Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas to everyone from the whole Roadie crew!

This has been one the of the nicest Christmases that the 'chick can remember - the shopping was done a couple of days early, Rockboy's girlfriend helped with the orgy of wrapping (which the 'chick HATES), the required Christmas cookies were baked and packed up. . .it was as close to flawless as a holiday at Chez Roadtrip can get.

The 'chick got some things to play with - a set of Santoku knives with a cutting board, some other kitchen stuff, a retractable clothesline (much wished for!), and a pair of gorgeous diamond earrings from Redneck.

Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix DVD and a cool sunburst clock from Rockboy.

Giftcards galore from other family members.

And, as usual, Auntie Roadchick gave the BEST toys to her niece and nephew. The ones that have to be taken out of the packages IMMEDIATELY. (Much to the chagrin of other family members. Hee!)

The homemade macaroni & cheese that the 'chick had to take to dinner was eaten completely. This is unusual. These are the people that won't eat cake.

Anyway, here's hoping that YOUR holidays were just as good. Take a little time to cherish yourself and your family.

Merry Christmas!

In Which The 'Chick Tries to be Nice and Others Do Not Recognize Her Efforts

So.

This afternoon, Rockboy called the 'chick and said that he had locked his keys in his car while at school. Roadchick, ever the good mama, carries a set of his keys with her at all times and headed over the school to liberate his car keys.

Car keys liberated, Roadchick headed home. One minute later, her cell phone rang. It was Rockboy.

Rockboy: Mom, can you come back to the school? I was sideswiped.

Roadchick: Oh, fuck . . . yes, be right there.

One quick U-turn later, the 'chick returned to school. Rockboy was headed down the street away from the school and a girl was backing out of her parking space. She did not see Rockboy and apparently did not hear his horn. She backed right into the side of the Rockmobile.

Sigh.

The 'chick assessed the damage and since Rockboy's car is 10 years old and had hail damage from a previous owner, she decided to be generous and giving in light of the holiday season.

The 'chick called the girl's father and explained what happened and offered to settle the whole thing for $150.00, no insurance companies involved.

(Roadchick is able to be magnanimous since Redneck is a mechanic-par-excellence and he could do the door-replacing with a junk yard door.)

The father said, well, now, he didn't know . . . he would want to see the damage to his daughter's car, etc.

Roadchick said ok, you've got the cell phone number, call with your decision.

While Roadchick was driving home (for the second time, in the POURING rain), her cell phone rang. It was the girl's mother.

Mother: I understand that you're willing to settle this for $150.00. How did you come up with that number, because I was looking at the website for Pull-A-Part and doors cost $28.00 and you said your boyfriend would put the door on.

Roadchick: Yes, that's the price of the door.

Mother: So, what is all the extra money for?

Roadchick: All the extra money is for all the trips to the junk yard because even though they may have the car on the lot, that does NOT mean there is a usable door on the car. It is also for my boyfriend to have to remove the hopefully usable door, haul it home, remove the damaged door and install the junk yard door. That does NOT take into account that the odds of finding the same colored door are slim to none. And certainly you don't expect him to do this for free . . . it's not like the 'chick woke up this morning and said, "Let's put a different door on Rockboy's car. Won't that be fun?"

Mother: Well, I think that's excessive.

Roadchick: Well, the 'chick doesn't. What is your insurance deductible? Probably a minimum of $250.00 and then of course, your rates are going to go up as well. But, it's up to you. The 'chick has pictures - she'll email them to you.

Mother: Fine. We'll see about this.

Roadchick: That will be fine.

When the 'chick got home, she made a couple of phone calls. For a shop to do the work, including matching the paint and possibly straightening the frame, the price ranged from $1500.00 to $2100.00

The 'chick emailed the pictures to Mother.

Apparently, Mother made some calls too.

The 'chick got a very short email stating that this was such a busy time of year, let's just take care of this, hmmmm? Girl will bring a check to school tomorrow and give it to Rockboy.

That's the gratitude you get for trying to be nice at the holidays.

Next time, it's going to the insurance company. The 'chick could use some extra money and the Rockmobile would STILL get a junkyard door.

It's the Final Countdown

Patient Reader, in case you didn't realize it, there are SIX shopping days left before Christmas. We're all about the public service here at the Roadtrip.

Roadchick's shopping is nearly complete. There are a few gift cards that have to be purchased and that should be about it. Then the orgy of wrapping must commence.

Wrapping the gifts is the 'chick's least favorite part of the holidays. She hates it worse than the shopping.

Speedbump, always helpful, will be in the center of everything as cats always are, just when you don't want them there.

Moods are still reasonably good. Festivities are planned, both with Roadchick's family and Redneck's family. A good time will most likely be had by all.

The 'chick was thinking about holiday traditions today. As the "Official Keeper of the Traditions", Roadchick is in charge of baking the cookies that were very much a part of the 'chick's growing up years. Her brothers expect them. There are threats of not being allowed in the house if cookies are not very much in evidence.

But, other than the cookies, there don't seem to be many traditions in the Roadtrip household. There were things that were tried and abandoned, mostly during the year of depression and Black Christmas. The tree with all the ornaments that the 'chick has collected throughout her life cannot be put up because Speedbump systematically strips the tree of the handmade, hand-beaded ornaments and dunks them in her water dish. Speedbump still enjoys climbing inside the tree and taking it apart, but now with just glass balls, it won't matter all that much if she does dunk them. But she hasn't, at least not yet.

For a few years, the 'chick and Rockboy joined her brother and his family to go look at Christmas lights. There was the one year that her brother was driving a hoopty (his work car) and everyone, including the brand new baby nephew, all piled in and went cruising. Rockboy and Roadchick's brother were both wearing hoodies and they pulled up their hoods low over their faces (they were in the front seat) and we blasted rap Christmas with the bass turned up as we cruised through the "rich" neighborhoods. One year, after a mini van was purchased, everyone piled in but Brother came down with stomach flu mid-viewing and there was a damn fast trip back home. He puked in the side yard of the 'chick's new house, thereby christening it as Chez Roadtrip. Ah, memories. . .

What tradition makes Christmas for you and your family? What is the one thing that if you didn't do it every year, it just wouldn't seem like Christmas?

You'll Recognize Her by the Matching Bags Beneath Her Eyes

It may not be easily evident from the picture above, but the 'chick is tired. Not "oh, Christmas shopping and hauling bags" tired. Not "another Christmas party, what a bore" tired.

Tired as in, not more than a couple of hours of sleep per night for the last several weeks.

There was a brief period of respite last weekend, when Redneck was here and the 'chick fell asleep with her head on his shoulder at about 10 pm and he let her sleep that way until she fell over of her own accord, buried in pillows.

