The Incredible Mind Suck

I have a friend who is friend by default. We are both in the same program at the same community college where we both have been jerked around for years.

She is a giant hole where everything gets sucked in and swirled around and spit out in constant mindless chatter about herself.

Everything reminds her of a story (about herself) that takes so long to tell you forgot what the subject was in the first place. Since we've been together for years, I've heard them all. In all their slow. Moving. Detail.

I had a so bad horrible shitty day yesterday that started at 7:30 a.m. with the IMS sucking away my pre-school quiet time by standing outside my car yakking away. My quiet time! Sucked away!

Later she sucked away my study time by yakking, "I don't bother to study because I won't remember it I hope she has more than 20 questions on the test because blah, blah, blah". Study time, sucked away!

I told her to shut the fuck up because I WAS TRYING TO STUDY but it was too late. She had bored holes in my brain and everything drained right back out. I didn't do so hot on the test and it pissed me off.

I have great days at school when IMS is not there, which is often, but then again, not often enough for me. She is constantly sick. Or her car is broken down again. Or some other earth shaking tragedy has struck, like her kid has the runs.

At least I am smart enough now (duh, don't ask me how long it took me to learn) not to answer her phone calls. She sucks away phone minutes. Just retrieving and deleting her voice mails is an enormous suck. Minutes! Sucked away!

The sucking that had gone on all day just intensified into this great crescendo that included me going into Wal Mart later for the first time in a year. Wal Mart! Sucks!

I got home to a husband who was deathly ill (he has a cold) and who needed me to run an errand for him right then because there was no way he could possibly do it himself in his condition. (He occasionally has to blow his nose.) Rest of the day! Sucked!

Short version: yesterday sucked due to an emotional vampire, a trip to WalMart and a husband at death's door .

the other end of the witch

(Thursday March 1 -- how do you change dates when you edit posts????)
A couple of weeks ago it was colder than a witch's tit. The high temps were in the negative range for a week. C-O-L-D.

Then it warmed up for a few days and the snow started to melt. We got cocky and started sporting lighter jackets. We thought the ground hog had it all wrong. Winter was over!

Silly us.

Forecasts are frequently wrong around here. Terrible storms are often predicted that never come to pass. Not so last weekend. We were warned. The storm came and it brought ice and then blowing snow, never a good combination.

So this is the other end of the witch. Not her tit, but maybe the crack of her ass. When the world goes dark and the roads are closed. I was lucky. The power was out for about 8 hours. As of this morning, some 80,000 households in the state are still without power from last weekend's ice/snow storm.

I didn't venture away from the farmstead until Tuesday. So I had two days in the world and now here it comes again. Ice, rain, snow, wind. The good news is that school was cancelled and I'm missing a test I am ill prepared for.

And if the power goes out I'll give crayons to the hubby so he can color his monitor. He doesn't know what to do with himself when he's not on the computer.

Pineapple Head

Pineapple Head was a counselor at my high school. He was a big guy with lots of forehead and he was Hawaiian. He was aptly named.

The jocks, cheerleaders and brainiacs had been pimped by the counselors for years. I really had no idea what the counselors were for (mental health, maybe?) since none of them had ever spoken to me about anything or acknowledged my existence.

But when I was a senior, I was summoned into Pineapple Head's office. He wanted to know what my plans were after graduating.

"I dunno. Get a job maybe?"

"What about college?"

Until he asked about my going to college, I'd never considered it. My parents couldn't afford to send me off to college.

"My parents can't afford college."

And that was the end of session number one with Pineapple Head.

After that meeting with Pineapple Head I got to thinking. I had never really considered college before because I wasn't the star of anything and didn't know what to aspire to. But I was good at lots of things. I designed and made my own clothes. I embellished my hand made clothing with embroidery. I could go to college and become a clothing designer!

I demanded session number 2 with Pineapple Head. I told him of my new found dream to become a clothing designer and sought his help to send me off to college in pursuit of this dream.

He opened a little book and starting thumbing through it. I think this little book was called "Careers for Women" and the only two entries in it were nurse and school teacher.

I don't recall how the rest of this session went but I do recall being humiliated afterward. The gist of it was that I wasn't smart enough to go off on a career path that wasn't listed in his book with 2 entries.

