The Year in Review

I'm totally stealing this idea from Autrice. Go visit her HERE.

Autrice says, "Annie is too clever for my own good. She found this fabulous idea for reviewing our year. "You simply write the first line of the first post of each month. Include a picture if you like and, voila, you have your year in review." Visit There is no place like home. You can also share it at My Romantic Home, which Annie found as well."

(Since I'm that lazy, I even stole the explanation of how to do this but I was much to lazy to do all the linking to Annie, There Is No Place Like Home, or My Romantic Home. If you're interested [and you should be] visit Autrice and make free and liberal use of her linking abilities!)

Roadchick's 2008

January

Over the Festive Season, the 'chick's laptop had a little accident - it wound up on the hardwood floor.

February


After a long stretch of hibernating, the 'chick finally left the house and did some shopping this weekend.

March


If it weren't for bad luck, the 'chick would have no luck at all.

April


Blogging can be very interesting sometimes.

May


Y'all, it's been Thursday for four days.

June


Redneck has informed the 'chick that this weekend, they will be going camping.

July


Sigh.

It's a holiday weekend which means the 'chick was released from work early, at 1:00.

August



If you look to the right, you will see that the 'chick has added a link to something called Roadchick Reviews.


September


It's September, isn't it?

October

I've been silent for a while now, and it's not that I've forgotten to write although I have been busy.


November

I have managed to catch a cold.

December


Hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving!
____________________________

In conclusion, all I can say is: I'm sorry that I have had such a lame-sounding year and that really, I am more interesting than this recap would prove.

Anyway - Happy New Year, y'all. Have fun and be safe!

See you in 2009!

Get It Together!

THIS:

is what I should be working on, and should've been working on all through the holiday week. (No, that's not really my desk. But it feels like it could be.)

THIS:

is what has captured my attention since Christmas Eve and has turned my brain into a great big pile of video-induced haze.

Three days to work this week.

Seven days until the state shows up.

One (at least one, until I check the mail today) report to do for the after-work job.

One Christmas tree to take down and pack away until next year.

One dishwasherful of clean dishes, waiting to be put away.

One sinkful of dishes, waiting for their turn in the dishwasher.

One garage door with a broken torsion spring to be replaced, involving (hopefully) one trip up a ladder to measure the broken spring to order replacement parts.

One more minute to say - Christmas was good, sorry it's over (have I EVER said that before???), no idea of New Year's Eve plans - it may be a movie on DVD in pajamas, which would probably be ok with Redneck.

I'll post when I get a minute - and if it's later rather than sooner - HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Sooper Sekrit Recipes!

Moving right along. . .

I'm baking. I cannot even believe how much that little trip to the grocery store cost. (A LOT. No, more than that. More. A little higher.)

So far, I've made a fudge pie for Redneck, to take to his mama's on Christmas Eve. One batch of fudge (with nuts in) and will make one more without nuts.

Fudge by Paul (a former co-worker)
12 oz. semi-sweet chocolate chips
1 cup milk chocolate chips
1 - 14 oz. can sweetened condensed milk
2 Tbsp. milk
1 tsp. vanilla
1/2 cup pecan pieces

Over low heat, melt chips in milk & condensed milk (stir it. a lot.) When completely melted, remove from heat and add vanilla and pecans. Spread in a lightly greased 9x9 pan. Chill for at least 3 hours.

***Instead of greasing the 9x9 pan, I lined it with the non-stick foil. Easy to flip out of the pan, and NO WASHING UP to do. I recommend this method. ***

I'm trying a bread recipe that might be similar to this bread that my grandma used to make when I was little. No one ever got the recipe because there wasn't one. My mom tried and my grandma told her something like: about this much flour, a pinch of this, a few pinches of that. . . while I could've probably figured it out, my mom didn't even bother writing anything down since she's not big on baking (or cooking).

The bread should be almost done rising. Hopefully. If not, then I don't know what I'm going to do with it.

Then, I've got to make the cookies that guarantee my admittance into the house on Christmas. Russian Tea Cakes with Hershey Kisses inside.

Russian Teacakes by Roadchick

1 cup soft butter
1 tsp. vanilla
1/2 cup sifter confectioner's sugar

Mix first three ingredients thoroughly.

Sift together, then stir into the top three ingredients:
2 & 1/4 cups sifted flour
1/4 tsp. salt

Then add:
3/4 cups finely chopped nuts (pecans or walnuts, but pecans are better)

Chill the dough.

Unwrap about a bazillion Hershey Kisses. Don't eat all of them or you'll be sick.

When the dough is cold, mold it around each kiss. Place on an ungreased cookie sheet. Bake at 400 degrees for 10 - 12 minutes until set but not brown. Let cool for a few minutes, but while still warm, roll in confectioner's sugar. Let cool completely, then roll in confectioner's sugar again.

Eat a lot of them, with milk. Yum!

I have a feeling it's going to be crazy around here for the next few days, so Merry Christmas! And remember - he sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake . . .

Ho, Ho - Ho!

I am a regular little Christmas elf this year. I'm beginning to scare myself.

That would be the tree that Rockboy put up over the weekend.

That would all of the Christmas presents - wrapped.

The only thing I can think of that I need to do is make cookies, but that will have to happen next week otherwise they will get eaten before I'm supposed to hand them out to the brothers.

Fa la la la lalala.

Is It A Full Moon???

It has been one of Those Days.

I should be catching up on all the work I meant to do today, until Life got in the way. Instead, I am here, to find out if it's just me, or has the world gone batshit crazy today???

The morning started out with me fiddling around with my blogger template, trying to change it to something else. That didn't work. No problem - I had the code for the template I've been using and slammed it back into blogger. Oh hell no. It didn't take. I was time-warped back to a previous incarnation including links that are a million years old. After some fiddling, I got it changed back to the way it started out before I went and got all creative.

I had to meet a client for a doctor's appointment at 9:30. No problem. I got there a few minutes early, he was already there with his staff - things are rolling right along.

TWO AND A HALF HOURS LATER we finally got called back for the appointment. Which is completely unacceptable. The explanation? There were some emergencies. I was there for that whole time. No one came out with blood on them. It was not an emergency.

Heartless? Yep. Sure am. But this client has some behavioral challenges and fortunately, he was having a much better day than I was. I had to leave that appointment early (after we finally got in back) to go to another meeting an hour away.

I got to that meeting and it started 30 minutes late. It was spectacularly unproductive.

By this time, it is 2:00 and I have yet to eat so much as a cracker - all day.

I grabbed coffee with a friend only to get a phone call from Rockboy that just about launched me into orbit.