The 'chick was hopeful for that again this weekend.

It was not to be.

Did you know that there isn't much on TV at 4:00 am? There isn't. Especially on a Sunday morning.

Home remedies in comments.

The Ghost of Christmas Past

So, yeah, it's been awhile.

Normally, at this time of year, you could pretty much figure that the 'chick was hiding somewhere, desperately trying to avoid the holidays. This year, not so much. Mind you, there is no tree up at Casa de la Roadchick, but there are some gifts. Not wrapped. But at least purchased.

The depression and desperation that could be counted on as regularly as Salvation Army bellringers have not appeared. Thank God. There have been a few shaky moments, but they faded almost as quickly as they appeared.

The 'chick has real sympathy for the folks that have a hard time during the holidays, mainly because she was one of them for so many years.

The last truly magical, wonderful holiday season that the 'chick can remember was probably the first year that she was married to The-Now-Former-Mr.-Roadchick. That was the year that she found out that some people get really, really drunk on the holidays and then miss Christmas dinner with their families while expecting other people to tell their family that they've come down with a nasty stomach virus and can't come to dinner. And the magical part happened before Christmas Eve approached on the calendar. On Christmas Eve, the serious drinkin' commenced.

But until that time, the 'chick was all about the holidays. Especially in her own house. There was a tiny Charlie Brown Christmas tree from Walgreens that was on sale, and probably two stings of lights, and some cheap wooden ornaments that come about 100 to a box for $5.99 but it was hers damn it, and it was ok. And there was cookie baking. And young cousins-in-law were bribed to come over and wrap all the gifts (that were all purchased at one big spree at Walmart).

The 'chick was dirt poor and bone ignorant in those days.

But there was magic and there was hope.

The year that The-Now-Former-Mr.-Roadchick left to pursue "true love" was a bad Christmas. Not because he was gone. The fact that he was gone, taking his drinking and fighting ways with him was a relief. What was hard was knowing that there was no money for Christmas gifts for Rockboy and he was 11. He understood being dirt poor although his mama hid it from him as best she could. He never knew (and still doesn't) that there were times that milk was paid for with pennies and nickels and good luck finding any loose change in the car or the sofa cushions because it had already been gathered together for a loaf of bread.

That was the year that the 'chick learned to accept help when it was offered and if someone called it charity, then fine. As long as Rockboy got something to open at home. The local police department knew that Rockboy's daddy was gone (because he had been a city employee, although NOT a cop) and they got together and made sure that there were presents under the tree. And the place where Roadchick worked got together and bought a gift card from the mall and gave it to her, fortunately before the holidays so she could get Rockboy something too, as well as a little something for people in her family.

But, oddly enough, Roadchick's family never seemed to notice the life-or-death struggle going on at Chez Roadtrip. And sometimes, around this time of year, the 'chick looks back, says a little prayer of gratitude that things are better now, and asks to be able to forgive her family, just a little bit, for being so blind.

Now that Rockboy is older, he looks back, and he knows the truth. He knows that it wasn't a crazy experiment when his mama tried to pass off powdered milk for the real thing.

And he understands why, every year, the Roadie crew will choose at least one angel off an Angel Tree and help someone else out, in case otherwise there wouldn't be anything else under that tree.

If you find yourself with a little extra to spare, please donate here. It's a secure link.

Technical Support

One of Roadchick's friends called her the other day and asked her to come over. It seems that the friend had gotten a new laptop and printer for her job and for some reason, she could not get anything to print.

There were promises of coffee and breakfast and Roadchick happily agreed.

This morning, Roadchick made the drive to her friend's house. Upon arrival, the 'chick offered to work on the printing problem while her friend cooked breakfast.

Armed with a cup of coffee that said "Professional Smartass", the 'chick headed down the hall to the office. (It's always nice to get a personalized coffee cup.) The laptop was a shiny, new Dell and the printer was also shiny and new and some name brand that the 'chick no longer remembers. Anyway.

The 'chick powered up the laptop and plugged the printer's USB cable into the side of the laptop. She opened up the Control Panel and opened up the Printer folder. A few clickity-clicks of the mouse later, she waited for the test page to print. There was no test page forthcoming.

So, a test document in Notepad. Nothing printed.

The 'chick double-checked that the printer was powered up and the other end of the USB cable was connected to the printer. Everything was a-ok.

The 'chick switched the cable from the bottom USB port to the top one.

Things started to print.

The 'chick's friend heard the printer running and came into the office to find out how the 'chick pulled off this miracle of technology.

"Well, it's pretty simple, really. Think of the USB ports as a part of the female anatomy and the USB cable as a part of the male anatomy. Once the female gets used to the cable being inserted into one port, she may not be so eager to change to a . . .lower port."

Friend thought about this for a minute and then said:
"Oh, well, that explains it. My son set everything up and then couldn't remember where everything went."

"It would help if the computer had a little, soft voice going 'That's not it. A little bit higher.'"

Sex and computers.

And a hot breakfast afterward.

Overheard:

"My client is on sharps restriction. All knives and forks and sharps have to be locked up. But, he's really fun except for the stabbing."

There are days that the 'chick just loves what she does for a living.

Blow Pop Month

Once a year, in the fabled land of Blogistan, some of the residents gather to participate in this thing they call Blow Pop or some such thing. The 'chick can never remember all the letters that go into the name, so Blow Pop Month is darned close.

Blow Pop Month, for those of you not "in the know", is a 30 day writing exercise where one swears (upon threat of painful, excruciating humiliation and possible death) to post an entry to one's blog each day during the month of November. Thanksgiving coma is not an excuse for missing a day. Black Friday is not an excuse for missing a day. Being stuck in the Denver airport on blizzard stand-by is not an excuse for missing a day. YOU MUST POST.

The citizens that participate in this writing exercise are much like marathon runners in the Real World. They train. They practice. They get pumped up and psyched up and there is much chest-thumping before the race starts.

The 'chick sits back in awe and watches, admiring these hardy souls. Considering that her posting is less than punctual and not on any sort of schedule at all, she would be a brilliant loss at this exercise.

But, here's to you, Mr.(Or Ms.)-Post-A-Day-For-Blow-Pop-Month. May you go long and be funny. May you not run out of material or steam before the home stretch. The 'chick bows in awe to your. . . awesomeness.

Long Live Blow Pop Month.

Happy Halloween!

It's That Time Again

Redneck
+
Roadchick
+
Mountains
+
Weekend
=
See Ya!

Work At Home

(Disclaimer: this is NOT the 'chick's home office. Who the hell would sit directly in front of the air conditioner and freeze their crotch???)

