Mean Reds - Not the Blues

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.

Black Friday = Cleaning The House

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?

Cleaning.

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.

You Can Get Anything You Want

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.

It's true.

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.

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.

Love,
Roadchick

p.s. ~ To those that are interested, the lyrics to Alice's Restaurant are below.

Alice's Restaurant
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
Restaurant.

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.

"Kids, this-piece-of-paper's-got-47-words-37-sentences-58-words-we-wanna-
know-details-of-the-crime-time-of-the-crime-and-any-other-kind-of-thing-
you-gotta-say-pertaining-to-and-about-the-crime-I-want-to-know-arresting-
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
following words:

("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
guitar.

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
Excepting Alice
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.

Meme for YouYou

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
2)telemarketer
3)pharmacy technician
4)case manager

Four movies on replay at the 'chick's house:
1)Breakfast at Tiffany's
2)Chocolat
3)Casino
4)Good Fellas


Four places the 'chick called home:
1)Chicago, Illinois
2)St. Petersburg, Florida
3)Pompano Beach, Florida
4)Nashville, Tennessee

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!)
3)Numb3rs (CBS)
4)CBS Sunday Morning (CBS)

Four places the 'chick has Roadtripped to:
1)Gulf Shores, Alabama
2)St. Petersburg, Florida
3)Memphis, Tennessee
4)Gatlinburg, Tennessee

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:
1)Cardiac Fantasies
2)Briliant Donkey
3)Crazy Aunt Purl
4)Comics Curmudgeon


Four places the 'chick would rather be:
1)Asleep
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!

Peeves

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.

Roadchick 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.

That Warm, Warm Feeling

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.

Lovely.

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.

Freaky Friday

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 Disorder Test Results Paranoid |||| 14% Schizoid |||||||||| 38% Schizotypal |||||||||| 38% Antisocial |||||| 30% Borderline |||||| 22% Histrionic |||||| 22% Narcissistic |||||||||||||| 58% Avoidant |||||| 22% Dependent |||||| 26% Obsessive-Compulsive |||||||||||| 50%

Take Free Personality Disorder Test
personality tests by similarminds.com

It Was . . . Nice

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
For Rags.



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
Gatlinburg.

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.

Sunday Scribblings: Mornings

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.

Thursday Is Still Too Far From Friday

Y'all, the 'chick has guilt. Guilt for the lack of posting. Guilt because although she could not be bothered to sit down and write y'all an entry, she DID have time to tweak the template and fiddle around with HTML and apparently start an entire new industry designed to aid the technologically-impaired bloggers among us. The new venture? Roadchick Technologies, Inc. as named by Michael from Cardiac Fantasies. She is not quitting her day job, not to worry. While Roadchick understands the innernets, the innernets won't pay the cat food bill at Chez Roadtrip.

So, now that she is here and is actually typing words instead of funny code, what to tell???

The weekend in Gatlinburg was so nice. So nice to get away. Such a nice birthday present. Visits were made to the aquarium and Ripley's Believe It Or Not and Ober Gatlinburg. There was much walking involved. Redneck even paid a visit to a yarn store with the 'chick and didn't complain for one minute. Even though they walked there and it was uphill both ways. And about a mile from the strip.

The motel...well. Hmmm. It was memorable. The 'chick cannot recall the name of the establishment - Smoky Mountain something-or-other, just like everything else in Pigeon Forge and Gatlinburg TN. But, y'all.

IT WAS THE BATES MOTEL.

Complete with Ma and Pa Bates. (Ma Bates had a BEEHIVE hairdo.)(The 'chick does not understand the physics involved in a beehive hairdo.)

And a key on a plastic tag.

And paper registration cards that REQUIRE your license plate number even if it means going out into the pouring rain and howling wind to find out what your number is.

Now, y'all are going to be thinking that the 'chick deliberately searches out these relics of the hospitality industry. This is not true. They find her. Actually, Redneck chose the accomodations for the weekend. Although, the fact that the 'chick was whining almost constantly at that point might have had something to do with it. Redneck had tolerated an endless playback of:

"Where are we going to stay?"
"Do you know where we are going to stay?"
"Don't you think we should find somewhere to stay?"

until he gave up and pulled into the first driveway he saw.

The room. Y'all, the room.