His new (to him) XBox? Wouldn't work with his TV? So HE TOOK MY TV OUT OF THE LIVING ROOM AND HE JUST WANTED TO LET ME KNOW.

Needless to say, I informed him that he would return MY TV to the living room immediately, hook it up, and make sure it was working BEFORE I GOT HOME OR BY GOD THERE WOULD BE A KILLING.

The TV is hooked up although he didn't bother to put it back like it was. Sometimes, you just have to take a deep breath and think calming thoughts. I fixed the TV and in the meantime, eliminated 90% of the extra cords, wires, adapters, etc. that were lurking back there. (Men never do that sort of thing when they hook something up. Redneck has been back there 30 times and never did it. Rockboy certainly wasn't going to do it, since he was mad.)

Rockboy boogied out of here before I got home, but I'm waiting for him. He has to come back eventually. And when he does, it's not going to be pleasant. Because that is the kind of day I've had and I may as well take all of it out on him since he was foolish enough to give me a reason.

One of these days, he'll learn.

Monday Morning Blah

It's Monday. Again.

This is technically the last full week of work for us, since we are going to be closed the week of Christmas, coming back to work a couple of days the next week, then off New Year's Day and Jan. 2.

Not for me.

The state moved our annual survey up from February to January 5, which is the first full week of work after the holidays, so that means I will be working when my other co-workers are at home, sleeping in, relaxing, having fun, etc.

Why, no, I'm not at all bitter about it.

The snow last week messed up my travel plans for work, so instead of traveling one day this week, I'll be away two days. Plus another day to go to an appointment with a client and a meeting for him on the same day.

Redneck is here. And that's fine, really. In the past couple of weeks, he's started staying on Sunday night and then just going to work on Monday.

But here's the thing: I've lived alone for a LONG time and I have little set routines, especially in the morning. I like to take my time getting ready, drinking coffee, watching (or listening) to the news, etc. and all of these things take place in my bedroom/bathroom.

Since Redneck does not have to get up at the crack of dawn, I have to do these things elsewhere which means I am perched on the couch in the living room. Which is ok, but vaguely unsettling. And when I get a shower and dry my hair, it's with the bathroom door closed so the noise doesn't wake him up. Same for putting on makeup.

I know that it's just a matter of getting used to a new routine but I'm struggling with it a little. Mornings are a struggle anyway because I rarely actually want to be up and moving and that makes it a little harder. It doesn't help that I'm envious of being able to sleep until you wake up. I know that he pays for that perk by having to work in the afternoon and evening when I'm at home in my pajamas, but let's not bring any silly logic into this, ok?

In other news, Rockboy and his girlfriend put up the tree on Saturday night. So far, Speedbump has stayed out of it, but I figure that will change as soon as she has the house to herself.

Christmas shopping is done and wrapping has commenced. Almost everything is in a box which will make it a lot easier for wrapping - nothing with a weird shape. I think opening wrapped stuff is more fun but I also admit to being lazy and using gift bags to just get the whole wrapping thing over with. That won't happen this year because I don't actually have bags that the boxes would fit in. I figure if I do one or two a day, I'll be done in no time with a minimum of pain and whining.

Crap. It's almost 6:30. I've got to get ready for work.

WTF???

I live in Nashville.

It does snow here. Really.

But, um, hello? The weather guy did NOT say it was going to snow like that.

Now, I know to the northern folks, that amount of snow is nothing. Actually, it's not much to me, either.

Except that Tennessee has one snowplow and we all have to share it.

It was elsewhere today.

It took me one hour to drive 5 miles, from the interstate to my neighborhood, for a couple of reasons.

1. There was a line of 40387 cars in front of me and they were all going reaaaalllly, reaaaaallly slow.

2. There was a lumpy, bumpy layer of ice all over the road which makes the hills and curves a bit of a challenge.

But, it's beginning to look a LOT like Christmas. Maybe I should get the stupid tree out this weekend.

Christmas Solution

Those of you that have been around for a few years know that I have an ongoing battle with Speedbump (the cat).

So far, Speedbump is winning.

I used to put up the Christmas tree on Black Friday. Instead of going shopping and making myself crazy, I would stay home, rummage in the attic, decorate, reminisce, and make myself crazy.

Then Speedbump moved in.

Speedbump loves Christmas. She loves it more than a toddler hopped up on cookies and hot chocolate.

She loves the presents. They're wonderful to climb on. There are ribbons to chew, bows to attack, paper to sniff. They crinkle and rustle. You can hide behind them.

But more than anything, she LOVES the Christmas tree.

She gets excited, tail twitching, as soon as the upstairs storage closet door opens. If she had hands, I believe that she would even help carry boxes downstairs.

As soon as the Christmas tree box is set down, she's on top of it, desperate to get inside. We almost can't get it open because we can't keep her off of it long enough. She insists on helping to sort the branches and straighten the tips. She inspects the center pole. She sits in the stand.

I usually wind up putting her in a bedroom and closing the door so we can get on with it already because she also likes to chase the lights and the garland.

The ornaments are particularly exciting. I used to put up a "children's tree" - a tree with no particular theme other than all the ornaments on it were made by someone I know or given to me as a gift. My mom made a zillion felt ornaments with beads and sequins - all stuffed and sewn by hand. There are the horrid ornaments I made in grade school with a styrofoam ball and glue and sequins. There are the Hallmark ornaments that Rockboy chose over the years. With colored lights, it was a gorgeous tree. Impressive. Colorful.

We don't put up that tree anymore. The soft ornaments were disappearing at an alarming rate. Some of them were found under furniture. Some were found down the hall. And some, the very unlucky ones, were found drowned in Speedbump's water bowl. Some were dismantled by systematic chewing, stuffing strewn from one end of the living room to the other.

No matter which tree we put up (there are two), she loves to climb them. She climbs up the inside of the tree, knocking branches loose as she goes. When they're just loose, it's not so bad - when they're completely removed, it becomes more difficult. Imagine decorating each branch and THEN putting the tree together after you've draped lights around them while they were in a circle on the floor. It's hard to put that stuff back together so that it doesn't look like ass.

I changed to glass ball ornaments because Speedbump can't figure out how to carry them away. She may swat them with her foot, but they don't wind up in the water bowl and their stuffins don't come out.

But, I am no longer in a hurry to get the decorations out because I know that every time I come home, I will enter the house holding my breath, waiting to see how much damage has been done this time. How long it will take to repair it.

I believe that I have found a solution. The upside-down Christmas tree. Some people buy them because they're quirky and trendy. But I suspect that the person that first hung a tree upside down from the ceiling was a person that has a demolition artist disguised as a cat.

