STOLEN FROM THE INTERNET

He Bought An Electric Fence To Prevent Burglaries. Then This Happened.

GASSY

Ever notice how your mind wanders when you’re under gas at the dentist?

While having my teeth cleaned today I had a wonderful idea for a blog post while under the effects of laughing gas. Problem is that now, hours later, I can't for the life of me remember what it was. It's gone, floating out there somewhere in the land of lost thoughts.

 I blame it on the nitrous oxide, not my advanced years. Yeah, that’s my story and I'm sticking to it.

OVERHEARD AT WORK

When I was young we were so poor that the only heat in the  house was the fireplace, so in the winter we would all sleep on pallets on the floor in the living room. The house was so old that the wind would blow through cracks in the floor & ruffle the quilts we were lying on. One morning when I woke up I found lots of little "glass" balls lying around on the floor. I gathered them all up and lined them up on the fireplace hearth trying to figure out what they were while warming up.

Suddenly they started to melt,  POP POP POP, and an awful stink filled the room.

THEY WERE FROZEN FARTS!

MY ADDICTION

I blame my sister Donna for my addiction.

True, in the past I had dabbled and experimented on my own. Nothing hardcore you understand. Just a taste, only once in a great while, to see if it still felt as good as the last time. Never enough to dig deeply into my pocketbook nor draw attention to my habit. Only quite a little personal fancy to mix color and designs in a way that made me happy.

After a while Donna slowly started to lead me astray. First she had me printing quilt patterns off for her. Then I started helping her to mix tones and patterns; offering my opinions like I knew what I was talking about when Donna had always been the artistic one of us. And she listened!  

And then it happened. I've started hoarding fabric in every hue known to man and a few patterns that had to be inspired by either drugs or insanity. I dream of quilt designs and new ways to combine different blocks to make something that is strictly mine. I now lust after color and texture and the mixing of different textiles into something that hopefully will become a simi-work of art where before I was content to ooh and ahhh over someone else's efforts.

The lawn is overgrown, the flowerbed has a fine crop of weeds, the housework is weeks behind and still I spend all my spare time enveloped in my

FABRIC OBSESSION.

And it's all Donna's fault.

Vicki  Waters

Yep! I'm a Senior

--     YES, THIS IS US!!!   Senior citizens are constantly being criticized for every conceivable deficiency of the modern world, real or imaginary. We know we take responsibility for all we have done and do not blame others. HOWEVER, upon reflection, we would like to point out that it was NOT the senior citizens who took: The melody out of music, The pride out of appearance, The courtesy out of driving, The romance out of love, The commitment out of marriage, The responsibility out of parenthood, The togetherness out of the family, The learning out of education The service out of patriotism, The Golden Rule from rulers, The nativity scene out of cities, The civility out of behavior, The refinement out of language, The dedication out of employment, The prudence out of spending, The ambition out of achievement or God out of government and school. And we certainly are NOT the ones who  eliminated patience and tolerance from  personal relationships and interactions with others!!  And, we do understand the meaning of patriotism, and remember those who have fought and died for our country.  Just look at the Seniors with tears in their eyes and pride in their hearts as they stand at attention with their hand over their hearts!YES, I'M A SENIOR CITIZEN! I'm the life of the party..... Even if it lasts until 8 p.m. I'm very good at opening childproof caps..... With a hammer. I'm awake many hours before my body allows me to get up. I'm smiling all the time because I can't hear a thing you're saying. I'm sure everything I can't find is in a safe secure place, somewhere. I'm wrinkled, saggy, lumpy, and that's just my left leg. I'm beginning to realize that aging is not for wimps. Yes, I'm a SENIOR CITIZEN and I think I am having the time of my life!     Spread the laughter Share the cheer Let's be happy While we're here. And, MAY GOD BLESS   AMERICA AND MAY AMERICA THANK GOD!! Go Green - Recycle CONGRESS!!

 

 

 

--
Bob & Lu Meinke
Romans 8:18
For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.
    

