New Year's Eve.
Who was it that called it Amateur's Night?
The 'chick has no grand plans for the evening and to be honest, it's a relief. Last year, the 'chick went out with a group of friends, to a bar, and it was fun but it wasn't fun. It will not be repeated this year.
This year, Roadchick and Rockboy are going to pick up chicken from KFC and go to Redneck's house to eat and watch movies and possibly play cards with Redneck and Skaterboy. The 'chick fully intends to be home long before the DUIs are on the road.
Redneck, bless his heart, had to work today and considering that he and the 'chick stayed up late watching a movie and got next to no sleep, he's going to be tired. 2 hours of sleep and a 10 hour shift will do that to you. The 'chick suspects that he'll be sound asleep by the time midnight rolls around.
The 'chick has been thinking about resolutions. She's never much on making them because she knows how lazy she is and knows that it's destined to end in failure, so, for the most part, she does not indulge.
There is one thing that the 'chick IS going to do this year and she's actually already started. She is going to get her finances in order. It's not that she's in debt or anything like because she's not. Other than a car payment, she does not owe beyond the regular bills every month.
What happened is this: her check card makes it too easy to spend, spend, spend and not keep careful track of how much money is actually left. There have been days toward the end of a pay period where the 'chick holds her breath, wondering if there is enough to get through until her next check hits the bank.
This is stupid, y'all. And laziness on her part. And shameful.
Yes. You've got it:
The 'chick is too lazy to write down her receipts and subtract them.
And she is vain enough to think that the vague, "running total" she has in her head is even remotely close to correct.
But, no more.
She's trying to operate on more of a cash basis because it's easier to subtract a big, round number and then pay as she goes. Much less subtraction too. So far, so good.
The 'chick hopes that you have a lovely New Year's, no matter what you choose to do. Be safe, have fun, and see you next year!
Sunday, December 31, 2006
New Year's Eve.
Posted by Roadchick at 9:21 AM
Thursday, December 28, 2006
There is a heavy dose of irony going on in the 'chick's life at the moment. It comes from her heavy metal lifestyle.
The 'chick is off work this week. This is a standard happening because the agency she works for closes down for the week between Christmas and New Year's.
During a regular work week, the 'chick has to get up between 5 and 5:30 IN THE MORNING and get ready for work. Has to drop Rockboy and his carpool buddy off at school. Has to get herself across town to the interstate and then battle rush hour traffic. There are mornings when the 'chick feels like she has slain dragons by the time she makes it into her office in the morning. Most mornings, she would've given anything to be able to just sleep.
So, the 'chick is off this week.
(Wait for it - it's coming. . . )
Every morning that she has been off, she has woken up right around 7:00, just in time for the Early Show to start. She stayed in a bed a few of those mornings, trying desperately to go back to sleep but it wasn't happening. Granted, 7:00 is much better than 5:00, but still.
All this early rising has not been without benefit. Mornings when the 'chick wakes up and NEEDS to write are treasured. Although y'all are much too kind to say so, it's usually pretty evident when the 'chick is struggling for something, anything to say.
An idea for a book has presented itself. Unbidden. Unasked for. Lawd above, it might even be 'chick lit and who is better versed to write such a thing?
There is irony in the 'chick's life. She has an irony-rich diet.
Posted by Roadchick at 7:54 AM
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
The 'chick has returned from the mall. Twice. In two days. Clearly, she is insane.
Yesterday, everybody in the world was at the mall but amazingly enough, the 'chick and Rockboy parked close to the doors thanks to good timing and the 'chick's Magic Parking Spell. Rockboy bought two pairs of jeans and it was over. Nearly painless.
This morning, the 'chick returned to the mall for her annual eye exam. Her eye doctor is next to the Lenscrafters so she had to go back. The appointment was at 10:30 so parking wasn't too bad, or shouldn't have been since the mall opened at 10:00. Except.
Except that as the 'chick was cruising the parking lot, looking for a space reasonably close to the doors, a large Suburban decided it would be a good idea to turn down the aisle that the 'chick was in. It was a one way aisle. With the monster truck going the wrong direction. Fully expecting the 'chick to give 'way and back up. Obviously, they didn't know the 'chick.
Roadchick sat there patiently, chatting on her cell phone to Rockboy, and waited for the Suburban to realize the error of its ways. The Suburban, evidently thinking that size makes up for what is lacking in intellect, inched closer to Roadchick, trying to make her move.
Roadchick, almost Zen-like in her calm, put Payback into Park, and waited. Smiling gently.
The driver of the Suburban gestured to Roadchick. Just a friendly "Merry Christmas" wave, she is sure. Roadchick smiled and sipped her tall latte, still chatting to Rockboy.
Eventually, after a few minutes, the Suburban conceded defeat and backed out of the aisle, a sadder but wiser SUV.
After the eye exam was over (Roadchick's eye doctor totally ROCKS, y'all. Did you know that they don't have to dilate your eyes anymore? Now they do a really bright flash Polaroid instead. The 'chick asked for a copy for her fridge, but the girl evidently didn't think the 'chick was serious.) the 'chick wandered the mall for a few minutes.
Now, the 'chick is proud to say that until yesterday, she made it through the entire holiday season without setting foot in the mall. When exactly did they start pumping Pimp Spray through the HVAC system? The entire mall was full of this . . . scent. Yuck. Whatever it was gave the 'chick a headache and caused her eyes to burn which led to her finishing up her business and getting out of there as fast as possible.
What business, you ask?
A visit to TicketMaster for monster truck tickets. Skaterboy's birthday is coming up and in honor of the big day, all the Roadies are going to see the monster trucks. Because the 'chick has a bit of the gambler in her, she bought General Admission tickets. That, and they were $10 cheaper than assigned seating. She's willing to risk it.
As the 'chick walked back to her car, she noticed a rather large tow truck pulled up behind the Payback. For a moment, a brief moment, the 'chick thought that maybe the Suburban she had schooled earlier was having a moment of revenge but that wasn't it. The tow truck moved out of the way so the 'chick could back out. As she headed down the row, a driver came screeching towards her on the one way aisle, wanting her parking space. Fortunately for him, he moved to the right and left enough room for the 'chick to proceed because otherwise, she would have absolutely backed up and pulled into her parking space again.
Posted by Roadchick at 1:27 PM
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
It's the day after Christmas & the 'chick hopes that yours was lovely. No, the title of the post has nothing to do with anything in the post except possibly down at the end. Maybe. Sort of.
For after Christmas giggles, the 'chick has been checking out her stats. This is an activity that can quickly become obsessive in Roadchickland so other than checking the numbers quickly, she tries not to indulge.
Since she's not working this week, she took the time to dig a little deeper. The keyword searches have been cracking her up this morning. (And, it's better than taking down the Christmas tree or cleaning up little bits of shredded paper.)
Evidently, a LOT of people were struck with the urge to make Banana Pudding this holiday season. Why they came to Roadchick is not clear. She thought she had made it evident that she CANNOT make Banana Pudding. She even renamed it Nemesis Pudding. It is her Cooking Shame.
A lot of other people (relatives, evidently! Hi y'all!) wound up at the 'chick's site while looking for lyrics to "Merry Christmas from the Family". Those cousins wandered in with search terms that included:
extension cord chain smoking feliz
the typical american family Christmas, egg nog, margaritas, lights, cigarettes
redneck christmas with the family
Others have dropped in looking for cleaning squalor, squirrel pee, and Martha Stewart gift wrapping techniques.
Bless their little hearts. Probably never knew what hit them.
Redneck was very pleased with his giftages. The 'chick done good. For those of you following along, his well-thought-out gift was a chrome fire extinguisher for his show car. It was something he saw & mentioned wanting and then promptly forgot about it but the 'chick did not. His other gift was a Dremel tool. For some reason, most men seem to want one of those. The 'chick thinks it's the male equivalent of a KitchenAid mixer for the girls. We all want one, even if we're not sure what we're going to do with it once we have it.
Redneck's gifts to the 'chick proves that he knows her pretty well. There were four - one thing she wanted, one thing she needed, one thing that was funny (at least to the 'chick), and a little something extra. The thing she wanted was a bottle of her favorite perfume that she has to con others into buying for her because she would never spend that amount of money on herself. The thing she needed was a universal remote for the TV/DVD/VCR in her bedroom. Now one handy remote replaces the other three that didn't work half the time. The funny thing was a penguin that you fill up with candy, wind up, and he poops it back out. It matches the pooping sheep that she got at the beginning of the Christmas season. And, she got a candle that smells delicious. So, she was happy.
Christmas was at her brother's house where she proved yet again that Auntie Roadchick buys the best presents. Her niece and nephew demanded that those gifts be unpackaged immediately, much to the chagrin of the other relatives who spent a lot more. Christmas is a competition, y'all. Didn't you know that?
Much to Speedbump's dismay, her Christmas tree jungle gym will be coming down today.
Christmas evidently doesn't agree with Speedbump - she spent much of the day yesterday wandering around and meowing her head off. When she wasn't doing that, she was nested on boxes under the tree. If someone so much as reached for them, they were swatted with her foot.
Well, the 'chick has procrastinated as much as she can so it's time to do some work around the house and then maybe even go shopping. Rockboy's Christmas cash is burning a hole in his pocket and he wants to go to the mall. That ought to be fun. Not. If y'all don't hear from the 'chick soon, send a search party.
Posted by Roadchick at 10:40 AM
Thursday, December 21, 2006
At Chez Roadtrip, it is not an uncommon occurrence (Y'all, the 'chick does not know if that word is spelled correctly. It doesn't look right no matter how she types it. Anyway.) for things to be left to the last possible minute.
The Christmas holidays are upon us.
Now, the 'chick has done her shopping. Mostly. She thinks. She Made A List (sort of). She's still in the Checking It Twice mode.
