Sunday Scribblings: Instructions

Image from engrish.com

Anyone that has ever had to write instructions knows that more often than not, this is how they are perceived by those reading them later. Slightly foreign, almost making sense, but not quite.

It's difficult breaking a task down into sensible, manageable parts. No matter how carefully you proofread, there's always some important component missing. It's always the thing that is common sense, at least to the one doing the writing. It's the part of the task that is automatic.

The 'chick does a fair amount of technical writing for her job. For some unknown reason, her directors thought that she would be the ideal person to write a training manual for new case managers. (Let's all pause now, and shudder at the thought.)

The size of the task is horrific. How on earth do you put into writing all the things that you just know to do instinctively? How do you make sure that everything that is really important is covered? To be honest, the 'chick does not know.

To begin, the 'chick sat down and started a list...an outline-y sort of list, trying to think of where to begin, what to cover, and what to leave out. It's the leaving out part that is the most difficult. What if you leave out something that could be vital? But how to make it manageable for people to read? More importantly, how to make it at least somewhat interesting, so that people will read it?

After a few days of fiddling and tweaking and having panic attacks in the breakroom, it looked like the list was at least somewhat complete. The informational sections are not so bad but the instructions make the 'chick want to cry or stay home in bed, watching Oprah.

How to fill out a support note? Well, you just do. Somehow, that didn't seem to be quite . . . sufficient. But translating instinct into steps is hard, people. Darn hard.

So, the 'chick started trying to pay attention to what she was doing when she did it. And writing little steps along the way. This was enormously frustrating. She has no patience. None. And it slowed her down.

Next, the 'chick tried to con other co-workers into telling her how they did it so she could take notes on the process. That - not so successful. It was becoming apparent that everyone does this differently. And that's ok, but not helpful.

Finally, the 'chick took the coward's way out and moved on to the next information section and the next and the next. The procrastinator's way out.

Is there a happy ending to this tale? Well, no. The manual continues on with lots of information but precious few instructions. Those will be completed last of all, when there is nothing else the 'chick can possibly add to anything else.

What the 'chick needs is instructions on writing instructions.

Any takers???

Arrrgh

This day has the 'chick talking like a pirate after all.

Y'all, the 'chick is losing her mind. More specifically, she has lost a roll of pictures that she went to the trouble of taking, developing, having put on a photo CD, paying for, picking up and even using some of...in the early summer posts about Fayetteville, TN.

Gone. Gone. Gone.

Now, who on earth would want that???

Patient Reader, you're asking why the 'chick wants them. The reason is this: the 'chick bought a shiny new photo album and has arranged the other two rolls of pictures that she has taken. She has used the memo lines to date & caption where the picture was taken for posterity.

SHE WANTS THE FIRST ROLL OF PICTURES!!!

The 'chick is notoriously bad about doing anything at all with her pictures but with these three rolls of film, she has made a concerted effort to do better. She was doing better. UNTIL SHE LOST THE %&*# ENVELOPE.

Sigh.

So unlike the 'chick.

Thieves! That must be it. Photo pirates.

Just humor the Roadchick and hopefully (hopefully) no one will get keelhauled.

Arrrrgh.

Now We Are Six

On the lunch menu today: Chef Boyardee Spaghetti Rings with Meatballs. Why, you ask? Roadchick asked the same thing and came to this conclusion:
1) She is much too lazy to leave the office to get something to eat.
2) She is much too lazy to make an edible lunch like peanut butter and jelly.
3) For some unknown reason, Roadchick's mom gave her TWO cans of the aforementioned lunch item, so it was free.

No, Patient Reader, it was not a BIT good. It was not even close to being good.

There has been some tweaking of the sidebar. Have a look-round & check out some of the links. These are the best o' the best, in Roadchick's humble opinion. These are the folks that keep the 'chick amused when she should be working. Or writing. Or doing anything except reading.

If you're a knitter or crocheter, please check the link to Grandma Purl - they're accepting donations of squares for a blanket (or blankets, should there be that many) for Crazy Aunt Purl's granny who has been in poor health. A good cause, y'all.

Things that make you go "Awwww":

• Redneck brought roses to Roadchick at work for their 1 month anniversary. Roses are an automatic "Awwww" but being brave enough to enter an office full of curious women while bearing roses definitely earns him one.
• Roadchick, as she gets older and older, is apparently falling apart. (No, that is not the "Awwww" moment.) It was raining yesterday afternoon. When Roadchick went into Redneck's house, her wet feet made her slip and twist her back. So, hobbling like a crone. Redneck made Roadchick sit on the couch with her feet up, fetched a heating pad and Advil, and took care of dinner. Awwww!
• Rockboy, because he is cute as the dickens, even at 17, makes Roadchick go "Awwww". At the Fair on Saturday night, he informed his girlfriend that it was time to hang out with mom now, because "Mom is cool". Awwww!
  
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  In knitting news: the baby blanket that the 'chick is working on for a co-worker has hit a snag. For some unknown reason, the 'chick managed to reverse the pattern that she was working on and there will be some ripping back to be done. Urk. The 'chick hates frogging (so called because you must 'rip it, rip it') not because she hates to undo her work...she's a perfectionist with a high level of obsessive-compulsive disorder....but because it's so fiddly to get a project back on the needles without dropping stitches and cursing like a sailor. Considering the state of her back, a Lortab may soothe her enough to make the job manageable. She will be Zen-like in her tranquility. Hah.
  
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  Today be Talk Like A Pirate Day. No, this entry is obviously not in pirate-ese. The 'chick has enough trouble without translating what she does manage into another dialect. But, y'all feel free. Arrrrr & all that.

State Fair

Is there anything better than going to the State Fair? Roadchick submits that there is not.

The 'chick is a slave to tradition and going to the State Fair is a tradition in the Roadchick household.

Redneck, Rockboy, and Rockboy's girlfriend loaded up and headed out for a day at the Fair. There is a certain order that must be preserved when attending the Fair.

For Roadchick, the first order of business is always to go into the exhibition buildings to inspect the handcrafts. In years past, the knitting display was always a sad disappointment and not a little amusing. It allowed Roadchick the chance to be smug: "That won a blue ribbon??? Oh please, the 'chick has something better than that on her needles right now." No longer - there were beautiful things displayed and the 'chick was in awe of the skill and time invested.

Roadchick's friend, Sheila, had several entries and was a winner. Congratulations, Sheila!

Pictures are shamelessly stolen from Sheila since the 'chick's photo service is unable to produce a photo CD today.

After inspecting everything in the Creative Arts building, Roadchick and Redneck headed off to the animal barns. The 'chick has a confession - she adores the cows. Who knows why? She just does. Redneck and Roadchick looked at cows and sheep and goats and rabbits and chickens and geese. Redneck stepped in a pile of goat poop which amused the 'chick to no end. Roadchick informed Redneck that she really, really needed a cow. Redneck informed Roadchick that she really, really needed to have her head examined for possible defects because she has no where to keep a cow.

Redneck and Roadchick saw a pumpkin big enough to sit in. It set the new state record and the 'chick took a picture of it for posterity. Once she finally gets her photo CD, she'll add the picture in. It was amazing.

But really, y'all know, the main reason for going to the Fair is to eat. Roadchick ate roasted sweet corn and part of a corn dog that Redneck was kind enough to share with her, and chicken on a stick and a funnel cake and had fresh squeezed lemonade and almost had a deep fried Snickers bar, but had to admit that she was full as a tick and couldn't actually eat it, even though she wanted to.

Redneck insisted that a trip to the Fair was not complete unless rides were ridden. Considering the amount of food that the 'chick had just consumed, she had to choose wisely when it came to riding rides. After careful consideration, the Skywheel was chosen. The Skywheel is a double ferris wheel with just enough speed to give you the giggles but not enough speed or flippiness to make you lose your corndogs. Plus, it had the added benefit of a short line. Roadchick hates standing in line so that was a main selling point.

Redneck and Roadchick rode it twice due to a happy accident. The first time they got on, the man didn't take the tickets, so - free ride! Yay! And it was so much fun that they did it again almost as soon as they got off the first time. Well, that, and laziness in seeking out another ride with a short line.

Roadchick loves the clown in the dunk tank. He is so socially offensive that it's funny. Lines overheard:

"Boy, this is the State Fair, not the Welfare."
"Save your money and buy a clean tshirt."
"Hey, Tiger Woods called and wants his shirt back." - to a guy in a polo shirt

There were so many people there that it was amazing. The news has stories every year about all the gang activity going on at the Fair, and while it's probably true, the 'chick has to say that she didn't see it. Everyone got along and had fun and it didn't matter if you were Black, White, Latino, Middle Eastern, Asian, Redneck, or Uptown - it was the Fair - and it was.

Happy HUMP Day!

Ah Wednesday, the day of promise and hope in the middle of the week. Wednesday is infinitely better than Tuesday and aeons better than Monday could ever hope to be.

Today, the 'chick will be desperately trying to regain her productivity and may actually get some work done. That would be a nice change, wouldn't it? Her bosses definitely think so.