COONDOG QUILTS

Coon hunting is an old and time honored Southern tradition where men go out in the fall to let their prize hounds run through the woods in search of a raccoon. My sister Donna & I have been making Coondog Quilts in honor of our Dad, Arbon Wayne "RED" Waters, who was a coon hunting fanatic. All his dogs were named "Blue" no matter their color or breed. He very seldom killed anything, just went out with his buddies & listened to the dogs run. I can still remember him coming in late at night, smelling of the cold & woods, talking about how some wily old coon gave Blue a run for his money before going to tree. He could tell all his dogs apart by sound of their bark alone & know if they were running or barking "treed". The quilt on the left is mine & the one on the right is Donna's.

 

Love you Dad, and still miss you every day

 

 

WHITE TRASH CHRISTMAS

You gotta watch this video. It's one of my all time favorite Christmas parodies. Warning: not for kids

KINKY SEX LIFE

I found these and other strange but true facts at The Oyster's Garter. Who knew that the animal kingdom was so erotic/kinky? This shit is too weird to be made up but still strangely fascinating.

Samantha Henig just reported on the Museum of Sex exhibit on the Sex Lives of Animals. I like gay giraffes and well-endowed lady hyenas as much as the next person (OK, probably more), but the list struck me as shockingly mammal-biased.
Vertebrates—and that includes non-fuzzy critters like fish—comprise a mere 5 percent of the world's species. The spineless have kinky sex, too! Here's a list of a few of my personal favorites:
- As I wrote on the original Oyster's Garter blog, barnacles have the most impressive penises in the sea. A barnacle’s penis can be 8 times longer than the barnacle’s entire body. Barnacles are well-endowed because they’re cemented in place—in order to advance the species, they need to, um, “visit” their neighbors. (That’s also why barnacles are simultaneous hermaphrodites that both give and receive the glorious gift of crustacean life. Separate sexes wouldn’t work, since the only neighbor in reach could be the same sex.)
- Marine flatworms, also simultaneous hermaphrodites, fence with razor-sharp penises. Since they lack a female orifice, sex occurs when the loser gets stabbed right through their body wall. The technical term? Hypodermic impregnation. Some spiders do it too. Ow.
- From horrifying spiked beetle penises to earwig penises that occasionally snap right off in the midst of sex, insects have all kinds of bizarre sexual practices. But you don't have to take my word for it—check out Season 1 of Isabella Rossellini's Green Porno series, where she dramatizes doin' it as all kinds of bug.

-And from a different article in the same blog "that is far worse than the Wired list's No. 8, having your sluggy sweetie gnaw off your penis. (Ok, maybe not.)" Wow, I'm becoming a fountain of usless but interesting trivia. Go check out The Garter.

SWEET TEA

Do you take your tea sweet or not? Cold or hot? Sweet tea is a Southern staple, our Mamas put it in our bottles when we're wee babes and the addiction starts there. Go up north and the yankees swear that you're ruining a good thing. Seems that everyone everywhere has an opinion; but we Southerners will fight to the death over how to properly prepare and serve tea.

I just had to share this article, AMERICANS AT THE TABLE: REFLECTIONS ON FOOD AND CULTURE (it's kinda long but it tickled both my funny bone and my interest). I ran across this culinary tale in E Journal, USA:U.S. Society & Values, put out by the U.S. Dept. of State/Bureau of International Information Programs.

Damn, that's quite a mouthful!

You should go and read the whole paper, it's got tons of recipes and history about how different foods became staples in the USA.

INCLUDE ME OUT:

A REFLECTION ON “ICE TEA"

by FRED CHAPPELL

The author, though a native of the American South,disdains the region’s signature liquid refreshment, iced tea. He sees perversity behind the popularity of the highly sweetened drink, which he calls an “insipid banality,” but that doesn’t stop him from offering the reader guidance on how to prepare it.

"There are people who eat cold pasta salad. They enjoy despoiling their greenery with gummy, tasteless squiggles of tough, damp bread dough that are usually made palatable only when heavily disguised with hot tomato sauce and a stiff mask of Parmesan cheese. This salad does have the virtue of economy. Wednesday leftovers can be marketed to Thursday customers of perverse taste.

