Life in Queen Medb's Castle
Saturday, June 21, 2003
Man oh man, I love this kind of weekend! We eat when we're hungry, sleep when we're tired and just do nothing or whatever all day. We see no one, talk to no one and very rarely even step out of the house. Heck, we usually just wear pjs. These weekends are way too few and way too far between but WOW they are wonderful!
Snorting with Laughter
Congratulations, hugs and kisses to Mr. Simon for uncovering Orrin Hatch's use of unlicensed software on his Official Website. Oh, this is just too good! Here's the Wired News article, if you want to read it too.
Some people! And here I had been giving out all kinds of sympathetic thoughts to the poor elderly man who had been kidnapped and left in the National Park. Now I read this! Sheesh! I take back all those sympathetic thoughts, you Connivin' Old Geezer.
Chilli for Breakfast
I've said it before, I'll say it again. . . My husband makes the world's best chili. It's so darn good I passed up my usual yummy breakfast fare to sit here and eat a bowl at this early hour. Oooooh, my esophagus is burning. . . Man that's some darn good chili!
Friday, June 20, 2003
It's almost the weekend and we don't have the Butterfly this weekend, so you know what that means. . . .
Non-stop Dungeon Siege!
Yup, we'll fire up the LAN and play til we can't keep our eyes open, sleep and then start it up again. Stoney'll drink a couple dozen pots of coffee, we'll have chili (he's the BEST chili maker in the world and is going to work his magic for dinner tonight and we'll eat on it all weekend) and we'll battle, side by side, against Krugs, Bandits, Skeleton Warriors, Trogs, Goraks, Muccosas, Sand Bashers, Zombies, Wraith Archers, Braaks and the like. We'll make it possible for the inhabitants of the Utrean Peninsula (or the Kingdom of Ehb, whichever we choose tonight) to grow their giant cabbages in safety, once more.
And if, by some freak chance, we grow bored of that, we can start on Unreal Tournament again and frag each other to chum for hours on end. It's been a really long time since we've played Unreal--we've been sieging dungeons for over a year now. But, no matter what we do, we'll be playing together and having a blast doing it.
Man, I love these kind of weekends!
I pity those couples who don't have separate computers. How can they play together? Just a tip to any woman out there who thinks her husband/boyfriend/fella spends too much time playing pc (or even console) games--try playing with him, you moron! Games are FUN. And, if you're like me, you can always turn the gore off so that you don't know that things splatter.
There's no excuse NOT to play. Don't say you don't like the kind of pc/console games he plays, cause I'll ask if you've ever tried playing them! I turned my nose up at Unreal, til I sat down to play it for the first time. That's the whole reason we ended up with a LAN--so I could whup his butt at Unreal. Oh, and I do! And, of course, to play Lords of the Realm and build little kingdoms to compete with each other, all the while sending silly IMs. I'm not so good at kingdom building, but I still play.
Nowadays, one of the first things we look at when we're considering a new game is whether or not we can play it on the LAN together. If we can't. . . well we rarely buy those kind any more.
The point I'm trying to make is this--I try out his pc games, he tries out mine and we play together. That's why we are such great friends as well as spouses. The couple that slays together, stays together. Happily. And they never run out of things to talk about.
Thursday, June 19, 2003
Martha's New Digs
I take no credit or demerit for these whatsoever. A friend, Venus, had got 'em from a friend who had got 'em from a friend and so on. My humor may not be as sophisticated as Stoney's (check out tonight's pic), but these made me laugh.
Stoney and My Parents
My parents really dig Stoney. They seem to think that my redneck husband is the best thing since indoor plumming. I think it's because he's the only fella I ever went out with who either didn’t speak English as his first language or that didn't have hair a foot longer'n mine. Or both.
And it’s really a good thing that they like him, with one exception. They spoil him.
Oh, sure, they spoil me, too, but that’s to be expected. I’m an only child, their little girl. I’m SUPPOSED to be spoiled! But, now I have to SHARE that spoiling with him. I went 28 years as an only child and now I’m having to learn how to share. And it’s hard.