On the up side, while it is not any warmer in the office today, the 'chick is better prepared for the cold since she came to work basically dressed in her pajamas. (Days when the bosses are in Jackson or Memphis are happy days around here.) What do work pajamas look like, you ask? For the 'chick they consist of: black tshirt-knit drawstring pants that are actually Joe Boxer men's pj bottoms, if she's being honest and she is...a lime green tshirt layered over a white tshirt and flip-flops. Over this lovely ensemble, there is a black & white track jacket for warmth.

In all fairness, Roadchick did warn people that she fully intended on wearing pajamas to work today. She left the furry slippers at home although given the temperature indoors, she is beginning to wish that she had them here.

There are two plans to be typed and as each of them average around 25 pages, it will take just a little minute to knock those out, especially since they have to be written. If it was just typing, well, that is easy. It's the creativeness that wears on the 'chick, y'all. The constant outpouring of prose. Hee.

There are two different plans that need to have letters requesting information sent out to various agencies. This is a slightly horrible task because it involves excavating the chart to see what is actually missing. Ugh. The 'chick hates information gathering. She's lazy.

And, there are four support notes to be completed on four different people in addition to logging the eleventy-four emails that have come and gone on other people regarding a variety of other things. The 'chick is a documenting bitch. Want to know when someone said something? Ask the 'chick. Want to know when a funding request was submitted to the state? Ask the 'chick.

The different agencies that Roadchick works with already know this about her. The Gret Stet of Tennessee knows this about her. The new agencies that have not worked with her yet do not know this about her. Or they do know, but don't believe. It usually takes exactly one time of going up against the 'chick's documentation and power of recall to drive home the point. What point, Patient Reader? That Roadchick will absolutely put the smackdown on any agency that tries to mess around with one of her folks.

Now that you know what the 'chick needs to be doing today, perhaps you are wondering what on earth it is that she actually does besides talk about work while apparently accomplishing none.

Roadchick is a case manager for mentally retarded and developmentally disabled adults and children in Tennessee. The agency that she works for contracts with the state to provide this service. The 'chick does home visits and site visits and community visits and requests funding for services from the state as well as writing the massive annual plan (see above) that is obviously, updated annually. On top of managing everyone's lives for them (and doing very well at it) she is also the Quality Assurance and Training Coordinator for her agency. (Again, managing everyone's lives and getting PAID for it.)

Speaking of working and getting paid...perhaps she ought to give it a try.

Happy HUMP Day, y'all!

Roadchick and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good Day

Y'all, it's just been one of "those" days. (Although nothing really horrible happened. Roadchick exaggerates sometimes. No, really.)

What does one of "those" days look like in the life of Roadchick? Well, just let the 'chick tell you all about it. (You knew that she would anyway...)

First of all, it's Tuesday which is much too far from Friday for any hope. It's DAYS away from Friday. Not even a little sniff of Friday to lead you onward. It's Tuesday.

Second of all, the 'chick did not get home until 11:00 last night because she was with Redneck. Now, before you jump to any sort of conclusions - you are WRONG. It was WWE Monday Night Raw Wrestling night. At Skaterboy's request. 11:00 is not so very late, you are saying, and usually, Patient Reader, you would be right. However, (isn't there always a however in these stories???) last night, 11:00 was much too late for the 'chick because...she left Redneck's house at 9:00 last night. She had to pick up Rockboy and his friend from band practice at a house so far off the interstate that it's entirely possible it was in a different time zone or possibly even on another continent. Have you done the math, people? That is 2 hours. 2 hours in the car on a MONDAY night. Ugh. 1 hour of it spent with surly, tired, smelly teenaged boys. (Actually, they were not really surly although they were tired and smelly. Roadchick was the surly one in the car.)

So, back to Tuesday. The 'chick had to get up at 5:30, which is standard getting up time in her world. But, ugh. It was raining. Rainy days are days to stay in bed and nap and watch TV and knit. Not days to get up and get ready for work.

Then there was the morning clothes dilemma. Most of the time, this is not an issue but on the days when it is an issue, the 'chick's bedroom and closet look like Filene's Basement after the $1.99 wedding dress sale before she finally manages to emerged fully clothed. Oy vey! It was one of those mornings. She had decided on a skirt, then promptly forgot which skirt she had decided on and pulled the wrong one out and stood looking at it like it was from Mars. Then realized that it was NOT the skirt o' the day and put it back. (She was still hanging things up at this point.) The correct skirt was retrieved and put on. Now, to find a top. Yeah, right. Any guesses on how many blouses, sweaters, t-shirts, and tops were tried? Any guesses at all? Roadchick will have to double check when she gets home but it seems to be around seven. SEVEN. That is flat ridiculous, y'all. Stupid ridiculous.

It was staff meeting day at work. Staff meeting day with a baby shower thrown in for added torture. Y'all know how the 'chick feels about baby showers but at least this one did not involve dirty diaper nametags. Staff meeting day is a guarantee that nothing else productive will happen in the 'chick's office for the rest of the day. Hence, this post. At least it sounds like she is busy working when in reality she's desperately trying to digest lunch and a whopping slice of fresh strawberry baby shower cake. No food tonight. None. Maybe just a refreshing glass of Alka Seltzer.

And, it's cold in here. Freezing cold. See your breath cold. So cold that it's agony, really. Add that in with the rain and it's miserable. But, also funny because with the temperature / humidity differential, the windows are fogged up like a Waffle House at 3:00 a.m. That's when you hope that your space heater is working and hasn't been stolen by another freezing co-worker.

But now, at least it's almost time to go home. Home to put on pajamas, snuggle into the couch and knit for awhile. Rockstar:Supernova is on tonight and the 'chick is addicted to that. Go Dilana!!! And maybe, just maybe, a visit from Redneck. Good things await . . . only 20 minutes away.

9/11

During the past few weeks, there have been a lot of television shows talking about the tragedy of 9/11 as we come to the fifth anniversary of the incident.

Roadchick, being a documentary junkie, has watched several. (This is due in large part to the fact that Redneck has satellite TV while Roadchick does not.) Redneck watched with the 'chick and handed over tissues when necessary and talked to her about what happened.

The one on the Discovery Channel was watched twice since it was on twice. Most of it was a dramatization to show what was happening inside the Twin Towers as events unfolded. One man (still living, thank heaven!) told of watching the plane approach at eye level and crash into the building. As the plane approached, he hid beneath his desk and was trapped in the rubble. He was amazed that he was still alive to call for help.

What troubled the 'chick was that there were thousands of people inside both towers and most of them had to be told to evacuate. To get themselves outside. They waited to be told what to do.

Roadchick and Redneck discussed this in depth. She understands that most people were in shock although at the time they did not realize exactly what had happened. She knows that the building announcement system instructed workers to remain at their desks.

But, the 'chick also thinks that she would have hopefully had the presence of mind to start walking her ass down the stairs when she saw burning debris floating past the windows and smoke was coming through the ventilation units. When 911 had a "system busy" message and you could not get through.

Redneck said that he thought it might be that people, especially those used to living in the city, get too used to being told what to do, when to do it, and how. That people are afraid to do for themselves sometimes, since it seems safer to let others take care of it for you.

This is not really the direction that the 'chick was going in when she started typing, but so be it.

The biggest thing that the 'chick does not understand is a hatred so strong that it could be channelled to kill thousands. Americans, Chinese, Japanese, Iranians, Iraqis, English, French and any number of other nationalities and religions that inhabited the World Trade Centers.

It made a point.

Maybe it's the feminine side of Roadchick that doesn't get it. She doesn't always agree with what others think or believe, but she does honor their right to that belief. It's all right to have your own values but it's not all right to force them on others or to be so threatened by their values that it gives you the right to destroy lives.

The 'chick has been seeing this bumpersticker around lately. She's thinking of ordering one. It may not change minds, but it may make someone think.



Order yours here.

Rest in peace. You are not forgotten.

Sunday Scribblings: Roadchick would never write . . .

The 'chick put a little bit of thought into this, but not much. Laziness, you say? Partially. But the reality of what the 'chick writes, what makes it uniquely hers is that she writes what interests her.

What you see here is almost a direct window into the 'chick's mind. Depending on where she is at that point, you could get humor, self-help, romance, history, poetry, sci-fi, and even horror. There are times you might get recipes, cooking tips, organizational helps, or a to-do list.

Roadchick does write a little bit of fiction, but that is not what this blog is about. This blog is the style that is the most comfortable to her right now. For the moment, it entertains the 'chick to refer to herself in the third person. Sometimes it makes it easier to tell the harder things or to mock herself. When it ceases to amuse, then you will get first person.

There is another reason for third person though. It wasn't why it started, but it is why it continued. When the 'chick is going about her workaday life, going to work, cooking dinner, washing clothes, etc. at the back of her mind she is always watching to see if there is anything worth writing about. Where is the humor? Where is the message? Can this mundane task be made interesting enough to be included in the Roadtrip? It's made her more aware. It's made her more present. It's made her live her life more like Roadchick, who, as it turns out, is a pretty intrepid, courageous, vivacious person. It is the alter-ego of the person behind the keyboard. Perhaps it is the true personality of the person behind the keyboard, the one that was hidden out of self-preservation, at least for a time and then didn't know how to come out again. It is the person that she forgot she was.

So, the conclusion that the 'chick came up with was this: Roadchick would never write what she doesn't want to. Even if it did mean stretching her talent and ability because it would be false and it would be boring - boring to write and boring to read.