Snapshot: Duh.

I can always tell when I'm under a lot of stress.

I get things mixed up or I forget them altogether. Of course, that is also a sign of dementia or Alzheimer's, but I think I'm still too young for those.

A co-worker's husband passed away last week. An email made the rounds about a memorial service that was scheduled for Saturday.

They live a couple hours away from me, so I got up at 6:00, drank coffee for a little while, got a shower, started getting ready.

Woke Rockboy up so that he could go take his ACT today. (Graduation requirement!)

Went back to the bathroom, put on moisturizer. (I'm trying to be better about doing that. The closer I get to 40, the more I worry about it. What kind of moisturizer do you like? There are only about forty-eleven choices and I had a panicky moment at Walgreens trying to make up my mind. What was I talking about?)

Oh yes, so duly moisturized, brush teeth, wake Rockboy up again and tell him to get his ass in gear, shuffle back to the bathroom, put on make-up.

Wake up Rockboy again, go back to the bathroom, towel-dry hair, detangle, look at make-up and wonder if I look like I forgot to wash my face due to the moisturizer making the make-up seem a little harsh.

Go get more coffee. Go back into bedroom, Redneck is awake and staring around like he has no idea why he's awake. (He's awake because he said he would drive me to the memorial service.)

Glad he's awake, go back into bathroom to dry hair with the door open. (It's hot as hell drying hair in a closed bathroom. Makes your make-up come off.)

Hair finally dry, plug in flat iron. Put on black tights. Ponder between two skirts - the long, black, drapey one or the short, straight gray one. Ask Redneck. He chooses the long one. (Good choice - it's cold here.) Ask him why he chose that one. Listen to him grumble about me asking him which one and then asking questions about it. Ignore him. Go straighten hair.

Check on Rockboy. He's up and moving. Good Rockboy.

Get dressed. Figure out which earrings to wear. (Note: sparkly Christmas stocking earrings are not somber enough for a memorial service.) Decide on long, dangly, pearl ones.

Go back to bathroom to brush hair. Drop brush on floor. Yell bad word when the handle of the brush breaks off. Decide the smaller brush (minus handle) fits better in purse.

Rockboy leaves to take the ACT. Redneck gets dressed and starts the car so it will warm up. Grab last minute crap (nail file, hanky) and find decent coat. (Note: do not wear your Harley Cafe/Las Vegas jean jacket to a memorial service.)

Program Garman, hit the road.

Drive for approximately three days. Decide to call other co-workers to see who's going.

Talk to co-worker #1: Are you going to the memorial service?
Co-worker: I don't know - we had some plans for next Saturday.
Me: Isn't it today?
Co-worker: No, I think it's next weekend.
Me: Fuck. I've got to call Co-worker #2. Bye.

Call co-worker #2: Hey, are you going to the memorial service today?
Co-worker #2: It's next Saturday - the 13th.
Me: It's not today? Are you sure?
Co-worker #2: It's next Saturday.
Me: Fuck. I'm already almost up there.

Me: (Look at Redneck guiltily.)
Redneck: Next Saturday.
Me: Um, yes?
Redneck: You made me get up early.
Me: You woke up on your own.
Redneck: Never mind, we'll find something to do up here.
Me: (Looking down at long, black, drapey skirt and boots) Ok. (Thinking my feet already hurt and I haven't walked anywhere yet.)

I ask you, Patient Reader - who the hell gets the date for a MEMORIAL SERVICE wrong? Roadchick, that's who. The only way it could've been worse was if we had driven the remaining 50 miles only to get to the church and then start wondering where everyone was.

How was YOUR weekend?

Turkey Day, Black Friday, and Beyond

Hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving!

Amazingly, our family Thanksgiving did not include bloodshed this year. It was close a couple of times, but disaster was averted and a (reasonably) nice time was had by all.

I got off work at 1:00 on Wednesday and came home with the intent of cleaning the house because it's been ages since I've had the time (and an empty house) to get it done.

Rockboy was home and intent on hanging out with me for awhile, which was fine, but then he had to leave to pick up a kitten for girlfriend. Finally. The house to myself.

I started in the living room, mainly because there's not a lot of stuff in there. Couch, loveseat, chair, coffee table, 2 end tables, 2 lamps, TV, and 5 pictures on the mantle. Not a lot of knick-knacky crap to deal with. For some reason, a simple cleaning turned into Fall Cleaning - doing the windows, baseboards, windowsills, etc. Apparently, I've got something of a Black Friday cleaning tradition going on. I think that is what I did last year at this time.

This continued on for the next several days although I did take a break on Saturday and Sunday because Redneck was here and we did a little shopping.

I still have to finish the kitchen. Above the cabinets is a space - presumably for displaying your decorative items. So, I displayed decorative items. And other than looking upward from time to time and shuddering, never did another thing about it. It was time. I climbed up there and hauled all that nasty, dusty crap down and cleaned it up and put 90% of it into a yard sale box. Then I vacuumed up the dust and scrubbed the stupid woodwork rail and upper cabinets. The stuff I decided to keep is parked on the table at the moment. I really don't want to put it back up there but I don't have anywhere else to put it but it's also stuff I don't want to get rid of because it's either an antique or from a family member, or both. So, it's in limbo on the table until I can make a decision about what to do with the stuff.

It's not allowed anywhere else in the house because it's kitchen-y looking stuff AND it will not coordinate with the way the rest of the house looks.

It's a dilemma, y'all. What do you do with the stuff you can't really get rid of, but don't really want to keep? It's beginning to look like it may wind up in boxes in the attic.

Really, the entire point of the exercise was two-fold: to get the house clean, and to get rid of stuff.

I try really hard to keep my level of stuff to a minimum - I really do try. But then I get confused by this kind of stuff.

I'm not terribly sentimental - I can get rid of things that were given to me as gifts without a second thought. If I don't love it or don't use it, it's got to go.

But the gray area of family heirloom/antique kind of gets me. It doesn't help that every time I go to my mom's house, she has some little something that Great Aunt Mary crocheted or whatever and she wants me to have it. Since I'm the only girl, I've become the repository for all this stuff from my mother. I hate to tell her no, I don't want it - she gets that hurt look.

I can promise you that those doilies and back-of-the-chair-head-protector things will never see the light of day again - they've been stuck in the drawer that holds my one tablecloth and cloth napkins (for Easter). My decorating style could be considered Mid-Century Modern with a minimum of clutter/frilly crap.

And I'm afraid that if I get rid of the stuff - on Craigslist, Ebay, yard sale, whatever - that I'll wind up regretting it later. Once it's gone, it's gone, right?