Did she buy enough? Did she forget anyone? Oh yeah, there was that last minute invite to Redneck's mama's house on Christmas Eve. What do you give to a woman that is an unknown entity for the most part, but that you would still like to impress? The 'chick does not know what she likes. She does not know what she dislikes. What about all the kiddos - are there enough giftages to satisfy? Does the dollar amount count versus the quantity? Do toddlers understand THAT ratio???
Roadchick and her two brothers chipped in and bought a new TV for the parental units only to find out last Sunday - ONE WEEK FROM THE DAY OF PRESENTATION - that the parental units had been out television shopping. Not only had they been out television shopping, they had somehow managed to wander into CompUSA (a store they NEVER go to since they do not own a computer) to look at the exact TV that was purchased for them and then completely dissed the television by saying that they really felt, for them, the picture on the Sony was far superior.
What do you do in a situation like that?
After a brief phone conference, it was decided that they're getting the TV that they don't like and if they really don't like it, they can return it and buy something else on their own time.
The parental units, as you may have gathered, Patient Reader, are very difficult to shop for. What do you buy for people who have everything and have enough money to buy whatever they want? Apparently, you buy them a TV that they don't like.
The 'chick valiantly offered to accept the TV as her Christmas gift, just to be helpful. She is not proud. Not a bit. Her offer was refused.
So, back to list checking: Redneck.
The 'chick put a little bit of thought into his gift and bought him something that he mentioned wishing he had but now she is wondering if that is enough. One gift. Granted, a well-thought-out gift. Mediumly expensive but not over the top. How much does one spend on a boyfriend of 4 and 1/2 months? Without appearing to be a freaking stalker who bribes with expensive gifts?
The 'chick is thinking she will pick up a small something-or-other to go with the "big" present. Is that enough? What? She does not know.
The other thing that she does not know is what he got for her. She knows that there is a gift because he called her on Monday afternoon when she was on her way to his house. He called to let her know that he was stuck in Midtown traffic because he had had to go to work to pick up the tracking number for her stupid Christmas present that the FedEx guy had tried to re-deliver after being told to put it on hold at the depot and Redneck would pick it up. Redneck was afraid that it would be sent back, so he drove into the city on his day off. The 'chick asked him what was in her stupid Christmas present but he wouldn't say. And then today, he said that she could not go Christmas shopping with him on Saturday because, well, because. Now, y'all, that clearly indicates multiple giftages.
There is more shopping in her future. Sigh.
And then, there's the baking. The 'chick likes to bake so maybe it won't be such a chore. She was assigned dessert for the Christmas feasties at her brother's house. She knows that she won't be taking Nemesis Pudding. She just doesn't know what she will take. She's voting for something chocolate, but then some people want "something light" to which she was tempted to reply: then suck wind; but she didn't.
Admire Roadchick for her restraint at the holidays.
Christmas cards? They were a no-go this year. Some years she sends them, some years she doesn't. This was a doesn't year. It keeps the relatives on their toes.
Y'all will be proud to know that the Christmas tree is up. It was doubtful but apparently a Holiday Bug bit her butt on the way home Tuesday so she came home, hauled out the tree, and up it went.
On Wednesday, Roadchick and Rockboy came home to find that Speedbump had climbed up INSIDE the tree (as usual) and had dismantled the entire front half of the tree. It took 15 minutes to put it all back to rights.
On Thursday, Roadchick and Rockboy came home to find that Speedbump had climbed up INSIDE the tree (as usual) and had dismantled the entire right side of the tree. It took 10 minutes to put it all back to rights.
On Friday, Roadchick and Rockboy fully expect to come home to find that Speedbump has dismantled some other side of the tree and fully expect to spend a minimum of 10 minutes putting it back to rights.
The good news is that Roadchick wisely used the glass ball ornaments this year and Speedbump hasn't really messed with them. Apparently they are too hard to carry to her water dish.
It's gonna be busy around Chez Roadtrip over the next few days, so here's hoping that y'all enjoy the holidays with the ones you love best.
Merry Christmas! And God bless us, every one.
Roadchick, Redneck, Rockboy & Speedbump
Posted by Roadchick at 9:00 PM
What are y'all doing here?
The 'chick is at Cardiac Fantasies today.
C'mon over & see what the 'chick found hidden under the mattress . . .
Posted by Roadchick at 8:49 AM
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Michael, at Cardiac Fantasies, has invited the 'chick to be a guest blogger.
He's got an entire week of housesitters over there, so be sure to check it out!
Mist1, Fringes, the 'chick, KB (Strange Occurances), and Briliant Donkey will all be at the house party, so stop by & we'll raid Michael's liquor cabinet when he's not looking.
The 'chick is in charge on December 21st, so be sure to mark your calendars.
Posted by Roadchick at 9:31 AM
Friday, December 15, 2006
The 'chick came in from work this evening and was thinking of YOU, Patient Reader. Thinking that she really needed to post something new to move that rambling mess from a couple of days ago on down the list. Something funny, something interesting, hell, just SOMETHING!
So, she was thinking about her day today - did anything interesting happen? Well, no, not really. Did a few visits, nothing out of the ordinary. So, what to say?
Then, the 'chick started thinking about what she did this morning, to kill some time between visits. The 'chick's car was a dirty, dirty girl and desperately needeed a bath. The nastiness level exceeded what a drive-through car wash would handle so it was going to mean the 'chick doing the job herself, to make sure that the car was actually clean.
To the car wash!
The 'chick pulled into one of the bays and headed to the change machine for a handful of quarters. So far, so good.
It's been awhile since the 'chick has used one of these car washes, so she studied up on the directions. There are about 4000 choices of settings but the 'chick made a selection and plugged in the quarters. The tire soak thing didn't seem to be working, but whatever - she'd just get it with the brush. So, she followed the brush directions and sprayed the soapy stuff (on the "Spray nozzle soapy stuff" setting) over the car - she thought. It was kind of soapy, but not what she expected. There was, however, a large pile of soapy foam on the floor under the brush. When she changed the dial to the "Foamy brush" setting, it sort-of worked, but not really. Precious time was ticking away, so the 'chick went for it anyway and washed the car off, saving the tires for last. Washing complete, and after plugging in MORE quarters, the chick switched it to "High Powered Rinse" and promptly blew MORE soap onto the car. Grrr. Ok, switch to "Spot Free Rinse" and this only produced a slightly less foamy spray. Rinsing, rinsing, rinsing, determined to not use more quarters.
At THIS point, Patient Reader, the 'chick came to the conclusion that a jokester - a funny, funny person, had most likely yanked the knob off and put it back in an alternate position so that no matter what you thought you were going to do, it wasn't going to work out for you. The 'chick was out of patience and nearly out of quarters so she gave it up and figured that since she had gottem most of the yuck off, she would just run it through the automatic car wash next door and finish it up, making sure that whatever she had sprayed on the car last was all washed away.
So, car dripping and slightly soapy still, she pulled up to the automatic wash and put in some money. It ATE the money and still wanted more. No way, uh uh. The 'chick went to the cashier and demanded he either give back her money or make the car wash turn on. He handed her the money. Grrr. So, the 'chick just drove really, really fast to blow off the remaining bubbles and called it good. (There really wasn't much soap on the car but it seemed like it at the time.)
This got the 'chick to thinking about her car. Well, more specifically, her car's name. For, yes, the 'chick's car has a name. And her name is Payback.
Why Payback, you ask?
There are two reasons, well, actually three. The first reason is because Payback is a bitch. The second reason is because this car (a 2003 Monte Carlo) is the 'chick's first "Big Girl" car. She picked it out, test drove it, and bought it on her own. No men involved. No husband, no dad, no brothers. No extra input. No one telling her, "Roadchick, you don't want that car." All hers. Her choice. What she wanted. Hers. And the third reason is because in several Kid Rock songs, he talks about "Payback" as in: Looking for the Payback. The 'chick loves Kid Rock and it's a little secret just between The Kid and the 'chick. And now, you, Patient Reader, but don't tell anyone, ok?
It's funny because the 'chick has not named anything else - not her washer or dryer, not her fridge, not anything else inanimate. People ask about the name - because it's on the rear side windows - and some understand and some don't, but that's ok because the 'chick and Payback DO understand.
What about you, Patient Reader? Have you named anything inanimate? (The 'chick does NOT want to know that you've named your boobs Skip and Flippy or anything else....on your body. That falls under TMI and violators will be mocked, publically.)
Posted by Roadchick at 5:58 PM
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Today was the Christmas party at work. It's held during work hours so no alcohol or Xeroxing of the butt going on. What does that have to do with this post? Who knows? It was just something to tell y'all.
Rockboy has a wicked cold and the 'chick, while a loving and concerned mama, is not nearly so loving and concerned that she wants him to pass it on to her. Especially not with the holidays coming up.
Especially since the agency she works for is CLOSED for the week between Christmas and New Year's. This does not come out of vacation time - it's just a lovely gift from the directors. Roadchick LOVES her job. She loves her directors.
Today, life is good in Roadchickland.
She's been surfing around the 'net, checking out what other bloggers have had to say about the Six Weird Things meme that was making the rounds. Michael & the 'chick share the "Don't disrupt the routine" weirdness. Autrice & the 'chick both agree that they HATE the little cardboard subscription cards that come stuffed in magazines. The 'chick did not list that out as one of her weirdnesses but it's definitely one of them. She will absolutely shake the hell out of her magazines to dislodge the loose ones and then go through them and yank out any that are attached. Why? No idea. It is what it is. The 'chick does not really have many food phobia-weirdnesses other than the liver thing & the no crumbs/sticky hands thing. She does not mind if her food touches on the plate, she does not eat all of one thing before starting on another & she's pretty willing to try new foods with one exception - never, ever, unless it is disguised as something else (and she does not see how that is possible) will she ever eat chittlins. Never. Ever.