The Death of a Giant

It was with great sadness that the 'chick read in Pound of the passing of a giant. Marshall Field's department store will be changing over to Macy's this Saturday (9/9). Roadchick heard rumors of this about a year or so ago and panicked. Flat panicked. Relatives still living in the Great North were contacted and dispatched to go collect Marshall Field's swag...and RIGHT NOW!

You see, Patient Reader, Roadchick is a Chicago girl, born and bred. And if you're born and bred in Chicago, Marshall Field's is a presence in your life. You may not go there very often, but it's there, like a security blanket.

As a child, Roadchick was treated to trips Downtown, usually on days when school was closed for teachers' meetings. A Trip Downtown meant getting up early in order to catch the Rock Island train to The Loop.



Sidebar note: Oh, wow, this is making the 'chick nostalgic and misty-eyed. And craving a Chicago-style hot dog.

On the day of the Trip, the 'chick would wake up and be filled with a sense of self-importance. She Was Going To The City. On The Train. Special care would be taken with getting ready, especially when she hit the tween years. After all, it was pretty much guaranteed that someone would mistake the 'chick for a model on her way to a photo shoot, just like those girls in Seventeen magazine. (Did the 'chick ever mention that she had [and still has] a vivid imagination and delusions of grandeur???) This impression of self-sufficiency was marred by the fact that Roadchick's mom was also coming to The City.

Anyway.

The train would pull into the LaSalle Street Station and Roadchick would descend, bag tossed over her shoulder, skin-tight Jordache jeans tucked into the sock/Reebok combination, blonde hair whipping in the wind. SuperStar!

During her day in The City, Roadchick would visit a great many places, but her main destination was ALWAYS Marshall Field's. ALWAYS.

Probably to this day you could blindfold the 'chick and set her down in the State Street store and she would know instantly where she was. There was a scent. And the scent was Marshall Field's.

Lunch was always eaten here. There was an entire floor of restaurants to choose from. Not McDonald's. Not Burger King. There was The Walnut Room. The English Room.

And after lunch and a leisurely tour through the book department, the 'chick would adjourn to the Crystal Palace. The Crystal Palace was an ice cream shoppe (had to put the pretentious extra PE on the end) that was modeled on a 1920s ice cream shoppe. And, oh...it was amazing. Delicious. Unbelievable. The 'chick still has a beverage napkin from there tucked into a scrapbook.

But, all good things, even things that have lasted as long as Marshall Field's, must come to an end. All of the Marshall Field's stores will be converted to Macy's as of tomorrow. And the 'chick will mourn. It just won't be the same.

Because is Chicago.

Unless noted otherwise, all images are from Wikipedia. Images are hosted on this blog - don't steal bandwidth!

Chez Shoney's

Hee.

It's been that sort of a day.

Blame it on the painkillers.

Blame it on the fact that sometimes it doesn't take much to amuse the 'chick.

Lunch today was at Shoney's, a truly American institution.

Overheard at the salad bar:
"I've come up with a new slogan for Shoney's."
"Really? What is it?"
"Shoney's. Where fat people come to eat."

The 'chick had to walk away, and quickly because just a few moments before that she was looking around at her fellow diners and had silently made the same observation. It's something to do with the All-U-Can-Eat-Buffet at lunch. Not that the 'chick doesn't love her some All-U-Can-Eat from time to time.

Also seen at Shoney's, across the windows:

Chicken Shakes
Tea Salads
Coffee Desserts

Now, the 'chick suspects that these were to be taken separately but, you see, Patient Reader, that is NOT how the 'chick read them at all. Tea salads and coffee desserts might just be all right. Chicken shakes, however - nope, nuh uh, no way. No thanks.

Sunday Scribblings: Fortune Cookie

There was a time in Roadchick's life when she collected the little slips of paper that came encased in fortune cookies. They were taped to her computer monitor as little signposts of wisdom and luck. As time went on and she changed jobs, the slips were taken down and tucked into a box for safekeeping and are still around somewhere.

Right now, there is only one fortune taped to the panel on the 'chick's laptop at work. It reads:

"Your dearest wish will come true."

Can there be any better fortune? Probably not - that is the royal flush of fortunes. The tricky part is - what would her dearest wish be? What if there was only one wish that could come true and none of this wishing for infinite wishes?

It's something that crosses the 'chick's mind from time to time while she's pondering other problems. Sometimes that is the easiest problem to solve. The answer rarely changes.

But then, sometimes, Roadchick wonders what it would take to change her wish from one that is so self-centered. She could wish for world peace. She could wish for an end to world hunger. She could wish for a cure for an incurable disease like HIV/AIDS or cancer or diabetes. She could wish for homes for the homeless, jobs for the unemployed, wisdom for world leaders.

There are the wishes that strike closer to home - that the breast cancer diagnosis that recently came to light for a family member would be a mistake. That Rockboy find a direction and a purpose and a college he's interested in.

And when Roadchick thinks of all the things that she could wish for, she knows that she should be more generous, more magnanimous, more giving. But, she also knows that unless giving up her wish would save Rockboy's life, she would have a very hard time giving up the wish that is so dear to her heart. If giving up her wish for another meant that hers could not come true, she would struggle with it. She likes to think that she would do the right thing, even if it wasn't the right thing for her.

And right now, Patient Reader, the 'chick doesn't know that she could do it and that shames her. So her little fortune from a cookie eaten long ago serves to remind her that she still has work to do - to give more easily with less regard for herself. After all, what if there was only one wish?

Explanations (Excuses) for Lack of Posting

Y'all, the 'chick apologizes for the lack of posting lately...there are several explanations.

First explanation: The Outlaws came back into town on Saturday & were treated to a home-cooked dinner by Roadchick. Also included in this gathering were Rockboy, Redneck, and Roadchick's parents. Fun. Actually, it was fun but any gathering that includes Roadchick's parents tends to stress her out. A LOT. But, everyone appeared to have a good time and no one reported food poisoning, so the evening shall be deemed a success.

Second explanation: Roadchick is just slightly wrapped up in Redneck. A lot of her days off were spent with him and the majority of that time was spent either eating (a LOT) or watching movies because apparently, the 'chick has managed to miss some of the great cinematic works of our time. Redneck was appalled that the 'chick had never seen Pulp Fiction or Leaving Las Vegas or Final Destination 3....just keep adding to the list of things that the 'chick never made time for. The folks at Movie Gallery were starting to snicker after the third trip in as many days.

Third explanation: A migraine from hell. That just goes on and on and on. And bad enough to send the 'chick running for home yesterday afternoon when the original plans called for cooking dinner for Redneck & his son, Skaterboy. And watching Monday Night Wrestling (at Skaterboy's request). And required burrowing into bed with ice packs and orders for no ONE to open the door or to dare make a sound in the house. So, y'all know it was bad. And today, the 'chick is dealing with post-migraine hangover - that horrible hollow-headed feeling that she gets after one of her screamers. And the distinct possibility that there is another migraine to follow because she just has that feeling, ya know? She may be heading for the homestead sooner than expected.

Roadchick did not do the Sunday Scribblings this week although she thought about it. If time and migraines permit, she may post something a little later on.

Hope y'all had a great holiday weekend!

Miscellaneous Monday

For some reason, Roadchick is in a mood to write today, so there is just no telling how many posts you may wind up with. This post has to do with all the random stuff that the 'chick has seen or heard that doesn't quite rate a post of its own but was still too good to leave out. Welcome to Miscellaneous Monday!

1. Seen on Saturday, while cruising downtown Nashville and acting like tourists: one man, old enough to know better (and apparently too young or too drunk to care) dressed in a clown suit, complete with a red nose. Climbing up the side of the rather large statue, Musica, that is located in the Music Row Roundabout (where all the big and not-so-big recording studios and music publishing companies live in Nashville). (For a giggle, follow the link and read the Alert! box. Very amusing.) Musica, to the uninitiated, is a circle of naked, frolicking people. (Rednecked??) Cavorting nekkid people. So, to boost himself up the rest of the way, the Clown reached up.....and found a handy appendage to get up the rest of the way. (Oh, that was a bad pun but Roadchick refuses to apologize for it!) Unfortunately, no one had a camera at the ready or else you would be treated to a full-color photo of the newly named Nashville Ass Clown.
2. Heard on the evening news: Tootie view. Actual phrase: 2-D View.
3. As told by a co-worker regarding the last meeting of the Nashville Orchid Society: "So they were showing us how to pollinate an orchid, but they were acting like they were doing something dirty, you know, pollinating an orchid. Like Q-Tips had to be purchased in secret, you know, to pollinate."
4. It should be noted for the record that the General Lee won the demolition derby on Thursday night. You just can't keep those Duke Boys down.
5. It was mentioned by Kim G. that Roadchick has not written the perfect rednecked post since she didn't mention anything at all about guns or booze. After re-reading her post, she realized that she needed to mention that there was a large sign at the entrance to the fairgrounds that stated Alcoholic Beverages Were Strictly Prohibited. Since there was no mention of leaving your firearms at home, Roadchick can only assume that somewhere in the crowd, possibly inside one of the dragsters or mudding trucks, there WERE firearms. However, she did not personally see any.