The 'chick is lucky because her job allows her to work from home from time to time. She doesn't do this too often, because she does need to actually be IN the office when she's not on the road, but on days like today, the work at home thing is wonderful.

It's been raining in Nashville for the past couple of days. The 'chick is not complaining - Lord knows we needed the rain desperately. It's not raining at the moment, but it's kind of grey out and chilly.

Working at home means heading upstairs to the bonus room/office space that the 'chick reclaimed from the vileness of Rockboy earlier this year. During the summer, it's really too hot to be up there for long, but it's pretty ideal once the temperature dips below 80 degrees. Right now, as she types, the 'chick is kicked back in a hand-me-down leather recliner (cream colored) from her dad, Emeril is on the TV, and all is right with the world.

How much actual work is getting done, you ask?

Well . . . not a whole lot, but laundry got done and dishes were put in the dishwasher and the dishwasher was run. A plan was written, another one started and some overdue notes will be done.

Part of the problem is that the 'chick has a lack of discipline when it comes to getting actual work-work done at home. She has discovered the theory behind this. The theory is this: Because the 'chick does not work at home on a regular basis, it feels like a treat and when something feels like a treat, she will react to it as such. Which means, there is not as much focus as one might hope. BUT, the question is this - if the 'chick were to work from home more often, would she get better at focusing and getting motivated?

Well, lunch break is over, so the 'chick better get busy and get some work done. Happy Hump Day!

They're Trying To Kill The 'Chick

So, there was a meeting today. In a town 2 hours from the 'chick's "home" office. And there were storms. And traffic sucked. And it took almost 4 hours with the rain and traffic.

And the other day? The 'chick woke up with a stiff neck. This morning? The 'chick woke up with the same stiff neck, only worse. Actually, it was worser. A hot shower helped briefly. 800 mg of Advil helped a little longer, but not long enough.

Anyway. The meeting took all day. Lunch was involved.

Let's just say the 'chick is very, very thankful to be home now.

So, the pictures above. Left - the state of the 'chick's stomach. Right - wishing for a neck brace.

Is the bed spinning to y'all???

Ummmm. . .

The 'chick had something brilliantly funny to post.

Really.

She had it all thought out, thought to herself, "Is ________ (name since forgotten) going to blog about that too?"

And it was totally kick ass.

And, as you may have discovered by now - totally forgotten.

The 'chick kept thinking that it would come back to her, probably at some completely inappropriate time, like 3 a.m., but it has not.

Sorry. In the meantime, please to be enjoying some totally meaningless drivel.
__________________________________

It's car show season in Tennessee and that means Redneck and Roadchick have been busy every weekend since forever. It's a frenzy of activity, mostly for Redneck, while the 'chick is relegated to dusting the car. This is actually ok - and, the 'chick suspects, is a slightly G-rated version of the car washing scene in Cool Hand Luke. For Redneck, anyway. Bless his heart. Then, the 'chick gets to plop down in a lawn chair and knit or read until it's time to load everything back into the car and leave again. Fun times, y'all.

__________________________________



And, birthday wishes have to go out to Friendage. The 'chick has not forgotten. Check your email.

__________________________________

There is apparently a slumber party going on somewhere down the block. How does the 'chick know this, you ask? Is it her amazing psychic ability? Her x-ray vision? No, none of these, Patient Reader. The weather is cool enough for the windows to be open and she can hear preteen voices practicing their cheerleading in some backyard. Lordy mercy, slumber parties used to be fun. Staying up all night, eating a ton of junk food, watching scary movies and then playing Truth or Dare.

__________________________________

We now return you to your regularly scheduled program.

Think Pink in October

Just a reminder, darlings, from your Auntie Roadchick. . .

October is Breast Cancer Awareness month.

You can click the link at the right to help Save the Ta-Tas.

You can donate money or time to the Susan G. Komen Foundation, all by just clicking on the name.

Ladies, you KNOW how important breast cancer research is.

Men, if you love to play with ta-tas, it's time to pay up.

Save the Ta-Tas has some great and wicked funny shirts for sale - take a look and buy one.

It's for a very good cause.

Letters, Letters

The other day, the 'chick opened her mailbox to find an invitation to her 20th high school reunion. Has it really been 20 years? Good grief. It doesn't feel like it's been that long, but in some ways it seems like those years never even happened.

The 'chick attended Catholic high school in Illinois. Not for any high-falutin' religious principles on the part of her parents, but rather because the other option was a public high school in the middle of the city in a block that resembled a war zone. It was a huge, hulking building that resembled some kind of Gothic castle and had about 6 floors. Due to the neighborhood and the gangs, it was decided that the precious female off-spring would go to Catholic school.

Roadchick was less than thrilled by this prospect. There was a dress code. Not quite as bad as uniforms, but not Levis, t-shirts, and tennis shoes either.

There was mandatory religion class. Freshman year was Old Testament. Sophomore year was New Testament. In two years, the class never cracked open the Bible that was on the book list as required.

There were prayers before each class, before lunch, before football games. There was mandatory Mass the first Friday of every month.

Amazingly enough, in this rarified, religious atmosphere, there was the usual compliment of personalities that you would expect in any regular high school. There were preps and jocks, cheerleaders and brains, sluts and burn-outs. There were artists and musicians. There were a few gearheads, but they were a rare breed because this school was a college prep school with no automotive or shop classes available.

For a long time, the 'chick struggled with where she fit in. She had close friends and closer enemies. She joined the Flag Corps and helped to revolutionize it from marching with the band to performing from taped music like Prince and the Beach Boys.

She went to class, violated the dress code and got caught a few times, struggled to stay awake in religion class and got busted for talking during First Friday Mass and got sentenced to a Saturday detention, cleaning the convent.

But at some point, the 'chick also grew up a little and made a few discoveries about herself. She was a jock and an artist and a cheerleader. She was a burnout and a brain. And she made friends across the classes once she stopped caring what anyone thought of her.

And all of a sudden, she was so cool and such a rebel. Because she finally had the strength of character to actually be herself.

The 'chick will not be attending her 20th class reunion because sometimes the past is best left there. Her close friends were never from high school - they are here with her now. In all honesty, while there were a few people that she actually liked, she didn't care much for the greater majority of them because they had not yet learned to stop being mean, to stop hating because someone could not afford the newest fashions from The Limited, to stop judging because someone had different dreams than theirs.

But, to the Class of 1987 - here's hoping you realized your dreams, whatever they were. Best of Luck.