It is probably perversity also that accounts for the prevalence of ice tea in our American south. It was Edgar Allan Poe who first diagnosed this immitigable contrariness of human nature in his short story, The Imp of the Perverse, and he undoubtedly saw it as a normal trait of Dixie character. But please include me out. I am one southerner who detests that dirty water the color of oak-leaf tannin and its insipid banality. When I am offered ice tea by one of our charming southern hostesses, I know I’m in for a long afternoon of hearing about Cousin Mary Alice’s new babe and its genius antics in the playpen.

Hot tea makes sense. It can relax as well as stimulate and in fact may be sipped as a soporific. It can offer a bouquet pungent or delicate and causes us to understand why the Chinese designated certain strains of flowers as “tea roses.” It can be a topic of conversation, too, as southerners revive the traditional English debate as to whether the boiling water should be brought to the pot or the pot fetched to the water. Such palaver reassures us that all traces of civilization have not disappeared under the onslaughts of video games and e-mail.

But if you ice the stuff down it cannot matter in the least whether the water or the pot has journeyed. Any trace of the tea’s bouquet is slaughtered and only additives can give this tarnished liquid any aroma at all. There is, of course, plenty of discussion about these added condiments. Even the mildest of southern ladies may bristle and lapse into demotic speech when they consider that a glass of ice tea
has been improperly prepared.

Notice that we say, “ice tea.” Anyone who pronounces the successive dentals of “iced tea” is regarded as pretentious. And if you say “Coca-Cola” you will be seen as putting on airs, just as obviously as if you employed “you” as a collective pronoun. Down here we say “you-all,” “CoCola,” and “ice tea” and collect monetary fines from strangers who misspeak. Ignorance before the law is no excuse.

.
In recent years some enterprising women have seen the futility of the pot/water controversy and have begun making “sun tea,” a beverage that is never acquainted with either stove or teapot. They simply fill a gallon jug with water, drop in a flock of tea bags, and set the collocation out on the back porch to brew in the broiling August sunshine. If this method does not make the kitchen more cheerful, it does at least lessen the hypocritical chatter about proper procedure. Ice cannot harm sun tea; it is created beyond the reach of harm or help.

Now as to the recipe for ice tea: Lemons are essential and should be of the big thick-skinned variety, cut into sixths. They are never – repeat: never – squeezed but only plumped into the pitcher, four or five slices. Extra slices are offered on a cut-glass plate six inches in diameter. Mint may be added, but it is always submerged in the pitcher and never put into a glass where it would glue to the interior side like a Harley-Davidson decal.

And sweetening is the soul of this potation. The sugar bowl passes from hand to hand at a pace so dizzying it is like watching the rotating label on an old 78-rpm record. Southerners demand sweetness. The truly thoughtful hostess shall have already sweetened the tea for her guests with a simple sugar syrup that excludes the possibility of unpleasant graininess from bowl sugar. Sugar syrup for ice tea is concocted by adding one pound of Dixie Crystal sugar to a tablespoon of water. In the south sweetened ice tea is taken for granted, like the idea that stock car racing is our national pastime and that the Southern Baptist church is a legitimate arm of the Republican Party.

If you order ice tea in a restaurant it will arrive pre-sweetened. If you want it unsweetened you must ask for it. Actually, you must demand it with pistol drawn and cocked. And you will have to repeat your demand several times, because tea unsweetened is as abstruse a proposition to most servers as a theorem of Boolean algebra. Even then you can’t be sure. My wife Susan once ordered unsweetened, but it arrived as sweet as honey. The waitress pleaded for understanding. “We couldn’t figure out how to get the sugar out,” she said.

Why southerners are so sugar-fixated may be a mystery, but it is an indisputable fact. We are a breed who makes marmalades of zucchini, tomatoes, onions, and even watermelon rinds. Our famous pecan pie (“puhKAWN pah”) is a stiff but sticky paste of boiled Karo corn syrup studded with nuts. Since this is not sweet enough, it will likely be served with a gob of bourbon whipped cream dusted with cocoa powder and decorated with vegetable-peeler curls of milk chocolate.