So ends this edition of Miscellaneous Monday. Stayed tuned for further editions as the randomness accumulates until Roadchick has to post it here to clear up memory slots in her brain (since she seems to have misplaced her little notebook o' ideas).

Gettin' Rednecked

If there were a contest (and there should be) to determine who had the most redneck weekend of them all, Roadchick and crew would win hands down.

Roadchick (contrary to the dismal, depressing tone of her last post) has met a new guy. In order to distinguish him from all the other new guys lately, this one shall be called "Redneck". Not that he is, not really. It's more of a circumstantial thing but when the workboot fits...

Redneck and Roadchick have been dating for several weeks and things are going pretty well. The 'chick is becoming a little leary of talking about her boys here because once she introduces them to y'all, something always happens. So, whichever of you is doing the hoodoo on the 'chick's relationships - knock it off. It's not nice. It's making Roadchick crazy. And she's getting ready to whip out her own brand of voodoo on you. So there. Nyah.

Because things have been going well and Roadchick and Redneck are still in the first blush of dating when you can't stand to be away from the "Other" for more than 24 hours, they decided that multiple trips to the county fair were in order. The first trip was last Thursday night, in order to partake of the demolition derby. Y'all know that that was a good time. There were multiple near-runnings-over (as in - hey! that car just ran over the top of that other car - cool!) and an engine compartment fire that required the services of seven fireman. One to operate the fire extinguisher and the other six to stand around and crouch down to make sure that the fire was out. Good times, y'all.

On Friday evening, Roadchick's ex-in-laws were coming into town to spend a couple of days before heading out for other relatives' homes in other parts of the state. The Outlaws stay with Roadchick and Rockboy while in the Nashville area. They always have, they always will, and a good time is had by all.

On Saturday, Roadchick, Rockboy, and the Outlaws did a little bit of yard saleing (saling? sailing?), acted like the worst sort of tourists in downtown Nashville by stopping in the middle of busy streets in order to take pictures, and eating at every opportunity. In the late afternoon, Roadchick, Rockboy, and the Outlaws headed for Redneck's house. Hee.

Are you keeping score, Patient Reader? Do y'all know who is included in this entourage at this point? If you answered:

• Roadchick
• Rockboy
• The Outlaws
• Redneck

you would be correct. Yes, new boyfriend and the Outlaws, together. Think it can't get much more rednecky? You'd be absolutely WRONG.

After a fantastic dinner of catfish, hushpuppies, and cole slaw at a local riverside establishment, the Entourage left to pick up Redneck's son (now known as Skaterboy) and Redneck's ex-father-in-law. Before heading BACK to the county fair for the Mud Drag Races.

As drag races go, they weren't much to blog about. The crowning event of the evening was when Redneck bought Roadchick a present. From the fair. Because nothing says love like a gift from the fair. And it was a surprise.

When Redneck returned from buying Cokes, he sat next to Roadchick and was fiddling around with something behind her back. When she asked what it was, he said it was a surprise. What kind of surprise, she wanted to know. A secret surprise. That she couldn't see. Even though it was for her. But she was allowed to know that it was a necklace.

When it was finally around her neck, she dug in her bag to find a mirror and what she saw made her eyes tear up with emotion. For around her neck was a Redneck necklace. Made up of spikey things mixed with beads that had rebel flags on them. Awww.

Redneck was laughing his butt off. So was Roadchick. And she wore the necklace proudly. And then that made Redneck a little bit nervous and he told her that she could take the necklace off because it was a joke. But Roadchick said that she didn't think so - she was going to wear her redneck necklace every time she saw him from now on.

So, a quick recap:

• Catfish, hushpuppies, cole slaw
• Roadchick
• Rockboy
• 1 full set of Outlaws
• 1 partial set of Outlaws
• Redneck
• Skaterboy
• County fair
• Mud Drag Races
• Redneck necklace

Submitted for a full vote: Roadchick wins the Redneckedness-of-the-Weekend Award. What do y'all think???

Sunday Scribblings: The Monster. . .

The biggest monster that the 'chick fears is the Monster of Alone.

The fear that the "One" will never appear in her life.

The fear that it will be Roadchick, the crazy cat lady.

The fear that she will die alone.

The fear that she will be that "poor lady" that gets invited to things because "she's all on her own, you know."

The fear that she won't be special to someone, be wanted and needed.

The fear that she'll be left to figure it out on her own, always.

The fear that it won't cease to matter.

The fear that at the end of the day, what she knows now will be what she always knows.

The fear that. . .acceptance will never come.

The fear of the Monster of Alone.

Save Yer Confedrut Money, Boys!

Y'all, why did no one tell the 'chick? It had to be obvious.

Y'all were snickering behind the 'chick's back, pointing and giggling like her zipper was undone and not ONE of you was willing to tell Roadchick that. . .

Apparently, she is a redneck.

Oh. Lawsy. Mercy.

This realization hit her today. After just denying to a co-worker that she was a redneck. Or that the new boy is a redneck. And then began the list of activities that she'd participated in during the past week to ten days.

Let's list them, shall we?

• Saw Talladega Nights
• Visited the Jack Daniel's Distillery in Lynchburg, TN (for the 48th time, she might add)
• Is going to the demolition derby at a nearby county fair tomorrow
• Is going to a car show in September with more to follow in October
• Had an in-depth discussion about the finer points of a zero-turning-radius lawnmower
• Saw Snakes on a Plane and wondered what all the fuss was about

Y'all knew it and never said a WORD.

You'll have to excuse Roadchick now, she has to go put a great big rebel flag on the back window of her car. And barbeque something. And then there's that sale at the Walmart.

Sheesh.

Snakes on a Plane!

Warning, danger Will Robinson - although this is a short, short post there could be enough information to constitute a "spoiler" so if you haven't seen SoaP and plan to, you may want to skip this until AFTER you've seen the movie.

The 'chick has a question that has been burning in her mind since seeing Snakes on a Plane on Friday night.

The plane. It's all full of snakeses. Hissing, biting, crazy snakeses. In a pheromone induced frenzy.

No one, Samuel L. Jackson included, can figure out what to do about the dratted, nasty snakeses. Poking them with sticks seems to upset them. What to do?

A tiny bit of information about snakeses - they're cold-blooded as the herpetologist (snake expert, not herpes expert, and Roadchick knows that you were thinking that, shame on you) kindly points out in the movie. Also pointed out by Paula Abdul in her hit song "Cold Blooded Snake".

To solve the problem, why didn't they (whoever "they" might be) just drop the temperature in the plane to make the snakeses really, really cold and therefore, immobile? Not to mention the fact that unless they were stored in a climate controlled baggage compartment (unlikely) they wouldn't have had the energy to be all "Snakes on a Plane". But of course, that also would have negated the entire movie. "Cold Snakes Napping in the Cargo Hold" might not be quite the same box office draw as "Snakes on a Plane!!!"

Just sayin' is all.

This is why people won't go to the movies with Roadchick.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled day, already in progress.

Sunday Scribblings: The Inner Life of Pets

Or: Living Large with Roadchick

First of all, let me tell you - I'm telling this story and the 'chick is typing it for me. (No thumbs, you know, for the space bar.) But rest assured, I'm sitting here, right next to the laptop, making sure that what she puts down is correct and exactly what I told her.

I'm the Speedbump in Roadchick's life. I'm a rescue kitty. Some of Roadchick's friends found me on the Nashville Archery Range when I was just little tee-tiny, maybe just a few weeks old. I was so hungry that I was trying to dig up worms. Those nice people brought me home and fed me and took me to the vet for shots and all that stuff and when I was bigger, they asked Roadchick if she wanted a kitty.

Roadchick had a kitty before and when the kitty was old and sick she had to drop her off at the end of the Rainbow Bridge and she was very sad. She had the other kitty for 17 years! (Longer than Rockboy!) But it had been a few months since the other kitty crossed the Rainbow Bridge and Roadchick was thinking that she would like to get another kitty.

When she found out that I was solid black and had short hair, she agreed to let me move into her space. I spent the first car ride home sitting on her shoulder and yowling at the cars going by. When we got home, I met my new big brother, Rockboy. Rockboy is a human bean. He teases me and plays with me and fills my food bowl up for me. He talks to me too, and even dyed his hair black so he could look just like me!

My mom, Roadchick, thinks that I think I am a person. I don't know what she's talking about! Of course I am a person! My mom also thinks it's pretty cool that I will play fetch with a ponytail holder. If she shoots it across the room for me, I'll run and go get it and bring it back so we can do it all over again.

Life is pretty good at the 'chick's house. There are lots of windows so I can watch the birds on Kitty TV and there are lots of soft, comfy places to take a nap. I hate it when my mom and my brother leave in the mornings. I don't know why I can't go with them, but while they're gone, I snoop all over the house and do all the stuff I'm not supposed to do, like laying on the dining room table. I don't know how Mom always knows that I've been up there!

It's hard being Roadchick's cat because I don't really like to ride in the car. The 'chick would take me places but I'm askeered of the car and I don't like to wear a leash although I do wear a collar. I have a cousin named Darkness that belongs to Roadchick's friend Truckman. He rides around in one of those great big trucks all the time! That is where he lives. He has lots of adventures too. He's a guard cat.