Five Questions

1. What did you want to be when you grew up? Why? Why didn't you become this (or did you?)
The 'chick wanted to be a truck driver. Why? Who knows? Except that she really, really loved the song "Convoy". Roadchick's mother did NOT approve of this career choice.
The 'chick is NOT a truck driver but her job does have her on the road a LOT. Except now, it's in a 2003 Monte Carlo named Payback.

2. You're taking a leisurely stroll through the jungle. All of a sudden you see an animal about to attack you. What's the animal and what's it going to attack you with?
A telemarketer. Attacking with free offers and vacation time-shares.

3. Oh my! It's a magical creature and you've been granted three wishes. The first two you blow on silly things like crazy riches and getting back at that person that's always been an annoyance. Now—what's your last "meaningful" wish going to be?
World peace. With a Coca-Cola for everyone.

4. Oh no! You said something wrong and you've been teleported into your worst nightmare. What is it?
Roadchick's mother is moving in. Permanently.

5. On a serious note: Who is your hero and why?
The 'chick would have to nominate her clients. Each of them is mentally retarded and has other developmental disabilities. It never slows them down. They do not know the meaning of the word "quit". And they never curse their fate. They've never asked, "Why me?" They accept and they overcome and they put the 'chick to shame on a regular basis.

Interview rules:

1. If you would like to participate, leave a comment saying "Interview me." Or send an email to the 'chick - if she doesn't already have yours.

2. The 'chick will respond by emailing you five questions. She gets to pick the questions.

3. Update your blog with a post containing your answers to the questions.

4. Include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.

5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you ask them five questions.

It's Just Static

Wow . . . it's been a long time since the 'chick has posted.

And even longer since anything other than internet quizzes or just pictures have been posted.

And, the 'chick sucks.

For being such a slacker.

But, y'all, here's the thing: there is really nothing of interest going on in the 'chick's life at the moment.

There is no drama.

There is no excitement.

Life is good and life is sweet.

Rockboy is doing well.

Redneck is doing well.

Skaterboy is doing well.

Work is busy but not interesting to write about.

So what is a blogger to do?

Everyone once in awhile, a thought will skitter through the 'chick's mind and the thought "that should go in the blog" does occur, but then when there is actually time to do something about it, it's long gone.

The 'chick remembered Talk Like A Pirate day on the 19th, but couldn't even be bothered to post an "Arrrgh" in honor of the day.

So, Patient Readers (the three that remain), thanks for turning up to check for signs of life. The 'chick is around. And sooner or later, mayhem will ensue.

Count on it.

9/11

You are not forgotten.

Copycat - Thanks, Heather!

Your Band Name is:

The Cultivated Sadists

Band Name Generator

The Cure Shares Your Taste in Music

See their whole playlist here (iTunes required)

Which Musician (or Group) Shares Your Taste in Music?

Labor Day 2007

Happy Labor Day, everyone!

The Outlaws have headed for home and things are slowly settling back into what passes for normal in the Roadtrip household. There is still a ton of laundry to do - sheets, towels, etc. but the biggest part of the Houseguest Explosion has been cleared away.

On the morning they left, the 'chick was cleaning up the kitchen and washed 20 coffee cups. The 'chick did not realize that she had 20 coffee cups.

There are no big Labor Day plans planned. Redneck had to work, Best Friend had to fly to Detroit because her grandmother is very ill, Rockboy is planning on going to the movies with Girlfriend.

So, what has the 'chick been doing?

Playing in Flickr. There is also a little photo link to the right.

It's addictive. Go take a look. Leave comments.



The night before the Outlaws left, the Crew went on a boat ride down the Cumberland River. Nothing really funny happened except for this rather snooty pair of people getting doused by a couple of little kids with SuperSoakers. They were not amused. The rest of us were since the male in the pair had evidently rolled in Calvin Klein's Obsession for Men and it was really overpowering. The dousing helped remove some of the scent. But not nearly enough.

The 'chick is going to spend the day catching up on laundry and hanging around the house, resting. Have fun, no matter what you decide to do, and stay safe!

Criminal Mischief

So, the Outlaws have been visiting. The weekend that they arrived was yet another weekend with temperatures over 100 degrees so that pretty much ruled out any sort of outdoor activity.

After some thought, it occured to the 'chick that it had been years since the clan had paid a visit to Opryland Hotel.

Opryland Hotel is the best at bringing the outdoors indoors and air-conditioning it. There are gardens and fountains and trees and even a river that has a boat ride. Almost like the Bellagio in Las Vegas. Except there are no slot machines.



So anyway, the Roadie crew wandered through the gardens and watched the Dancing Waters and poked around in gift shops ($2.50 for a bottle of Coke! $8.50 for a pack of cigarettes!) and took pictures and generally acted like they didn't get out much.

They almost made it out safely. Almost. But then, they looked down one level and saw this:


Well, no trip to the big city is complete without a little electronic amusement. Right? Into the arcade they went.

Right by the door, there was a machine that was similar to a crane game, where you have to grab the prize and manuever it to the chute in order to win the prize. This game had a spinning disk with a round dish on it and in the dish was a key. The key unlocked the "prize box" on top of the machine and the "prize box" contained one of those handheld Playstation video game thingees. (Wow, the 'chick can rock that technical language. Scary, isn't it?) In order to get the dish with the key, you had to get a mechanical arm to sliiiiiiide it over to your personal prize chute and knock it in.

Not as easy as it sounds.

So, they played that for awhile. A long while. Almost long enough to take the money invested in trying to win the game and just go buy the prize instead.

Then it happened.

Someone, who shall remain nameless, wondered out loud what would happen if the machine were to say . . . tilt and just slide the dish over.

Now, realize that this game machine weighed several hundred pounds so the efforts of a few people, who shall remain nameless, were needed for this experiment.

The results are as follows:

A LOUD alarm and bell (and possibly a flashing light) went off and the little (hidden) doors over the chutes slid closed.

Everyone in the arcade turned to look to see what was going on.

The scientific team conducting the experiment promptly set the machine back down again.

The entire Roadie crew e a s e d casually toward the door of the arcade, looking innocent.

The entire Roadie crew practiced their speed-walking skills to the nearest outside exit which was conveniently also the same door that they had entered through so getaway cars were very close at hand.

No one was arrested, but it's entirely possible that Opryland has face-recognition security software and the Roadie crew has been tagged for immediate ejection should they ever darken the doors again.

They don't call it NashVegas for nothing.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

Yeah.

Well.

Bandwagon, anyone?

The 'chick has redecorated. Links will be added later. The 'chick is exhausted from the wallpapering.

Hopefully the autumn colors will inspire the weather to COOL down. Weeks of being over 100 degrees is starting to take its toll. Hopefully the new template will inspire the 'chick to actually write once in awhile.