Welcome to December. 24 days until Christmas. Have you finished your shopping yet? I've got some doilies that I'm sure someone on your gift list would just LOVE.

Distracted

I'm distracted, y'all.

I'm sitting here at work and I should be working. Finishing November notes. Finishing an audit. Finishing something.

I'm thinking about all the stuff that I need to do when I get home. I need to do laundry. I need to sweep the floor. I need to dust. And vacuum. And really clean the entire house. The cobwebs are threatening to take over and Halloween is long gone.

And I have at least one report that I need to type for my part-time transcription job for fun and profit. And I need to mail back all those little tapes because they're really starting to pile up and in all honesty, I don't know how many I can keep before they'll have to buy more because apparently, I am starting a collection of them and can never part with any that I receive. Either that, or they may start docking my check to replace them. So, I need to go to the post office and mail the damn things.

I need to start thinking about the holidays. Amazingly, I am almost done with the shopping. Only Rockboy left to go. But he's the difficult one.

I need to figure out if I'm going to do the whole Christmas tree thing. And when. Speedbump LOVES the Christmas tree and dismantles it every chance she gets. And steals the ornaments. And hides them.

I need to get my ass to the DMV and get the renewal stickers for the car. I did manage to sit in a mile long line yesterday afternoon and get the emissions test done - why can't they just give you your stickers there instead of having to go to some other government building to stand in another line? And write another check.

I need to return a call to the Outlaws from this past weekend. They called but I was in a crap mood and didn't answer the phone. Because I am a bad person. I will make it up by ordering them a Christmas present. Add that to the list. Don't let me forget.

I need to remember to go to my mom's house to do her hair color on Friday. This is also the day that I have to change their beds. I am a traveling chambermaid. They have a housekeeper who comes every two weeks. I don't know why that woman can't change the beds. Actually, I do know. It's because this way my mother knows she will see me every two weeks whether I like it or not. What she doesn't realize is that if I didn't have to change the damn beds, I might actually come visit once in awhile.

I need to remember to keep my mouth SHUT on Thanksgiving Day and NOT get involved in all the family drama that is always swirling around. I've managed to stay out of it so far, but that's mainly because I believe that distance = silence. Thanksgiving Day will be the test of how well I can take my own advice and shut the fuck up and stay the hell out of it.

I need to remember to post to this blog more than twice a month.

I need to remember everything that I'm grateful for, including you, Patient Reader.

Have a wonderful holiday!

It's NOT Fair!

I have managed to catch a cold.
That makes it sound like I've done something really difficult - like catching a fairy with a snare set with moonbeams and marshmallows. Or a 10 pound bass with yarn and a safety pin.
Actually, I think it should be the other way around: A cold has managed to catch me.

Let's rewind just a bit.

Remember a few weekends ago, when Redneck and I went to Gatlinburg for the weekend? And we went poking around in dusty old buildings up on Cades Cove and I got a sinus infection? Remember?

I went to the doctor and got fixed up with some antibiotics and just finished them - YESTERDAY.

Now, I know that antibiotics don't mean a damn thing when it comes to colds since colds are viruses. That is not the point of this.

The point of all this is: IT'S NOT FAIR. I was just sick. Now I'm sick again. And at the end of the virus-y cold part, I will develop a sinus infection laden with bacteria that will need to be treated yet again with antibiotics, that I just finished taking.

And, of course, I have a crushing schedule this week with absolutely no time built in for inconvenient things like illness. I'm desperately trying to shuffle things around to fit it all into four days instead of five because I'm working from home today to keep the contagion to myself. My co-workers have threatened me with death before for coming into work while sick and I don't want to go see clients and possibly make them sick OR (huge possibility) pick up something else from one of them who caught a bug somewhere.

It's cold and flu season, darlings. Use your hand sanitizer. Sure wish I had.

Happy Halloween!

Be safe & have fun!

A Picture Is Worth 1000 Words

Or, at least, I hope so, because following my weekend o' birthday fun, I've been sick on the actual day (today) with some kind of sinusy-headachy thing.

But, we had a blast this weekend:
(You can click on the pictures to biggify them.)


This was the view from our room - nothing spectacular, but we stayed at the "Bates Motel" again. Decor from 1972, but CLEAN. And, by Pigeon Forge / Gatlinburg standards - CHEAP.


Redneck asked me what I wanted to do on Saturday, and I told him I wanted to go back to Cades Cove and actually drive through it this time. The last time we were there, Rockboy and Skaterboy were with us and they are not much on the scenic beauty and historical places. They were all about the go-carts and electronic amusements. There were a lot of people riding bikes through Cades Cove - including these Mennonites (on the left).

I have to admire anyone willing to even TRY to ride a bike through there. The traffic would terrify me, but in addition to that, it's an 11 mile loop. With steep hills. And really rough roads. I have a feeling there were spouses and significant others who got quite a chewing out later in their hotel rooms for even THINKING that it would be "fun" to go for a bike ride there.



This is a view across the valley at Cades Cove. The Today Show assured me that "leaves were at their peak" in the Smoky Mountains. The Today Show was wrong. The color was just starting, and I have a feeling that this coming weekend is going to be spectacular, especially since it's gotten cold here.


This is a grist mill at one of the stopping places (and the only place with a bathroom on the loop).

There was a lot of neat stuff to look at there, including a blacksmith.


What was a shame was that for some reason, people felt it was necessary to write their names all over everything, even though there is a sign warning you not to do that.


It took a long time to get all the way around the Cades Cove loop, but it was worth it. Except for this:




That, Patient Reader, is what made the 'chick sick.

Apparently, it is infested with mold or mildew or something because not long after leaving there, I started sneezing my head off - to the point that Redneck thought it was funny - at first - and then started getting a little worried because it would NOT stop. I spent the rest of the day sniffling and coughing, eyes red and watery, and halfway lost my voice.

We went to Gatlinburg and walked around for a little while, poking around in gift shops but didn't buy anything except a corn dog. I was more interested in getting to a drugstore or Walmart to get some Nyquil.

After dosing up on Nyquil later that night, the sniffling/sneezing/running nose etc. finally stopped and I fell asleep and felt pretty good yesterday, for the drive home. This morning? Not so much.

But, it's nothing serious and it's back to work tomorrow. At least it will be a short week. Halloween is Friday which means trick-or-treating with Skaterboy and then his FIRST wrestling meet on Saturday morning and then, a trip to Memphis with Redneck, Best Friend, and her husband. Good times. And more pictures, I'm sure.