I'm an attack cat. My mom wanted to put up another one of my pictures so y'all could see it but Blogger won't let her upload any pictures and she doesn't know why. She said some bad words, but I won't repeat them.

Mom said I have to finish this up now because she has to get to work. Something about making money and stuff like that. I think she worries about working too much - if you wait long enough, someone will always fill up your food bowl.

TGIF

It's Finally Over

Rest in peace, Janet.

Janet March disappeared from Nashville, Tennessee 10 years ago. Her husband, Perry March, was found guilty today of 2nd degree murder, abuse of a corpse, and tampering with evidence. Her family and friends will always miss her but maybe now they can start putting some closure to her disappearance and death. You can read the full story here.

CBS's show, 48 Hours, did a story about the case and you can read about that here.

The 'chick's thoughts and prayers are with her family and friends.

Insomnia and Old Friends

Y'all, the 'chick has been thinking about friendship this morning. She usually does when she has a bout of insomnia and she's got one today.

When the 'chick wakes up at some ungodly hour, like 3 a.m., she's tired and edgy and bored and there is NOTHING on TV at that hour. Books are not acceptable because she winds up a little too involved (maybe due to the fatigue?) in all the emotional rollercoaster stuff going on. Instead, she starts thinking about her friends.

Who hasn't she heard from lately? Who is she playing phone tag with? Who is awake that she could call? (No one, usually.)

For some reason, insomnia makes her chatty - maybe just needing company to know that she's not the only person left in the world, sitting awake and wondering why.

Roadchick has a friend named Fileboy.

Fileboy used to work with the 'chick. He did the filing - see how sharp Roadchick and Fileboy are? His name is entirely appropriate. Fileboy had another job but he did the filing for some extra money.

When Roadchick started working there, Fileboy had already been there for awhile. The corner that was hers was directly adjacent to where Fileboy did his sorting and filing. Roadchick lived in a corner, surrounded by filing cabinets and a couple of skinny partitions that made up her "office" and enclosed her world. At first, the 'chick wasn't too sure about this set-up: very little privacy and no way to block out noise if she was needing to think something out.

She also wasn't too sure about Fileboy - not because there was anything wrong with him or he was putting out "danger" vibes, but just because. . . well, who knows why? Sometimes the 'chick can be a little awkward when meeting someone new, especially if she knows that she is going to wind up spending a great deal of time with that person. (Could that be why she's such a dating nightmare? No, but later on that.)

Slowly. . . slowly, the thaw set in and Fileboy and Roadchick found out that they shared a great deal besides a common wall of file cabinets. Their birthdays were only two days apart. Both Scorpios. Both with a sense of humor that could be as dark as it was wacky and silly. And both able to talk their heads off for 8 hours and not miss a beat.

During the first year, not that long after they met, their birthdays approached. Since their birthdays were only two days apart, it was decided that they would celebrate them together. This was fine with Fileboy and Roadchick.

On the appointed day, Fileboy and Roadchick were in a state of high anticipation. It was Birthday Day. Lunch! Cake! Funny Card(s)! Celebration!

Apparently, the rest of the office had not put quite the thought into the festivities as the 'chick and the 'boy had. Roadchick had already observed at least a birthday or two with the company and knew that some sort of lunch and a cake were the norm. And a card. At least.

Lunchtime approached.

Nothing was mentioned.

Fileboy and Roadchick conferred in whispers, wondering if a big surprise party was planned.

Well, no. There was nothing planned.

Someone else finally realized that whoops! there was a birthday that was supposed to be going on and spread the word.

Rockchick and Fileboy were asked if they'd brought lunch. Well, no, because they were under the impression that a lunch would be provided. Roadchick rummaged in her desk and found a can of soup. Fileboy went to Sonic and got a grilled cheese sandwich. A co-worker made a Kroger run and came back with a cake. And one candle. One candle for Fileboy and Roadchick to blow out together.

The frosting on that cake wound up being the cement that put the final touches on their friendship.

It's been the 'chick's experience that sometimes in life, people are lucky enough to find each other. Friendship can be another kind of soulmate - not the romantic, lovey dovey soulmate that most people dream of, but another, equally satisfying sort of soulmate. The person that you genuinely enjoy with the sense of humor that mirrors your own and the only demand placed upon you is to be present.

Roadchick and Fileboy went on to share some other adventures together before he got an offer on a job out of town and he took it. They've stayed in touch, postcards from him (always unique or quirky) and an occasional package of little things that each of them knew that the other would love. Roadchick sent him a box that had a pocket gnome in it and some other goodies that just said "Fileboy" to her. He sent an airline sized bottle of Skyy Orange Vodka that evidently said "Roadchick" to him. He brought her a swizzle stick from Mr. Pink in New York City.

It's been awhile since the 'chick has heard from Fileboy. Insomnia always seems to bring him to mind and although it was too early to call him and wake him up, it was not too early to sit down and write about a person that touched her life.

Who is the Fileboy in your life? Has it been awhile since you've talked to him or her? The 'chick is tossing out a challenge - get in touch with your Fileboy & let them know you're thinking of them.

Now, on to Other Things

Now that the 'chick has posted the tricksy HTML for the DNA thing...ONWARD!

Update to the Skull In The Basement: the 'chick inquired yesterday and there are no updates from the CSI/Medical Examiner lady. The head has not been returned. The 'chick went to the house for lunch and had a good look 'round, but didn't spot any other skulls or loose body parts. She did not inquire where the leftover roast came from though.

Funny of the morning: This morning, Roadchick and her son, Rockboy, drove through (thru?) McDonald's because you can never have enough greasy goodness in the morning. When the 'chick was driving forward to join the queue at the speaker, she was CUT OFF by a rather large man in a Volvo. Now, y'all - is the Roadchick wrong for thinking that that was not necessary? It's not like McDonald's is going to RUN OUT of food. Not like there is only one McMuffin left in the free world. Anyway.

Because Roadchick has a memory like a Commodore Vic 20 computer, she writes herself little notes about things that she wants to mention here. (Actually, that's kind of sad and pitiful, but let's examine that another day, ok?) There is actually quite a list of stuff and a lot of it has to do with television commercials. (Again, another sad commentary that not only does Roadchick apparently watch a LOT of TV, she also has time to take NOTES (!) about it and save them up like some sort of nuclear squirrel hoard.)

But, with no shame and no pride to get in the way, here we go:

1. Local sign company: Why (why?!?) did you make all of your employees dress up like Coneheads from Saturday Night Live? Why? The 'chick hopes they were richly compensated to make up for the fact that every single living person that knows them has taped or TiVo'd that commercial and will blackmail and ridicule them for the rest of their lives and beyond.

2. Local patio furniture company: "We make your patio furniture dreams come true."
What? People dream about patio furniture? All the 'chick can say about that is...she wants some of whatever y'all are smoking because she has never ONCE dreamed of patio furniture. Ever.

3. Edge Active Care Shaving Gel: An ugly (sort of ugly. not very attractive, anyway.) guy sitting there (or standing, it's been a little bit and apparently, the notes were not as good as she thought) after using this wonderful shaving gel. And then, there are these female hands rubbing all over his face. Eww. It's the creepiness of the disembodied hands that the 'chick doesn't like. That, and the fact that if you use THIS PRODUCT, you too can have creepy female hands all over you because, after all, women base all relationships (personal and sexual) on what shaving gel you're using. Men, take note. Buy this gel - NOW!



4. Jack-In-The-Box: What does the guy inside the head look like? And why does he have regular skin on his hands, not plastic hands?

5. Gatorade: This is a commercial that cracks the 'chick up. The one with the bobble heads running around, playing basketball & the closing line is "Shut your big head up." This has been added to the 'chick's list of sayings.

Other Random Stuff:
One of Roadchick's friends was trying out the Yahoo Personals thing. She had a date with a gentleman the other night. He was not really what she was expecting, but apparently a nice man. Who brought her a HANGING PLANT as a date-gift. To the restaurant. Roadchick cannot top that one. She hopes she can never top that one.

Roadchick's personal home laptop died a slow and smoky death. She had to pull the old desktop computer out of dry dock and hook it up. It's been awhile since she's used it. She forgot that it still runs Windows 95. Slooowwwwwwly. Most of her posting will be done from work. Why? Because the hamster inside the desktop computer is old and tired and Roadchick's patience is being tried this week so she resorts to whacking the computer for being old and slow. Better to not add to the aggravation. Better still would be a winning lottery ticket that would enable her to buy a new laptop or an unemployed computer nerd to do her posting for her. "Boy, take a blog post!" "Yes ma'am, Ms. Roadchick, right away!" Hee!

The 'chick is on the road for work this week, so hopefully some sort of interesting something will happen. It usually does. And the 'chick will be there, notepad in hand, taking notes about it so she can remember to tell y'all about it later on.

The 'chick's DNA

Y'all, this is eerily accurate. Give it a try & see.

Encouraging Creator

You can mouse over the colors in the strip & it gives a little information about how high (or low) the 'chick scored in that area. The 'chick has added her comments in italic type.

You are a Creator

Your imagination, confidence, willingness to explore, and appreciation of beauty make you a CREATOR. It also means that the 'chick gets in trouble pretty regularly.