A few weeks ago, they got us a new refrigerator. It probably came about due to the fact that Stoney and my Dad were talking about the digital cameras, Stoney expressing a desire to have one and me squelching it by saying that for what we would spend on a digital camera, we could get a new fridge which we needed a whole lot more.
Our avacado green one was leaking pretty badly and I was starting to fear for our health, and the Butterfly was getting to where she didn’t really want to eat anything that had been in there, so. . . as a gift, Dad and Mom bought us a beautiful new white one. Oh, and it is grand!
Then, out of the blue, the week before Father’s Day, they called to say that they had bought Stoney a digital camera. It was meant to be an early birthday gift (extremely early because that holiday is celebrated in September), but instead it became a Father’s Day gift.
Naturally, I was extremely excited about this, too, seeing as how I'm the only photographer in the family. I mentioned my excitment and how I was looking forward to using it, to which he replied “Oh no you're not. They got YOU the refrigerator, remember.”
“Yes,” I explained calmly, “but you are using "my" new fridge, so I should get to use your new camera.”
“Well, I’m only using your fridge because you threw mine away,” was his reply. *rolls eyes and sighs* A truce was reached, naturally,and I’ve taken some pretty good photos with it on our first outing. I'm really tickled that they saw their way to looking after both of us--getting what we needed AND what we wanted.
But, that still doesn’t change the fact that I’m having to SHARE my presents, uh, parents with him.
Johnny RebThat good lookin' fella is Stoney. 'Bout 20 years ago, granted, but it's him. (I think he's better lookin' now, though, but that's neither here nor there. . . ) We had a Confederate couple photo taken two years ago, but this is the only one of just him. I'm trying to get him to use it on the Rebel Yell banner or something.
US Securities Regulators
They're busy again. Keeping track of financial firms and their IMs. Wonder where they plan to store three years worth of "Are you finsihed with that stupid client yet? I'm hungry!" "Yeah, he's gone. Wanna get Chinese?"
Question. . .how's that gonna make us more secure? Just askin'!
Update--the link works now.
Back to the Snot
I posed some pretty serious questions in re: snot, back on 16 June, and I've not come up with a single answer. Just more questions!
How come I never hear the snot-production factory at work? Do they only do their snot-producting factory work at night? And could that be what snoring really is--a snot-production factory that's not very well-oiled. The rusty machinery could be making that awful noise. Couldn't it? Just askin', that's all. . . .
But if that is it, Stoney's factory needs an overhaul!
We receive an abnormally large, to my mind, amount of credit card applications. Maybe it's due to our ZIP code. We do live in the more rural part of the county. Perhaps the Credit Card Crooks think those of us in this area haven't discovered the modern miracle that is credit. Then again, maybe they're all just getting flat-out desperate for business and sending everyone a million a year.
Our record is seven applications, from seven different companies, on the same day. Seven. Goodness!
Today we only got three. One for Stoney, one for me and one for Stoney's ex-wife who's been remarried and living in another town for six years now. Go figger.
What's France up to now? Has the world turned full circle back to the days of banning books? Next thing you know France'll be staging book burnings of all anti-French propaganda. Reminds me of one of the powers we took on partly on France's behalf, doesn't it you?
Of course, if they really are just stopping it temporarily til after the Elf trial, that's one thing, but. . . I'm in a cynical frame of mind this morning, so naturally I've jumped from a book block to a book burning. No more news for me today. I'm going back to bed!
Just what do the authority figures do?
I'm not going to get started on this one. I'm just not, other than to say that why didn't the Authority Figures do a little more about it over the past 15 years? Hmmm? Isn't that what these Authority Figures are supposed to do? Hmmm?? Did they just not believe the victims or was it just not important enough or did it interfere with their coffee and donut breaks? Okay, not going there. Stopping now before I have an attack of some kind.