“Do you want ice tea with that?”

“Oh yes. Sweetened, please.”

Well, I’ll confess that, though born in North Carolina, I make a poor example of a southerner. I don’t even capitalize the name of the region. I’m a Democrat, a non-Baptist, and don’t care what kind of car I drive. To me, adding broiled marshmallows to yams is like putting raspberry jam on porterhouse. I once spotted a recipe in the magazine Southern Living for CoCola cake and had to fight down a surge of nausea. I flee as if pursued from fatback, spoon bread, barbecue, grits, and – ice tea.

Susan tells me I need sweetening.

Fred Chappell is a professor of English at the University of North Carolina at Greensboro, and is North Carolina’s Poet Laureate. He has written numerous books of poetry and fiction, including First and Last Words, Midquest, More Shapes than One, Brighten the Corner Where You Are, and I Am One of You Forever.

45 LIFE LESSONS

Written By Regina Brett, 90 years old, of The Plain Dealer, Cleveland, Ohio"To celebrate growing older, I once wrote the 45 lessons life taught me.It is the most-requested column I've ever written. My odometer rolled over to 90 in August, so here is the column once more:

1. Life isn't fair, but it's still good.
2. When in doubt, just take the next small step.
3. Life is too short to waste time hating anyone...
4. Your job won't take care of you when you are sick. Your friends and parents will. Stay in touch.
5. Pay off your credit cards every month.
6. You don't have to win every argument. Agree to disagree.
7. Cry with someone. It's more healing than crying alone.
8. It's OK to get angry with God. He can take it.
9. Save for retirement starting with your first pay check.
10. When it comes to chocolate, resistance is futile.
11. Make peace with your past so it won't screw up the present.
12. It's OK to let your children see you cry.
13. Don't compare your life to others. You have no idea what their journey is all about.
14. If a relationship has to be a secret, you shouldn't be in it.
15. Everything can change in the blink of an eye. But don't worry; God never blinks.
16. Take a deep breath. It calms the mind.
17. Get rid of anything that isn't useful, beautiful or joyful.
18. Whatever doesn't kill you really does make you stronger.
19. It's never too late to have a happy childhood. But the second one is up to you and no one else.
20. When it comes to going after what you love in life, don't take no for an answer.
21. Burn the candles, use the nice sheets, and wear the fancy lingerie. Don't save it for a special occasion,Today is special.
22. Over prepare, and then go with the flow.
23. Be eccentric now. Don't wait for old age to wear purple.
24. The most important sex organ is the brain.
25. No one is in charge of your happiness but you.
26. Frame every so-called disaster with these words 'In five years, will this matter?'
27. Always choose life.
28. Forgive everyone and everything.
29. What other people think of you is none of your business.
30. Time heals almost everything. Give it time.
31. However good or bad a situation is, it will change.
32. Don't take yourself so seriously. No one else does.
33. Believe in miracles.
34. God loves you because of who God is, not because of anything you did or didn't do.
35. Don't audit life. Show up and make the most of it now..
36. Growing old beats the alternative -- dying young.
37. Your children get only one childhood.
38. All that truly matters in the end is that you loved.
39. Get outside every day. Miracles are waiting everywhere.
40. If we all threw our problems in a pile and saw everyone else's, we'd grab ours back.
41. Envy is a waste of time. You already have all you need.
42.. The best is yet to come.
43. No matter how you feel, get up, dress up and show up.
44. Yield.
45. Life isn't tied with a bow, but it's still a gift."