The day before Thanksgiving break (and the 'chick's Thanksgiving breakdown), her boss took a group from the office to lunch as a little pre-celebration. They went to Sitar in Nashville for Indian food. The 'chick has eaten Indian food before and liked it but was somewhat put off of it by the fact that she smelled of curry for a day or two afterward. Nevertheless, she went. And y'all - it was delicious. And apparently that curry smell that she could smell was only in her head because no one else was giving her looks and wondering why she left her sari at home. Yum. Yum. It's been drifting through the 'chick's thoughts since then and another visit is not too far in her future. Because - yum.
Why all this about food? No idea - the 'chick ate enough to where she really should not have to eat until sometime next week.
Redneck update: He is feeling much better and is back at work. The 'chick has to say - he was a good patient for the most part so she cannot complain.
You know how there are some people that you just don't want to deal with when they are sick or recovering from surgery because they whine or require a lot of attention? Redneck is not one of those. This is a good thing because the 'chick loses patience very quickly with people that require that level of dancing attention.
Roadchick's mother is a dancing-attention type patient. There is moaning and groaning and praying out loud to the Virgin Mary to help her. There are moans and prayers in Lithuanian, which Roadchick's mother speaks fluently. When the Lithuanian starts, it means that she is Very Ill Indeed. There is hand-fluttering and martyred looks. Hushed whispers. Misery. Misery to all. There is no one in all the world that can pay enough attention to her when she is sick. She must be coaxed to eat and take her pills. She must be coaxed to make an effort to remain in the world of the living.
Now, y'all are thinking one of two things or possibly both: 1) Roadchick, you're a mean bitch of a daughter ~OR~ 2) Your mother cannot possibly be that bad and we all know how you exaggerate.
Trust the 'chick on this one - it's no exaggeration and while the 'chick is a mean bitch, she does manage to keep her claws sheathed most of the time.
When the 'chick comes down with something or requires recovery time, she usually prefers to be left alone for the most part. She does not want dancing attention. She likes it when, at decent intervals, if someone is home, they offer her a drink or something to eat. Or possibly volunteer to make a trip to the video rental place. Other than that - she'd rather be left alone. This may be in direct relation to the 'chick NOT wanting to be a bother to anyone under any circumstances.
In completely unrelated news, and amazing to the 'chick, it's coming up on SIX years since she got divorced from the Now-Former-Mr.-Roadchick. Wow. When she looks back on the person that she was when she was married compared to the person that she is now - it blows her mind. There could not be two more different people inhabiting the same body unless one is named Sybil. Night and day. People that know the 'chick would probably agree.
Lawd, this post has been all over the place and will probably earn a spot in Wikipedia under "stream of consciousness". Whatever popped into her mind came out on the page.
Do y'all ever try to backtrack through your thoughts or conversations? For example, at some point in a conversation, you think to yourself, "How on earth did we get to talking about XYZ?" and then backtrack to figure out how you went from talking about the best place to get a BBQ sandwich to which suburb has the best schools. This is not something that is a regular occurance in the 'chick's thought process but it does happen sometimes. Maybe that should've been on her weird list.
Thank you for being so patient and making it to the end of this incredibly rambling post through the dusty corners of the 'chick's mind. Scary in there, isn't it?
Posted by Roadchick at 7:48 PM
Monday, December 11, 2006
Briliant Donkey evidently tagged the 'chick for this meme - and FORGOT to tell her - and left her to discover it on her own.
Here are the rules: Each player of this game starts with the "6 Weird Things about You." People who get tagged need to write a blog of their own 6 weird things as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose 6 people to be tagged and list their names. Don't forget to leave a comment that says 'you are tagged' in their comments and tell them to read your blog!"
Six Weird Things About The 'Chick:
1. Roadchick absolutely CANNOT stand to have crumbs on her hands. Ditto anything sticky. It gives her the shrieking creeps and she will remove the offending substance with whatever is closest whether that be a dishcloth, papertowel, or even her jeans. Or yours. It does not matter.
2. Roadchick is a creature of habit. Disrupt the habit without her permission and she will freak out. The severity of the freakout is directly correlated with how much you've messed with her routine.
3. Roadchick cannot say "flat panel" as in flat panel TV. It always, every time, comes out as "flat planel". Without fail.
4. Roadchick is ambidextrous. She writes with her left hand but uses scissors with her right. There are a variety of activities that she can do with either hand like bowling, throwing a ball, using a knife (for cooking, of course). She mouses very well with her right hand.
5. Roadchick does not like it if she buys a magazine or newspaper and someone attempts to read it before she gets to it. It makes her crazy.
6. Roadchick cannot eat liverwurst or any form of a liver product. When she was a wee chick, she loved it on white bread with Miracle Whip. Her mother fed it to her too soon after a bout of stomach 'flu and she has never touched it again. She cannot even look at it. Writing about it makes her slightly queasy.
There are probably a great many other weird things about the 'chick but it's funny, y'all - what is weird to one seems perfectly normal to another.
Now for the tagging - Tinker, Pacian, Kim G., Autrice - consider yourselves tagged. No, it's not six others, but hey, there you go.
Posted by Roadchick at 10:18 AM
Leonie put in a request for the recipe for all the non-American readers out there. So, Leonie, here you go. The 'chick wishes you much luck with your pudding and more success with your custard than she has been able to manage.
Note to non-American Readers: Nilla Wafers (in case they don't have 'em where you are) are a plain, vanilla flavored cookie/biscuit. No chips, nuts, cream filling. Nothing extra. Feel free to substitute. The 'chick is thinking that little shortbreads would be DELICIOUS. Yum.
Original Nilla Banana Pudding
Ready in: 60 mins.
Layers of Nilla wafers, creamy pudding and fresh banana slices
are the stars of this American classic.
3/4 cup sugar, divided
1/3 cup all-purpose flour
3 eggs, separated
2 cups milk
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
45 NILLA Wafers, divided
5 ripe bananas, sliced (about 3 1/2 cups), divided
Additional NILLA Wafers and banana slices, for garnish
1. Mix 1/2 cup sugar, flour and salt in top of double boiler.
Blend in 3 egg yolks and milk. Cook, uncovered, over boiling water,
stirring constantly for 10 to 12 minutes or until thickened. Remove
from heat; stir in vanilla.
2. Reserve 10 wafers for garnish. Spread small amount of custard
on bottom of 1 1/2-quart casserole; cover with a layer of wafers
and a layer of sliced bananas. Pour about 1/3 of custard over
bananas. Continue to layer wafers, bananas and custard to make
a total of 3 layers of each, ending with custard.
3. Beat egg whites until soft peaks form; gradually add remaining
1/4 cup sugar and beat until stiff but not dry. Spoon on top of
pudding, spreading evenly to cover entire surface and sealing well
4. Bake at 350°F in top half of oven for 15 to 20 minutes or
until browned. Cool slightly or refrigerate. Garnish with
additional wafers and banana slices just before serving.
Makes 8 servings
NUTRITIONAL INFORMATION per serving
287 calories, 6 g protein, 50 g carbohydrate, 7 g total fat,
2 g saturated fat, 117 mg cholesterol, 134 mg sodium,
1 g dietary fiber.
Preparation Time: 30 mins.
Cook Time: 15 mins.
Cooling Time: 15 mins.
Total Time: 60 mins.
This recipe courtesy of Back of the Box Recipes.
www.backofthebox.com Home Page
This recipe created by Nabisco.
Posted by Roadchick at 9:21 AM
Saturday, December 09, 2006
Well, y'all, it's been a busy week in Roadchick's world. Isn't it always though?
Work has been busy, the holidays are upon us, and Redneck had a fun-filled trip to the oral surgeon on Friday afternoon. The 'chick went along as the designated driver and post-surgical babysitter. Fun, y'all. Loads of it.
The spirit of grinchiness has lifted slightly at Chez Roadtrip - some holiday shopping has been done. There has been no decorating though.
There were years in Roadchick's past when Christmas meant weeks of preparation and baking and shopping and decorating. It looked like the North Pole vomited on the 'chick's house. There was one year that there were THREE Christmas trees. One upstairs, in the den, one downstairs in the "good" living room, and a small, tinselly tree in the dining room that held the 'chick's much-loved collection of vintage ornaments.
Cookies were baked almost daily. Why, she does not know since everyone was sick to death of them long before the Day ever arrived. Too much of a good thing, evidently.
Much time was taken selecting just the "right" card. The "right" wrapping paper. On and on, ad nauseum.
Now, it's simpler. Gifts are still purchased and a tree might actually make an appearance although right now it's doubtful. Speedbump-The-Cat absolutely loves the Christmas trees and takes every opportunity to climb up inside them. It's a little startling when the tree starts moving on its own and then suddenly! a kitty head pops out somewhere around where the angel should be. The angel is no longer there because for some unknown reason, Speedbump routinely takes anything she can carry in her mouth to her water bowl and dumps it in. Whether she thinks she is giving the object a drink or killing it is not clear. What is clear is that decades of handmade & gifted ornaments all wound up getting a bath and that vexed the 'chick to no end.
This weekend, the 'chick is still on babysitter duty. She's not working the night shift though. Redneck is safely tucked into his beddy-byes, dosed up with narcotics, and sleeping peacefully. The 'chick will return in the morning and see how he's doing.
You wouldn't think a day of sitting on the couch, watching satellite TV would wear one out, but it does! There was some cooking involved too but not enough to keep the 'chick energized at all.
Time for a confession, y'all. This afternoon, the 'chick made a banana pudding for Redneck. Banana pudding, for those unfamiliar with it, is a Southern staple of life. It is NOT banana-flavored pudding from a box. It is vanilla wafers and homemade custard and sliced bananas and meringue. It is heaven in a Corningware bake dish.