Snaps to Pyzam for the template.

Remind the 'chick to tell y'all about the Outlaws' visit - but it's not over yet. They're on their way back from visiting other family. More hilarity will ensue.

(Why is it that past bedtime always seems like the best time to get started on something like this???)

This Explains a Lot

With thanks to Heather for the idea!

You're Adventures of Huckleberry Finn!

by Mark Twain

With an affinity for floating down the river, you see things in black
and white. The world is strange and new to you and the more you learn about it, the less
it makes sense. You probably speak with an accent and others have a hard time
understanding you and an even harder time taking you seriously. Nevertheless, your
adventurous spirit is admirable. You really like straw hats.


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

Oh, Please

It's either a cold or bad allergies.

Whatever it is, it is NOT welcome right now.

The carpet cleaners come tomorrow. Stuff needs to be moved - just little stuff since they do the heavy moving, but still.

Redneck is working some serious overtime so the 'chick won't see him until the weekend.

Rockboy headed back to school on Monday and it's going to be a LOOOOOONG year.

The 'chick cleaned out her closet last night and has a TON of stuff to haul to Goodwill. They have drive-thru drop-off now. You pull up, pop the trunk, and the nice people come out and unload your car for you. And hand you a receipt for tax purposes.

And, it's 105 degrees out. No kidding.

August Follies

If it's August, it means that it's time for the Outlaws to descend. They will be here, luggage in tow, late Saturday afternoon.

Just thinking about it makes the 'chick tired. The Outlaws are always welcome in the Roadtrip household but the 'chick has a bit of the obsessive-compulsive about her and wants everything just so for them before they get here. And that means cleaning.

Normally, the cleaning would be well underway, but this year, it's just not happening. Work does not permit it and the 'chick's energy level does not permit it.

So, the troops have been called in.

For the first time EVER, the 'chick has arranged for a carpet cleaning company to come in and clean the carpeting in the living room, guest room, and for good measure, her bedroom. They come Thursday morning.

Rockboy will be threatened into cleaning his bathroom since the guest room shares that bathroom.

Groceries will have to be purchased. Menus will have to be planned.

Luckily though, activities will not have to be arranged because the fair is coming to town. And when the fair comes, so does the demolition derby and mud drags. Redneck good times, y'all.

For longtime readers, you will remember that not long after Roadchick and Redneck started dating, the Outlaws came to town and were carried to the mud drags. This calendar will likely be repeated this year.

And, in the "Awww" column - Redneck and Roadchick celebrated their one-year anniversary over the weekend by going out to dinner in downtown Nashville followed up by a visit to the comedy club to see Pauly Shore. A good time was had by all.

And, it was a Very. Good. Weekend.

Keep a good thought for the entire Roadie crew. It's going to get busy.

Simpsonized & Something for the Bunny Girls

Get yer own:

www.simpsonsmovie.com

And if you haven't seen the movie - go. Go now. The 'chick will wait here.

For the bunny girls:

Ice, Cubed

Except you have to go buy it and carry it home. And store it in 5 or 10 pound bags.

Movin' on Up

The 'chick has moved.

She called in the movers and bought a lot of beer.

Kind of.
But not really.

However, she DID paint a new number on the slightly tilted mailbox at the end of the driveway.

The 'chick is now:
http://www.roadchick.net/




But, even if you still have the old address, you can still visit the 'chick. Blogger has kindly agreed to let the 'chick paint over the old owner's name and put hers up top.

It seemed like too much of a commitment to actually purchase space to host the blog elsewhere. Buying the domain was more of an impulse purchase. The last 10 feet of Walmart, if you will.

Anyway, housewarming party at the 'chick's.

Bring nice gifts! And more beer.

Eat This

Oh. Mercy. Want something impressive for dinner that is really pretty easy to make? This is insanely good. It looks more difficult than it really is - if you can stir, you can cook this. The 'chick even managed to impress herself with this one.

1 bag frozen cheese ravioli prepared according to directions on package.

Sauce:

2 cups white sauce (directions follow)
8 oz. smoked gouda cheese (cut into small pieces to make it melt faster)
2 - 3 sun-dried tomatoes, chopped up
Fresh sliced mushrooms, if you like 'em (and we like 'em)
Chopped fresh tomato (for garnish)
Chopped green onion (for garnish)
Salt & pepper to taste

Yo' Mama's White Sauce:

Melt 1/4 cup butter (BUTTER, not margarine) in a saucepan. Whisk in 1/4 cup flour when the butter melts - cook over medium heat for a couple of minutes until it thickens. Add 2 cups of milk and stir well. Continue cooking over medium heat for a few more minutes until it thickens up again.

Add the cheese and sun-dried tomatoes. Stir really well until the cheese melts. You may need to add more milk to thin out the sauce because it can be really thick. Add salt & pepper to taste. You can also toss in some fresh sliced mushrooms right at the end.

Pour the sauce over the ravioli and garnish with chopped fresh tomato and green onion. (You've gotta do the garnish. At least one part of it. Preferably both.)

Enjoy! (And serve something minty for dessert.)

It's a Dirty Job

(The picture shown is NOT Redneck OR the 'chick's car.)

Sunday night, Redneck informed the 'chick that he would be taking her car home with him because it was time to change the oil. (Redneck has been in charge of car maintenance for the 'chick since almost their first date.)

The 'chick didn't think too much about it and handed over the keys without a second thought.

Last night, she headed over to his house to hang out for awhile (and get her car back and return his.)

The best present? Better than a free oil change?

He washed, waxed, and detailed the entire car.

He dusted and vacuumed and Armor-All'd the interior.

He cleaned the windows - inside AND out.

He polished up the rims and put tire shine on the tires.

He even put the spare tire back into its compartment the way that God and GM intended.

It made the 'chick a little swoony.

Men - want to impress your girlfriend who has to do all of her own car maintenance? Follow Redneck's lead. You might be surprised at how well the car detailing business pays.

*g*

Inner Dork, Unleashed

Friday night found Redneck and Roadchick at the local bookstore, awaiting the release of the seventh and final installment of the Harry Potter series - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. Amazingly, Redneck was perfectly willing to participate in this insanity, as long as he could bring the laptop with wireless capability along.

Now, considering that every store in the entire world, including truck stops and sex shops was selling this book, you would think that the crowds would be manageable.

Not so.

It was insane. By pure, dumb luck, Redneck got a parking space in the same county because someone was leaving. They must have been leaving for emergency surgery since no one else was going ANYWHERE. Can you imagine that phone call?

"Mrs. Jones, we've found a donor. The kidney is on the way. We need you at the hospital immediately."