That Time of the Month (Or Year)

It's time for the Third Annual Birthday Trip to the Mountains! Yay! (Once I get through the Required Fourth Annual Voluntarily Mandatory Company Retreat At The Other End Of The State which takes place today.)

So, anyway:

Roadchick

+

Redneck

+

Roadtrip

=

Birthday Shenanigans!

See y'all next week!

(Weeeeee!)



p.s. - A note to any burglars: Rockboy WILL be home, as well as Speedbump, the ill-tempered Attack Cat.



If it looks like there's a loud, drunken party going on, please inform Rockboy and Speedbump that YOU, Mr. or Ms. Burglar, will be contacting the police and Roadchick after you leave with the 'chick's worldly possessions. Thank you.

New Twist on Selling

My sister-in-law works for a local mail-order company that is in the business of selling Southern food to anyone willing to pay to have it shipped. The company has been around for ages and is a well-known local landmark. (No, not Hickory Farms.)

A few years ago, the gentleman that started the business decided to retire and sell the business. Another business man saw the opportunity and bought the business. Then he installed his daughter as the manager. She has no more management experience than a package of bacon.

A couple of weeks ago, the town held a country ham festival and the business donated hams.

My sister-in-law subtracted the donated hams from the inventory so when the next order was placed, they would be replaced.

The manager reviewed the order and wanted to know why those hams had been subtracted since they hadn't been sold.

My sister-in-law just looked at her boss.

Her boss explained, "We didn't sell the hams. We don't need to replace them."

Sister-in-law: "But we don't have the hams anymore. Why wouldn't we replace them?"

Boss: "Because we didn't sell them."

* * * * * * * * *

The company is now in the business of selling the idea of country ham rather than the ham itself. Saves on purchasing, storage, packaging, and shipping.

Win / win.

My Style

From Sunday Scribblings.

I immediately thought of my house, not my clothes. Why? Because my "uniform" is pretty standard: jeans, tshirt or blouse, sandals or sneakers. I'm lucky that I can wear that stuff to work.

I dress my house with more care than myself, I must admit. It's because I can see my house, but I live inside clothes.

When I lived at home, my style was dictated by my mother's style. There wasn't a lot of individuality allowed: hand-me-down furniture (usually hers), tan carpeting, bedspread with the pillows rolled into bolsters underneath.

When I first got married, my house was still hand-me-down chic, only someone else's hand-me-downs. My in-laws. Everyone had just moved to Florida and they had extra furniture from the larger house they left behind. So, in Florida, my style was Early American with heavy, dark wood and heavy, dark velour upholstery. That house never felt right.

When I moved to Tennessee, I had left my husband because I couldn't deal with the drinking anymore. I left almost everything behind. What I had room for were things that couldn't be replaced: photos, a few momentos of my childhood.

I moved into an apartment with nothing except an air mattress. No table and chairs for the kitchen. Nothing to sit on in the living room. No pictures. Nothing at all. Over time, I got some old lawn chairs and stuck them in the living room and used a card table in the kitchen.

As more time went on, I slowly started to get some furniture - used, of course. My brother sold me his old living room furniture because he got some new stuff. I liked this furniture - it was much closer to my style and it was adaptable, depending on the look you were going for. It could be country, or it could be a rustic modern. The lines were clean and the cushions were black.

Fast forward a few more years. The husband and I got back together, then split up again, this time for good. After he left, I got the first income tax return check that I ever got to keep, all to myself. I went out and bought some new living room furniture. The first new furniture I ever had.

My style is mid-century modern. Clean lines. No clutter. My couch is red, the loveseat is blue, the armchair is green. The colors work together because they have the same tone.

Getting that furniture set the tone for the rest of my house - lots of black and white photographs. Round mirrors with beveled edges. A collection of vintage barware in the dining room.

My style is me. I'm comfortable in it. And whenever someone new comes over, they always say the same thing:

"I knew that your house would look like this. It's perfect."

And it is.

The Third Candidate

I'm watching the debate.

I've watched all of the debates.

I would like to announce that as of this exact moment, I am officially, formally, totally, completely, and absolutely SICK TO DEATH OF THIS PRESIDENTIAL CAMPAIGN.



I propose that we all vote for Dolores, who is running as the candidate from the Fibertarian party. For more information about Dolores's recent campaign, go here and learn about her platform. Booze and cigarettes for everyone. And yarn.



Dolores, Fibertarians United, and the Van Hoofen/Teitelbaum graphics were all created by Franklin Habit, an artist and knitter from Chicago, and are posted here with his permission. His first book It Itches. just came out on Interweave Press, and although I have not seen it or read it yet, I can guarantee you that it will be hilarious because his blog is hilarious. How can cartoons and essays about knitting NOT be hilarious?

Wouldn't it be a blast if the candidates were as honest as Dolores?

McCain: Yes, I'm totally in this for the power and what's in it for me. I'm tired of being a Senator - I've been doing that forever. My wife is loadedededededed with money and all this politicking really makes a nice hobby to keep me busy. I'll tell you lies while telling you it's the truth and you'll never be exactly sure where I stand on any issue. Vote for me!

Obama: No, I don't have a lot of years of experience in the political arena, but why should that hold me back? I can make bad decisions with the best of them. Besides, being President pays a LOT better than community organizing. I'll tell you lies while telling you it's the truth and you'll never be exactly sure where I stand on any issue. Vote for me!

Van Hoofen (Dolores): Mandatory cocktail hour - daily. Smoking is relaxing. Yarn for everyone! Vote for me!

eta (10/23): How embarrassing. I just realized I spelled Ms. VanHoofen's first name incorrectly. Mea culpa!

Politically Incorrect

In the past two weekends, Redneck and I have attended TWO gun shows. Because, well, it's the South and. . . my boyfriend's name is Redneck.

Hi, my name is Roadchick and I have a confession. I own 2 guns.

I have a .22 long rifle (the infamous Valentine's day present from the Now-Former-Mr.-Roadchick) and a .357 Magnum.

Yes, I know how to shoot.

Yes, I have ammunition.

Yes, I also have a teenage son.

No, I am not insane.

When I first got the rifle, the ex and I took Rockboy with us when we went target shooting. He got a chance to shoot the rifle and then we showed him the amount of damage a .22 caliber bullet can do to a plastic milk jug that was filled with water. He learned that you never, ever point your weapon at anything that you don't intend to shoot. That you ALWAYS assume a gun is loaded, even when you KNOW it's not. And that if you touch the rifle without permission, getting shot will be the least of your worries.

Rockboy has a healthy respect of his mama's arsenal.

