Y'all, Auntie Roadchick had a story for you but it's going to have to wait.
Why, you ask?
Because, in the span of a two minute phone call from Rockboy, the 'chick went from ready to tell a story to highly pissed off and not ready to tell any stories, except this one.
And, it's not really a story. It's a rant. The 'chick is venting and y'all get to watch.
Why, oh why, on the ONE day that the 'chick could count on coming home after work and staying home and maybe having a wild girlish fling at getting the laundry done, does Rockboy (who should've been home after school) get a ride from a friend to the mall? Now, going to the mall is not necessarily a killing offense but making a tired, cranky, stressed-out mama get BACK into the car and drive 15 miles to the mall to get a teenager's tail home again just might get you killed. He obviously did not think before acting. He did not consult with the tired, cranky, stressed-out mama before embarking on this course of action. He is obviously out of his rabbit-ass mind.
And NCIS is on tonight.
Roadchick loves NCIS.
The chaufferring expedition is going to interefere with uninterrupted NCIS viewing. Someone is NOT going to like the ride home much.
And you can take that to the bank.
Tuesday, January 30, 2007
Y'all, Auntie Roadchick had a story for you but it's going to have to wait.
Posted by Roadchick at 5:08 PM
Friday, January 26, 2007
And pass the ammunition!
Well, y'all, the 'chick has returned to the land of the living. Thanks so much for all the good wishes.
Now, to prove the theory that no good deed goes unpunished - Redneck is sick. Bless his little heart. The 'chick left him tucked up in bed, phone close at hand, with a cat standing guard.
Actually, the 'chick has been feeling better for a couple of days but work has been absolutely crazy. The 'chick has been on the road, visiting other offices, doing visits, training a new employee, and trying to get some of her own work done. (Getting her own work done = posting something to the blog before everyone thought the 'chick was dead.)
Join Roadchick in the story corner, boys and girls. It's been awhile, hasn't it?
Bice did a post the other day about "Odd Time Religion" and it brought to mind this little story.
A few years ago, Roadchick was invited to attend a church service at a little church up in the hills. Although not a regular church-goer, the 'chick has attended from time to time - just not at this church.
It sounded pleasant enough, so Roadchick accepted.
On Sunday morning, Roadchick put on her Sunday best and presented herself at the church at the appointed hour. Her friends joined her and they all went in together.
The service was moving along nicely - a few hymns were hammered out on the out-of-tune piano - and the congregation boldly sang along. Roadchick chose to lip-synch since she didn't actually KNOW the words (or the tune). (A side-note: Hymns are vastly different depending on which denomination you attend. Catholic hymns are NOT Baptist hymns - not by a long shot.)
After a few announcements (Pancake breakfast, annual parish turkey shoot), the congregation settled in for the sermon.
Brother R.D. did not disappoint.
He commenced with the praying, hands in the air, speaking to his personal Savior. Apparently, it was a good connection and the Savior was answering.
Brother R.D.: Lawd...we're a sinful bunch...sinful....mean....hateful
Brother R.D.: Lawd....You're right...we don't deserve Your goodness...Your mercy....
Brother R.D.: ..........(long pause)..............
Brother R.D.: Lawd, You're RIGHT! (hands high in the air) We must REPENT! REPENT AND BE SAVED! FOR AMONGST US, THERE IS A ......FORNICATOR. AND A DRUNKARD! COVETING THY NEIGHBOR'S ASS!
Y'all, no one moved. No one breathed. No one blinked. We didn't dare. We all knew it was us and any movement would've been an admission of guilt. Roadchick was struggling to keep from bursting into hysterical laughter.
But, just like in that Christmas song, Cousin David knew just what to do. Well, not actually the 'chick's Cousin David...but it was a guy named David....anyway.
David apparently took all of this to heart and there was not forgiveness or contrition in his heart. It's possible that a crushing hangover clouded his decision, but the 'chick is not judging.
David left his seat and headed up the aisle. As he walked, he reached into his jacket pocket (camouflage) and pulled out an enormous hunting knife. When he reached the pulpit, he almost casually put the knife to Brother R.D.'s throat and informed him in a very matter-of-fact voice that he, personally, didn't appreciate his faults and short-comings being brought before the congregation by Brother R.D. when, after all, his sins were his to confess or not, as he chose.
As David gently instructed Brother R.D. on the error of his ways, the little ridgetop church slowly began to empty...one seat at a time. From the back. As quietly as possible. So as to not disturb David. Or Brother R.D.
After a few minutes, David's brother slowly approached the pulpit and began talking to David like nothing had happened. Told him that he always had admired that hunting knife, and where did David say that it had come from again? Would David mind if he just had a look at it for a minute. . . he wanted to see if it would fit in the sheath on the side of his boot.
Amazingly, David handed the knife over, and crisis was averted. No one was hurt (which was a good thing).
Brother R.D. was oddly subdued for a long time after that, people say.
Roadchick would not know. She never returned there.
That Old Time Religion can be a killer.
Posted by Roadchick at 3:11 PM
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
Due to hideous, unrelenting illness. Those of you that follow along might also have noted that
Michael is also sick. It's his fault that the 'chick is sick. Somehow, he managed to pass a virus through the Innernets. Someone call Microsoft!