You are independent, and you enjoy your self-sufficiency. Red, white, and blue right to the bone. And very prone to saying, "No, that's ok, the 'chick doesn't need any help." Stubborn is another way of saying the exact same thing.

Defying convention, you are very innovative, and you have a vivid imagination. Did y'all want the 'chick's autograph?

The look of things is important to you, and you have a keen eye for aesthetic beauty in multiple arenas. NO Harley mirrors in the living room EVER!

You have a strong interest in what is new and exciting—and that includes forging ahead with new ideas, not simply discovering what is already out there. The 'chick is a sucker for infomercials. A sucker. She will BE an infomercial someday.

Your eagerness to seek new and varied experiences leads you into many different situations. T-R-O-U-B-L-E. Heads in basements. Questions by security guards.

You're not set on one way of doing things, and you are creative when it comes to finding novel solutions to complex problems. Duct tape. Crazy glue. Relying on the kindness of strangers.

You trust yourself to be innovative and resourceful. "Oh, it'll work out SOMEHOW."

Your confidence allows you to take your general awareness and channel it into creativity. Channeling. Spirit guides. Muses.

You're not afraid to let your emotions guide you, and you're generally considerate of others' feelings as well. Read: "Should the 'chick buy this pretty pink kleenex? Of course she should! Oh, wait! The mens might be uncomfortable with that."

Generally, you believe that you control your life, and that external forces only play a limited role in determining what happens to you. HA! If that were true, would air conditioners all over town be breaking down???


If you want to be different:

Appreciate the earthly, practical elements of things—there is beauty in form as well. Become ONE with the broom and mop.

While you are good at thinking abstractly, focusing on details a bit more may help you discover things about the world. "The 'chick cannot be overdrawn - she still has checks left. Look! Kitties on the checks!"


How you relate to others:

You are Encouraging

Your outgoing nature, understanding of others, and directness make you ENCOURAGING. And amazingly unpopular at large gatherings . . . directness will get you every time!

You want others to do well for themselves, and you generally believe in their abilities. Do your own work - Roadchick doesn't get paid to do your job too!

You often know what's good for people because of your caring nature and your worldview. Proof: Roadchick should run for public office!

When you care about someone, you don't keep it to yourself: you are good at letting people know that you're thinking of them. One of the Seven Deadly Sins, trust her on this.

Because you trust people, you take violations of that trust very seriously. Never, ever ask a stranger to hold your purse at a concert, even if you do have to pee.

You thrive in social situations, and even though you know who you like and who you don't like, you can interact well with many different types of people. Because she's a Rock Star!

You have a healthy respect for people who have earned what they have, and you strive to be similar to successful others. Role Model: Anna Nicole Smith - NOT!

You are a loyal friend and a good listener. Just ask Auntie Roadchick!

You're not afraid to let your emotions guide you, and you're generally considerate of others' feelings as well. But no crying in line at the grocery store. Ever. Even if the last copy of Oprah is gone.

Generally, you believe that you control your life, and that external forces only play a limited role in determining what happens to you. Again - A/Cs all over town would disagree with that statement.


If you want to be different:

Sometimes, in the course of being encouraging, you can be a bit judgmental—this can make it more difficult for others to follow your advice. Roadchick? Judgmental? Surely not!

While you are an expert at getting the most out of the world and taking advantage of many experiences, you might gain some insight by taking the time to be alone, reflect on things, or just observe the goings-on in the world. Roadchick vants to be alone. She's ready for her close-up, Mr. DeMille.


That little tidbit was too good to wait, so the 'chick wanted to share it. Especially before she lost all the tricksy HTML to make the DNA bar appear.

Sunday Scribblings: Who Else Can Roadchick Still Be?

This is actually a topic that crosses Roadchick's mind pretty frequently. The Roadchick of the future will be a distillation of who she is now.

Popular media has several examples of who the 'chick will be when she is older. Whenever she sees one, she makes sure to point it out to everyone around.

One of these is Maxine.



To the uninitiated, Maxine is a character on a series of greeting cards published by Hallmark Cards. Maxine is a spicy, sassy old gal who has no problem whatsoever making her opinions known. There is not an ounce of political correctness in this old girl.

Another woman that the 'chick will emulate is Medea. Tyler Perry's Medea.



Medea is the charming woman on the left, holding the cast iron skillet. Medea is a no-nonsense, tell-it-like-it-is woman. She has a grasp of language that is as true as it is comical. One of the 'chick's favorite lines from Medea (spoken after someone told Medea not to get smart with them) is as follows:

"I've been smart . . . I'm just getting here."

Medea can see a situation and get to the heart of it immediately. She is loving but strict. She has definite values. She loves her family and friends but will tease them mercilessly. She is loyal. She will do anything for you if she loves you. Cross her or one she loves, and she will pull her gun out of her purse. She believes in women standing up for themselves and taking responsibility for their lives. She meddles and she manages.

Roadchick can see herself as one of the Golden Girls.



She can see parts of herself in each of the characters. Sweet Rose, who is definitely ditzy sometimes. Roadchick has her moments. (Remember - not the brightest bulb on Broadway!) Dorothy - so organized and definitely long-suffering. Blanche, with her string of boyfriends and the "Southernisms" that she drops left and right. But the Golden Girl that the 'chick admires most is Sophia, who kept them all in line and always had a story: "Picture it, Sicily, 1943..." It was Sophia that kept it real no matter what was going on. It was Sophia that was always willing to call it like she saw it.

Roadchick would like to think that she is a woman like that. She knows her friends are definitely her Golden Girls.

What Roadchick wants to be when she grows up is the kind of woman that is strong and funny and loyal and loving. The kind of woman that can tell you that you've got no business wearing that miniskirt/halter top/blue eyeshadow/that haircut at the same time she is feeding everyone in the house. She wants to be the kind of woman that is never afraid to speak up or speak her mind. She wants to have the wisdom of years and not be ashamed to use it. She wants to lose vanity and increase vitality. She wants to earn the face that she has at 40, 50, 60, 70, 80 and beyond.

This is Roadchick's motto:

Life's journey is not to arrive at the grave safely in a well-preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, totally worn out, shouting, "Holy %#*@, what a ride!"

She wants to live every minute and not regret a second of it.

Heads Up!

So, the saga continues. . .

Co-worker returned from letting the dog out and the rest of the story was revealed. While she was there, the medical examiner came and took pictures of the basement and the skull, and for some reason, the front door of the house. Co-worker was not allowed near the backyard where the entrance to the basement is. While the picture taking was going on, she was being questioned by homicide detectives.

Do you live here?
How long have you lived here?
Do you ever go in the basement?
Do you store anything in the basement?

See, now, Patient Reader - that last question - that is the one that would have put Roadchick in handcuffs. She would not have been able to resist (had she known what was going on) saying something along the lines of:

"Just a collection of heads, why?"

The medical examiner, all tripped out on her CSI-like power, left the yard carrying the skull in a brown paper grocery bag. Hee! Riches, I tell you! The only thing that would have made it any better was if there was a big Kroger logo on the side of it!

The neighborhood is safe now - the head is in custody.

There were more details to be had though, and y'all, it just gets better and better!

The landlord who is out of town, knew that the head was down there! When he was packing up his dad's stuff after his dad passed away, the head was already in the collection and for some reason - he KEPT it and just put it in a box and stored the box in the basement of the rental house. Do ya think he might have mentioned that to someone? Just maybe? "Um, hey, y'all - just so you know - there's a skull in a box down there, so don't freak out."

Then Roadchick started wondering - did the skull belong to the dad....or was it Dad's skull? If you see where the 'chick is going with that...

The whole scenario has led to jokes all day long - how many phrases can you think of containing the word "head"? As it turns out, quite a few!

Co-worker commented, upon seeing the medical examiner leaving with the head in a grocery bag, "Well, she's off with the head." (The detectives were not amused. Roadchick was greatly amused.)

Other comments included:

-Don't get aHEAD of yourself.
-I'm HEADing out now.
-aHEAD of the pack.
-use your HEAD.
-that's such a HEAD trip.

and a few others that have escaped Roadchick but she may come back and add them if she remembers.

Co-worker has been christened "Gacy" since she's got parts of dead bodies in her basement.

Apparently, to get TMI out of your head....it actually takes a HEAD!

If There Is a Skull in Your Basement

. . . You might just be a redneck.

Just when the 'chick was despairing, endless TMI tapes playing in her head, she was given a Gift.

What Gift? The Gift of this Story, entirely true, and playing out as the 'chick types:

One of Roadchick's co-workers went home to let her dog out before going to lunch. When she got to her house, there were forty-eleven police cars all around her house. She approached cautiously to see what was going on.

The A/C at her house had not been working. (Yes, Patient Reader, Roadchick visited her last week, don't even go there.) The nice man from the A/C place came over to fix it. There was ductwork out of place in the basement so he was down there, doing whatever one does to misplaced ductwork to make it all better. In the process of doing this, he set his roll of tape on top of a box. The tape fell into the box and somehow the whole thing fell over.

Mr. A/C Man opens up the box to get his tape back and grinning up at him is. . .



a skull.

Naturally, he didn't much like that. He called the police who sent out forty-eleven cars.