But it's good to know that he's been feeling "very agitated and remorse-stricken" and "very troubled at times over the past several weeks". Thanks to his lawyer for clearing that up for us.
Sorry, you idjits, but that one's been tried already. Leave the Beatles out of it, okay?! Sheesh! I mean--show me the killing influence in this, okay???
"When I get to the bottom I go back to the top of the slide
Where I stop and I turn and I go for a ride
Till I get to the bottom and I see you again.
Do you, don't you want me to love you
I'm coming down fast but I'm miles above you
Tell me tell me tell me come on tell me the answer
You may be a lover but you ain't no dancer.
Helter skelter helter skelter
Will you, won't you want me to make you
I'm coming down fast but don't let me break you
Tell me tell me tell me the answer
You may be a lover but you ain't no dancer.
Look out helter skelter helter skelter
Look out, cause here she comes.
When I get to the bottom I go back to the top of the slide
And I stop and I turn and I go for a ride
And I get to the bottom and I see you again
Well do you, don't you want me to make you
I'm coming down fast but don't let me break you
Tell me tell me tell me the answer
You may be a lover but you ain't no dancer.
Look out helter skelter helter skelter
Look out helter skelter
She's coming down fast
Yes she is
Yes she is."
People need to stop blaming their stupidity, cruelty and flat-out meanness on other people and TAKE RESPONSIBLITY FOR THEIR WRONGS! And we need to stop letting people get away with blaming their actions on stuff--song lyrics, violence on tv, and console games--other than their own desire to do wrong. Man oh man that's what's wrong with us today--no one wants to take responsibility for their actions.
"Uh, gosh Officer, I'm sorry I was speeding but the advertisement on the radio said I needed to hurry right down to the store before the sale was over!" "Oh, well, in that case, Ma'am, you just go on ahead, you weren't responsible for your actions. I'll just tell the families of the three people you ran over and they'll understand that you just couldn't help it."
STOP SHIRKING, FELLOW HUMAN BEINGS, AND START BEING RESPONSIBLE.
Update--here's another take on this story. What is wrong with people today??? I gotta quit reading the news!
Further update--Stoney says that if that's the best defense they could find (Helter Skelter, that is) they should've at least looked to see if it worked for Manson. Like he said, a simple internet search would've done the trick.
Despite my near-fatal ante-meridian allergies, I got up to make muffins for Stoney this morning, as I promised. I do these chocolate chip muffins that probably have entirely too much sugar content to qualify as breakfast, but they make Stoney happy and anything that makes him less likely to listen to the voices is a Good Thing!
If he didn't have to work tomorrow and therefore need sleep more'n I do, I'd go wake him up and make him talk to me. But, as it is, I'll let him be and I'll surf or read a few more minutes and maybe my mind will catch up with my eyeballs and want to go to sleep.
Sheesh, I promised I'd get up and make muffins in the morning. That'll be rough! Remind me to tell you how vehemently I despise the mornings, okay?
Can't sleep, got something on my mind. Luckily, Stoney is sleeping okay. I know because I can hear him clear in here. Sometimes he sounds like he's about to choke to death, sometimes I think he's about to stop breathing. When it really bad, I just roll him on his side and he's fine. He must be on his back in there right now. I tape-recorded him storing once and he had to admit it was pretty funny.
What's really funny, though, is how used to his snoring I've become over these past couple of years. Used to, I'd try real hard to go to sleep before he started, but now, I can't go to sleep unless I hear him snoring. How odd is that?
And another thing. . . At first, the bed was WAY too warm with him in it. He must generate enough body heat to power our house. But now, once he gets out of bed, I'm cold and have to add covers.
I guess it just goes to show that a person really can get used to just about anything.
Wednesday, June 18, 2003
On Coons and Mangos
The kitchen had gnats badly yesterday evening. Once I finally traced them to the source of two overripe mangos, I, naturally, decided to chuck 'em. I don't remember now if it was too dark or too rainy or if I was just too lazy to go outside, but instead of taking them to the gully and throwing them in, I left them, in a Food City bag, on the front porch. (It's more a stoop, than a porch, by the way.)