When I got the .357, Rockboy was again taken out to try a little target shooting and to inspect exactly what kind of damage can be inflicted with this gun. Same rules apply. Again - no problems with fiddling with the gun when I'm not looking.

On the off chance that curiosity (or stupidity) would get the better of him, there is usually a child-safe lock on the .357, since that one would be the most portable if he were to decide that he wanted to be so foolish as to take it somewhere. Hard to look cool with a neon yellow steel cable with a padlock running through the chamber of the gun. Dork.

Next month, I will be going to a permit class for handguns. While I'm sure they cover typical gun safety issues, this class also talks about "street survival" and how shooting at the range and a nice, safe paper target differs from what you would encounter should you ever have to use your gun to protect your safety or the safety of others.

Do I live in a crime-ridden area where break-ins are the rule rather than the exception? No, although home invasions are increasing.

So, if I live in a reasonably safe community with paid police wandering the streets at all hours of the day and night, why do I need a gun?

Because I want one, first of all.

But mainly because when it comes to what I consider to be mine: my family, my home, my belongings, my car, my money, my safety . . . I'm an extremist. Do NOT mess with what is mine. I worked for it. I earned it. I birthed it and raised it. If you want it, get your own, somewhere else.

Protecting Rockboy is not as big an issue as it was when he was little. I have always said that if anyone EVER did anything to him (like a kidnapper, sexual molester, etc.), they had better hope that the police got to them before I did because I would go to prison smiling, knowing I did what needed to be done.

But if someone were to break in and have him at knifepoint or gunpoint, I don't want to have to stand there, wishing I could do something besides beg and offer cookies.

At the end of all of this, you might expect me to come out in support of one candidate or another. Nope. If you know me, you might be able to guess my political leanings, but it's entirely possible that you would be wrong.

In all honesty, I don't like EITHER one of the candidates that we have to choose from. Both have very definite faults that I find to be incredibly offensive. Both have policies and beliefs that make my blood run cold.

Will I vote? Yes. And so should you - because if you don't vote, you can't complain later.

But as we approach the end of this incredibly long, drawn out political season, be open-minded when someone believes something contrary to what you believe. Be willing to have a conversation about why they believe what they do without resorting to anger because "your" side is the only logical choice.

Don't be a fanatic.

Orson Scott Card, in the Afterword to his book Empire defined fanaticism as this: You are so convinced of your views and policies that you are sure anyone who opposes them must either be stupid and deceived or have some ulterior motive.

Do I own guns? Yes.
Do I think you should own guns? I don't know - do you think you should? If you want one, get one, get trained, and be safe. If you don't want one, that's ok too.
Just don't take mine away from me. I promise to be careful.

Checking In

I've been silent for a while now, and it's not that I've forgotten to write although I have been busy.

The problem is that I didn't have anything funny to tell you. No amusing little stories about something that happened, or was said, or that I saw.

It's not that I haven't seen funny things or made people laugh in the time I was away, because I did, and I have. But it was "you had to be there" stuff and that's just not funny when you write it out.

But I seem to have hit a period of suspended transition in my life. It could be that another birthday is approaching. I really don't know.

What I do know is that I'm frustrated. Time moves forward but so many things in my life have not. There have not been any bad changes, thank God, but just not any good ones either. I feel like I'm trapped in a suspension of time.

The things that I did yesterday, and last week, last month, last year . . . I'm still doing them. Doing them well, most of the time. Doing them half-assed, some of the time.

There are things that I would like to see move forward. I'd like a new challenge at work. Not in the form of another client or another new employee to train. A new project. Something to get me excited. Something to get me thinking. Something to give me a reason to get in the car every morning and drive in rush hour traffic.

I'd like to stop living a semi-single life. Things with Redneck are great. We're happy. We don't fight. We really don't even argue, for the most part. We agree that this is long-term. Two years and counting. So, yeah. Move forward already.

I'm annoyed with Rockboy. He's a great kid. He has a heart of gold. He's technically an adult. But he doesn't seem to have any drive. He has no motivation. He makes decisions on a whim that I'm very afraid he's going to regret later, but he doesn't listen. Of course, who did, at nineteen?

I'm worried about the economy. My own, primarily. The economy of the nation comes a far second when I'm having trouble making ends meet. I'm really resentful over those Wall Street assholes who are living large while I have to worry about how much I'm going to be expected to fork over to correct their greedy mistakes. I resent the fact that the government thinks it's a brilliant idea to bail their asses out. Actually, I'm furious about it. Who is going to bail me out if I screw up? Um, that would be no one.

I'm so tired. It just feels endless, waiting for Friday to come and the weekend to start.

Um . . . Hello?

It's really the 'chick's own fault. Neglect the blog and the readers will stray.

But, on the plus side, it also means the pressure is off. No audience waiting breathlessly for the next post. No need to worry about being entertaining all the time, or attempting (HA!) to be socially relevant.

It's entirely possible that the 'chick is actually dead. As in not living. Because there has probably never been such a long stretch of nothing funny happening in her life. EVER.

The 'chick could discuss the tragic with you - racking up $$$ in car repairs on Rockboy's car. But maybe another day. The last visit to the transmission shop is still too fresh and painful.

Like Michael, the 'chick has a hard time being a dedicated blogger unless there is a whirl of activity or tragedy or something.

Anyway, lots of typing to say - to those of you still reading, thank you.

The 'chick will try to do better.

Whole Lotta Nothin'

So.

Yeah.

There is nothing to talk about.

Nothing funny.

Nothing amusing.

Nothing dramatic.

The 'chick admires the bloggers that always have something to say. The mommybloggers have kids that are always amusing and entertaining.

Rockboy? Not so much.

The knitbloggers have a bunch of stuff to write about - all the projects they're finishing, how much progress they've made.

Roadchick? Slow as hell.

The smartass bloggers always have some sarcasm about current events or things happening around them.

Yeah. Roadchick doesn't get out much and isn't about to dip into the political pool.

The singlebloggers write about dating and going out and work.

Roadchick is single, but falls into the category of: Single-but-committed. Unless Redneck does something really funny, there's not much there. Work is boring.

So what to write about?

Apparently, nothing. Nothing at all.

It's amazing how long you can stretch out a post about nothing.

Susan is looking for a Halloween costume.

The 'chick can't remember the last time she dressed up for Halloween. She also can't remember the last time she WANTED to dress up for Halloween.

If you were going to choose a Halloween costume for the 'chick, what would it be?

Remembering. . .

You are not forgotten.

Catching Up

It's September, isn't it? How did that happen?

August was crazy - back to school, the Outlaws' semi-annual visit, tons of work.