"What, now? But it's 2 hours to Potter. Tell the surgeons to wait. I'll need something to read while recovering."

In all the excitement, it never dawned on the 'chick that you had to join a line 10 miles long to get a wristband. She had the reserve ticket. Who knew that you had to have other things?

Realization dawned about 11:30. There were wristbands. Crap.

By that point, the floor was getting really hard and there was no more amusement to be found in the business section although apparently, you can create crafts at home for fun and profit.

Redneck and Roadchick bailed. And made $20.00 for vacating a parking space. (No, not really, but it was considered.)

The kids were all dressed up - there were Hermiones and Ginnys and even a Fleur Delacourt. There were Harrys and Rons and Dracos. There were Professor McGonagals and Dumbledores.

And, oddly enough, there was a group of teenaged boys wearing their little brothers' pajamas - of the Spiderman variety. Skintight shirts that became belly shirts and the pants turned into nearly obscene shorts.

It was the grown-ups in full costume that were the most bizzare. They were the ones that you wouldn't really want teaching a gym class at the local middle school because they were so . . . peculiar.

But, neither Redneck nor Roadchick regretted the trip because after all, it is the last Potter release party.

The next day, with no crowds around, a copy of Deathly Hallows was purchased without fanfare at the local Kroger.

If y'all have read it - don't tell. The 'chick is reading it very slowly to savor it. And to annoy Redneck who wants to read it once the 'chick is finished with it.

No Diving

Last night, Redneck and Roadchick went to Wally World to buy a crockpot.

Roadchick came home with a swimming pool, air pump, and a crockpot.

Now, granted, the swimming pool cost all of $30.00 with an extra $10.00 thrown in for the air pump to blow it up. But, still.

The 'chick has wanted a swimming pool for years. Nothing too elaborate - an aboveground pool would've been fine.

Except.

The neighborhood association (neighborhood assholes?) have some funky rule about "No aboveground pools". Inground pools are fine. With prior permission before installation. The 'chick has inground pool taste on an inflatable pool budget.

The neighborhood does have a pool at the "Recreation Center". The pool is not much larger than the inflatable pool that the 'chick bought and is always full of children, most of which are not potty-trained. The 'chick is not particularly eager to swim in the neighborhood toilet bowl, so she came up with a reasonably priced alternative.

Redneck laughed when the 'chick dropped the box containing the pool into the cart. He asked why she was buying a wading pool.

"It's not a wading pool. It's a wallerin' pool. To lay outside in the sun and waller. And get a tan. And not get hot."

"Your neighbors are going to think you've lost your mind and they're still going to turn you in for having a pool."

"Not if we have pool parties."

"This is all starting to sound a little too much like a 1970's wife swap. Who is going to bring the Jello mold?"

"Oh hey - good idea! We can have Jello wrestling in the evening!"

"Then you'd better buy a patch kit."

"No, it's only funny until someone punctures the side."

"You do realize that you're not right in the head, don't you?"

"Yes. Do you think Jello will turn people's skin funny colors? Or stain the towels?"

"Better get the sugar-free or else there will be ants everywhere."

"The 'chick does not want relatives coming over."

"Not aunts - ants - the little bugs? Oh nevermind - just go pay for this stuff."

Pool party at Roadchick's house this weekend. Y'all are invited. Just don't bring your aunts.

Dripping With Insight

And not particularly funny.

During the drive to work this morning, the 'chick had herself a good ol' think. She was thinking about friends that are in her life right now, and friends from the past. The reason for this musing was because of an email that she received from a friend from the past. Just a funny, joke email that perfectly demonstrated the sense of humor that this friend and the 'chick shared.

The 'chick used to be co-workers with this person and was actually pretty close to bestest friends with his wife. The closeness of the friendship lasted over several years, one move to a new house ('chick), one divorce ('chick), several funerals (friends' family members), holidays, birthdays, etc.

The friendship suffered a split when a new employee started at the job. The new co-worker was the office manager and the 'chick was friendly to her, got along well with her, took smoke breaks and lunch breaks with her and eventually became very good friends away from work hours with her.

Old Friends did not like New Friend because . . . who knows? They said she was white trash, things like that. Roadchick thought this was absolute bullshit and let that be known. Besides - at the point that those comments were being made, New Friend was still just New Co-Worker and Roadchick's boss besides. It made good sense, careerwise, to be friendly to the new boss. And besides, there was no reason to be ugly.

Anyway.

Old Friends had their annual Christmas party that year. Roadchick was always invited and usually involved in the planning and execution of the party. First one there, last one to leave. This year, Roadchick was not invited. She was not even told about the party. Old Friends invited many, many people from the office and apparently told everyone to keep it a secret from the 'chick. But, of course, after the party, people were talking it over at work and the 'chick overheard. And the 'chick's feelings were hurt.

It took a little while, but the 'chick got over it. She was still friendly and nice, but not quite so eager to be friends anymore. Things are still friendly and nice, but the friendship never really recovered from that hurt. The 'chick was not so willing to put herself out there again for that hurt to happen.

Another close friend faded off a few years ago. Roadchick and Friend met through work (a different job) and bonded. They went to movies and dinner, drinks, even a roadtrip or two. They even went to church together.

But, Roadchick started noticing that while Friend was usually willing to go along with whatever the 'chick planned, she was not inclined to ever initiate anything on her own. If there were phone calls, the 'chick was the one dialing the phone.

Roadchick and Friend attended the same church and Roadchick, being the heathen that she is, eventually stopped going. (There were actually several reasons, but those don't apply to this particular story.)

Now, Roadchick had kind of figured that Friend might actually call about this because Rockboy and the 'chick were there at least twice a week - Wednesday nights and Sunday mornings. But the phone call never came and the 'chick didn't bother to make the call either. At that point, it seemed like - wow, you didn't even notice that we weren't there.

Of course, all of that flashed through the 'chick's mind pretty quickly which led to this:

Why is it so easy for the 'chick to walk away? Does that mean that she is not letting people really get too close because they're going to disappear anyway?

The 'chick can carry a grudge - she admits that. She will carry it to the ends of the earth and beyond. Not often and it takes some doing to force her to that action, but it can be done.

Before the grudge comes the test.

And the test is this: If you are not calling when you say you are going to, or if you continue to break plans, etc. then the 'chick will sit back and watch. Watch to see if you call or if you are going to take the initiative to plan something and follow through with it. If you do, fine. Things go back to normal. Continue to disappoint? The 'chick takes one more step back. Too many steps back and you fade away into a memory. And, apparently, a blog post.

Advice and therapy in comments.

