TV? I LOVE those skits that have Stewie and his mom...he's a grown man, usually in tighty whities running around like he's six years old saying "Look what I can do!!" For those of you who know the skit you will more than likely laugh...for those of you who do not, well I just hope you come back to my blog sometime. I have some bizarre tastes in comedy...

Anyhow, LOOK WHAT I CAN DO!! Finished this scarf last night...

BOOK PLUG!!! Within the Shadows by Brandon Massey

I just finished this book. Very scary! It takes place here in my own backyard (Middle Georgia) and there were times when I turned on more lights in my bedroom, if ya know what I mean. It is graphic in both violence and sex but I really enjoyed the story line and the way this guy writes. It's the story of a young mystery/crime writer who is looking for Ms. Right and definitely finds Ms. Wrong...mix in a few ghosts, a strained relationship with his dad, and some good friends and Voila! Instant entertainment. Loved it! This is my first read by this author and I would pick up something of his again. (Is it me, or am I into the horror/thriller genre lately?)

Back on the WA WA...

Today I started back on Weight Watchers...I don't know why I think it will work this (the billionth) time. Actually, it always works...I just quit after a few months. I do have to say that I never gain more than half back, so I figure by the time I am 92 years old I will be the exact weight that I imagine I should be. Damn! I'll look good then!

What bothers me most about being overweight is the impact I may have on my daughters. I try never to say anything disparaging about myself around my children and I try not to make it everyone's business that I am counting points or limiting the Oreos (ahhh Oreos...). But what message am I sending to them that I am not even aware of? I don't exercise and the fact that I am overweight must send some message...You know, if everyone just realized that I am a goddess, things would be a lot easier!

And then there's the BATHING SUIT ISSUE!!! I had to go and buy one this year. Last year I was pregnant and didn't give a rat's you-know-what what I looked like...and never felt more beautiful...what kind of sense does THAT make? So I picked the least of the five evils that I tried on at Macy's and went to the pool. It's a really cute suit and considering that I am overweight, I am happy with it. I am hoping my positive attitude takes care of some of the less obvious physical flaws.

Besides, my 8 year old little girl thinks I am beautiful in it and that's what matters to me.

BOOK PLUG! THE HOUSE NEXT DOOR

Hey Guys. Just wanted to add a book plug here for The House Next Door, by Anne Rivers Siddons. I found it to be somewhat horrifying and a good read all in all. It's about a house that has a life of it's own with decidedly dark intentions. I recommend it. It's not a lifechanging book or one that you'll find on a University's Great Books list but it's very fun if you like the "It was a dark and stormy night..." kind of thing. You can find the book cover on the left of the page. If you click it, it will take you to Amazon for a better description.

Shitbird and Other Term s of Endearment

Let me go ahead and apologize for the language up front...First and foremost, I think cursing is beautiful form of self expression (thank Jesus my kids don't know about this blog or I would be so eating crow). In our home, Tony and I have a term of endearment for all beings under our roof...Shitbird....say it, it's fun to say...Shitbird...We also say things like "Are you on the Crack Rock?" when the kids do stupid things (yes, don't cringe, we also use the word stupid). We use words that are appropriate for the situation. There's no candy-coating in this domicile!

After surfing the blog world, I decided that I will not be hesitant to talk like I do all the time...that includes some language that some may find offensive. So here's the disclaimer:

THIS BLOG MAY CONTAIN SITUATIONS

OR LANGUAGE INAPPROPRIATE

FOR SMALL CHILDREN.

PARENTAL SUPERVISION IS ADVISED.

Okay, now for my rant...

So I'm doing laundry the other day (notice I did not say that I "did" the laundry the other day because it doesn't ever end! There's a 4' X 4' area of my kitchen floor that hasn't seen the light of day in years due to the pile in front of my washer and dryer. I just mop around it...when I mop), and I notice that there's a shirt of my 13 year old son's on top of the pile that I JUST put in his room to be put away, i.e., it was clean! Okay, he's 13 and was careless...So I put it in the washer to wash it AGAIN and I go to grab the next item and it's CLEAN!!! As is the next and the next...Now I am PISSED for two reasons:

Number one, the f**king clothes are CLEAN and I so LOVE doing the damn laundry. I have a freaking Bachelor of Science in Engineering and Masters Degree in Public Administration but LAUNDRY is my preferred occupation! When I was given the chance to be a stay-at-home-mom and leave the workforce, LAUNDRY was all I could think about. I didn't have to wait anymore until AFTER work to do the LAUNDRY...I could do it all day long! For those of you who work, try not to be jealous. Oh! It couldn't have been my 8 year old girl's LAUNDRY. It had to be my son's laundry which is saturated with little boy STINK....mmmm...mmm..Sarcasm aside, I wanted to wring his newly-adorned-with-an-adam's-apple neck.