So, the Outlaws were here, on and off, for two weeks. Roadchick managed to keep her level of crazy to a bare minimum with the cleaning and going to the grocery store and the general level of insanity that she manages to achieve before houseguests descend.

An extra Outlaw inserted herself into the mix this year - an elderly aunt who lives in West TN. She rode the Greyhound over on a Sunday afternoon and had to be picked up at the bus station. Roadchick is very familiar with the bus station since she spent the Fourth of July there last year.

Aunt "I Don't Want To" made quite an impact with her visit. It was good to see her again but lawd, y'all, she was difficult to entertain. When the Outlaws come, the 'chick always tries to plan some activities so they can get out and see some different things - it might be a trip to the Country Music Hall of Fame, or Second Avenue and Broadway where all the country music clubs are located, or a trip to Jack Daniel's Distillery. Maybe a trip to Metropolis, IL to the Harrah's casino there. Something, especially since the 'chick usually takes a couple of days off and to take time off work, there should be an activity planned.

As you've probably already guessed, Aunt "I Don't Want To" threw a monkey wrench into the works. Out of respect for her age, the 'chick did not plan a hike to Fall Creek Falls or anything that would be too strenuous.

Aunt did not want to go to the Country Music Hall of Fame. She'd already been there. Twenty years ago. It did not matter that the exhibits change periodically. Once was enough.

Aunt did not want to go to the casino. She had her handheld slot machine game. Why pay money?

Aunt did not want to take a bus tour of the country music stars' homes.

Roadchick despaired. What to do?

After wracking her brain, she finally came up with something. The Roadie crew would go look at the Amish, in Ethridge, TN.



(Yes, the 'chick is aware you're not supposed to take pictures but those kids were SO cute! And they didn't know their picture had been taken because the 'chick was inside the car.)

The Roadie crew visited several farms and came home with a TON of fresh produce - tomatoes, cantaloupes, purple hull peas, and a pile of watermelon. What is a pile of watermelon? The crew also wondered until one of the Amish ladies explained what she meant.

We asked how much the watermelon was. She said it was $2.00 for the one on the porch or else $5.00 a pile. Huh? She pointed to the right of the porch. That pile there is $5.00, for all of them.

So, seven watermelons for $5.00.

Load 'em up.

Roadchick was wildly popular for a couple of days until all the watermelons were handed out. Now, not so much since she no longer has fresh produce to give away.

(And, as an interesting side note - all produce grown on Amish farms is organic because they don't use any chemicals to fertilize. They spread manure. They do not pay for the organic certification, but they don't have to - as long as you know it's natural.)

Anyway, the trip to the Amish? Not so successful, as activities go, at least with Aunt "I Don't Want To". She was not impressed.

So, the next day, the 'chick hauled everyone to a local Confederate cemetery. Yeah, not impressed. Then on to a cute little antique shop, where the Outlaws always love to go. Nope, not impressed.

The next evening, the Roadie crew met up with Redneck to eat catfish on the river. It's a little bit of a drive, but there is a bunch of interesting stuff to look at on the way. Aunt commented, "This is so far out, I don't know how they stay in business."

That was when Roadchick took a deep breath and took a Xanax. To prevent a killin'.

It's been a long month, y'all. A long, long month.

(In other news, there is a new book review up. The link is on the right.)

Sleepless in NashVegas

Gotta love ya some insomnia.

Auntie Roadchick isn't even exactly sure if she is tired, Patient Reader. Body-tired, maybe, but her brain won't shut off.

It's 6 am on Saturday and the 'chick stayed up until 2 am, fell asleep for a couple of hours, woke up, and that's all she wrote. Want to bet that by this afternoon, the day will be kicking the 'chick's ass?

It's comforting to know that even at 5 am, you can get up and watch either the Olympics or 'Little House on the Prairie'. The old ones, where Melissa Gilbert needed braces in a desperate, buck-toothed way.

When the 'chick was growing up, her mother was rather strict. (Still is, actually, bless her. Not that it does a bit of good.) (Should we call Roadchick's mother Roadhen? Hee!) Anyway, television was considered to be a waste of time and horrible trash.

Exceptions for television watching were made for 'Little House on the Prairie' which was felt to have some sort of redeeming value. What, the 'chick is not sure, but since she was about 6 years old when the show first aired, it did not matter. Roadchick wanted to BE Laura Ingalls. Many an afternoon was spent with a friend, playing 'Little House'. Roadchick and friend would dress up in old, discarded, faded skirts with aprons and tote old schoolbooks and a tiny bucket as a pretend lunchbucket. They would trudge miles around the backyard, finally getting to the schoolhouse - the backyard shed that housed the lawnmower. It was hard imagining around the scent of gasoline and lawn implements, but the 'chick and friend managed.

Shows that were horrible trash? 'The Dukes of Hazzard'. The 'chick had to sneak to a friend's house to watch because it was NOT allowed on the television at home. Because that Daisy Duke? Worse than a prostitute, dressing that way, flaunting her womanly charms. In front of her cousins. Shameful!

The 'chick was also not allowed to watch 'The Dick Van Dyke Show', which was on in reruns. Why? The 'chick has NO idea - it was never explained. It was just, "Turn off that horrible trash and go DO something. Now."

As the 'chick got older, other things were forbidden. Prince (or the Artist-Formerly-Known-As, or that weird symbol that has no name) was NOT allowed. In any form. No 'Purple Rain'. No cassette tapes. No posters. No magazines with pictures or articles. It was enough to make doves cry. Because the 'chick had a serious passion for the Purple One.

The Battle Royale over Prince was a long one. The 'chick owned every single Prince cassette tape ever made but kept them hidden in a little lock box. The 'chick's friends were going to the Purple Rain concert and the 'chick wanted to go so badly that she would've done anything to get there. The 'chick's mom got wind of the plan and the 'chick was grounded until the Purple One left town. Just to be safe.

Amazingly, the 'chick's mom never did quite figure out that Sheila E. was part of the same posse that Prince ran with. Sheila E., while bad trash, was not horrible trash, and was allowed. At low volume.

Roadchick's mom no longer has to be quite so in the mainstream, but does call Kid Rock "that rock person". She does not love the Kid. She came over one day and the 'chick had left a couple of Kid Rock CDs on the counter and of course, her mom picked them up and then had a serious discussion with the 'chick about letting Rockboy listen to that horrible trash.

Patient Reader? The 'chick is ashamed to admit that she sold Rockboy south and let him take the blame, especially since he wasn't there at the time.

What? The 'chick didn't want to get grounded.