The Urge to Merge

And just like that (snaps her fingers) the dark, evil mood lifted.

How, you ask?

On the 'chick's drive into work, part of the drive takes place on a 2-lane road which widens out to a 4-lane road over an interstate interchange, then narrows back down to a 2-lane road again.

The left lane continues, the right lane ends.

The right lane is marked with signs and large arrows on the pavement pointing left to indicate that THIS LANE ENDS, YOU MUST MERGE.

The 'chick is a lazy driver and just stays in the left lane. It's easier that way. No troublesome merging to contend with, especially before the caffeine fully hits her system.

The 'chick was cruising along, humming with the radio, pondering the day ahead just as the lanes widened out. The 'chick stays to the left, as always. The car behind the 'chick swings right and accelerates slightly. And draws even with the 'chick's car.

The 'chick was a reasonable distance behind the car in front of her but still too close for another car to squeeze in. The 'chick is wondering when the dude to the right is going to speed up or slow down, because the end of the right lane is fast approaching. Dude neither speeds up nor slows down.

By now, the 'chick is taking a more active interest in these proceedings as the right lane is ending RIGHT NOW and dude is under the impression that the laws of physics are going to bend to his will and allow two objects to occupy the same space at the same time.

Dude has not bargained on Roadchick.

Roadchick is in NO mood for this kind of bullshit so early on a Monday morning.

Roadchick gently taps her horn with both hands and motions that there is ample room behind her car, since she is NOT letting anyone get over from the right lane into the left. No cutting in line, thankyouverymuch.

Dude honks back and makes a rude gesture, and indicates he intends to get over in front of Roadchick.

Again, Dude has not bargained on Roadchick and the intensity of her mood over the past few days.

Roadchick maintains her lane and Dude has to decide: is he feeling lucky?

Roadchick offers Dude a friendly gesture (which she hasn't done while driving in at least 7 years) and reminds him once more - there is ample room behind Payback, but not in front. The end of the line is back there.

Dude decided he was NOT feeling lucky and got into the lane BEHIND the 'chick.

Right about that time, the evil bubble burst and the 'chick started grinning and slipped the Kid Rock into the CD player.

Life is sweet, ain't it?

The Answer

According to Pacian, duct taping lobsters to one's hands and then persuading them to perform everyday activities is the answer to disgruntlement.

Maybe, maybe not.

But, the picture from Pacian made the 'chick laugh her ass off so evidently, it may be a valid solution. Especially after noticing the little tea cup and saucer in the lobster's claw.

Disgruntled

Image shamelessly stolen from despair.com. Go there. Look around. Be amused. Buy something.

Anyway. The 'chick is in a mood. Where it came from, she does not know. It's almost like wicked PMS, but it's not that - the calendar says it's not.

Everything is annoying as hell. People are not falling into line with plans, needs, wants.

Now, in all honesty, everyone (with the exception of the 'chick) is acting the same way that they always do. There is no new behavior taking place. No change in attitudes, actions, anything at all.

But, damn it, these people are just getting on the 'chick's last nerve. And dancing.

The 'chick has a bad case of "Oh, poor baby" syndrome, where she is feeling much put upon and taken for granted.

Someone - anyone - please do something amusing to help break this mood.

Or else.

Hug 'Em Tight

Sometimes it takes an almost literal smack over the head to make you appreciate what you have.


Crazy Aunt Purl lost one of her kitties and wrote an amazing tribute/memorial to her friend, Roy.

The 'chick is not one for bawling in public but reading that post caused the 'chick to unashamedly bawl at her desk at work.

Go home today and hug the ones that you hold dear.

Speedbump had her stuffins squeezed out of her and thinks the 'chick is slightly insane, but oddly - she tolerated it, almost as if she knew.

Rest in Peace, Roy, from Roadchick and Speedbump.

Down At The Station

It's hard to top Mist's post about her 4th of July, but after a series of emails, the 'chick has decided to tell the tale of how she spent the Glorious 4th.

Because Redneck has connections, he was able to park behind the bus station in Nashville. In the restricted lot. Unauthorized cars will be towed at the owner's expense. Redneck, Roadchick, and Best Friend got out and headed inside the station for beverages.

After hitting the gift shop, everyone headed to the snack bar for their beverage of choice. The bus station has a Slush Puppy machine so the 'chick got a cherry slush and spiked it with the vodka she had tucked in her purse for just this sort of emergency.

After settling comfortably in the back of someone's pickup truck (whose was it? we don't know) the festivities could begin. Lots of new friends were made as they waited for their buses to come in from all over America. Friends were lost as they boarded their buses and headed to their Final Destinations.

Best Friend made a special friend. A rather strange man offered to pay her to poop in a bag for him. She declined his offer and told him she was constipated.

Sitting in the restricted lot offers other amusements too. The security guards were busy watching the lot and calling tow trucks to come get the cars that were not authorized to be there. As time went by and the slush level dipped lower, Roadchick and Best Friend decided to help the guards out by pointing out the offending vehicles. After all, how dare they park in OUR lot? The flashing lights of the tow trucks competed with the fireworks that lit up the Nashville skyline.

This 4th of July rates as one of the oddest ones that the 'chick has ever spent. It made the 'chick sorry that she had touched up her roots earlier in the day - she would've blended in much better if she had left them alone.

And how was YOUR 4th of July???

Independence!

Maybe Kid Rock said it best:

Red, white, and blue down to the bone
If you don't like that, then take your punk ass home.

Thanks to ALL the soldiers: past, present, and future for giving up so much so that we can have so much.

The 'chick is humbled by the sacrifice and she is so grateful.

Stay safe & have fun. The 'chick will be over here by the Roman candles.

Truer Words Were Never Spoken. . .

Seen at the Demolition Derby.

Rated

Mingle² - Online Dating

Danger Will Robinson!

The 'chick is not exactly sure which brother came up with the bright idea that Mom needed a computer. Roadchick's mom is not exactly tech savvy and not much of an adventurer. But, she wanted to feel like she was a part of the 21st century and so, a computer was selected and purchased.

Actually, several computers were selected and purchased and returned or sold.

The cycle began about two years ago. Roadchick's mom decided she needed a laptop. So she could be "on the line". Yeah.

Roadchick, being a dutiful daughter, took Mom shopping for a laptop. Mom could afford a computer capable of launching the Space Shuttle. The laptop she picked out was so sweet that it made the 'chick weep with envy but also brought a ray of hope to her blackened heart, thinking Mom would soon tire of this new activity and the 'chick would be on the receiving end of some very sweet technology.

A week went by. Mom called. She was ready, she announced, to take the laptop out of the box.

What the fuck?

