EVENING STROLL

Opening one eye to check what o’clock it was, I was blinded by the light! A ray of lethal brilliance stabbed straight through my pupil and into the pain center of my puny half-awake brain. Instinct made me jerk the covers over my head, blocking out that damned invasive sunbeam, until I had time to decide whether it was worth the trouble of getting up or if I should just be lazy and catch a few more hours of shuteye. After working 3 straight weeks of midnights, sunlight’s only a distant fond memory. It’s usually twilight by the time I get up and hit the road, and still dark when I head back home; good thing I don’t suffer from SAD! Deciding that a beautiful day was too good to waste I half heartedly talked myself into getting up early and catching a little daylight before hitting the plant.

After slowly easing my head out from under the quilt and shoving the cats out of the way I staggered out of bed and into the shower. 15 minutes of pounding hot water later I was starting to feel half way human and ready to face the world. Dressing warmly, I headed for Recede, the company park, located on the Tennessee River and only 10 minutes from work. That way I could stroll the riverbank to my heart’s content and not have to worry about clocking in late.

There’s something about water that’s always called to me. The sound of a fountain, the vista of any lake or river, the majesty of the ocean; it doesn’t matter as long as it’s peaceful and not too crowded. This time of year there are no campers and there weren’t any fishermen out today, so I had to the place all to myself. TVA always drops the river’s level in the winter so there was plenty of room to walk along the shore, the exposed sand and pebbles showcasing treasures hidden by muddy water the rest of the year. The sunlight was bright enough to require shades but the breeze off the river was chilly, making me glad that I had my work jacket on. All in all, a nice day for a leisurely stroll.

Nickel sized muscle shells crunched beneath my feet, scaring away the mallard ducks who minutes before were busily catching minnows in the slew that borders the side of the park. Oddly shaped chunks of driftwood lay haphazardly upon the sand, smoothed and rounded by the tossing and turning of the river’s current: Mother Nature’s works of art deco. River rocks and quartz nuggets gleamed in spotlights of sunbeams, free gems for anyone who had an eye for beauty.

As I walked I noticed several sets of deer tracks leading down to the water. The largest ones no bigger that those made by a decent sized dog but the smallest ones....... OH! They were so tiny! It almost looked as if someone had stabbed two fingers into the sand; the fawn couldn’t have weighed more than a few pounds (what the deer hunters around here call a “shoebox deer” because when dressed out it would fit inside a shoebox). I could picture Mom and baby deer tiptoeing down the bank, nervous and afraid of anything that moved. Not only did they have to be wary of wild predators, it’s deer season here. Believe me, there are lots of rednecks who aren’t above shooting Bambi. But in movie of my imagination, they drank unmolested and continued back into the safety of the forest; the fawn’s dappled coat blending into the shadows of the undergrowth. Hey, it’s my story and I’ll tell it the way I wanta.

Then my time was up. The setting sun made the temps drop causing me to zip up my coat, peep at my watch, give the river one last lingering glance and then head on out for work to make a dollar or two more.

REVISITING FAVORITE BOOKS

"He had discussed it in great detail with the two people in the world closest to him: his wife and his mistress. Anna, a middle-aged, ugly, bitter woman of peasant stock, had ordered him to keep away from the airport and stay in the background so that he could not be blamed if anything went wrong. Melina, his sweet, beautiful young angel, had advised him to greet the dignitaries. She agreed with him that an event like this could catapult him into instant fame. If Skouri handled this well, at the very least he would get a raise in salary and - God willing - might even be made Commissioner of Police when the present Commissioner retired. For the hundredth time Skouri reflected on the irony that Melina was his wife and Anna was his mistress, and he wondered again where he had gone wrong."



Damn, I wish I could write like Sydney Sheldon!

FUNNY

THANKSGIVING MORNING

A blustery breeze swirled moist mustard yellow leaves around my ankles as I stepped out of the car. Dawn’s anemic sun peeked through the remnants of storm clouds, casting a sickly sepia tone over everything. Last night’s thunder-boomer had passed; a goose-bump inducing drop in temperature and icy mud puddles the only evidence that summer’s long drought was over.