This is so sad, people, but I was an adult (with lots of crappy jobs under my belt) before I knew that there are things such as college loans and grants. I'm pretty sure the jocks and cheerleaders were informed of this (and that the brainiacs just knew it already). Another later life revelation was that a good liberal arts education can take you a long way. Or maybe help you find your way.

Maybe Pineapple Head didn't know it himself. Maybe he learned it later when he got his PhD. He's Doctor Pineapple Head now. But he's still a major asshole to me.

And this dumb girl who couldn't go to college is going to college now and maintaining a four point oh. O.K., it's community college, but still.

Rabbit Ears

I don't know what's going on in the world. The world of pop culture, anyway, which mostly seems to revolve around television. And most of that revolves around television I never see.

I live the lonely void of rabbit ear t.v.

Beavis and Butthead? Never saw them. I think their time has come and gone, but I wouldn't know for sure. I haven't read about them in the news lately, anyway.

My rabbit ears have served me well. I get warned when a tornado is bearing down on me. I get entertained occasionally. I could get entertained a little more if the ABC channel came in but what the hell. I get CBS, NBC, PBS, FOX and CW. And I get exercise from jumping up and adjusting the ears trying to improve reception. And my television viewing is FREE.

How much does it cost you a month for all those channels you never watch?

Long Time No See

There is a big gap between posts. So shoot me again.

I wouldn't have posted again at all but someone linked my blog to theirs. I guess this she didn't notice that it had been over a year since my last post. It's 2007 now, H!

Maybe it was her attempt to drag me into the current century, what ever century that is.

In other news, it is colder than the proverbial witch's tit in my part of the midwest, with no relief in sight. I've yet to brave the elements. I may go out again in May. Or when I run out of beer.

Rabbit Tails

The rabbit was snuck into the house. Sort of. Furtive glances while sidling into their room together gave me the clue the kids were up to something. They were rabbit smuggling.

An internet search revealed that rabbits were litter box trainable! They were affectionate! They were great house pets!

Beyond the point of getting the rabbit into the house, they had not thought out how the rabbit would live. While other rabbits pooped in litter boxes, this one pooped everywhere. If your idea of a great house pet is one that chews everything in sight (every electric cord and anything made of wood) and poops constantly, then this was a super-duper great pet.

It ended up in a wire dog kennel with cardboard on the floor to keep it from falling through the grate. Sometimes they remembered to feed it. The occasions when they took it out of the cage to treat it like a pet became fewer and farther between. It was a pooping and chewing machine and no longer the adorable ball of fluff they fell in love with.

After several months the kids moved out and took the rabbit with them. The rabbit lived a neglected life in the wire kennel with a soggy, poop covered cardboard floor in an apartment filled with gnats. And then the kids moved far away and the rabbit (not my rabbit) came back home.

~Sigh~

But it lived in a rabbit cage with a wire floor more suited for little rabbit feet. The poop fell through to a removable tray -- a great improvement. And the fact that the caged rabbit was now on the porch (and not in the living quarters) was another great improvement. But still the poor thing had no life.

It was not the sweet creature depicted by the pet rabbit websites. I felt sorry for it and tried to acclimate it to life of being an adorable pet. It never adapted.

Spring came and I hauled the cage outside so the rabbit could enjoy the great outdoors. He loved it. Once in a while I would turn him loose to romp. And romp he did. He kicked up his heels and hopped and bopped. When the weather was bad, I'd load the cage on my garden cart and wheel him into the shed, safe from the elements. When the weather cleared, I'd haul him out again and set the cage in the grass.

This became very tiring. And this was, afterall, NOT MY RABBIT.

Then came the great experiment. I opened one of the cage doors that made a little rabbit ramp for him to go in and out as he pleased. I observed him from the kitchen window. When he felt it was time to go home, he went home. When he wanted to play, he played.

I thought we'd found the perfect balance and that is how the rabbit lived out his days until the day the rabbit was no where to be found. I repeat - NOT MY RABBIT.

(non) post

So I don't post. So what. Shoot me. It's a (non) blog.