It is the 'chick's nemesis.
The 'chick can cook. She can amaze her family and friends. She gets asked for recipes where none exists. She can bake a cake from scratch, not a mix.
She cannot, for the life of her, get the damned pudding to THICKEN as she stirs it in the double-boiler. She gets lovely custard of a liquid consistency that is suitable for eggnog or boiled custard. She does not get custard that thickens nicely to hold together the bananas and Nilla wafers.
The first time or two that it happened, she figured it was a quirk. An oddity.
She has conceded defeat.
She made a banana pudding today. It tastes good but looks like ass. The custard, as usual, did not thicken. It floated around the sliced banana and Nilla wafers like lovely vanilla soup. It continues to float around the banana and Nilla wafers like lovely vanilla soup. Except the bananas? Well, y'all know how bananas are, right? Like avocados, when they are exposed to the air, they blacken? Yeah. Without that protective layer of THICKENED custard, the bananas look like a science experiment gone wrong. A biological project in the fridge. A pastry petri dish.
It may have put Redneck off banana pudding for life. Or it will, when he opens the fridge and sees that mess in there. She admitted to him that evidently, she cannot make a banana pudding. He was stunned by this admission. He has seen the 'chick cook. He has been impressed by her mad skillz in the kitchen. He nearly wept with joy at her potato soup and slow-cooked Chinese pork.
It's shameful, y'all, and the 'chick does not know how to fix it. Little granny women with wood-burning stoves can make banana pudding, for pete's sake!
Anyway, that is what the 'chick did today. Hopefully YOUR day was more entertaining.
Posted by Roadchick at 9:27 PM
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Yeah, it's lazy & it's cheating, but haven't YOU always wanted to know which Tarot card you are? (Thanks to Michael at Cardiac Fantasies for the link.)
The 'chick will return with a real entry soon, pinky swear!
You are The Empress
Beauty, happiness, pleasure, success, luxury, dissipation.
The Empress is associated with Venus, the feminine planet, so it represents,
beauty, charm, pleasure, luxury, and delight. You may be good at home
decorating, art or anything to do with making things beautiful.
The Empress is a creator, be it creation of life, of romance, of art or business. While the Magician is the primal spark, the idea made real, and the High Priestess is the one who gives the idea a form, the Empress is the womb where it gestates and grows till it is ready to be born. This is why her symbol is Venus, goddess of beautiful things as well as love. Even so, the Empress is more Demeter, goddess of abundance, then sensual Venus. She is the giver of Earthly gifts, yet at the same time, she can, in anger withhold, as Demeter did when her daughter, Persephone, was kidnapped. In fury and grief, she kept the Earth barren till her child was returned to her.
What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.
Posted by Roadchick at 9:22 AM
Sunday, December 03, 2006
To everyone that sent good thoughts - thank you so much. It means a lot to know that people have got your back.
Please allow the 'chick to apologize for the week of grim posts and dreary news. Overall, life is good. She has no idea where these panic attacks come from or why they come. Usually.
This time, the culprit is the holidays.
There was a time that the holidays were magic and sparkly snowflakes and prancing reindeer. The 'chick is not sure when those disappeared. Well, not completely. But telling that tale would be depressing and ENOUGH of that.
Today, Redneck and Roadchick went to a Christmas parade in a small town not too far from Nashville. Ya gotta love a parade where the 4H kids are on a float, the local high school marching band comes out to perform, there are horses and fire trucks and customized cars and kids in go-karts. There are church groups and politicians. And of course, there is Santa Claus.
Most of the participants threw candy to the kids lining the street and everyone was waving and yelling "Merry Christmas". And you know, they actually meant it.
Redneck and Roadchick stood by the side of the road, sipping hot chocolate and waving to the kids in the parade. They helped Roadchick's niece and nephew pick up candy from the street.
And it was a good day, y'all. No panic in sight.
So thanks again for the good thoughts. They must have helped.
Posted by Roadchick at 6:50 PM
Friday, December 01, 2006
In the last hour, the 'chick has been fighting off a panic attack like you would not believe.
For a Friday, it's been a horrible, god-awful day.
If the moon wasn't visible, you'd swear it was full.
One of the 'chick's co-workers lost her mind, went off on another co-worker and quit. Then changed her mind and still resigned but decided to stay until either the end of December or the end of January - the 'chick is unsure of the details.
Another co-worker had a run-in with the director of a day program. Insanity.
The holidays are looming.
Traffic was hideous.
Rockboy's band is playing at some party and no one seems to have the address where they are to play. He's promised to call back soon with the address but that is not nearly cut and dried enough to comfort a mama's panicking mind.
Redneck is still struggling with dental problems and doesn't feel good. He's not answering his phone. The 'chick is not sure if he's going to appear tonight or not.
She really, really hopes so because tonight is one of those nights when she desperately needs to just curl up and be held. Hopefully it'll work out. She doesn't need anyone to solve her problems - she just wants to close her eyes for a little while and know it's ok.
Because, y'all, it sure doesn't feel like it right now.
Posted by Roadchick at 5:17 PM
Monday, November 27, 2006
It's the first day back to work after a lovely Thanksgiving break.
The 'chick did NOT want to come back to work, having gotten used to lounging at home and other lovely, non-work activities. Even cleaning the house was better than coming to work this morning.
Do y'all ever get the mean reds? The 'chick calls them that after learning the term from Holly Golightly in "Breakfast at Tiffany's". Anyway, for those of you not in the know, the mean reds are NOT the blues (like when you're sad because you're getting fat or it's been raining too long). The mean reds are when you're suddenly afraid and you don't know what you're afraid of.
Sort of a generalized anxiety but a bit more pressing. A little more franticky.
The 'chick had a hell of a case of the mean reds this morning. Never saw 'em coming.
Things are better now, but this morning was bad. After doing a little amateur sleuthing, (like Nancy Drew!) the 'chick determined that her case of the mean reds this morning was most likely due to several factors which she will now list out for you.
1. It's the Holiday Season. (Did the 'chick mention that she HATES the holidays?)
2. This is the time of year that Boyfriend (from a post ages ago titled: In Which We Meet Cleopatra) pulled a vanishing act on the 'chick & left her alone for the holidays. (Did the 'chick mention that she HATES the holidays?)
3. It's the Holiday Season and giftages must be purchased. It is difficult to purchase giftages when there is a cash shortage. Yes, the 'chick knows she should have started sooner. No, she didn't. Don't say "Credit Card" because she will NOT use one. They're evil.
Now, Patient Reader, the 'chick does not want you to think that there is anything wrong between Redneck and her because there is not. Things are wonderful. He could not be sweeter or nicer. Life is good. But when the Mean Reds come calling, all bets are off and everything is open to doubt.
Mean Reds cause the 'chick to want to stay home, hiding in bed, possibly watching a comedy - but it has to be strictly funny with nothing even remotely sad or related to a relationship gone sour or else it will send the 'chick into a crying spell the likes of which you have never seen.
The 'chick understands that this most likely makes her a little bit psycho, but that's ok. Sometimes all you can do is all you can do.
Things are better now - getting distracted by work helped and the mood passed. In order to ensure that it does not return, the 'chick is going to Best Friend's house tonight to watch TV and be distracted.
She is not going to Redneck's house tonight because he had to go to the dentist today, poor thing, and is currently tucked up in his bed, sleeping off the anesthetic & pain meds. The 'chick offered to go and take care of him but he said he'd much rather see her tomorrow instead, when he would be conscious.
Only 28 days until Christmas, y'all.
Posted by Roadchick at 4:12 PM
Friday, November 24, 2006
It's Black Friday, and no, the 'chick is not shopping. Shopping on the day after Thanksgiving is NOT a tradition in the Roadtrip household.
The crowds and the lines and the frenzy stress the 'chick out & she prefers to stay as far away as possible. And, payday is still far off in the future of next week, so even if she wanted to join in - it would be as a spectator, not a participant.
Most of the holiday shopping will be done online - the 'chick is so thankful that there is an option for folks like her that detest the crowds and 'Jingle Bells' being blasted over the intercom.
So now that you know what she WON'T be doing - what will she be doing?
The days of having a whole day to be able to stay home and clean are few and far between in the land o' Roadchick. Funny how boyfriends and kiddos will do that. Someone is always wanting to go somewhere & do something and to be honest, the 'chick is not all that eager to leave Redneck sitting on the couch while she excavates her closet, chases down dust-goblins (they're much too big to be bunnies anymore), or cleans ceiling fans. Also, she's maybe a little bit ashamed for him to see that while her house looks pretty clean, when you get right down into it - lawd, it's not.
Now - please - don't be calling the health department. She is NOT one of those folks that you see on the news from time to time with stacks of newspapers lining the hallways or the world's largest collection of dryer lint that she was going to use to make Halloween costumes. It's just the normal yuck of living that accumulates when you don't have Alice the housekeeper living in or June Cleaver in the house.
But, the 'chick has a cleaning problem. Let's use yesterday as an example.
Yesterday morning, the 'chick was cleaning up the kitchen. (The kitchen & bathrooms are the two areas that are NOT allowed to sink into squalor at Chez Roadtrip.) The dishwasher was unloaded, dishes put away, and more dirty dishes loaded in. Then the 'chick remembered that she really needed to clean out the fridge and stick those dirty dishes in the dishwasher. So, she did that. And then it seemed like it would be a good idea to wipe down all the shelves in the fridge since it was so empty. So, she did that. And THEN she looked down at the grate thing at the bottom that covers the exhaust/drip pan area & it was a little dusty so it seemed like a good idea to pull it off & wash it since there was already a sinkful of soapy water. And then...well...ewww! Have y'all ever LOOKED under there? Lawd.
There are no coils on the back of the 'chick's fridge. It never occured to her to wonder where they were. Maybe just covered over or something. Yeah.