If Roadchick had bought that computer, it would've been out of the box before she ever made it across the parking lot to the car.

Roadchick went over to Mom's house and prepared to Set Up The Computer.

A sharp knife was on hand to slice the security tape sealing the box. She was poised, ready to cut.

WAIT!

Maybe this wasn't a good idea - after all, so many years without a computer, why start now?

She returned the laptop to the store and there was a vast and grateful silence across the countryside.

About six months ago, the computer virus (because it has to be something that causes relapses) reared its ugly head again. This time, Mom went to the brothers.

Eldest brother guided her through the selection process and again, a sweet laptop was purchased and delivered. A wireless mouse. Internet service from the cable company was ordered and installed. She got a wireless router, for God's sake.

Mom played with it for about a week, then decided it was not for her.

For the love . . .

The laptop was sold to a business associate of elder brother.

An E-Machine was selected and purchased. Eldest brother was once again enlisted in the set-up. Middle brother's mad computer skillz were also called into play. Everything was ready to go.

Except.

Except they didn't finish the install of Microsoft Word.

Except they didn't teach her how to open an email attachment.

Except they didn't teach her how to REPLY to an email.

Except one of them, curse his blackened soul, told her that if she ever saw a yellow triangle with an exclamation point in it, it was a PROBLEM that MUST BE DEALT WITH RIGHT AWAY BEFORE THE NUCLEAR WEAPONS COULD LAUNCH AND BRING ANNIHILATION UPON ALL MANKIND.

Except they didn't tell her to call them for technical assistance.

The call came at 4:00 this afternoon, just as the 'chick was settling into the hot, hot car after a long day at work.

The Yellow Triangle Of Doom had reared its ugly head and the 'chick must come fix it RIGHT AWAY.

Never mind that the 'chick had other activities planned.

So . . . the triangle?

It was telling her that it was time to run a virus scan.

Rest easy.

The Free World is safe.

Until next week, when it's time to scan again.

This Is The Way We Wash Our Clothes

Sometimes, the 'chick likes to be shocking. To throw something out there that no one was expecting. Redneck got a dose of this little personality quirk recently.

Since the 'chick has been so busy for work and on the road so much, her personal laundry got a little neglected. That is why women should have large wardrobes with lots of clothing options. The 'chick has worn a different outfit every day for several weeks and not repeated anything twice. This includes a very LARGE dresser drawer full of bras and panties. Enough so that the 'chick never had to resort to wearing her Christmas panties in June because everything else was in the hamper.

Hamper? Who are we kidding? The laundry overflowed the hamper about two weeks ago and has since spread across the closet (walk-in, fortunately) like a slowly growing ground cover.

So, time to do the laundry.

Redneck was kicked back on the bed, watching a movie when the 'chick decided it was time to face the situation - that no one was going to take a hint and do her laundry. He wasn't paying much attention to what was going on at first, being totally absorbed in cars and buildings blowing up and aliens and half-clad women prancing across the screen, but eventually, he looked over to see what was going on.

The 'chick was sorting laundry into piles.

Jeans and dark clothes - check.
White t-shirts and tops - check.
Clothing that required some sort of special attention - check.

All this looked pretty normal to Redneck.

Then his gaze wandered to another pile.

"What's all that?"

"Panties and bras."

"But there is enough for two loads there."

"Yeah - so?"

"Don't you think that you might have a problem?"

"You know that the 'chick hasn't been home to do the laundry."

"No, that's not what I mean. What I mean is - you haven't done laundry in a long time. You have not worn anything twice. And there are still bras and panties in the dresser."

Blank look from Roadchick.

Silence from Roadchick.

"'Chick, there are very few people in the world that keep a three month supply of bras and panties on hand for emergencies."

"Then that explains the smell on airplanes, doesn't it?"

An Open Letter

Dear Swimwear Designer,

First of all, please accept our thanks for discovering the wonderful world of the "tankini". It makes good sense to allow women everywhere to choose the correct size for both top and bottom. This is a good thing.

So, please, don't take it the wrong way when we point out that, for some of us, the ones that Mother Nature has been . . . generous with . . .the cute, adorable suits do not quite fit, exactly. The bottoms are great - couldn't be better. The problem is with the tops.

The tops. Where to begin?

See, Swimwear Designer, some of us actually have breasts, boobs, casaba melons - whatever term gets your heart racing. And sometimes, our bodies are not really in proportion. (Think Pamela Anderson. Think Anna Nicole Smith. Think Dolly Parton.)

And when our bodies are not in proportion, we have a problem finding swimwear if we cannot afford to have our own swimwear designer available to whip up custom sized pieces.

In order to find tops that fit and cover more than a bandaid, we have to look at the misses' and women's sizes. Now, please, sit down for this next part - who in the hell told you that larger women (no matter WHY they are larger) actually like wild purple floral prints that look like Grandma on acid? Whoever led you astray should be shot. Honey, no one looks good in that shit.

Is there a particular reason that you, Swimwear Designer, think that women who need a little more coverage can't have the cute styles and patterns too? Is there a reason that you cannot just extend the style all the way up the size range?

Let the 'chick give you an example.

There was an adorable white eyelet tankini. The bottoms were fabulous. The top, well, not so good. Maybe as a bandana to hold back her hair. As a swim top suitable for public wear? Uh uh, nope, no way.

Your assistance would be greatly appreciated by women everywhere.

Sincerely,

Roadchick

Midsummer's Night Dream

June 21st marks the summer solstice. For people living in the Northern Hemisphere, it is the day with the longest span of daylight. Starting tomorrow, daylight will begin to shorten bit by bit and it will start getting darker earlier.

"Just for fun, my family invented a religion like the Shakers we called Stillwater. I'm eldress, and we have a big celebration on Midsummer's Eve. It's really a state of mind. Stillwater connotes something very peaceful, you see, life without stress. Nowadays, people are so jeezled up. If they took some chamomile tea and spent more time rocking on the porch in the evening listening to the song of the hermit thrust, they might enjoy life more.

Stillwater believers are very hedonistic. Life is to be enjoyed, not saddled with. Do you know that lovely quotation from Fra Giovanni? He was an old monk from away back who wrote to his patron, 'The gloom of the world is but a shadow: behind it, yet within our reach, is joy. Take joy.' That's the first commandment of the Stillwater religion. Joy is there for the taking."

~ Tasha Tudor, from The Private World of Tasha Tudor

In honor of the day, following the grand traditions of a variety of spiritual beliefs worldwide ~ Pagan, Catholic, Stillwater, and others. . . the 'chick is going to take a break tonight, sit on the deck, enjoy the evening, and relax.

Take joy.