While all of this was going on, Roadchick's co-worker appeared and was asked questions. As it turns out, the skull is not new. Oh no. Not new at all. She called the landlord and he was able to shed a little light on the subject. It seems that his father used to be the coroner and the house had belonged to him.

Ok...now, the 'chick is thinking that it's starting to sound like an explanation, but what she isn't understanding is. . . since when do coroners keep souvenirs???

Updates will follow as more information becomes available!

TMI

Lately, just lately, Roadchick has been overhearing conversations. This is not something she set out to do, it's just something that's happened. Not to say that she didn't listen in once the overhearing started of course...just that she was not intentionally eavesdropping. Not droppin' no eaves on purpose.

Y'all - please - if it's not something you'd tell your mama, don't tell it in the line at Kroger. Please. Please. And if it is something you'd tell your mama but it involves bodily fluids of any sort - please, don't tell it in the line at Kroger.

Oh, and by the way? That cell phone that you're talking on? We can still hear YOUR end of the conversation. Just a little heads up for ya.

The 'chick is a little bit cranky today and she's not exactly sure why but she suspects that it has something to do with being on the receiving end of TOO MUCH INFORMATION.

Y'all know what TMI is, don't you? TMI is when you go into a little too much detail about any given subject although it's usually perpetrated in conversations related to sex, illness, or bodily functions.

It's telling someone that you don't know that well exactly what it was like having sex with your ex-wife. It's being privy to all the gory details of someone's recent bout with an intestinal virus. It's the auditory equivalent of sneezing on someone's sandwich and not even apologizing.

The biggest problem that the 'chick is having with TMI is that once she's been given the information SHE CAN'T GET IT OUT OF HER HEAD. Last night, the 'chick was chatting on the phone to one of the boys - just a friendship boy - and he felt it necessary to give the full details on his sex life with his ex-wife. Roadchick feels as though she has spiders walking around in her head now. It was WAY more than she ever wanted to know - ever. She is not exactly sure how she is supposed to face him now. It makes her squirmy. Eww.

It's the flashback, people! Roadchick is going about her day, happily, doing this and doing that and WHAM!...there it is again. How to stop the flashback???

It's like getting a song stuck in your head - for some reason, the main offender in this category for Roadchick is Uncle John's Band, either the Grateful Dead version or the Jimmy Buffet version - it does not matter. (Oh great, now that is rattling around too, like some freaky porn soundtrack - not pretty, y'all, not a BIT pretty.)

It's almost time for lunch in Roadchick's world - she may have to drink her lunch today. Maybe that will erase the memory.

(Note to all: No, Roadchick does NOT drink at lunch although the way the day is working out, she is beginning to wish she did.)

No news....no, really - NO NEWS

Y'all, Roadchick is in a slump. For the past couple of days, nothing has been happening - well, nothing interesting anyway and the 'chick has nothing to report.

This is sad.

However, you will notice that it does NOT stop the 'chick from posting an entry. This is the electronic version of talking to hear herself speak. Posting to see herself type.

The spell of bad luck / funky mojo / born under a bad sign continues pretty much unabated.

On Saturday, the 'chick woke up and thought to herself, "Huh, that's odd - lower back pain." And promptly IGNORED this warning and went on about her day, cleaning and fiddling around the house.

People, do not do this. This is stupidity.

On Sunday, the 'chick woke up and thought to herself, "Huh, the pain's not too bad - just a little sore and stiff." And promptly IGNORED this warning and helped Best Friend move some furniture and stuff.

People, do not do this. This is stupidity.

On Monday, the 'chick woke up and thought to herself, "Oh wow - sitting up has become an impossible task - this is not good." And Roadchick tried to ignore it and got up and went to work and wound up standing on her feet for 6 out of 8 hours.

People, do not do this. This is insanity.

So, now it's Tuesday. The 'chick woke up and thought to herself, "Don't want to get up - ~whine~ - it hurts - ~whine~ - whyever does the Roadchick deserve this? ~whine~"
No, it's not necessary to point out that at this point, the pain is pretty much self-inflicted. Just hush up.

The 'chick has taken her car in to have the A/C fixed. The good news in the cesspool of the 'chick's life is that. . . the A/C work is actually covered under the extended warranty. (Will wonders never cease?) And a rental car is covered if the work cannot be finished today. The bad news is - Roadchick has been at work since 6:15 a.m. and she is ready to go home and she can't because she doesn't have a car. ~whine~ And the wrong part has been ordered but they still may be able to get the right part and get it installed, and . . . and . . .and

And what they don't understand is that Roadchick is ready to go home RIGHT NOW.

(Patient Reader, aren't you glad that Roadchick absolutely doesn't mind writing posts that contain absolutely nothing of value and no humor whatsoever??? Of course you are.)

Hmm, what else that is not news???

The eHarmony thing - Roadchick did some house cleaning there also. Haven't heard from you in a reasonable amount of time? You are SO closed out. The 'chick is emailing a little bit with a couple of guys - they're nice so far but not near the meeting up stages yet. Besides, the horoscope for Scorpio today said to put off meeting "new interests" for a few days. Considering the state of her back - she ain't meetin' no one, no how. Sitting up for very long is painful and laying down might just give the wrong impression. Ya think???

Hee.

Roadchick just found out that her car will not be ready today. But, the nice man at Carmax arranged for a rental car if Roadchick would just call this number . . .
So, Roadchick called the number and the man on the other end said yes indeedy, a rental car could be had. What kind of car did the 'chick want? He seemed a little disappointed when Roadchick told him she wanted whatever $25 per day would get her, since that is what is covered on the warranty.

Roadchick has the feeling that she is going to be driving home in a Yugo. Hopefully it will have an automatic transmission because the last time that she drove a manual, she was 16 and was NONE TOO GOOD AT IT then. Dangerously bad. Scary bad. And that was on flat land, not hill country like she lives in now.

Say a prayer and stay off of I-65.

Natural Habitat

One of Roadchick's favorite blog writers, Crazy Aunt Purl, mentioned once that she loves to see where other writers live, their natural habitat, as it were.

Roadchick agrees. This is fun of the highest level - to be able to "see" where someone lives and writes. She imagines this is why MTV's Cribs is so popular. Or Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous.

Now, the 'chick cannot claim enough fame and riches to warrant a spot with Lifestyles, and she isn't musical enough to warrant time on Cribs, so, Patient Reader, instead. . .

Welcome to Bloghomes of the Poor and Aspiring!

The 'chick lives in the Nashville, Tennessee area. (Note to crazy stalkers: Roadchick is poor. And crazy. And possibly armed with guns. And an attack cat. And, apparently, a toilet that will BITE you!)

Attack cat

In the interest of maintaining at least the impression of security and not-stupidness, Roadchick will not show you the outside of her house. It's a typical Tennessee house of the new construction variety. Brick. (Note to crazy stalkers: with an electric security fence. And laser-guided weapons.)

Roadchick has moved through many, many phases in interior decorating. When she first moved out on her own, the house that she lived in was basically, a Florida beach shack. Except it wasn't on the beach. (High shackiness, low beachiness) This house lent itself to a "country" style of decor. The fact that Roadchick and the now-former Mr. Roadchick were flat BROKE and relied on the kindness of relatives also influenced the "country" decor. Roadchick suspects that she would not have purchased the dark brown velour hide-a-bed sofa in the Early American Style if it had been up to her. Still, free, and better than sitting on the floor. To complement her "country" house, Roadchick developed an unnatural affection for cows. Black and white cows. (Shut up, she was 18.) And "country" blue. And...things of that nature.

(Although, Patient Reader, Roadchick did have [and still has] a kick-ass collection of antique tins. . .old tobacco tins, baking powder, etc.)

When she first moved to TN, she lived in an apartment and unfortunately, the whole country thing continued. However, the Early American sofa did not make the trip. Thank goodness. But now, things shifted a little. Cows were still entertaining but not nearly as aesthetically pleasing as sunflowers and watermelon. After all - Tennessee! Country music! Mountains! Country girl! Low decorating budget! Walmart!

Shut up.

No, really.

Moving to a house in TN, the 'chick started to come into her own. The country decor was slowly pared down and Roadchick discovered that she liked things a little more minimalistic and not quite so fussy and frou-frou and needing to be dusted. There were more earth colors, stone, and smooth lines.

Now, Patient Reader, do not take this to mean that she had free rein because the now former Mr. Roadchick had ideas of his own with regard to decorating. And, it tried the 'chick's patience. For, you see, his idea of interior decorating was to put the "good" Harley mirror in the living room. Roadchick has nothing against Harley mirrors. But perhaps not in the living room. A den, sure. An office, maybe. The garage, possibly.

When the now former Mr. Roadchick packed his U-Haul and left, he took the Harley mirrors and Roadchick started considering her options.

The change was gradual. With her first income tax refund, she went living room furniture shopping. And fell in love. Head over heels in love.

With what, you ask?

Mid-Century Modern. With an unholy affection for vintage barware. And anything martini-related.

Roadchick suspects that she belonged in the 50's and 60's. This is what she found:



Over time, it's evolved but the 'chick has to say that right now, at this very moment in time, her habitat definitely reflects her style and personality and she absolutely LOVES it.