The vacuum was promptly fetched, a long-handled, plastic bristled paintbrush was retrieved, and a flashlight was located. And the cleaning commenced.
This is what happens nearly every time when the 'chick is cleaning. She starts out to do one simple, little chore and winds up taking the stove apart and cleaning the oven. Moving the TV stand to vacuum behind it is a certain guarantee that the 'chick will be distracted for ages, untangling the 28 millions cords and connectors back there, and dusting each one. Putting movies away will send the 'chick into a treasure hunt for missing discs...and then into the CD collection to re-organize that...
It's a problem.
The 'chick's big project today is to clean her room. (And catch up on laundry.) This is the first step in a larger project of turning her bonus room into a "studio" of sorts where she will keep all her knitting junk, her art supplies, her drawing table, her computer....now, most people would say that really, she ought to start in the bonus room, and get it ready to accept all the scattered stuff from the rest of the house. True. But - the 'chick's bedroom is visible and the bonus room is upstairs. And if she's in a "clean" environment, then she is more motivated to get it in gear with the other stuff that needs to be done. Besides, the carpet in the bonus room needs to be cleaned since Rockboy had taken over that room for awhile and he is not known for his tidy habits. Actually, he's a slob. Roadchick suspects this is a defect that was passed down from his father since she is nowhere NEAR that messy.
So, while y'all are fighting the crowds at the mall, the 'chick will be fighting her way to cleaning nirvana - if she doesn't get sidetracked and decide to re-grout the tile in the bathroom first.
Posted by Roadchick at 7:34 AM
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
To the Americans - Happy Thanksgiving, y'all!
To everyone else - Happy Thanksgiving, y'all! (Yes, she knows that you've probably already had your Thanksgiving feasties, but since the 'chick missed it then, you get the greetings now.)
Now, the 'chick is going to confess something that may come as a shock to everyone that knows her.
She HATES the holidays.
Shameful, but oh, so true.
The 'chick likes the idea of the holidays - the festiveness, the decorations, the excitement. What she does NOT like is the work involved, and the stress, and the outlay of cash right when she needs two new tires for her car. And the cat needs an annual visit to the vet. And the tags on the car are up for renewal.
She does not particularly like the crowds at every shopping venue from Macy's to the 7-11. She has considered doing her holiday shopping at the 7-11 since although there are lines, at least they are somewhat shorter than the lines at the mall, at Walmart, at Target, at the bookstore, at the grocery store, at any other store you can think of.
There is a song, performed by Robert Earl Keen, called "Merry Christmas from the Family" that sums up Holidays Past, when the now-former-Mr.-Roadchick was still present in the 'chick's life. Christmas (and any other holiday, really) with the Outlaws, went a little like this:
(Merry Christmas from the Family)
Mom got drunk and Dad got drunk at our Christmas party
We were drinking champagne punch and homemade eggnog
Little sister brought her new boyfriend
He was a Mexican
We didn't know what to think of him until he sang
Feliz Navidad, Feliz Navidad
Brother Ken brought his kids with him
The three from his first wife Lynn
And the two identical twins from his second wife Mary Nell
Of course he brought his new wife Kay
Who talks all about AA
Chain smoking while the stereo plays Noel, Noel
The First Noel
Carve the Turkey
Turn the ball game on
Mix margaritas when the eggnog's gone
Send somebody to the Quickpak Store
We need some ice and an extension cord
A can of bean dip and some Diet Rite
A box of tampons, Marlboro Lights
Halleluia everybody say Cheese
Merry Christmas from the family
Fred and Rita drove from Harlingen
I can't remember how I'm kin to them
But when they tried to plug their motor home in
They blew our Christmas lights
Cousin David knew just what went wrong
So we all waited out on our front lawn
He threw a breaker and the lights came on
And we sang Silent Night, Oh Silent Night, Oh Holy Night
Carve the turkey turn the ball game on
Make Bloody Marys
Cause We All Want One!
Send somebody to the Stop 'N Go
We need some celery and a can of fake snow
A bag of lemons and some Diet Sprite
A box of tampons, some Salem Lights
Halleluia, everybody say cheese
Merry Christmas from the Family
Now, y'all are thinking that the 'chick is maybe exaggerating. She is not.
There was a Thanksgiving when the parental Outlaws were out of town and it was up to a very young Roadchick and her sister-in-law to cook the Thanksgiving dinner for the two menfolks (husbands to y'all). Neither Roadchick nor Sis had ever cooked a turkey. Ever. Well, maybe a turkey TV dinner, but not a whole, huge, gobbling bird. So, instead, ham. Canned ham. And sweet potatoes. And who knows what else. But, most importantly - a large bottle of watermelon schnapps. And a case of 7-Up. To make watermelon slices. Yeah.
During the festivities that followed, Roadchick and Sis completely forgot about the poor, processed pork product that they had stuck in the oven. Well, forgot about it until black smoke started to come out of the oven, thereby clueing them in that something was amiss. It was ok, though - everyone was a little too drunk to actually eat anyway.
And there was a Christmas with a full complement of Outlaws. Outlaws had come in from distant states for the Christmas Feasties. There were motor homes plugged into extension cords up and down the street, in yards and vacant lots, and even one down at the 7-11. The Arabs stared in wide-eyed wonder at the nativity scene erected on TOP of the Winnebago, directly above the Dale Earnhardt NASCAR racing sticker and to the left of the satellite dish. There were Outlaws camped on living room floors, sunporch floors, bedroom floors with the beds fully occupied by other Outlaws. Outlaws that arrived by car camped on floors inside the motor homes.
The Outlaws, almost down to the last, like to Drink. Drink. Drink with a captial D. Drinking is fun. Everything is fun when Drinking.
It was Christmas morning. Cooking had already commenced. Drinking had commenced long before the cooking did. By the time the party was in full swing, everyone was feeling pretty good.
In a gathering of so many, there is always someone that someone else does not like much. In an Outlaw gathering, peace treaties almost needed to be signed and the Party House declared a de-militarized zone. The Outlaws, in case you haven't figured it out, are a little bit redneck.
Anyway, that year, Mom Outlaw was hosting the gathering and there was someone there that she Did Not Like. This man was a friend of a family member and so was made welcome. Unfortunately, this man was also pretty much opposed to drinking and smoking and other fun activites of that nature. He was not shy in making his opinions known. To the credit of all gathered, no one said One Word.
Until a little after lunch time, when the temperature inside the kitchen rose to an uncomfortable level. And the level in the bottle of Kahlua had dropped considerably since breakfast. (It's COFFEE-FLAVORED, y'all! Breakfast beverage, to be sure!) And tempers might have been just a tad bit frayed. And then, it happened.
Mom Outlaw, decked out in her holiday sweatshirt finest, decided it was just too damn hot in the kitchen. And proceeded to try to strip off her Christmas sweatshirt, making it an XMAS sweatshirt. The 'chick managed to stop her before everyone was treated to a full view of bra. A few minutes after that, Mom Outlaw says, at louder than full volume:
I doan lak Boss Hogg. He doan lak drinkin' and smokin' and he came to the WRONG place cos we're all drinkin' and smokin' and if he doan lak it, he can just LEAVE.
And the man, the friend of a family member that DID bear a striking resemblance to Boss Hogg from the Dukes of Hazzard, was standing right behind her and heard every word. To his credit, he didn't say anything but his visit to the Outlaw Family Christmas ended shortly after that. After that, what else is there to say?
That was also the Christmas when using the hickory smoker to prepare a variety of foods was in full swing. One of the uncles brought some ducks that he had shot. (No, we are not going to discuss it. It's very redneck.) Into the smoker they went. Where they were promptly forgotten. Later, much, much later, the ducks were remembered and retrieved from the smoker. They were crispy....there was nothing left to them except bones and little bitty birdy feet. They were hung on the refrigerator door handle and remained there for the rest of the day. Why? Who knows? Not the 'chick.
Thanksgiving is at the 'chick's brother's house this year. The 'chick did some investigation and the margaritas are already chilling. It ought to be a very good holiday, y'all. Roadchick and Rockboy are continuing their own Thanksgiving tradition of getting up in the morning and loading Osbourne DVDs into the DVD player, selecting "Play all episodes" and settling in with coffee to watch, goggle-eyed, until it is time to go to the Feasties. And then listening to "Alice's Restaurant" by Arlo Guthrie until even the neighbors are begging for it to be turned off. Redneck has to work, but the 'chick will be delivering a plate of Thanksgiving goodness to him at some point. And after all the feasting and drinking (and sobering up) - there will be bowling, in Nashville. With Best Friend and her crew. It's a tradition, y'all. It happens every year. Sometimes the players are different but the tradition remains unchanged.
Here's wishing you a happy, healthy holiday season, no matter where you are, no matter what holidays you choose to celebrate. Celebrate something and enjoy.
p.s. ~ To those that are interested, the lyrics to Alice's Restaurant are below.
By Arlo Guthrie
This song is called Alice's Restaurant, and it's about Alice, and the
restaurant, but Alice's Restaurant is not the name of the restaurant,
that's just the name of the song, and that's why I called the song Alice's
You can get anything you want at Alice's Restaurant
You can get anything you want at Alice's Restaurant
Walk right in it's around the back
Just a half a mile from the railroad track
You can get anything you want at Alice's Restaurant
Now it all started two Thanksgivings ago, was on - two years ago on
Thanksgiving, when my friend and I went up to visit Alice at the
restaurant, but Alice doesn't live in the restaurant, she lives in the
church nearby the restaurant, in the bell-tower, with her husband Ray and
Fasha the dog. And livin' in the bell tower like that, they got a lot of
room downstairs where the pews used to be in. Havin' all that room,
seein' as how they took out all the pews, they decided that they didn't
have to take out their garbage for a long time.