Puppies peeked out of the insulated doghouse, little black noses and floppy ears signaling that while they noticed Mommy was home, not one sorry flea-bitten hound bothered to leave their shared body warmth long enough to say “Good Morning”. Can’t say as I blame ‘em. Usually they play this fun game of twining around my legs or darting beneath my foot just as I try to take a step, trying to see if they can trip me between the car and the house. Selfish beasties, letting a little cold and wet interfere with their display of doggy affection, I should short them on their kibble rations!

After a long 12 hours sitting on my ample ass in front of a bunch of computers I was ready to hit the bed and snuggle with the poo-kitties for a long nap. I shed my coat and bags in the kitchen and was walking through the house leaving a trail of clothes behind me when I noticed the blinking amber light on the answering machine. Thinking “It’s Thanksgiving, someone is inviting me to fix a plate on the way to work or just giving me a cheery 'Happy Turkey Day” I hit the play button.

A sad/little boy lost/I just lost my best friend/nobody loves me voice said “Junebugg, its ex-sweet thang. I just wanted to talk, give me a call”. NOW HE WANTS TO TALK. Sounds like a personal problem to me, and it ain't no problem of mine.

Hitting the delete button, I slid between the sheets with the cats draped on each side of me and drifted off to dreamland. After all, I don’t get a day off until nest Friday week and I don’t have time for all the drama.

My new motto courtesy of Popeye: “I stands all I can stands and I can’t stands no more”

HAPPY THANKSGIVING

Happy Thanksgiving Animations provided by MySpaceGraphicsandAnimations.net

Graphics provided by MySpaceAnimations.com

Funny Turkey Cartoon hosted at MySpaceGraphicsandAnimations.org

Funny Turkey Animations provided by MUDTRAP.COM

Happy Thanksgiving Animations provided by MySpaceGraphicsandAnimations.net

Myspace Thanksgiving Animations provided by MUDTRAP.COM

'PUTER VIRUS

Be careful! When you see this on your monitor:

You know it's been infected with another crappy virus!

FIVE THINGS OF WHICH JUNEBUGG IS SUSPICIOUS

The ever entertaining Schmutzie has come up with a new meme, “Nine Things of Which Schmutzie Is Suspicious” and has graciously invited anyone who’s interested to play. The rules are simple:

• Write a list of things of which you are suspicious. Any number of them will do. Even the number 0 works. This is the first meme that can be done without even doing it. In fact, you're doing it right now.
• Include the list of rules, if you feel like it.
• Link back to the person who tagged you. Or not.
• Tag however many people you want to tag. You can skip this step.
• If you acted on rule four, leave comments on their websites to let them know that they have been tagged. This step is also completely optional.
•
Feel fantastic.

I’ve decided to play along. I'm not going to tag anyone so play if you wanta, I'd love to see your list. Schmutzie’s is amusing and well written but I’m at work and blogging on the sly so I’m just going to hit the hi-lights and hope for the best. So here, in no particular order, are

FIVE THINGS OF WHICH JUNEBUGG IS SUSPICIOUS:

• Anytime someone is extra sweet to me for no reason, especially if they’re usually self-centered (several of you reading this know who you are). My skeptical mind figures (from past experience) that either they want something, have done something nasty, or are planning to do something bad in the near future and are attempting to store up good conduct credits in advance
• People who try to forcibly “convert” me to their way of thinking. Whether it’s religion, lifestyle, what foods to eat, clothes to wear or anything else you care to name, I’m not in the mood to be brainwashed into thinking/living/believing like you. I’m a grown person and have a reasonable, logical mind with an above average IQ that I’ve been using for over 52 years. I’ve attended and graduated Analytical Trouble Shooting classes, Problem Solving seminars, Leadership Skills training, and tons of other “how to decide shit” classes. Talk to me if you want but don’t yell, belittle me or condemn me to hell. I’m a stubborn old bitch with the temperament of a mule; the harder you push the more I’ll refuse to listen to you.
• Car salesmen and mechanics; enough said. They see a female with her checkbook in her hand and think “Sucker!”
• Men who take longer primping than I do.
• Things that go “bump” in the night. I live out in the country and it’s dark out there. You city folks worry about muggers and thieves. We’ve got werewolves, cattywampuses (Alabama for wampus cats), vampires and haints running around just waiting for someone to jump on here in the boonies. Warning: I sleep with a shotgun AND a rifle next to my bed and I tend to wake up in a very bad mood.