What Women Should Know About Men

1. If you think the way to a man's heart is through his stomach you're aiming to high.

2. Women don't make fools of men -- most of them are the do-it-yourself types.

3. The best reason to divorce a man is a health reason: you've got sick of him.

4. Never trust a man who says he's the boss at home. He probaly lies about other things too.

5. A woman's work that is never done, is the stuff she asked her husband to do.

6. If you want a nice man go for a bald one -- they try harder.

7. Go for younger men. You might as well -- they never mature anyway.

8. There are only two four letter words that are offensive to men -- "don't" and "stop" (but not used together).

9. Men are all the same -- they just have different faces so you can tell them apart.

10. Definition of a man with manners -- he gets out of the bath to pee.

11. Whenever you meet a man who would make a good husband, you will usually find that he is.

12. Scientists have just discovered something that can do the work of five men -- a women.

13. There are a lot of words you can use to describe men -- strong, caring, loving -- they'd be wrong but you could still use them!

14. Men are like animals -- messy, insensitive and potentially violent -- but they make great pets!

15. Mens brains are like the prison system -- not enough cells per man.

16. Husbands are like children -- they're fine if they're someone else's.

HAPPY HAUNTING

Well, it’s official. My grandson is growing up to be a hard core, dyed in the wool, full blooded Alabama Redneck. When I left for work this afternoon he was perched in the top of a tree with his trusty B-B gun in hand and blowing like his life depended on it on an old duck call someone had given him. Now this wouldn’t be so funny except I don’t live anywhere near anything resembling a duck habitat and his call sounded like a duck that had personality issues or throat cancer or something. Oh well, at least he’s live entertainment for the squirrels.

Tomorrow is Halloween and I hope y’all have a good time. I have plans with friends to hit a haunted house, go out for dinner and then take in a horror movie. Then on Saturday several of us are dressing up and having a witch’s brew night with game playing, Bloody Champaign Mimosas and lots of laughs and giggles.

Happy Haunting Y’all. Hope you get treated and not tricked.

ON THE ROAD AGAIN

Lord, it’s been so long since I’ve flexed my writing muscles that I think they’ve atrophied (lets hope that brain-rot hasn’t set in also!). For those of y’all who’ve had the patience to hang around waiting for me to post, thank you from the bottom of my little old southern heart. I love y’all for your tolerance and promise to try to do better, but as you’ve heard before: "The best-laid plans of mice and men” - not to mention us females. Now for my long delayed Westfest post.

I left North Alabama on Wednesday morning (8/27) driving to the town of West, Texas, for a much anticipated visit with Jackie Sue (aka Yellowdog Granny) whom I’ve been online friends with for years but hadn’t actually met face-to-face. Friends, family and coworkers were all freaking out about me driving so far alone but really, what’s the big deal? Most accidents happen just miles from home because familiar territory causes us to let our guard down; you’re just as likely to get mugged at Wal-Mart or the grocery store as on the interstate, and if I drive solo I can stop when I want and drive all day if I feel like it. I’ve never had a problem with the fear of being alone and I’m a firm believer in “just doing it”. I truly think that if more people would just do what they want instead of being hampered by fear of the unknown, worrying about what someone else thinks is right, waiting for the perfect time or weight or age or income, yada, yada, yada; if you just do whatever the hell it is that’ll make you smile, then the world would be a richer and happier place.

Everyone was also tripping about me going to visit someone who was practically a stranger; going on and on about how Jackie Sue could be an ax murder, psychopath or bull dyke lesbian (did I point out what a vivid imagination they all have, plus I think some of the guys were using my trip as an excuse to concoct some major girl-on-girl fantasy action. When I mentioned that another female blogger lived in the area one of my coworkers got all excited and exclaimed “You mean that y’all are gonna have a “Ménage a twat”. Yeah, I work with a bunch of redneck hard ankles). The fact that Jackie Sue and I had had multiple phone conversations, exchanged gifts and cards and so on and so forth for a long period of time didn’t seem to mean a thing to anyone but what the hell, let ‘em have their daydreams.

I took the southern route, driving down to Birmingham and then swinging west through Jackson, MS and Shreveport, LA. Traffic was light and the weather was beautiful with the sun shining behind me and the car’s A/C keeping the 90+ heat outside. I had the cruise control set on 80 MPH and the stereo jacked up loud, singing my heart out with no one to tell me how off key I was. People everywhere I went were friendly and I didn’t have the first minute’s trouble with anything or anybody.