When I went out today, there the bag was, with a huge hole in it and mango remnants all over the stoop, steps, sidewalk and yard. Something, and I figger it to be a coon, ate nearly all of both of them, some skin included! I'll bet it had a monstrously bad belly ache today, too!
The Laundry Mat
(Is that how you spell it? I'm a really bad speller and the spellcheck wasn't sure either.)
Our dryer's still broken, so I had to tote all the clean laundry to the laundry mat today. The last time I went, no make that the time before last, there was a nice middle-aged* country fella there who worked across the street at the gas station. He offered to carry my laundry in for me, cause he's a country fella and was raised right. I said no, but after I'd been there 35 minutes and listened to his life history and how the girl whose Momma used to babysit him 30+ years ago has recently become single again and they're now dating and he's happier than he ever was. . . . Anyway, after listening to all that, I decided he was a pretty okay fella and let him carry my laundry out when I left.
Today, instead of him, there was a twenty-somthin' Poo-headed Goofball sitting there. He watched me struggle in with my three baskets of
I say he was a Poo-headed Goofball because he didn't offer to help the Pregnant Lady carry her stuff in. Even a CarpetBagger would've offered assistance in those circumstances. What a Poo-headed Goofball!
But this isn't about the Poo-headed Goofball, it's about my laundry mat experience.
So, I toted in my
Or I would've if I could've found that other dollar. Somehow, between the bedroom and my purse it escaped into that ZONE where the single socks live. So there I was, pouring my purse out on the folding table, valiantly searching for quarters. I came up with two extras, but not four.
I asked Poo-headed Goofball if he had change for a five. He looked at me as if I were quoting Thucydides' History of the Peloponnesian War. In the original Greek. He then patted his pockets and mumbled something unintelligible that I took to mean no.
I decided that the whites and darks loads could just dry less (the towels needed the whole time), so I put seventy-five cents in each of those and let it be. Then I settled down to my book. For about two minutes. The dryer containing my dark clothing stopped. Just stopped. Dead. And wouldn't give me back my money. CURSES!
Poo-headed Goofball looked on.
Instead of going on a rampage and tearing his spleen out, I put on my best ladylike manner, grabbed my purse and walked to the gas station across the road. I bought a bag of peanut M&Ms that I didn't really want (you want 'em Stoney? They're in my purse), got change for my five and headed back.
The rest of the stay there was uneventful, with Poo-headed Goofball sitting there looking like a Poo-headed Goofball and me reading Virginia Woolf. I never saw him do the first bit of laundry or check on any washer or dryer. Probably he was just sitting there to find his next victim to murder. No biggie. I could've taken him.
Then again, he may have been supposed to be one of the "attendants" that some laundry mats have. If so, he was a dismal failure.
Nonetheless, I do hope that my squeaky wet tennis shoes annoyed the heck out of him. And that he got a chill of fear down his spine when he saw me carry out my clean, dry laundry with my husband's work shirts prominently on the top, so that the organizational logo** would show. What a Poo-headed Goofball.
*Totally off the subject, I have noticed that middle-aged just gets older and older in direct proportion to my age. Funny, isn't it?
**No, Stoney ain't a Pig. He just works for one.
I said in a previous post that Stoney and I have none of "those huge fundamental differences like should the toothpaste be squeezed only from the bottom or which way should the toilet paper roll go. We just differ on big, broad, general idea kind of things." But, as I'm sitting here, nursing a chilled Mocha Frappucino, I'm thinkin' that just maybe, I lied.
Unintentionally, you understand, because, for a moment, just for a moment, I forgot the coffee issue.
I like coffee. Ummmm. . .coffee. . . . . it's so good with sugar and milk and flavors added to it, especially if it's got whipped cream slathered on the top and maybe some chocolate shavings or ground cinnamon sprinkled on top. Ummm Ummm UMMMM. Coffee is good. Especially when it's cold!