Ohhhhh-prah

Sometimes, as a treat, Auntie Roadchick will buy herself a copy of O - The Oprah Magazine. There's always a ton of stuff to read, just enough self-help to keep you busy for a little while, and tons of pictures.

What can the 'chick say? She's pretty easy to entertain.

The September issue did not disappoint. According to Oprah, "This issue is for anybody out there who's feeling overwhelmed."

Um, hand up, right here, 'kay? A tiny, wee bit overwhelmed.

Anyway, so lots of self-helpy this month. Add that to the list.

Improve self.
That goes right under: Clean litter box.

But Oprah & Co. rarely disappoint.

In the Tech Toys section (page 180), there are high tech vibrators. Yup, you read that right. Vibrators, in Oooooooo magazine. Gives a new meaning to the Big O, don't it?

Anyway, one, called Naughtinano by OhMiBod, plugs into your iPod and it "pulses in sync with the tune you're hearing." Visit http://www.ohmibod.com/ for more details or to purchase. Appropriately priced at $69.



There's another selection for the more. . . discreet: The Tiny Spot by Myla "that could pass for a piece of custom art." You know, in case you're into leaving your vibrator on the coffee table. Visit http://www.myla.com/ for more details or to purchase. Only $150.



Now, your Auntie Roadchick does have to say that those are two excellent ways of relieving a little stress. Or a lot. If you have lots of batteries.

Where were we?

Oh yes, the magazine:

There's always a gorgeous fashion spread with tons of clothes the 'chick would LOVE to have. But, they're not practical. They're good for getting ideas of what is "in", but the 'chick cannot see herself buying a $995 Marc Jacobs summer dress. Ever.

But the best part is: "Can I wear my summer dresses in the fall?"

Answer: Yes. And you can save money by wearing tights ($23) with your open-toed high-heeled sandals (also from summer).

Hee. As if anyone that can buy a $995 dress needs to save money by schlepping the look into fall with tights.

Ohhhhhprah, Auntie Roadchick loves you, yes she does. And if you ever need a reviewer for . . . products (or books), the 'chick is available.

Shameless Self-Promotion

If you look to the right, you will see that the 'chick has added a link to something called Roadchick Reviews.

The 'chick has been getting books to review, and as she goes through them, she'll add a review to the page.

Sometimes, the 'chick will share the riches and give away her preview copy so be sure to check over there. You never know when there might be free goodies for you, Patient Reader.

(Wasn't the 'chick just complaining about all the reading she had to do for work? Why yes, she was. Call it a busman's holiday. Somehow, reading for fun is not work. And charts sure as hell ain't a copy of Tan Lines. If they were, people would be lining up to audit charts. Really. It was that hot.)

We Have Inches To Go Before We Sleep

"Inches," you say, "why, Roadchick, that's nothing. Quit whining already."

If it were a marathon or a crawl to the safety of a beach after being nearly drowned, the 'chick would agree with you.

The inches the 'chick is referring to is: Inches of paper. In a chart. That is made up of 3 four inch binders. That should've been completed DAYS ago.

This chart is truly in the realm of making War and Peace look like a little beach reading for a sunny afternoon. It's kicking the 'chick's ass.

In the course of her job, auditing charts is pretty interesting but it's amazing how many different writing styles there are - just within one company.

Most of the people working as case managers have college degrees. Four-year college degrees. Which should have, at some point, included at least ONE course in "How to Write So You Don't Look Like A Damn Fool - Oh, And Spelling, Too". Apparently this class was offered early in the morning at most universities and hungover students skipped a LOT.

There are plans that would make the mind reel. Thoughts not followed to conclusion. Choppy paragraph structure. Run-on sentences so long that they make the 'chick's brain explode and ooze from her ears. Plans that make the 'chick want to open a blank template and start revising immediately.

But.

In a tactful world, this cannot be done. People are amazingly possessive of what they write and are offended by the suggestion that it could be done better. Even though they've bitched the entire time they've been writing, they don't want a better looking end product, even if half the state is going to read it at some point.

And so, the 'chick turns another page, takes another drink of coffee, and shudders.

Only five inches to go.

Mama Warned There Would Be Days Like This

In the South, there is no such thing as PMS.

There is, however, FTS. What is FTS, you ask?

FTS stands for "Fixin' To Start".

Had the 'chick known that today was going to be a FTS day, she might have stayed home so that the general public and her co-workers would've been safe.

The early morning hours did not give any indication of the true levels of bitchiness that the 'chick would achieve in the next few hours.

There is a huge crunch going on at work which is standard for this time of the year and the 'chick in particular is under the gun to get a lot of highly detailed work completed in a very short amount of time.

The finish line for this work is in sight, but still far enough away that it took very little to set the 'chick off. The particular chart that the 'chick was auditing was no worse than any of the other 12 that the 'chick has gone though in the last 10 days. What was worse was the 'chick's state of mind.

When the company computer dude came in to fix a template on the 'chick's office mate's computer, he said, "Let me just get a cup of. . ."

And the 'chick promptly said, "Gin? Because if the 'chick had to do that every time a plan came in from that person, she would need a cup of gin."

And that was when she took a deep breath, packed up her laptop and the chart she was working on and headed out the door, promising to return in a better mood tomorrow.

Everyone say a prayer that tomorrow will be a better day. It will be safer for everyone.

Hanging On

Yes, the 'chick sucks. Gone forever, posting crap when she does appear and then suddenly reappears only to whine about how horrible things are.

Actually, things aren't all THAT horrible. Just a case of the mean reds and at the moment, even those aren't too bad.

Some of it has to do with not getting good sleep.
Some of it has to do with being majorly stressed at work.
Some of it has to do with expectations that the 'chick holds that others do not.
Some of it has to do with the fact that Rockboy turns 19 today. (Happy Birthday, Rockboy!)
Some of it has to do with PMS and stopping the meds a wee bit too early. (Every month, the 'chick tells herself not to, but she's feeling good and a little bit cocky and then it all goes to hell.)

Last weekend, Redneck, Skaterboy, and Roadchick went to Gulf Shores, AL for a couple of days of sun, sand, and surf. It was a nice little break where nothing was accomplished except swimming, eating, napping, reading, and some knitting. The mean reds got worse while driving in to work this morning and realizing that exactly one week ago, the 'chick was sitting in an Alabama Cracker Barrel, drinking coffee and looking forward to hitting the beach. Why is it not last week again???

This weekend, there are possible plans to head to a local waterpark, depending on how much other work-related work needs to be done by the 'chick and if Redneck has stuff he has to do.

Really, darlings - all Auntie Roadchick wants to do is curl up and have a nap. It's a little bit grey and rainy here - perfect napping weather.

Have a good weekend!