WOMAN OF A CERTAIN AGE

Friday I'll be the ripe old age of 52. I consider myself to be in the midst of middle age, so imagine my surprise when I found this while digging around on the web:

The phrase was popularized in a 1979 book by the psychotherapist Lillian B. Rubin, "Women of a Certain Age: The Midlife Search for Self," in which midlife spanned 35 to 54. Reached in San Francisco, Dr. Rubin, whose book indicates she is now in her early 70's, was surprised to learn of the long English history of the phase because "it has a long history in French (femmes d'une certaine age), where it refers to women of fortyish and thereabouts who are able to initiate boys and young men into the beauties of sexual encounters. The early use in English seems to be about spinsterhood, but the French meaning has nothing to do with marriage." In French, the phrase has erotically or sexually charged overtones. "It comes from a society where sexuality is freer," Dr. Rubin notes, "and more understood as an important part of human life."

It's nice to know that at least in certain parts of the world that a woman isn't past her sexual prime. Here in America if you're not a young 20 something, lean and have a figure like a boy with boobs you're considered over the hill. Poo on that! We over 50 women have a lot of life left in us: we're vivacious, sexually active (even with all our lumps, bumps, wrinkles, sagging boobs, dragging butts and love handles), got jobs and money of our own and now we Baby Boomers are outnumbering all the other age groups. So look out world, it's our time to shine!

I've never lied about my age and I'm not starting now. 52 and proud of it Y'all! Hell, being over 50 damned sure beats the alternative! Who knows, I might even go out and find me a trophy guy. If the men can do it why can't we women? Or as the French would say, "Vive La femmes d'une certaine age"

Cowboy Crosses Country on Horseback to Reveal Unseen American Culture

Now this man has my respect! Go and read the entire story.

Weary of the daily drumbeat over war, crime, poverty and assorted social ills, he and his wife are burning through their life savings to tell the stories of hardworking, honest everyday people in rural America. Inman soaks it all in atop Blackie, a 16-year thoroughbred-quarter horse mix who's averaging 20-25
miles a day along backroads from Oregon to North Carolina.

UNREAL BEAUTY-UNTRUTH IN AVERTISING

I found this post over at The Curvy Counselor and just has to share it.

Wanna look like the models you see on billboards? Well... it may not be humanly possible. Have you seen this video clip from Dove’s Campaign for Real Beauty? Called Evolution, it’s a powerful illustration of the process of manufacturing beauty.
Take a moment to see the clip for yourself. And please let me know what you think

After watching the video I can see why it's no damn wonder women are so depressed when we compare ourselves to the altered images in ads marketing techs use in order to sell their products to us.

ADVISE FROM MY FRIENDS

THE WOMEN:

“It’s about time you dumped the guy. We missed ya.”

“You didn’t cry when you kicked that loser to the curb, did ya? Cause men’s egos always make ‘em think that you’re bawling over losing them when you’re actually crying over the thought of getting nekked in front of a brand new feller and wondering if he’s noticing your wobbly bits.”

“The way to get over a man is another man. It’s like when you get thrown by a horse, you gotta get right back on or you’ll be scarred for life. And it’s gotta be just for fun, you don’t want someone to fall in love with, just a nice warm body to rock your world one time and one time only. I recommend that you don’t give him your number and you can even lie about your name if you want.”