Now, if Stoney were here, instead of working for The Man and The Man's lackey--the Prince of Darkness--he would be, at the least, gagging, and possibly, just possibly sending some explicatives in the direction of my yummy coffee description. Stoney likes his coffee black. Just black. And definitely never cold.
I drink Gevalia, delivered to my home, in a variety of yummy flavors. Stoney drinks JFG, 2 bucks a red bag, that I pick up for him on every single trip to Food City. (I'd give you a link to JFG, but it seems that this locally recognized brand doesn't have a web site!)
When, on a rare occasion, I am able to drag him into a Starbucks, I order a Frappucino. The one I really like they don't have anymore, the Chocolate Orange Frappucino and man, it was out of this world! Orange flavor added to the coffee with little chocolate pieces blended in. So, I settle for the Caramel Frappucino, which is "coffee and creamy caramel blended with ice, topped with whipped cream and caramel sauce" and is still simply scrumptious.
Stoney orders, and I quote, "a black cuppa workin' man's coffee, please, ma'am." It's a hoot to see the pierced, printed, painted Starbucks employee stare in amazement, shock and fear and say, "Uh. . . will the House Blend do?". Oh, and did I mention he usually puts on a real rednekkid sort of accent to do so? My husband makes me laugh more'n anyone in the whole wide world!
But, regardless of that, the fundamental difference applies. To me, coffee is a delicacy, a treat, a desert even. To Stoney, it's life's blood. I mean, sheesh, he drinks more coffee in a day that I drink in a month. Two months, maybe!
It's those kinda things that could break up a marriage, you know. Good thing we've got a solid foundation and agree on toothpaste squeezing, toilet paper unrolling, bagged ice, milk percentage and salsa brands. Of course, there is that parting of the ways over *shudders* the eating of mayonnaise. . . .
Tuesday, June 17, 2003
JohnI don't think I've ever mentioned it in this blog, but I think John Lennon is just the most fabulous of the fabulous. I dreamed that he asked me out, but I turned him down, cuz of Stoney. If you ask me, I was darned loyal! That's love for ya, though. Not even the most brilliant mind, like Lennon, would turn my head. But, I still say Lennon is just THE coolest.
*goes off to bed humming "She's so heavy"*
Proud as a Peahen
Stoney's new blog is coming along nicely and he's had people reading it and giving him praise. I'm just as pleased as can be! I had to push him the first several days, to stick with it, and now. . . well, he's just a typing away. It's fun to have a place to write stuff again. We used to have a site we played on, but it dissolved and the replacement was really terrible, so, we've been in limbo til about April.
He just told me to make sure my eyes were "all greased up" for the eye rolling I'm going to do when I read his latest. *rolls eyes in practice" Yup, they seem to be, so let me head on over and see.
Brother In LawYou know, it’s funny how much that photo of Acidman resembles my Brother-in-Law. Not facially, not really. It’s the more the pose. I’ve seen Brother-in-Law in that pose a bajillion times.
He thinks I don’t like him. Brother-in-Law that is, not Acidman--I don’t know Acidman. I’ve just seen his blog ‘cause Stoney reads it. And it always makes me think “Woah, that’s a picture of my Brother-in-Law!“ Which brings me back to the allegations that I don’t like him. Brother-in-Law, that is, not Acidman.
The reason Brother-in-Law thinks I don’t like him is that I sock it back to him. He really loves to dish out verbal abuse (a/k/a teasing) and the fact that I don’t take any kind of abuse sitting down and therefore sass right back at him shocks him and has him convinced I don’t like him.
Stoney says our problem is that we are too much alike, his brother and I. Well, there is only ONE point in which we are similar and that is that we are both rather opinionated and will take to arms to defend our opinion. So, that could lead to a bit of friction, I suppose. But regardless, we do tend to spar in a manner I assumed friendly but have since discovered that he finds a symptom of dislike for him. (How I discovered that would make a whole ‘nother story!)