We got up there, we found all the garbage in there, and we decided it'd be
a friendly gesture for us to take the garbage down to the city dump. So
we took the half a ton of garbage, put it in the back of a red VW
microbus, took shovels and rakes and implements of destruction and headed
on toward the city dump.
Well we got there and there was a big sign and a chain across across the
dump saying, "Closed on Thanksgiving." And we had never heard of a dump
closed on Thanksgiving before, and with tears in our eyes we drove off
into the sunset looking for another place to put the garbage.
We didn't find one. Until we came to a side road, and off the side of the
side road there was another fifteen foot cliff and at the bottom of the
cliff there was another pile of garbage. And we decided that one big pile
is better than two little piles, and rather than bring that one up we
decided to throw our's down.
That's what we did, and drove back to the church, had a thanksgiving
dinner that couldn't be beat, went to sleep and didn't get up until the
next morning, when we got a phone call from officer Obie. He said, "Kid,
we found your name on an envelope at the bottom of a half a ton of
garbage, and just wanted to know if you had any information about it." And
I said, "Yes, sir, Officer Obie, I cannot tell a lie, I put that envelope
under that garbage."
After speaking to Obie for about fourty-five minutes on the telephone we
finally arrived at the truth of the matter and said that we had to go down
and pick up the garbage, and also had to go down and speak to him at the
police officer's station. So we got in the red VW microbus with the
shovels and rakes and implements of destruction and headed on toward the
police officer's station.
Now friends, there was only one or two things that Obie coulda done at
the police station, and the first was he could have given us a medal for
being so brave and honest on the telephone, which wasn't very likely, and
we didn't expect it, and the other thing was he could have bawled us out
and told us never to be see driving garbage around the vicinity again,
which is what we expected, but when we got to the police officer's station
there was a third possibility that we hadn't even counted upon, and we was
both immediately arrested. Handcuffed. And I said "Obie, I don't think I
can pick up the garbage with these handcuffs on." He said, "Shut up, kid.
Get in the back of the patrol car."
And that's what we did, sat in the back of the patrol car and drove to the
quote Scene of the Crime unquote. I want tell you about the town of
Stockbridge, Massachusets, where this happened here, they got three stop
signs, two police officers, and one police car, but when we got to the
Scene of the Crime there was five police officers and three police cars,
being the biggest crime of the last fifty years, and everybody wanted to
get in the newspaper story about it. And they was using up all kinds of
cop equipment that they had hanging around the police officer's station.
They was taking plaster tire tracks, foot prints, dog smelling prints, and
they took twenty seven eight-by-ten colour glossy photographs with circles
and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one explaining what each
one was to be used as evidence against us. Took pictures of the approach,
the getaway, the northwest corner the southwest corner and that's not to
mention the aerial photography.
After the ordeal, we went back to the jail. Obie said he was going to put
us in the cell. Said, "Kid, I'm going to put you in the cell, I want your
wallet and your belt." And I said, "Obie, I can understand you wanting my
wallet so I don't have any money to spend in the cell, but what do you
want my belt for?" And he said, "Kid, we don't want any hangings." I
said, "Obie, did you think I was going to hang myself for littering?"
Obie said he was making sure, and friends Obie was, cause he took out the
toilet seat so I couldn't hit myself over the head and drown, and he took
out the toilet paper so I couldn't bend the bars roll out the - roll the
toilet paper out the window, slide down the roll and have an escape. Obie
was making sure, and it was about four or five hours later that Alice
(remember Alice? It's a song about Alice), Alice came by and with a few
nasty words to Obie on the side, bailed us out of jail, and we went back
to the church, had a another thanksgiving dinner that couldn't be beat,
and didn't get up until the next morning, when we all had to go to court.
We walked in, sat down, Obie came in with the twenty seven eight-by-ten
colour glossy pictures with circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back
of each one, sat down. Man came in said, "All rise." We all stood up,
and Obie stood up with the twenty seven eight-by-ten colour glossy
pictures, and the judge walked in sat down with a seeing eye dog, and he
sat down, we sat down. Obie looked at the seeing eye dog, and then at the
twenty seven eight-by-ten colour glossy pictures with circles and arrows
and a paragraph on the back of each one, and looked at the seeing eye dog.
And then at twenty seven eight-by-ten colour glossy pictures with circles
and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each one and began to cry,
'cause Obie came to the realization that it was a typical case of American
blind justice, and there wasn't nothing he could do about it, and the
judge wasn't going to look at the twenty seven eight-by-ten colour glossy
pictures with the circles and arrows and a paragraph on the back of each
one explaining what each one was to be used as evidence against us. And
we was fined $50 and had to pick up the garbage in the snow, but thats not
what I came to tell you about.
Came to talk about the draft.
They got a building down New York City, it's called Whitehall Street,
where you walk in, you get injected, inspected, detected, infected,
neglected and selected. I went down to get my physical examination one
day, and I walked in, I sat down, got good and drunk the night before, so
I looked and felt my best when I went in that morning. `Cause I wanted to
look like the all-American kid from New York City, man I wanted, I wanted
to feel like the all-, I wanted to be the all American kid from New York,
and I walked in, sat down, I was hung down, brung down, hung up, and all
kinds o' mean nasty ugly things. And I waked in and sat down and they gave
me a piece of paper, said, "Kid, see the phsychiatrist, room 604."
And I went up there, I said, "Shrink, I want to kill. I mean, I wanna, I
wanna kill. Kill. I wanna, I wanna see, I wanna see blood and gore and
guts and veins in my teeth. Eat dead burnt bodies. I mean kill, Kill,
KILL, KILL." And I started jumpin up and down yelling, "KILL, KILL," and
he started jumpin up and down with me and we was both jumping up and down
yelling, "KILL, KILL." And the sargent came over, pinned a medal on me,
sent me down the hall, said, "You're our boy."
Didn't feel too good about it.
Proceeded on down the hall gettin more injections, inspections,
detections, neglections and all kinds of stuff that they was doin' to me
at the thing there, and I was there for two hours, three hours, four
hours, I was there for a long time going through all kinds of mean nasty
ugly things and I was just having a tough time there, and they was
inspecting, injecting every single part of me, and they was leaving no
part untouched. Proceeded through, and when I finally came to the see the
last man, I walked in, walked in sat down after a whole big thing there,
and I walked up and said, "What do you want?" He said, "Kid, we only got
one question. Have you ever been arrested?"
And I proceeded to tell him the story of the Alice's Restaurant Massacre,
with full orchestration and five part harmony and stuff like that and all
the phenome... - and he stopped me right there and said, "Kid, did you ever
go to court?"
And I proceeded to tell him the story of the twenty seven eight-by-ten
colour glossy pictures with the circles and arrows and the paragraph on
the back of each one, and he stopped me right there and said, "Kid, I want
you to go and sit down on that bench that says Group W .... NOW kid!!"
And I, I walked over to the, to the bench there, and there is, Group W's
where they put you if you may not be moral enough to join the army after
committing your special crime, and there was all kinds of mean nasty ugly
looking people on the bench there. Mother rapers. Father stabbers. Father
rapers! Father rapers sitting right there on the bench next to me! And
they was mean and nasty and ugly and horrible crime-type guys sitting on the
bench next to me. And the meanest, ugliest, nastiest one, the meanest
father raper of them all, was coming over to me and he was mean 'n' ugly
'n' nasty 'n' horrible and all kind of things and he sat down next to me
and said, "Kid, whad'ya get?" I said, "I didn't get nothing, I had to pay
$50 and pick up the garbage." He said, "What were you arrested for, kid?"
And I said, "Littering." And they all moved away from me on the bench
there, and the hairy eyeball and all kinds of mean nasty things, till I
said, "And creating a nuisance." And they all came back, shook my hand,
and we had a great time on the bench, talkin about crime, mother stabbing,
father raping, all kinds of groovy things that we was talking about on the
bench. And everything was fine, we was smoking cigarettes and all kinds of
things, until the Sargeant came over, had some paper in his hand, held it
up and said.
officer's-name-and-any-other-kind-of-thing-you-gotta-say", and talked for
forty-five minutes and nobody understood a word that he said, but we had
fun filling out the forms and playing with the pencils on the bench there,
and I filled out the massacre with the four part harmony, and wrote it
down there, just like it was, and everything was fine and I put down the
pencil, and I turned over the piece of paper, and there, there on the
other side, in the middle of the other side, away from everything else on
the other side, in parentheses, capital letters, quotated, read the
("KID, HAVE YOU REHABILITATED YOURSELF?")
I went over to the sargent, said, "Sargeant, you got a lot a damn gall to
ask me if I've rehabilitated myself, I mean, I mean, I mean that just, I'm
sittin' here on the bench, I mean I'm sittin here on the Group W bench
'cause you want to know if I'm moral enough join the army, burn women,
kids, houses and villages after bein' a litterbug." He looked at me and
said, "Kid, we don't like your kind, and we're gonna send you fingerprints
off to Washington."
And friends, somewhere in Washington enshrined in some little folder, is a
study in black and white of my fingerprints. And the only reason I'm
singing you this song now is cause you may know somebody in a similar
situation, or you may be in a similar situation, and if your in a
situation like that there's only one thing you can do and that's walk into
the shrink wherever you are ,just walk in say "Shrink, You can get
anything you want, at Alice's restaurant.". And walk out. You know, if
one person, just one person does it they may think he's really sick and
they won't take him. And if two people, two people do it, in harmony,
they may think they're both faggots and they won't take either of them.
And three people do it, three, can you imagine, three people walking in
singin a bar of Alice's Restaurant and walking out. They may think it's an
organization. And can you, can you imagine fifty people a day,I said
fifty people a day walking in singin a bar of Alice's Restaurant and
walking out. And friends they may thinks it's a movement.