I crossed the Texas border that evening and spent the night in Marshall, with plans to drive cross-country on minor roads and do a little sight seeing the next day. I didn’t have a problem getting a room; as a matter of fact since I was a single female the hotel put me on the ground floor close to the desk where someone would always be close in case I had a problem. The desk clerk said that starting Monday that everything was booked because of the oncoming hurricane. I didn’t realize then that I was going to wind up driving home in Hurricane Gustav.

This is going to be a multi-part post, so stay tuned and I’ll let you know about all the doings at Westfest.

MORE MAXINE

OLD AGE

SPECIAL POEM FOR OLDER FOLKS
A row of bottles on my shelf
Caused me to analyze myself.
One yellow pill I have to pop
Goes to my heart so it won't stop.
A little white one that I take
Goes to my hands so they won't shake.
The blue ones that I use a lot
Tell me I'm happy when I'm not.
The purple pill goes to my brain
And tells me that I have no pain.
The capsules tell me not to wheeze
Or cough or choke or even sneeze.
The red ones, smallest of them all
Go to my blood so I won't fall.
The orange ones, very big and bright
Prevent my leg cramps in the night.
Such an array of brilliant pills
Helping to cure all kinds of ills.
But what I'd really like to know...........
Is what tells each one where to go!

There's always a lot to be thankful for if
you take time to look for it. For example
I am sitting here thinking how nice it is
that wrinkles don't hurt...

JIGGLE QUEENS

I thought the my sisters and I held the record for bouncing bosoms but these ladies have us beat! Behold the QUEENS OF JIGGLE. Turn your speakers up and watch the tops of these boobilicious corsets. (Stole this from Straight White Guy) These women are having a ball.





I thought the one on the right was gonna fly right out of her stays!

TEE HEE GIGGLE {{{SNORT}}}

SATURDAY SUNSHINE

After lots of thunder and lighting plus some wind damage severe thunderstorms Thursday left us wonderful weather in its wake. Clean air, sunny skies and moderate temps in the 50s made me want to play hooky today so bad that I could taste it, but duty calls so off to the slave shop I went.

The drive to work this afternoon was picturesque; too bad I had to make a straight line to the mill instead of meandering up and down the back roads. I wish I had thought to bring my camera and had the time to snap some of the sights on the way. You know which ones; those special moments that capture your eye and intrigue your mind. All too often they pass in a blink and get forgotten in the press of everyday life.

I spent several minutes trailing a vintage horse and buggy driven by an older couple, their white hair gleaming in the sunshine as they leaned their heads together. I swear their tilted bodies and touching foreheads formed a perfect heart-shape just like something on the front of a Hallmark card. You could see the happy pair’s smiles flashing from a mile away as their scarves waved gaily in the breeze. Young love be damned, it looked like these oldsters were doing just fine in their golden years. We should all be so lucky.

A bit farther down the road a youngster on a shiny new ATV (obviously gotten for Christmas) was zigzagging up and down the ditch banks; cutting donuts and slinging dirt all over a much used and abused older trail bike sitting on the side of the road with a “FOR SALE’ sigh on the handle bars. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the poor trail bike. Old, worn out, unloved and unwanted, discarded and replaced as soon as a newer younger shinier model becomes available. I think there are a lot of us who know the feeling, even if we won’t admit it to anyone but ourselves.

I don’t own a full length mirror. I live and work in jeans and casual shirts in blue-collar industry, so dressing up is a rare occasion. So the other night when I went to get slicked up for a co-worker’s retirement party it came as something of a shock when all my dressier clothes were tighter than I remembered. OK ........ I’m 52 and some of this stuff has been in the closet for years, I can deal with the thicker waist, broader hips and sagging girls. My face is aging well (I guess) and makeup does wonders when I take the time to apply it. After all, age hits us all differently, I have a friend whose body is the same size 4 as when she was young but her face shows her years of chronic sun worship. We all have our flaws; so I take a deep breath, throw on a respectable outfit whose buttons don’t pop over my bulging bosom, paint my face, twirl around and model for my son and the 2 cats who give their approval, and off I go.