I suppose my actions could be misconstrued, though, because he really can get me all riled up and defensive faster’n just about anyone I know. For example, take the time I slammed the door in his face. His wife burned her hand and called asking if I had any aloe vera. Which, of course, I did, so she said she’d send Brother-in-Law over to get it as we live rather close. When I answered the door he stared off saying “Well, hell” (which is how he starts all his sentences. . . “Wull HAY-yull“ is how it sounds) and finished by saying he didn’t know why she wanted it, it wouldn’t work. I interrupted with “Oh”, raised eyebrows and an Ice Queen look. “In that case, you don’t need it.” I snatched it out of his hand and firmly placed the closed door between us.
But, that doesn’t mean I don’t LIKE him. It just means he can get my goat in the time it takes for him to say “Well hell” in my general direction. He should be proud, not many people can claim that distintion!
Hmmmm. . . .
Phone Dude's truck is gone and we still have no phone service. Guess he gave up and went for a donut. Oh, wait, he's Phone Dude, not Cop Dude so maybe he just went to grab a burger or something. No biggie. I'll just call and complain again tomorrow if they haven't fixed it.
I'm a pretty good addresser of situations. I usually don't get snotty, just FIRM, and (not tootin' my own horn, cause Stoney says it too) I generally get what I want done. Stoney's too nice and he never wants to upset anyone's little red wagon. I, on the other hand, don't mind a bit to do so. Especially if I'm not getting what I paid for or expect or just plain think I deserve.
I'll bet the Heat Pump People have me on their don't-answer-calls-from list. So do the repairmen at Matthew's Ford in Asheville NC. Wonder if any other woman ever stamped a three inch heel in their presence and demanded a tail light be taken out because it didn't need to be replaced to begin with?!
Was I going somewhere with this?
Oh yeah, Phone Dude's gone, so I'm not going to wait on him to need to ask me some important question or tell me that he's fixed it or whatever. I'm going to the gym. I've wasted nearly the whole day anyway, doing absolutely nothing. I mean nothing.
All I've done today is to look at some blogs that Stoney likes to read. See, he and I don't always think the same about things and that's cool with us. All our differences are the more minor kind that give a bit of spice to a marriage, not those huge fundamental differences like should the toothpaste be squeezed only from the bottom or which way should the toilet paper roll go. We just differ on big, broad, general idea kind of things.
But, since we don't always view things the same, we don't necessarily read the same blogs or web pages. So, occasionally, I like to go and catch up on what he's reading, get just an idea or the general gist of things, so that I can listen intelligently when he's quoting, laughing or agreeing with someone.
He may not realize it, but he does the same for me. Heck, he even checked out Neopets cause I played on there so much. And, he offered to read some Virginia Woolf to see if he thinks she's as great as I do. And he's always willing to watch some classic movie that I think is just great. So, the least I can do is peruse Acidman and Frank J. from time to time to see if I "get" it.
Now, it's not that I'm not politically opinionated, it's just that I'm not politically motivated. Certainly not like Stoney is. My views of importance lie around the nucleus of our family first--Butterfly's education, the lack of recycling centers near by, how to keep ants out of the house and general stuff like that--and then gradually moves to politically related items like the constant road construction on I-40, the idiot cops that kill dogs first and ask questions later and the stealing of my hard-earned substitute pay by taxation.
It takes me a while to move up to States Rights and the desire for less government, but I do, eventually, when pressed. Heck, I've got the Bonnie Blue flag on my bumper. Along with a Grateful Dead sticker and the Bat Conservation Society, but hey, it's there.
Stoney, on the other hand, can go from "what do you want for supper" to "damn the gumment, let's start a revolution" in a sip of coffee.
Which is why, when I'm La Suprema, he'll NOT be in charge of my troops or the propaganda. He'll be my right hand advisor, of course, but I think I'll limit his power greatly. I'll put him in charge of poisonous flying monkey training, Aquaman-baiting and getting rid of any non-Joel MST3Kers. Oh, and commerce. He's a better capitalist than I am. A better cook, too, but that's off the point.