And that's what it is , the Alice's Restaurant Anti-Massacre Movement, and
all you got to do to join is sing it the next time it come's around on the
With feeling. So we'll wait for it to come around on the guitar, here and
sing it when it does. Here it comes.
You can get anything you want, at Alice's Restaurant
You can get anything you want, at Alice's Restaurant
Walk right in it's around the back
Just a half a mile from the railroad track
You can get anything you want, at Alice's Restaurant
That was horrible. If you want to end war and stuff you got to sing loud.
I've been singing this song now for twenty five minutes. I could sing it
for another twenty five minutes. I'm not proud... or tired.
So we'll wait till it comes around again, and this time with four part
harmony and feeling.
We're just waitin' for it to come around is what we're doing.
All right now.
You can get anything you want, at Alice's Restaurant
You can get anything you want, at Alice's Restaurant
Walk right in it's around the back
Just a half a mile from the railroad track
You can get anything you want, at Alice's Restaurant
Da da da da da da da dum
At Alice's Restaurant
©1966,1967 (Renewed) by Appleseed Music Inc. All Rights Reserved.
Posted by Roadchick at 8:36 AM
Sunday, November 19, 2006
So, in the interest of sheep mentality and being more than a little tired, the 'chick is jumping on the meme bandwagon along with Briliant Donkey and Brianne at Pink Sidewalk Talk.
Tired because since being on-call for work, there were calls to her work phone every TWO hours, starting at 12:45 this morning. That would be SUNDAY morning. These things do not happen to other people when they are on-call. Apparently, the craziness is saved up for the 'chick when it is her month in the hot seat. So, tired. Just a little. But, hey! memes are fun & tell a little bit about others....
Without further ado:
Four jobs the 'chick has had:
1)hot dog maker
Four movies on replay at the 'chick's house:
1)Breakfast at Tiffany's
Four places the 'chick called home:
2)St. Petersburg, Florida
3)Pompano Beach, Florida
Four television shows the 'chick would Tivo (if she had Tivo):
1)Celebrity Paranormal Project (VH1)
2)Hell's Kitchen (Fox - the 'chick loves Gordan Ramsey!)
4)CBS Sunday Morning (CBS)
Four places the 'chick has Roadtripped to:
1)Gulf Shores, Alabama
2)St. Petersburg, Florida
Four things the 'chick can rock in the kitchen:
1)Slow-cooked Chinese pork
2)Kugelis (Lithuanian potato casserole)
3)Southern fried chicken
4)Vegetarian Mexican burrito bake
Four favorite dishes(eating out)
1)Carrabas "Sirloin Marsala"
2)Chicken sandwich from Chik-Fil-A
3)Maza plate from Tabbouli's (Mediterranean)
4)BBQ from Bennett's in Pigeon Forge, TN
Four websites the 'chick stalks:
3)Crazy Aunt Purl
Four places the 'chick would rather be:
2)On a plane to anywhere
3)On the New York Times Bestseller List
4)In that happy, happy place where the holiday shopping is DONE!
If you're interested and would like to play along, consider yourself tagged!
Posted by Roadchick at 6:47 PM
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
First of all - no, the 'chick has not contracted Squirrel Flu or rabies. Roadchick's mother very kindly pointed out the fact that squirrels carry rabies when the 'chick told her about the Attack Of The Kamikaze Squirrel. Rabies, y'all. Who could tell the difference from her normal demeanor (as the story below will show)???
Can the 'chick vent?
(Y'all know she's going to anyway, so don't even bother answering.)
So, the 'chick is in the drive-thru line at McDonald's with two co-workers. It's her turn to yell her order into the clown's mouth and she informs the order-taker that there will be three orders.
Co-worker #1 orders.
Co-worker #2 says: Hey, can you pull up a little bit so I can look at the menu?
Excuse the 'chick - McDonald's menu has remained basically the same since 1969. They sell HAMBURGERS. And FRIES. And COKE. If there is any weird, new-fangled shit to be had, there is a large, flapping white banner in the front yard of the store announcing
McRib is BACK
Which usually clues the consumer that, hey! McRib is back, should I wish to purchase some slimy, pressed pork patty goodness. Otherwise, there are HAMBURGERS and FRIES. Chicken or salad if you must be a rebel. But please. It's the same stuff as the last time you were there. Really.
So, Roadchick, being ever kind and patient and sweet and generous (yeah, right!) obligingly inches the car foward so Co-worker #2 can "see" the menu.
Co-worker #2: Hmmmmmm. Let's see....what do I want?
Co-worker #1: Order something. Now.
Roadchick: (rolling her eyes and counting to ten silently. Lather, rinse, repeat until calmness and nirvana occur.) (The 'chick is still counting and there is NO calmness and NO nirvana, unless you count the bootleg version of "Smells Like Teen Spirit" that is lurking on her hard drive.)
Co-worker #2: Now, on the chicken sandwich - what kind of bread is that? Can I get a different kind? What kind of sauce? What about barbeque sauce instead?
Co-worker #1: (taking deep, calming breaths, keeping an eye on the 'chick and one hand on the door handle for a quick escape if necessary.)
Roadchick: (calculating how old she will be when finally paroled from prison for the brutal murder of her co-worker.)
Co-worker #2: Ok, I think I'm ready. I want a cheeseburger with extra mustard....no, wait - make that extra pickles and the real onions like the ones that you put on the Quarter Pounder? Not the little dried up ones that come on the cheeseburger. And and order of fries - but make sure that they are fresh and have salt on them. And a large sweet tea with exactly three slices of lemon.
Co-worker #2: No, forget that, I changed my mind. I want the fish sandwich....(trailing off as the car roars forward before any orders can be changed)
Roadchick: (brightly, teeth gritted) Ok, hand over the money, everyone!
Co-worker #1: (dropping the money with exact change quickly into Roadchick's hand and snatching her hand back as though feeding alligators.)
Co-worker #2: Lord, y'all - I left my wallet under my desk at the office. I don't have any money.
Roadchick: (spluttering wordlessly)
Co-worker #1:(digging frantically in her bag for more money.)
Co-worker #2: Isn't that just the funniest thing. . .but you know, I really didn't want the cheeseburger, I wanted the fish instead or maybe a salad. . .
Roadchick: (calmly) Then perhaps it would be better if you figured out what you wanted before getting to McDonald's. The menu has not changed in 30 years, really.
Co-worker #1: (sitting silently in blind terror)
Co-worker #2: But I didn't want the cheeseburger....
Roadchick: Then the 'chick will drop you off after we collect your order and you can go inside and exchange it. But the car will not wait. The 'chick will leave your silly ass here and you can barter for a ride back to work with ketchup packets.
Needless to say, the cheeseburger was accepted and harmony restored. At least, Roadchick's harmony was restored.
For a minute, anyway.
Co-worker #2: Know what I'd really like? A Frosty, from Wendy's!
Co-worker #1: Ummm...
Roadchick: (cutting this train of thought off at the pass) Oh HELL no.
This is why there are very few days that the 'chick is asked to do the lunch run. The system works, y'all. The 'chick guarantees it.
Posted by Roadchick at 12:44 PM
Saturday, November 11, 2006
First of all - if you are a Veteran - thank you. Thank you for your sacrifices in serving your country. Thank you for keeping America free, safe, and strong. Thank you for defending our right to free speech. Thank you for fighting for democracy. The 'chick admires your dedication and bravery.
It's been an interesting week, y'all. The craziness at work continues on, pretty much unabated, but that's ok. It'll get better. The 'chick finally managed to get her head down and actually finish some things although heaven knows there is still a pile of work to be done. She hauled it home with her and it sits in the corner, mocking her. At some point, it will have to be dealt with - maybe a little later today.
The other night, a stop was made at the local CVS (a drug store if y'all don't have one nearby). As Roadchick and Rockboy wandered the aisles looking for saline solution for contact lenses, the 'chick saw a sign over one section that caused her to break into hysterics and nearly be evicted from the store. What did the sign say, you ask?
Warts & Lice
This was not too far from
Diarrhea & Gas
Y'all, who in the hell came up with these signs? There were not handwritten signs - these were cranked out in some sign factory expressly for the store. The 'chick was checking out the packages to see exactly how one would sell Warts & Lice if one were so inclined. And how to get them home without them escaping and going to some other lucky customer? And the packaging involved in selling diarrhea also boggles the mind. Is it the actual...product...or just the potential, in which case, is it spoiled Mexican food? What?
The Warts & Lice sign was so amusing that the 'chick took a picture of it with her work phone but since the powers-that-be at her job frown upon using company property to email such foolishness, she had to content herself in setting it as the wallpaper on the phone and leave it at that. If she can, without being arrested, she will try to go back with a regular camera and snap off a quick picture so it can be shared with everyone on the innernets.
It was a harbinger of things yet to come. Like Marley's ghosts.
Last night, the 'chick had to go pick up Rockboy from a friend's house. When she stepped inside, what did she see but a squirrel zooming around the living room like a tiny, crazed kamikaze. She sat down on the couch to wait for Rockboy & was immediately pounced on by the squirrel. It seems that the friend's family found the young squirrel on their sidewalk, apparently lost or injured or something, but too young to remain in the "wild" on its own.
The squirrel was evidently much amused by the 'chick and the possibilities for pouncing and climbing. He leaped from the back of the couch to the back of the Roadchick. Over and over and over again. And then a little more, for amusement. And then he discovered that he could run down her arms and hang upside down, like weird bracelets. This continued on for about 15 minutes. Y'all, it was cute for about the first 2 minutes. Then it was annoying and a little painful. The 'chick had never experienced accupuncture by squirrel before. Their little feet? Cute, little bitty feet? Have needles on the ends. Interspersed with razor blades. And then, it happpened. She had wondered....but really didn't think that it would happen. Of course it did.
The squirrel peed on Roadchick.