It wasn’t so long ago that I had to be careful of appearance and body language at dinners and meetings; my co-workers’ wives considered me a threat just because I was decent looking and had a boobilicious rack. But the other night as I was introduced to the other ladies their eyes glanced at me, slid from my artfully streaked gray hair and down my ample curves. And then dismissed me. I mean they totally looked away and never acknowledged my existence again. Not in words, looks, acts, nothing. They saw an older overly-plump over-the-hill female who wasn’t worth the time of day because she could never interest their men. It seems that if I’m not a threat I’m not worth the time of day. WTF!

These younger (I’m talking 30-something) women spent the night huddled next to their guys shooting glares at each other while I and the few other “matrons” laughed and giggled and wondered what was wrong with the pseudo fem-fatales at the other tables. And it was unanimous; all we “middle-aged ladies” agreed that they didn’t consider us worth anything because we weren’t a threat.

When did women become each other’s worse enemies? And what the hell makes them think that anyone else would want the testosterone-sodden pot-bellied male who shares their bed? What happened to female comradely? Hell, I always have more fun with my girlfriends than with a date; I don’t have to impress the girls; I can eat with my fingers, get slightly tipsy on too much wine, do the funky chichken if I want, and I don’t have to hold my breath so my gut doesn’t pooch out as much when I’m with my buddies.

I just don’t get it. We dismiss each other based on age, weight, shape and if we think someone looks better than us. I thought it was bad enough when men did it to us, but now we’re doing it to ourselves. Girls, this shit has GOT TO STOP!

RULES FOR 2008

RULE #1. NEVER WEAR A 'BOGGIN, WATCH CAP OR KNIT HAT WHILE WEARING MULTIPLE EARRINGS --- DAMN, THAT SHIT HURTS!!!!!

NEW YEAR'S EVE POST

Wahoo! I actually got 24 hours off Sunday (worked off midnights at 6 AM and came back this morning at 6AM. Working is a bitch but it pays the bills). I went home, fell into bed with a puss cuddled on each side, took a nap until noon and then went to town with my buddy Carol.

Carol was on a mission, in search of the perfect curtains. We hit Target, Wal-Mart, TJ Maxx and K Mart. The perfect curtain had to be navy blue, room darkening, and kid proof; not too much to ask but it seems that solid color curtains aren’t in fashion. She finally bought some at Wal-Mart but they weren’t exactly what she wanted.

Along the way I wound up buying a new plaid trench coat for 50% off and several pieces of amber jewelry (I’ve got a thing for amber). I also got lucky and found some digital Christmas ornaments (you download pictures onto the permanent memory and they act like a digital picture frame hanging on your tree) for 75% off at Target. That’s a great deal, marked down to $7 from $29.99; I got one and Carol got the only other two left. The ornaments were hidden behind some other stuff; otherwise they would have been gone because all the after-Christmas stuff was really picked over.

While standing in the checkout line I always pass the wait by reading the magazine headlines. I pointed out one on Cosmo to Carol that said in big bold letters “DIRTY SEXY SEX” and remarked to her that although it’s been a while, the last I remembered, if sex isn’t sexy then you’re doing it wrong! After all our ramblings I got home around 8 PM, passed out on the couch until 10:30 and then went to bed and slept until the alarm went off this morning.

The weather man is predicting our first snow flurries in the morning, Alabama isn’t known for the white stuff so they're making a big deal out of it (any time the forecast is for snow or ice everyone here makes a run on the grocery store and buys out all the bread and milk, I have no idea why). Tomorrow night it’s supposed to get down to 18 degrees so I guess I’ll have to break out the long johns and heavy socks. I just hope the road doesn’t ice over because I drive up and down mountains on narrow 2 lane roads and we don’t get weather days at the paper mill. Gotta remember to get some more cedar shaving for the dogs house on the way home this afternoon, too. Nothing worse than frost-bitten pooches.

I hope all of you have a Happy New Year; I’ll be snug in bed long before midnight so if you celebrate, drink one for me.