Back soon, y'all. Stay healthy!
Posted by Roadchick at 1:38 PM
Tuesday, January 16, 2007
A couple of weekends ago, the Roadie crew (Roadchick, Redneck, Rockboy, Skaterboy, and Rockboy's girlfriend)(thanks Kim G.!) took in the Monster Truck show at the Nashville Municipal Auditorium. The Roadie crew knew it was going to be a good time when one of the trucks caught fire before the actual show ever started.
This fire should be filed under: Hey y'all, look at this!
Apparently, the truck (the Jerry "The King" Lawler truck, if anyone is keeping score) had developed an alcohol leak, unbeknownst to any of the pit crew. One of the crew members, being conscientious and making sure everything was in proper running order, stepped under the truck to make a final check. With a lighter.
Why this particular crew member didn't use a flashlight is not known but the 'chick is willing to bet that in the future, he will.
There was much running around and stamping on flames on the floor and blowing (as in birthday candles) of the flames under the hood. A crew member that still had his thinking faculties intact finally used a fire extinguisher to put out the flames under the hood. Needless to say, this truck did not run.
Monster truck shows are an open invitation for every redneck in the tri-state region to make a roadtrip to the event. It felt like Old Home Week.
While standing on the sidewalk before the show began, the 'chick was hailed from a passing car by a little girl that is the granddaughter of a good friend. It's good to be a star.
After the monster truck show, the Roadie crew decided to go bowling and a good time was had by all.
The only way to have a more redneck day would have been to round out the evening by going cow-tipping. It's a good thing that there is no livestock within the city limits.
Posted by Roadchick at 6:49 PM
Thursday, January 11, 2007
The 'chick sent out the call for help and y'all responded. Without further ado, here are your questions and the 'chick's answers.
What are your five all-time favorite movies?
This list is always changing, but right now, the 'chick is in love with:
4. Breakfast at Tiffany's
5. Memoirs of a Geisha
Who are your five all-time favorite boyfriends?
Heh. Tricky question.
1. Redneck, of course.
2. Kid Rock
3. George Clooney
4. Sean Connery
5. Bam Margera (for those cradle-robbing instincts)
Why did you stop talking to your best friend from high school?
She was a bitch. Actually, she accused the 'chick of trying to steal her loser boyfriend. The 'chick had no interest in stealing that genetics experiment gone wrong, but the former BFF didn't believe that.
How do you deal with solicitors at your door? Are you friendly or do you use your rifle on 'em?
The 'chick doesn't get many solicitors anymore. The main reason is because the neighborhood she lives in prohibits door-to-door sales. This does not stop various churches from stopping by from time to time to try to persuade the 'chick that her soul needs savin'. The 'chick gently discourages these pilgrims by inviting them in to see her altar. Since Rockboy usually has some sort of hardcore metal blaring in the background, the faithful usually take this to mean that there just might be a sacrifice of some sort on the altar and decline the invitation.
In years past, in another neighborhood, when the Jehovah's Witnesses were making the rounds, the 'chick would call her neighbor to warn him they were on the way. He would answer the door in his underwear, drinking a beer, and waving his service pistol around (he was a cop). As you can imagine, that also tended to discourage repeat visits.
Never, ever give them money. Ever. Even to make them go away when you have a hangover.
What's your favorite pick-up line?
Take your pants off and roll over.
Fords or Chevys and why?
Chevy. Always. Forever.
Ford=Fix On Road Daily
The 'chick is a Chevy girl.
No Junkstangs in her garage. Payback wouldn't have it.
If you were on a deserted island, what would you take?
Do you know the way to San Jose?
Go south, turn right.
What exactly do you think the male in the song "Sylvia's Mother" did to Sylvia that was so bad that her mom wouldn't even let him tell her goooodbbyyyeee?
He was obviously a bum with no money. He never did deposit forty cents more for the next three minutes. Puhleeze.
How many licks does it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll pop?
One, two, thuh~ree....crunch...three. It'd be less if it was a liquid center.
What tricks can you do with your toes?
They disappear when the 'chick stands up. (Mother Nature loves the 'chick.)
Tell us about the first/last time you remember wearing a dress.
A couple of months ago, the 'chick had to go to a funeral and came to work in her "going-to-a-funeral-or-possibly-a-costume-party-dressed-as-Calleigh-Duquane-from-CSI-Miami" best. About half the people in the 'chick's office asked if she had a job interview. The other half jokingly wanted to know "who died".
Belly button, innie or outie?
Actually, the 'chick prefers a snap to a button.
I always like it when people talk about me. Other than that, my newest infatuation is with all the new judge shows on tv. I'd like to be on one. Do you wanna try to get on Judge Christina or something?
Um, why? Are you going to sue the 'chick? How 'bout Jerry Springer instead? That way the whole crew of Bloggies can come along to share in the dysFUNction.
Describe your most bizzare dream.
When the 'chick was pregnant with Rockboy she had a LOT of bizzare dreams. The worst was the dream that there were giant cockroaches living in the attic and they were waiting for the baby to be born. The same dream also included the 'chick's mother as a witch. Which was oddly accurate. Anyway.