The warmth she was feeling? Nope, it wasn't from warm and fuzzy love for the animal kingdom. It was from squirrel pee, running down her back.
Luckily, squirrel bladder capacity is not a whole lot. The owner of the squirrel very kindly handed the 'chick a couple of napkins to blot it up. And then, the squirrel promptly tried to EAT the napkins which resulted in a fight over the slightly damp napkins. The 'chick, more than a little annoyed by now, solved the problem by stuffing the napkins between the couch cushions, out of sight. Happy f&%king holidays, squirrel owners!
On the ride home, the 'chick discovered another interesting thing about herself that she did not know. Apparently, she is ALLERGIC to squirrels. More specifically, squirrel scratches. By the time she made it home, she was running for the allergy medicine and antibiotic ointment to treat the now bleeding scratches that decorate her upper body like some weird tribal initiation. What Redneck is going to think about this, she does not know.
Y'all, if you don't hear from the 'chick in awhile, please send the vet. She will be dying of some weird, squirrel-borne infection. And possibly hoarding nuts.
Posted by Roadchick at 6:42 AM
Friday, November 10, 2006
Michael, at Cardiac Fantasies, is partaking in a little amateur psychiatric profiling. In the interest of...who knows what, the 'chick did a little diagnosing of her own. Sadly, these results do NOT surprise her. She's not exactly sure that that means.
Feel free to test yourself - there are a million different tests to take.
Give a shout & let us know what's wrong with YOU!
personality tests by similarminds.com
Posted by Roadchick at 1:32 PM
Monday, November 06, 2006
So, a couple of entries ago, the 'chick told you a little bit about the
trip to the Smoky Mountains. There's more. Isn't there always?
Because the 'chick's memory tends to be like a ginormous Swiss cheese
sometimes, she does write little notes to herself to remind her of the
high and not-so-high points of any given situation.
Redneck and Roadchick left on a Friday. Roadchick took the day off work
partly because it was her birthday and partly because she was going out
of town. In Roadchick's world, a trip means getting up, slinging
already packed bags into the car, and hitting the road. Redneck didn't get
that memo. His laundry wasn't finished. His bags were not packed. It was
raining and in Nashville, rain means people losing their minds and
completely forgetting that they actually know how to drive. He got stuck in
traffic in Nashville on the way to the 'chick's house.
By the time he arrived, the 'chick was doing the pacing thing...wearing
a path from her room to the dining room windows to see if he was
here yet. Y'all will be proud to know that she did NOT show her
impatience. She knows it's her thing and her thing is not necessarily
everyone else's thing. She does not know why not, but hey! there you have it.
Anyway, they finally got on the road around lunchtime. Not too long
after getting started, borth Redneck and Roadchick decided they were
starving and had to stop to get something to eat. A favorite place in the
Redneck/Roadchick world is Cracker Barrel. To waste time while waiting
for their names to be called to be seated, they wandered the gift shop.
Roadchick knows better than to smell the forty-eleven different
kinds of candles that they have but she gets suckered into it every time
and by the time she finally leaves, she's halfway between nauseous and
into a asthma attack. And, of course, not too long after leaving the
Cracker Barrel, nature called. And called Redneck who coined the phrase:
Gotta pee like a drunken midget. This cracked the 'chick up and she had
to ask - and that was when she found out that he had made it up on the
spot. It was used with abandon throughout the entire weekend. It is
still being used now. It may live on forever.
After a couple more hours on the road, they fnially reached the
Promised Land. You have to remember, Patient Reader, that the 'chick had never
visited Gatlinburg / Pigeon Forge before. She had seen the commercials
on TV, she had read a couple of brochures, she had visited a website or
two. All about Gatlinburg. Nothing about Pigeon Forge. Pigeon Forge was
NOT what she was expecting. It was four lanes of bumper to bumper
traffic and wall-to-wall shops and dinner theaters. It was NOT like the
pretty little pictures on all the websites and brochures. It was Walmart on
the day after Thanksgiving.
Redneck asked her what she thought of it and she had to admit it wasn't
what she was expecting at all - but it was still nice. (You know, the
kind of nice that dinner with cranky old Aunt Hagatha
is...nice but don't let's ever do this again, hmmmm?) A few more miles down
the road and Redneck and Roadchick entered Gatlinburg. It was day and
night. This is what was in all the stuff that the 'chick had
read. This was European charm right in the Smoky Mountains of the
good ol' U.S. of A.
Y'all have already read about the room that they stayed in over the
weekend. The 'chick had another bout of insomnia. Lovely. In a motel room.
Trapped. Fortunately, Redneck is a pretty sound sleeper and the 'chick
was able to get up at the horrible hour of 3 a.m. and knit for awhile.
She had just climbed back into bed and fallen asleep again when the
infamous colonic infomercial scenario happened. After that level of
hysteria, sleep was no longer a possibility and no longer needed. Why, it was
as good as a . . . colonic!
After drawing the short straw - after Redneck has promised to
collect the morning coffee from the lobby (no trendy in-room coffee for
Ma & Pa Bates!) - Roadchick went to get it because she could not stand
one more minute without coffee. Ma and Pa Bates, not only didn't believe
in in-room coffee, they also apparently believed that coffee is the
devil's brew and saw fit to dispense it in dixie cups. Now, if it were a
shot of espresso, it would have been ok, but it was watered down stuff
and a dixie cup was NOT enough. Unfortunately, Ma Bates was keeping a
pretty close eye on the 'chick (since she's such a shifty character) and
there was not an opportunity to make off with the entire thermos.
That's right - the coffee was in a thermos. Apparently from home. And no
more than one cup per customer. Period.
Gatlinburg is the type of place that if you can't find something to do
- you just don't want to. There are thousands of things to do -
literally. There are all the big attractions like all the Ripley's stuff - the
aquarium, Believe It Or Not, a haunted house, a 4D movie theater
(whatever that is). There is shopping. Oh lawd, there is shopping. And
eating. Lots and lots of eating. People wandering down the sidewalks, all
chewing on something.
Really, the best part of the trip was on Sunday when the 'chick and
Redneck went to Ober Gatlinburg. There is a giant tram that will take you
partway up the mountain but that was skipped in favor of driving up and
then taking the chairlift the rest of the way up the mountain. The
leaves were changing and it was beautiful. And so quiet. Until they got to
the top to discover a bluegrass band, playing for tips as loud as they
could. Roadchick had a tip for them but Redneck made her keep quiet and
walk away. The music was disappointing because it could have been so
silent up there...just some birds and the sound of the wind. Instead,
everyone was treated to an off-key rendition of Tearin' Up My Old Clothes
At Ober Gatlinburg, they also have a few black bears that live there,
in an enclosure and the 'chick was able to get some really good
pictures. It was infinitely amusing to her and to Redneck that apparently, they
sleep like bears. Two of the bears were sound asleep, spooning. Awww.
TMI? Too bad.
It was a long ride home after that. Isn't it always? And when she got
home after one of the best weekends that she ever spent, what was
waiting for her? That would be the information packet she had ordered on
It's ok though - Redneck and Roadchick are planning a trip in the
spring and Rockboy and Skaterboy will be in attendance. And hopefully, the
entourage will manage to leave before noon the next time.
Posted by Roadchick at 10:28 AM
Friday, November 03, 2006
So, the 'chick has been thinking about mornings.
A work week morning at Chez Roadtrip is a study in controlled chaos. Roadchick and Rockboy get up between 5:00 and 5:30 and the battle of the hot water begins. Whoever gets up first gets the most hot water for a shower. The 'chick is eternally grateful for the inventor that came up with the coffee pot with a built in start timer. Coffee is a MUST first thing in the morning, especially if it's a work day.
Weekend mornings are infinitely better. Aren't they always? Even if the 'chick wakes up early, it's ok because usually, she doesn't have to be anywhere at any certain time. Coffee is still first on the agenda, but it's consumed propped up in bed, watching the Early Show on NBC or possibly CBS Sunday Morning.
Surprisingly, the 'chick is a morning person. She is most productive first thing so getting to work before the office fills up enables her to get a lot done before most people ever make it in to work. By about noon, that burst of productivity is gone for tasks requiring concentration and by then, she's on to things that don't require as much creativity.
Lawd, y'all, telling you about mornings in Roadchick's world is probably as boring as watching paint dry. Reading it is probably even worse. The 'chick apologizes.
She will spare you the prose about each morning being a fresh start, a new beginning - as a rule, that is a load of crap. The problems you had yesterday are still present in the morning although if you're lucky, your subconscious may have worked out a solution while you slept. More likely than not though, you're on your own.
While the 'chick was finishing up state mandated training for her job, they did an exercise about routine. It was to demonstrate that it's very difficult - almost impossible - to impose your personal routine on someone else, even if you think it is the best way of doing things. In order to prove the point, everyone was asked to write down their morning routine. Then, the papers were gathered up and handed out again with everyone getting someone else's routine. A discussion followed: if you had to get up tomorrow and follow the routine that you were now holding in your hand, how would you feel? How would it affect your mood, your day?
The folks that Roadchick supports are mentally retarded and developmentally disabled and in the course of their lives, a great many people have figured that they knew better about how that person should live their life. They had no hesitation about imposing their idea of "right" on these individuals. And then, they were surprised when a great many of them fought back by having "behaviors" - which translates to "unacceptable behavior" that could range from a tantrum to property destruction to verbal aggression.
As the 'chick read over the schedule she was holding in her hand, it made her distinctly uncomfortable. She did not WANT to do things this way because it was . . . wrong. Not logical. It didn't fit her morning. It didn't fit her life. And she had a feeling that she was about to have a behavior. The exercise proved its point.
And the next mroning, as she did things in the way that heaven intended, she was glad that all was right in her world. It was a GOOD morning, complete with coffee, already brewed.
Posted by Roadchick at 6:51 PM