Number two, if you're gonna put clean clothes back in the laundry instead of putting them in your drawer, at least wait a few days to walk the 100 or so steps back to the kitchen (instead of the three to your drawer) to put them back in the pile...I might second guess myself and consider the fact that perhaps you wore them and I didn't notice...AND, UNFOLDING THEM WOULD BE SMART!!!! SHITBIRD! SHITBIRD! SHITBIRD! Not only did I give birth to a 10 lb 3 oz sloth, but a dumb ass one at that.

13 year old son does his own LAUNDRY now... Thanks for letting me rant...

Things I Do While Ignoring Housework and BIlls

Hi All! Just wanted to post some pics of the beginning of the pirate quilt I am piecing/quilting and the blanket I am knitting... I am appliqueing the pirate flags and those damn skulls have tiny little teeth...Remind me to slap the %$@*!& outta Blackbeard! The fella in the pic is Jack Rackham and as you can see his teeth are in need of sewing and braces wouldn't hurt either...He'll be lucky if he ever sees his top teeth...

What a Warm Welcome!! Thank You Everyone!

You Guys are so nice to welcome me! I had been toying with the idea for sometime but telling someone you are blogging and actually having people LOOK at what you are writing always made me feel...well, it's kinda like one of those dreams where you are naked in some bizarre public place....I guess that would be a nightmare for everyone involved. HA! Anyhow, thank you and look forward to reading about everyone..

Living Downtown

Note: I posted this on an old website that I was having problems with. It speaks a lot about who I am so I decided to repost it here.

I have to say that living downtown in a southern city does have it's perks. My husband and I call it "porch time." Our home has a big white (It's actually kind of gray with wood tones due to lack of paint.) wrap-around porch with one of those vintage metal porch couches. The cushions are old and are full of pollen and what ever else is airborn at the time. Comfy enough to sit on but old enough not to care if a kid spills Kool-Aid.

Every afternoon, more or less, Tony and I have cocktails on the porch and play some board or card game. Ah 5 o'clock! The magic hour when everything seems right in the world. The birds are chirping, the bees are buzzing, the mosquitoes are biting, children are fighting over whose turn it is to do whatnot, and everyone in the neighborhood is out of the house after a busy day to see who's out and about. Usually, we all end up on someone's porch to either celebrate or commiserate about the events of the day. Once the time changes and the days are longer, bedtimes in my house seem to go right out the window because we usually are "visiting" until at least 8 o'clock. Who cares! School will be out soon and at least the little trolls aren't sitting on the couch zoning into Cartoon Network land.

We're very lucky. We have everyday in our neighborhood that which most only have on weekends. If you're in the suburbs, that might be never.

Speaking of Pirates...

Okay, I am typing on this stupid (please, no offense to mac users) mac laptop and I keep hitting all of the wrong buttons so my blog today may look a little inebriated. This, unfortunately, does not reflect on the blogger... I am,however, completely responsible for all misspellings. I would use spell check but I become too horrified at how efficiently I mutilate the English language... When I get back to my pc, all will be right with the world.

Alright, back to pirates...My husband's illustration studio is call Jolly Roger Studio. Needless to say, we're big pirate fans.
Everything is skull and crossbones in our lives, from home decor to personal accessories (even to the dismay of some who think I am too old to wear headbands with pink skull and crossbones on them). I am, as we speak...I mean, blog.., making a pirate quilt for my dearly beloved for his 40th birthday. The book mentioned in the last book plug is firing the inspiration. I am really excited and will post pictures as soon as I figure all this bloggedy blog blog crap out.

BOOK PLUG! Pirates Make Me Feel all Warm and Fuzzy!!

I am presently reading "Silver, My Own Tale as Written by Me with a Goodly Amount of Murder" by Edward Chupack. My family is BIG into pirates and this book is a blast! It's basically the life of Long John Silver as written by himself after he is captured. It has about 100 gallons more blood than Treasure Island and gives a really good look at the sea dog eat sea dog world of pirates. So me hearties, drop yer landlubbin' ways and set sail!