Speaking of off the point, the Phone Dude just came to the door, told me I have phone service now, blamed his slowness on road construction (I'll buy that, after all this is Knoxville) and reminded me of what I was getting ready to do. I was getting ready to stop wasting my entire day doing nothing, and at least go to the gym. So, um, I'll shut up then and go, shall I?
We're not real social people, Stoney and I. We'd rather be at home with each other, even if we're doing nothing, than to be anywhere else doing anything else. And we rarely talk on the phone.
Well, I say rarely, but that's with the exception of me talking to my Mom. Yeah, I'm a Momma's girl and I talk to her every day, long distance, back to Asheville, NC. But, usually on the cell phone so it doesn't cost us any extra. See, next to Stoney, she's my best friend and always has been. That's the only bad thing about living in a town where I don't know anyone, except Stoney and his immediate family, though I really can't say that I know them either. . . um, wait a minute, I lost my thought-train. Oh, yeah, the bad thing about living here is being far away from my parents. I'm an only child and I miss them. Of course, they're only two hours away, so it's pretty easily remedied and there's always the phone. Which brings me back to what the heck I was talking about in the first place. The phone.
We don't talk much on the regular phone. Stoney and I have this joint cell phone deal where we can call back and forth to each others cell phone without using minutes and we share the other minutes for a relatively inexpensive monthly rate. It's turned out to be a good deal and Cingular is probably kicking themselves over it, because we talk to each other on the cell phone MULTIPLE times a day. We don't use the regular phone for each other anymore, just call back and forth on the cell phone, even when I'm at home. Works out great. I always know it's him and I never have to answer the regular phone which will probably be a stupid sales call or wrong number anyway.
Of course, we've got caller id, too, so that eliminates even more having to talk cause we know who it is right off and can choose not to answer it. That way, I can pretty generally eliminate all sales and wrong numbers. Most of the time, unless it says "unknown" and then the Pandora in me comes out and I HAVE to see who it is, so I answer it. And it's never anyone I want to talk to. But one day it could be. . . it could be Ed McMahan or someone with a multimillion dollar contract for me to sign that guarantees lots of money for little or no work. Which is why I keep on answering the "unknowns".
Excuse me, but I've missed my train again. Could someone point me to the right platform. Ah, there it is, "Phone". Thanks.
So, other than calling Stoney's daughter, the Butterfly, nearly every day (and that's most often on the cell phone, too) we just don't use the phone. Which explains how it is that our phone's been out of service since at least Friday and I just got around to noticing it yesterday.
And, if we hadn't had the Butterfly here, needing to call her Momma ever so often (ain't nothing wrong with any daughter, no matter what age, wanting to talk to her Momma, so I encourage the Butterfly to do so. All Southern girls should love their Momma like a best friend and have their Daddy wrapped around her finger. The Little Butterfly and I pass on both counts. Shoot. Lost that train again. . . oh yeah. . . and if we hadn't had the Butterfly here, needing to call her Momma ever so often), we would never have noticed the phone wasn't working as soon as we did. We'd probably have started wondering around Thursday or Friday, noticing that we hadn't had any sales calls, but otherwise. . . We've turned the ringer off during storms, cause it wants to ring and ring and ring, and forgot about it til days later.
You see, our phone lines are really old and mess up a lot, including every time it rains and as this is East Tennessee that's about every other day. It'll ring and ring when it storms, as I've already mentioned, or when we actually do pick it up to talk on it, it sounds like we've got an ocean full of electric-gadget-using mermaids between us and the caller.
Last time, whenever it was that Phone Dude had to come out and work on the line he said the line was infested with ants that had eaten through it and the rain was getting in the actual phone line. Ants. It's the work of ants. *shudder* Figgers. Our whole perimeter is infested with ants. Stoney says they only do it because they know I hate them. And I do. I've got a whole phobia of ants going on.