“Speaking of new studs, here ya go: from me to you” (waving a gaily ribbon wrapped, large economy sized box of condoms with “RIBBED FOR HER PLEASURE” in bold print on the front for the whole restaurant to see). “Remember, no love without a glove. If the man wants to play, he has to dress for the party!”

“Naw, what she needs is a new BOB” (battery operated boyfriend). “No muss, no fuss, always ready when you are and won’t bother you when you’re tired. Plus it don’t care about love handles, saggy boobs, or a big ass; and it doesn’t eat your groceries or cheat on ya.”

“The old man has a friend….he ain’t nothing pretty, got a pot belly and a bald spot but he’s sweet and he’s got a brand new Harley that’s FINE.”

THE MEN:

“If you ever decide to fool around with a married man be sure I’m the first to know”

“Hell, you got a good job, money, land, and your own house: you’ll have to beat the men off with a stick.”

“I’ll volunteer to be your ‘friend with benefits’. Just call when ever you get an itch and I’ll scratch it for ya, baby!”

GOT ONE RIGHT

At last, a horoscope that rings true!

Scorpio
Junebugg,
You will know that thoughts of passion are now deflated by the illusions a partner had about you. The tension between true and false is uncomfortably apparent. Look to move on rather than change who you are to fit someone else's desires.

ALONE AND LOVING IT

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt love; I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone, even when I was married. I care more about some people than others but I’m self-centered. Can’t help it, I’ve always been that way. I’m not sure I even love my parents; I feel obligated to them for all they’ve done for me, especially after the way they’ve taken care of me after my wreck and all. Hell, I don’t even know what love feels like. But I do like you, I feel comfortable around you, I like your company. I just don’t have strong emotions of any kind. But I’m not gonna be alone, I’ll always have some female to keep me company if you’re not interested.”

Isn’t the lack of any kind of emotion the description of a serial killer?

This is the excuse I got the next day; after Ex-Sweet Thang called, told me he’d be over soon and then didn’t show up, didn’t call, didn’t answer his cell. AGAIN. It’s the same way he disappeared for months twice before in the last 4 years: breaking up by disappearing until he got lonely; until he found out that the younger prettier thinner women weren’t interested in a self-centered overweight 47 year old blue collar worker. Then it's time to call Junebugg again: the doormat, the one who spoils her men, the one who always seems to be around until something better comes around.

And what am I, a holey pair of jeans that you put on when you don’t care what you look like, when all the nicer jeans aren’t available?

Fuck that!

So I’m now foot loose and fancy free. No more sitting at home waiting on someone who may or may not show up or call or even just think of me once in a while. No more putting my life on hold until someone else feels like doing something.

I want passion in my life! I want feelings: love, anger, sex, hate. I want to feel alive, and if I’m with someone I want them to do more than feel “comfortable”. I realize that I'm out of shape and over 50 (of the 57 million American women 45 and up, nearly half—25 million—are unmarried, outnumbering entire populations of countries such as North Korea, Taiwan, and Australia) and that demand for women of my age aren't in high demand. I don't care, being alone is the way that I've spent most of my life.

I do believe it’s time for a girls night out.

IN THE MOOD

Happy Halloween Y'all! I'm trying to get in the mood so I found I found these lovely dark abodes at Fritemares, the official homepage of author, film maker, and photographer, J. W. James. Go visit, he has some online stories to put a shiver down your back.



I'll have to work on Halloween, darn it. I missed the Blood and Roses Vampire Rave last night (although I've had reports they had "a bloody good time") and now I won't get to wear my witchy/bitchy black velvet dress for All Hallows Eve. Last year we went to Tennessee for the haunted house from hell and then had a few drinks in the local Applebee's where our costumes got lots of attention. But that was last year, this year ain't looking too good.

I never get to have any fun, it's just not fair! I wanta get out and do a little tricking and a lot of treating myself. Being a responsible adult ain't no fun! I'm looking forward to my second childhood when I'll be old enough to know better and young enough at do it anyway!