It had panelling on the walls. All of them. Wooden panelling. From 1960. It felt like the 'chick was in a basement rec room of her mis-spent youth. All that was missing was the air hockey game and an Atari. The TV was on a lil metal stand in the corner. Amazingly, it did have a remote. This is good because while the 'chick is patient about a great many things, lack of a remote is not one of them. On the upside, the room was very, very, very clean. So was the bathroom. All that was missing was one of those "Sanitized for your safety" beauty pageant banners that used to grace all toilet seats in America's motels. Roadchick misses the ceremonial breaking of the banner. Sigh.

To all of you that sent birthday wishes Roadchick's way - thanks so much! That was so nice of y'all!

On the night of her birthday, October 27th, her first night in Gatlinburg with Redneck, the now-former-Mr.-Roadchick drunkdialed the 'chick to wish her happy birthday. Y'all, it is not a birthday in the South if your ex doesn't drunkdial you. Roadchick accepted his birthday wishes and was trying to get off the phone with him since she was currently at her birthday dinner with Redneck. The ex did not want to get off the phone - he wanted to chat. He was bored. And drunk. And not understanding that Roadchick was on a romantic birthday weekend getaway in the Beautiful Smoky Mountains Of Tennessee. The 'chick finally cut him off and hung up on him. It's ok though - Redneck's ex called him the NEXT night and kept him on the phone for about 10 minutes talking about van repairs and replacing engines and other such nonsense that annoyed the 'chick to no end. Not that there is a jealousy thing about the ex because there isn't - the problem was that the University of Tennessee football game was on, live from South Carolina, where the Game Cocks were getting their butts whipped and all the chatter was distracting the 'chick from the Deadly Serious Sport of Football.

The next morning, the 'chick awoke to voices. As she swam up out of deep, deep sleep she heard a man going on about 22 pounds of undigested fecal material and crusty linings and mental impairment and . . . she sat up in bed, wondering what the hell was going on. Redneck was also sitting up, apparently entranced by this infomercial. The 'chick groggily asked what was going on. His reply? They're talking about stem cell research.

Now, even as sleepy and out of it as the 'chick was - this did NOT compute. Stem cell research? What?

She listened a little bit more.

They were NOT talking about stem cell research although she can understand Redneck's confusion over the difference between feCal matter and feTal matter. However, it was just enough to send her into full-blown hysterics at 6:00 a.m. Complete with howling and tears rolling down her face. Once she collected herself, she explained what they were actually talking about was some sort of colonic program to detoxify your body and clear the mind. To relieve bloating. To remove the . . . crust from the intestines.

It was so funny that Roadchick watched it on Sunday morning too. And laughed just as hard. The guy on there was such a fanatic about it that you just know that he irrigates his colon regularly. Get up early and watch it for yourself. It's probably on the Discovery Channel or something.

In related news - the 'chick has offered her services as a reviewer to BlogLaughs. How is that related? The 'chick can think of several ways... anyway, it's a pretty cool blog and it should be interesting. Keep your eyes peeled.

Other bloggers around the innernets are participating in the blog a day thing that has some cute little initials that the 'chick cannot remember. She applauds their efforts and is glad that she will have new things to read each day. Y'all go! Good job! The 'chick is a slacker, though, and y'all know that about her so she won't even entertain the thought of making a promise like that.

Those of you that believe in the power of prayer - say a prayer for the 'chick tonight. She has to go to her mother's house and give her a perm. Someone may die. It's not certain who at this point. The 'chick hates giving perms. She would rather scrub the toilet in the men's room at a truck stop. So she is giving a perm. She is relatively certain that there will be a conversation along the lines of "NO WIRE HANGERS - EVER!!!" at some point during the evening. There usually is.

And that reminds the 'chick - Lawd, y'all - the holidays are FAST approaching. At warp speed. And there is shopping to be done. The 'chick saw her first official Christmas commercial on TV last night. It made her feel vaguely nauseous.

Her sister-in-law called on Halloween night. To discuss plans for the holidays. And to talk about drawing names for the Christmas gift giving. The 'chick is in favor of this because otherwise she has to buy double the presents and does not receive an equal amount in return. Not that she's counting or anything. But being the single sister in a family of married brothers, it winds up being rather expensive. But the bomb that dropped in the conversation was whether or not Redneck was to be included in the Drawing Of The Names. The 'chick said NO, absolutely NOT. That is the relationship kiss o' death. She suspects that was what happened with her last serious boyfriend a year ago. And, since he bailed on the whole holiday thing in general, other than to appear and collect giftages, she wound up buying TWO expensive gifts instead of just one because he refused to do it after drawing a name. Asshole.

Goodness, that was a little bitter, wasn't it?

Yep, sure was.

So, no, Redneck will not be playing Reindeer Games with Roadchick's family. Not this year.