Phone Dude is here again, outside roaming about doing his Phone Dude thing. And has been for over two hours. He'll probably come back to the door in a minute and say that the the line was infested with ants that had eaten through it and the rain was getting in the actual phone line. If he does, I'll probably say something profound like "No, really? WELL FIX IT!"
I guess it's too much trouble for Bell South to put in a new line. They'd just rather send Phone Dude out to "fix" it. Not that we really need the phone line, I mean, heck we've got cell phones and a cable modem. Say. . . Maybe that's the answer. Just have them disconnect the whole thing. Or threaten to do so if they don't put in a new line. THEY don't have to know of how little importance to us is the whole telephone thing. I'll muse on that. Might be the way to go.
Then again, it's kinda cool to be able to say, a couple of times a month when asked why we didn't return calls to various and sundry people we don't want to talk to, "Oh, I'm sorry, our phone must've been messed up again."
Yeah, I guess we'll just leave it as it is. No harm in having a ready made excuse for our anti-social behavior, now is there?
Monday, June 16, 2003
Have you ever wondered? I mean, just what exactly snot does? I assume it's like the inside of an oyster, protecting my brain from craters of dust that might come up my nose, but. . . how exactly. Does the snot grab it, grapple with it, throw it to the ground and make it run away? Or does it scare the dust so it flies back out? Or, maybe it just makes the dust assimilate into snot?
Next--where does it comes from? Do I have a snot production factory? What is it made out of? I wonder if I eat the right foods to keep my snot production at it's maximum efficiency.
And, what if I run out? I mean, sheesh, when I have a cold I loose A LOT of snot. Will I need a snot transfusion some day?
Man, these are some serious questions. I must ponder.
*whines*And boy am I! Marriage really can do it to ya, it's not just an old wives tale. I was never a carnivore until I married Stoney. Why, I had never ever cooked hamburger until then. And, I had only cooked chicken maybe a total of ten times the entire five years I lived on my own prior to marriage.
Not that it's all Stoney's fault. I mean, I didn't HAVE to eat what he put in front of me, now did I? But, I did.
Or, when cooking, I could have cooked something light for me too. But I didn't and I slacked off exercising and I gained 50 pounds in our first year and a half of marriage.
Now I'm trying, trying, TRYING to work it off. And I'm working out five days a week, I have a personal trainer and I do weights and cardio and I'm just not getting where I want to be. And man is it annoying.
Just look, okay, just look. The first one is what I looked like February 2001. The second is me as seen on Saturday. Um. . . notice anything different??? Other than the hair color, I mean.
Sheesh. . .that's depressing. But, I AM working on it. And Stoney's been a huge help--he's so supportive and encouraging. . . not to mention financially responsible. *G*
So, that's my whine for today. Now, I'm off to play Nintendo with the Little Butterfly some more before it's time to take her home.
Sunday, June 15, 2003
I have a horrible case of perfectionism. Funny thing is that it doesn't affect all areas of my life, just a few. Like game playing. Games have to be played by the rules, using strategy and with the purpose of winning. The Little Butterfly plays games just however and, to my shame, I tend to get annoyed at that. I mean, how silly of me is it? But it's true. I'm sitting here watching her play Clue on cd-rom and my insides are antsy because she really doesn't know how to play and I'm trying to help her probably spoiling the whole game for her. But, for some reason, that's one of my perfectionism things. I LOVE to play games, too, so I'm often knocking everyone about for trying to play the Calvin-ball version of the game. *sigh* I need to loosen up.
I also tend to get "focused" as Stoney calls it, when I'm trying to do something and do it right. Balance the checkbook, for example, or fix a web page or even finish a level in a game. I get unreasonable and demand that it work out right and plug away at it until I either get it right, or Stoney makes me quit 'cause he's tired of hearing me get vocal about whatever it is. *sigh* I need to loosen up.
It's amazing that Stoney and I've never had a fight or that I've never really raised my voice at the Butterfly, considering the prominence of perfectionism and focusing. Yup, *sigh*, I need to loosen up.