Anywho, Boo Y'all. Lets get in the mood and go bob for apples, drink strange mixed drinks and stagger around in the dark. Anyone wanta come play with me?

NEVER TOO LATE

Wednesday night Sweet Thang’s parents hosted a dinner and I was fascinated watching his elderly aunt and her new husband.

It’s not often that you see an older couple showing public displays of affection like these two. As they sat side by side telling the story of how they met, lost each other and rediscovered love in their twilight years his age spotted hand caressed her leg. Even though she was beyond plump, he was thin with major hearing loss, and both were white-headed, their love showed in every action. Every time they glanced at each other you could see a twinkle in their eyes. At a remark about them still “honeymooning” both oldsters started giggling like a couple of teenagers. These two couldn’t seem to keep their hands off of each other and you never saw one of them unless the other was only a few feet away. Not bad for a couple in their 70s.

I don’t remember the complete romance story but it goes something like this (any errors are due to my bad memory):

He was her first date when she was 14. They got more and more infatuated with each other but then he went away to fight in the war. After being discharged he had problems settling down (as he put it, back then no one had ever heard of “battle fatigue” so the VA didn’t offer any medical help).

Both married and raised families. Then in their golden years, each of them widowed and at an age when society expects you to be asexual, unattractive to the opposite sex, dateless, old and alone {much less fall in love and marry} they rediscovered each other and tied the knot.

Just goes to show, it’s never too late for love. Sounds like a good story line for the Lifetime Movie Channel, doesn’t it?

Kiss My Grits

Turn the speakers up and listen close to the lyrics!

REUNION

Family reunions; that quintessential mixture of love, laughter and loss. Relatives hold forth with the same verbal sparring that they’ve mastered over the years, but now there’s more gray heads than sparkling eyes in the mix. Hugs encompass the shoulders of loved ones present and accounted for, making the black hole of deceased family members all the more obvious and heartbreaking. Oldsters catch-up with each other while youngsters ask “Who are you?” “Whose your Mom/Dad?” before adjourning outside to toss a football as if they’ve known each other forever. Old memories are shared and new ones made as long lost kin reminisce and new babies are introduced to strangers whose genes they share.

Saturday was the first reunion in years of The Curnutt Clan, my Mom’s family. It was hosted by my Cousin Danny at CR Mechanical (his company) in Tanner, with Danny furnishing hotdogs and hamburgers and the rest of the relatives bringing covered dishes. Of course there was an overabundance of food; 2 tables groaned beneath the weight of casseroles and desserts of every kind (ain’t it always that way at reunions!) All the cooks urged everyone to “Try some of this, I brought it!” as paper plates were filled to overflowing and frost-bitten hands dug into coolers searching for the beverage of choice. Several cameras snapped at odd times, capturing candid photos of bulging cheeks and wide open mouths with food being shoveled in for all prosperity. I can see my grandson years from now asking “Who’s the old man with half a hotdog hanging out of his mouth?”

One of my cousins walked by, patted me on the tummy and asked “Getting kinda fat, aren’t ya?” Later I told my sister Donna that our sisters and kids were the biggest bunch at the reunion (meaning there were more of us) and she replied “Yeah, in more ways than one” and it’s true. Most of Mom’s relatives are on the slender side while we Waters Women take after our Dad’s family (a much sturdier stock). Kinda funny when you consider the fact that my Grandmother Curnutt was known to all as “Big Mother”.

The reunion was held just down the road from the old Curnutt home which had been condemned and is being torn down. Of course everyone had to go look and recall stories about our growing up in and around the ancient two story house. When we were kids it seemed gigantic, but as adults it’s hard figure out how the heck they got so much furniture in the tiny rooms. Donna got several hand-made cinder bricks from the old fireplace as mementoes, but I prefer my memories to solid objects which will only catch dust. You can take memories out and play with them whenever you want and they don’t take up space in my already cluttered life.

After all, aren’t good memories kept bright and shiny from constant use the best tribute that you can give a loved one, whither they’re alive or deceased? To all my family, I love y’all and I’m proud to be a part of the clan. I hope you feel the same way about me.