It's not like I don't have anything interesting or amusing to say. I am quite entertaining normally. And I am not a totally unskilled writer. It's just something about blogging that suddenly has me tongue-tied at the keyboard.

I judge my (non) blog by the blogs I read. I am just not ready to put myself out there. How can these people not be stalked? Mostly I am afraid that I will say something about someone I know and that they will read my blog and not appreciate what was said. I am famous for saying the wrong thing, which is whatever is on my mind. Some people just can't take it. I know I couldn't because I have a very thin skin. If you love one thing about me, tell me. I don't want to know the rest.

Yet my blogger (non) friends lay their lives out there. It would be easy to find them if I wanted to. They are safe from me because I never go anywhere. Except for the blogger who is coming back here (the middle of nowhere) in a few weeks.

DON'T WORRY. I'm not planning anything. Just hoping that I and my spouse (who is also a fan of this blogger) will get to meet him for a drink. I know already how I will feel: stupid. If I read the blogs of the self-absorbed shallow idiots, then I could feel superior, or at least intelligent. But I read this guy's blog. This blogger is so intelligent and funny and charming, it's no wonder that he left the middle of nowhere. This is no place for him.

Lately I've been wondering if it's a place for me.

Proof This Blog Goes Unread

I got an email the other day telling me my blog was "cool" and inviting me to visit another site. I deleted the email without checking out the other site. Any spam who thinks this blog is cool is obviously not reading it.

Katrina, Katrina

I've expanded my blog circle and have been obsessed with New Orleans blogs since August 30th. I read things without the network spin. Every day I cry.

On August 30th I tried to access the Red Cross site to no avail (slow dial-up, heavy web traffic). I ended up logging on to a local t.v. station site to find the phone number for the phone bank they'd set up. I donated money to the Red Cross over the phone.

Today I got a letter from them thanking me for my donation. I wanted to scream, "Don't waste money on paper and postage!" Granted, it's not much, but multiplied by the number of letters mailed out, the amount spent on paper and postage must be astronomical. I want every cent to go to the victims! Every cent!

My favorite New Orleans blog is the Interdictor. But I spend time at Metroblogging NOLA , too. Metroblogging led me to look up an NPR story about the animals left behind. More tears. Another donation.

How can you not feel for a dog, cat, or iguana left to fend for itself in the hell that was once New Orleans? And how can you not feel for the people? How can you not feel?

I'm giving my dog, two house cats, innumerable barn cats and even that damn rabbit (which is not mine) extra love. And to the lost pets of the hurricane, I'm giving money.

Cornfield Safari

A cornfield safari is not for the faint-of-heart. Or the easily addled, the asthmatic, the claustrophobic or one prone to allergies. It is a dark and dangerous place.

Children get lost in cornfields and it is no wonder. After a few minutes among the rows you begin to wonder, "Which way am I going? Why did I come in here? How do I get out?" Before you know it there is a neighborhood brigade performing a search and rescue.

This time of year the corn is 8 foot tall. The stalks are tightly spaced. The leaves are long, slicing tenacles. The pollen forms a cloud when thrashing through the rows. The biting bugs easily hone in on human prey. And depending on the time of day, morning being the worst, the cornfield is a wet jungle.

I set out on a cornfield safari yesterday to retrieve a few of the estimated 50 range balls that are lost there. Finding 4 I declared mission accomplished and headed back out to the yard, grass, free moving air.

I lied about quitting golf. I suck at golf but suck more at keeping resolutions.

Farewell to Golf

Golf is a stupid game. Last night's attempts were as futile as ever. On the rare occasion when I actually advanced the ball I received a round of special-olympics applause. (oh look, the moron made the ball move!)

This morning I took my clubs out of the car, took out my 5 wood and hit the last of the range balls into the corn field before putting my clubs away forever.

The balls flew. Never has a club worked so well for me.

So It Begins

I've been addicted to reading blogs lately. They have been morning soap operas for me. I have to check to see what so-and-so did. I know none of the people whose blogs I read. These people all know each other, though, and write about each other constantly.

I think I check to see if their friends agree on the stories. They do. They are great friends, all extremely intelligent, all immensely talented and of course, incredibly successful.

They are everything I'm not.