Tell us about something you hide IRL (in real life)
Chocolate. It ALL belongs to the 'chick and y'all can't have any. Ditto for the vodka. Oh, and the porn.
If you had one place to vacation without worrying about the cost, where would it be and why?
Great Britain. Because that is actually where the 'chick should be. She has a feeling that her temperment is better suited to being there. Plus, she adores high tea. And gin.
What is the aerial speed of a swallow carrying a coconut?
A European swallow or an African swallow? Flying singly or in pairs with the coconut suspended between them? Your mother was a hamster and your father smelt of elderberries.
Sorry. Got carried away there.
When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, what is that?
About 1.6 million after the lawyers take their cut.
Y'all, the 'chick hopes that this entertained you as much as it did her. Thanks so much for playing along!
Posted by Roadchick at 5:38 PM
Wednesday, January 10, 2007
The 'chick's got nothin'.
If you have a question or a topic that you'd like to see discussed, post a comment. If there are enough questions, the 'chick will put them together into an "interview" of sorts.
We now return you to your regularly scheduled program.
Posted by Roadchick at 1:38 PM
Saturday, January 06, 2007
Up until just the other day, the title of this post was a defining force in the 'chick's life. This phrase is a Roadchick original and should be considered copyrighted, trademarked, and generally owned by the 'chick. However, if it applies to your situation, you are welcome to use it. Please rinse it off and return it when you're done.
Caffeine, nicotine, and stupid.
Four little words that defined her state of being after one too many late nights or a wicked bout of insomnia or too many days on the road for work.
Caffeine, nicotine, and stupid.
It was the glue that held the 'chick together somedays.
It was her stock answer for when someone would ask how it was going or how on earth she could get 22 minutes of sleep and still be at work, early, gettin' it done before heading out for the evening only to do it all again the next day.
Caffeine, nicotine, and stupid.
So, the whole "quit smoking" thing. It's messing up the system. It's got the 'chick down to:
Caffeine and stupid
And, y'all, that's not nearly as funny.
The 'chick was talking to a friend yesterday and he was trying to distract her from her addiction long enough for the full body force wave of pure need that was all she could focus on to diminish. Because the 'chick wanted a cigarette so badly that her teeth itched.
Nice, Patient, Good Friend: So, I had a meeting with the boss and then went to lunch.
'chick: Lunch? Lunch? The 'chick would like to EAT a pack of cigarettes. With a cigar for dessert. And possibly a nice tobacco salad to start.
Nice, Patient, Good Friend: (insert some soothing commentary here that has NOTHING to do with smoking)
'chick: (still obsessing) See, this is why the 'chick never did cocaine. Because she would've liked it and she would've done it until it killed her. The cigarettes are probably killing her but it was so gradual that it didn't matter. Unless instant death occured because she was hit by a truck while rummaging on the floor for a lit cigarette that she dropped while opening her beer.
Posted by Roadchick at 7:26 AM
Thursday, January 04, 2007
It's Michael's fault. It all started with the guest blogger thing.
Now, all of a sudden, it's a blog-orgy. Well, never let it be said that the 'chick didn't do what everyone else was doing. Why yes, she WILL jump off that cliff with the rest of y'all!
Everyone loving up on everyone else.
Donkey wrote an entire post including all of his blog crushes. Somehow, the 'chick was paired with someone named Uncle Junior, but hey, actually, that probably really would happen.
Then, the 'chick and Fringes and Susan started an entire smooch-fest over in the corner by the liquor cabinet. Sylvia's mother even showed up. But hey, Love Will Keep Us Together. You've Got a Friend.
Meanwhile, Mist is writing her manifesto and shopping for shoes and drops in for drinks from time to time. She makes all of us feel like we're on the Diva Radar, if only for a moment.
Lest it be said that the 'chick is a cold bitch, let her say here and now:
Roadchick hearts y'all. Every one of you.
The 'chick is not worthy.
Posted by Roadchick at 11:29 AM
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Sometimes the 'chick manages to surprise even herself.
In the last post, the 'chick went on (and on) about not making resolutions, too lazy, no dedication, poor follow-through, blah blah blah.
And, this is true.
See the lazy part?
That is the key.
What key, Patient Reader?
The key to anything at all. Laziness.
It all started about 8:00 p.m. on January 1. The 'chick had smoked the last cigarette in the pack a little earlier.
(This is the defining moment, y'all.)
"Hmm, out of cigarettes. Wish someone would go get some more." (LAZINESS) Since there was no one there to hear that random thought, the cigarette pack stayed empty. And has stayed empty simply because the 'chick is too lazy to go get more.
When you are too lazy to get your own cigarettes, it's entirely possible that you are too lazy to smoke. Well, not entirely. But you get the idea.
The 'chick is working on a World Laziness Federation. Wars would end. Who would fight them? Too much like work! Need to lose weight? Cultivate that laziness and DON'T get up and go to the fridge. Watch the pounds melt away!
Join with the 'chick and embrace your inner sloth! No equipment needed!
Posted by Roadchick at 7:45 AM