A special thanks to Cousin Danny for the use of his time and business place. Love Ya.

PS: The computer censer at work has blocked this website and any other with the term "blogspot" in the address, so I don't have as much time to visit my blogbuddies. Sorry for not getting around to everyone as much as usual

MY SO CALLED LIFE

I don’t know what’s been wrong with my blogging lately. Something interesting or out of the ordinary will happen and I’ll think “Wow, that’ll make a good blog entry” and start composing a post in my head, but when I finally get time to sit down at the ‘puter my pea sized intellect goes totally blank. Maybe it’s the much ballyhooed “writer’s block” (although I don’t consider myself much of a writer) or old-timer’s disease, could be I’m just in a rut; but I apologize for the lack of recent posts. I would promise to do better but I’ve already done so and then reneged.

Today I went on a small shopping spree; got a several of those retro Jackie-O style jackets with bracelet length sleeves (one a black and white houndstooth, one dark gray and last but not least a brown tweed; I'm trying to match the stuff already in my closet) and a pair of elbow length gloves. I may be too "long in the tooth" for fashion but what the hell; I figure at the ripe old age of almost 52 (as of next month) I can wear what I want.

I’ve also been trying to do a little closet purging before I drag out the cold weather stuff. Why is it that you always find things with the tags still on that you’ve never worn or even forgot that you bought? I wear jeans and casual tops to work (one of the downfalls of a blue collar job) so most of the nice clothing that I lust after sits in the closet waiting for that proper occasion that never comes up. I guess I’ll have to start dressing up to go to Wal-Mart or the grocery store. It’s not like I have a lot of events to attend, what with my work schedule I’m lucky to get dinner and a movie and my “girls night outs” have been few and far between.

My buddy Karen is side-lined with 3 broken ribs. Her husband and son were sitting up scaffolding to paint their 2 story home while she was mixing paint and one of the scaffolds fell on her back, pinning her to the ground on top of a fire ant bed until someone heard her yelling and came to her rescue. So she’s house bound for a couple of months per the Dr. and in a lot of pain. She’s so hyper that I can’t imagine her being down that long, so we’ll see how well she obeys orders. Until she’s back on her feet we do a lot of phone tag and I try to keep her in reading material. She doesn’t care much for books so I drop off magazines and gossip rags for her to read at her leisure. Wish I could more but I’m not sure what that would be.

Sweet Thang is back at work until next month when they plan surgery to remove the biggest bolt that runs from the outside of his hip through the pelvic bone into his lower spine (he claims that he can feel it every time he sits down. Nothing worse that a bolt in the butt!). His Dr. says that Sweet Thang will be back at work in a couple of weeks so I hope that maybe it won't be long till he’ll be able to start living a more active life. Our social life has consisted of watching TV together and I’m ready to get out of the house and enjoy some of this glorious fall weather.

OK, that’s all that’s happening in my life lately. And how have y’all been doing?

DNA

Stolen borrowed from Bitchitude.

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™

THINK PINK

October is National Breast Cancer Month. I'm sure we all know someone who is suffering from or has survived this terrible disease. As you can see on the image on the left, breast cancer affects men as well as women so we're all at risk.

"Breast cancer may be one of the oldest known forms of cancer tumors in humans. The oldest description of cancer ....... discovered in Egypt and dates back to approximately 1600 BC." ....... In the United States, breast cancer is the third most common cause of cancer death (after lung cancer and colon cancer). In 2007, breast cancer is expected to cause 40,910 deaths (7% of cancer deaths; almost 2% of all deaths) in the U.S.{from "breast cancer" in Wikipedia}.

So go to a rally, enter a race or fundraiser,put a pink ribbon on your car or person and for goodness sakes check your boobs for lumps and bumps and such {if you need instructions for a self-check, here they are).

Even more fun, get someone else to massage your titties for you! At the least it could lead to a little lovin' and at the worse you might catch the "Big C" before it gets too far along to correct.