She had always suspected that she really, really liked black and white photography, especially of nature and architecture. It turned out to be true! Imagine that!

She had always suspected that she might be a little "quirky". And when she started finding tacky souvenir crap from the 60s, it was proven to be true. But, people, how could she NOT bring home the four monkeys? See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil, and have no fun? A souvenir of Las Vegas, Nevada? She could no more leave those monkeys languishing in the hot noonday sun of a yard sale than she could sprout wings and fly. Or those funny little plates with witty little sayings: "I'm not a fast cook; I'm not a slow cook, I'm a half-fast cook." (Say it out loud if you're not gettin' it.) Deliciousness. And quirky. Very, very quirky.





So, Patient Reader, hopefully that will help you envision where the 'chick is when she's writing to you. You will be able to imagine her in the wild.

Actually, there is one more picture that the 'chick will share with you. It is her daytime habitat at work. Well, part of it - the other part is inside her car but you can't see that until she cleans it up a little. But, Roadchick digresses. Here is the Roadchick's office:



Be sure to tune in next time when Roadchick will . . . well, there's just no telling what you might wind up with next time.

A Letter to the Universe

Dear Universe,

Roadchick would like to withdraw her remarks from yesterday, titled as hot, Hot HOT! She cannot be sure, but has a sneaking suspicion that her comments may have irked Someone in the Great Celestial Above and for that, she is most sorry. She apologizes. She abases herself before you.

She thought that the A/C going out wherever she went was annoying. And uncomfortable. She thought that plans due a full 23 days earlier was enough to rend garments and tear her hair. She was wrong. She was so, so wrong.

Universe, Roadchick is having the respect now. Oh, yes. Lot and lots of respect. She will not complain anymore. (Much.) (Well, she will try not to.)

Roadchick has learned her lesson - the cell phone that kept mysteriously shutting itself off and telling her "No Service". . . the near side-swiping that she managed to avoid on the interstate . . . the client that is refusing to move into a lovely three bedroom home and now wants an entirely new residential agency. . .

But, Universe, while all those things are horrid enough . . .more than adequate to get the 'chick's attention . . .it was the thing that happened to her first thing this morning that has caused her to learn her lesson and learn it well.

Universe, it was not a bit funny for Roadchick's toilet seat to BREAK first thing this morning. When she was still mostly asleep. And only wanting to have a pee. It's not nice for the whole thing to come apart in her hands and then FALL to UNUSABLE pieces on the floor.

Roadchick is sorry. She will no longer complain. She will be kind to bunnies and kitties and the people that try her patience. (Yes, Universe, she knows that she was already kind to bunnies and kitties.) (Yes, Universe, she is aware that the odds of her being kind to the people that try her patience are about as likely as her TOILET SEAT miraculously repairing iteself and returning to usable form.)(But she will try.)

If you have any messages for Roadchick, you will be able to find her, hiding underneath her bed, where it is safe, if somewhat dusty.

Sincerely,
Roadchick

Sunday Scribblings: Who Else Might Roadchick Have Been?

To Roadchick, this is a funny question. Why, you ask? Because Roadchick is so many people - no, not in that scary Sybil-like way with multiple personalities...although catch her at the wrong time of the month...oh -too much information, isn't it?

Roadchick has been blessed with an active imagination. Over-active at times. Roadchick has been known to walk through an airport pretending to herself that yes, she is indeed, with the band. What band, you ask? Why, whatever band you think she is with - she will agree. She has even signed autographs before on exactly that sort of assumption.

(Allow Roadchick to take a moment to apologize to whoever is in possession of that scrawled signature - it is NOT worth anything on eBay. Diddly. Squat. And, there is no such person, living or dead, known as Scarlett Satin. And you should have known better. And you should not have encouraged Roadchick in that manner. Or bribed her with beers. Or told her that you had seen her in concert.)

Roadchick is a Reader. She will read anything. No, really - anything. She has been known to come home from flea markets lugging out-of-date textbooks to read. Fiction, non-fiction, it truly does not matter.

Because Roadchick is a Reader, she can lose herself in the story. She has been on the Decatur Road with Scarlett O'Hara. She has been there with Siddalee Walker when Vivi Walker was whipping all the kids with a belt. She has been Lusa Landowski chasing luna moths and missing her dead husband. She has travelled with Ford Prefect. She has cowered in the back of Professor Snape's potions class, hoping that he would not call on her.

Active imagination.
Too active, sometimes.

As Roadchick reflects on all the people she has been, it occurs to her that along with an over-active imagination, she also has Delusions of Grandeur. Because when she is someone else, it is always someone more famous than she is.

She is the Rock Star. She is the Locations Scout. She is the Travel Author. She is Somebody, and darn it, you'd better get to the appreciatin' pretty dang quick.

She is on her way to rehearsal. She is on her way to Somewhere Foreign. (Never mind that it's a domestic flight to Tampa.) She is On Assignment.

Patient Reader, please do not take this to mean that Roadchick is not happy with who she is. Roadchick is proud of who she is and what she does. But...she has to admit...that sometimes, just sometimes, it's really a blast to walk to the front of a line at a club and be admitted on sheer pretense. (And an ounce of pretension is worth a pound of bulls#&t.)

So if you're ever going through the airport and are tempted to ask for an autograph - do. You just never know if it might be the 'chick, livin' large.

hot, Hot, HOT!

Y'all, can Roadchick vent? Just for a little minute? Because, Roadchick has had just about all she is going to stand.

What has got the 'chick's panties in a wad? There are numerous, numerous things.

You want more details? Roadchick will be happy to oblige.

Y'all - it's HOT.
Screeching, roasting, brain-meltingly HOT.
The 'chick does not do extremes of temperature well.
So, because the heat makes her unbelievably cranky...

The A/C in Roadchick's car is not working. As in: non-operational. As in: ain't workin.

Because, apparently, A/C isn't supposed to work when it's this hot.

And because it's scorching hot and the A/C isn't working, Roadchick was volunteered to drive about 50 miles (in THIS heat!) to a meeting for work. And expected to look polished and presentable when she arrived. And to conduct herself like the professional that she has fooled her bosses into thinking she is. And remain coherent and somewhat intelligent (no - do NOT go there) and present plans and offer suggestions and formalize agreements.

Now, y'all know that Roadchick was scheming on how to arrive and not look like she had been clobbered with a sweat-bomb. So, a skirt. Hiked up to hooker length in the car for maximum coolness. The truck drivers LOVED this. Roadchick knows. She has never received so many horn-honkings or thumbs ups in her life.

She survived the meeting. Her notes are garbled and sweaty, but with today's forensic technology, she should be able to decipher them. (She should be deciphering them now, but, ~whine~, she's hot and doesn't want to.)

She returned to her office in lovely NashVegas to be greeted with the announcement that the building's A/C is not working. Well, it's kind of working, but not really. So they're SHUTTING IT OFF. People, this is absolutely NOT allowed. It's 98 kajillion degrees outside.

Once again, Roadchick is starting to take this personally. Apparently A/C outages are following Roadchick like the plague. "Don't let her come over - your A/C will mysteriously stop working!"

Oh, and the plan? From the meeting that Roadchick just went to? That plan? The one that Roadchick thought was due on September 1? Wrong.

IT'S DUE ON AUGUST 7TH. EXACTLY 4 DAYS (2 WEEKEND DAYS INCLUDED) FROM THIS VERY MINUTE. ~sigh~

In related chaos-driven news, Roadchick has to go to her mother's house on the way home from work today. There is a letter that needs to be typed and Roadchick is expected to stop (in THIS heat!), make polite conversation, fend off offerings of items that her mother no longer wants (No, Mom, really, Roadchick does not need ceramic ducks. But thank you.), be instructed on how to properly and correctly type a letter (as if Roadchick doesn't type all day long, for MONEY), and finally escape, feeling as though the hounds of hell are on her heels.

And then return the next day, typed letter in hand with 7 copies, all properly addressed. (In THIS heat.)

Hee.

Roadchick is losing her patience, not that she had much to begin with. She is beginning to dream, longingly, of the lovely mental hospital tucked into a bend of the river in Chattanooga. Because, you see, Patient Reader, she has a feeling that their A/C is working and if it isn't? There's plenty of Thorazine to go around so you won't even care.

Oh, The Shame

Y'all - Roadchick HAS to apologize! She is stupid. She is technically inept. Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea culpa!!!

What is Roadchick babbling on about, you ask?

Patient Reader, Roadchick IS an idiot.

She was feeling like the red-headed stepchild, not feelin' the love...no one leaving comments about ANY of her posts...

(Remember - NOT the brightest bulb on Broadway!) (This phrase ~sigh~ is probably going to be repeated again and again and again...there may need to be a contest or something.)

She FORGOT (COMPLETELY FORGOT!!) that she has to "moderate" her comments and allow them to post and guess what folks??? Yep, that would be right - never occurred to her. Not one little bit. She was even moping and sulky about it. Needing medication over it.

Roadchick, shamefully, has the feeling that she just might be contributing to the dumb blonde stereotype. It is entirely possibly that the stereotype was created because of Roadchick.

So, Patient Reader - please, please accept Roadchick's most sincere apology for not posting your lovely (!) comments sooner.