Ice, Cubed

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

Movin' on Up

The 'chick has moved.

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

Kind of.
But not really.

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

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




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

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

Anyway, housewarming party at the 'chick's.

Bring nice gifts! And more beer.

Eat This

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

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

Sauce:

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

Yo' Mama's White Sauce:

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

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

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

Enjoy! (And serve something minty for dessert.)

It's a Dirty Job

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

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

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

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

The best present? Better than a free oil change?

He washed, waxed, and detailed the entire car.

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

He cleaned the windows - inside AND out.

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

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

It made the 'chick a little swoony.

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

*g*

Inner Dork, Unleashed

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

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

Not so.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No Diving

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

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

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

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

Except.

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

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

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

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

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

"Not if we have pool parties."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dripping With Insight

And not particularly funny.

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

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

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

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

Anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Before the grudge comes the test.

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

Advice and therapy in comments.

The Urge to Merge

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

How, you ask?

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

The left lane continues, the right lane ends.

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

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

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

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

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

Dude has not bargained on Roadchick.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Life is sweet, ain't it?

The Answer

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

Maybe, maybe not.

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

Disgruntled

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or else.

Hug 'Em Tight

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


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

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

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

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

Rest in Peace, Roy, from Roadchick and Speedbump.

Down At The Station

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And how was YOUR 4th of July???

Independence!

Maybe Kid Rock said it best:

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

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

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

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

Truer Words Were Never Spoken. . .

Seen at the Demolition Derby.

Rated

Mingle² - Online Dating

Danger Will Robinson!

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

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

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

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

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

What the fuck?

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

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

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

WAIT!

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

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

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

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

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

For the love . . .

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

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

Except.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Never mind that the 'chick had other activities planned.

So . . . the triangle?

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

Rest easy.

The Free World is safe.

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

This Is The Way We Wash Our Clothes

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

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

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

So, time to do the laundry.

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

The 'chick was sorting laundry into piles.

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

All this looked pretty normal to Redneck.

Then his gaze wandered to another pile.

"What's all that?"

"Panties and bras."

"But there is enough for two loads there."

"Yeah - so?"

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

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

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

Blank look from Roadchick.

Silence from Roadchick.

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

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

An Open Letter

Dear Swimwear Designer,

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

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

The tops. Where to begin?

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

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

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

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

Let the 'chick give you an example.

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

Your assistance would be greatly appreciated by women everywhere.

Sincerely,

Roadchick

Midsummer's Night Dream

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

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

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

~ Tasha Tudor, from The Private World of Tasha Tudor

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

Take joy.

Roughin' It

Are we there yet?

Y'all, that is what the trip to Gatlinburg and the trip back from Gatlinburg was like for the 'chick.

It's been a LOOOOONG time since she's had to travel with a nine-year-old boy.

It's funny how easy it is to forget that boys are never quiet and never still. They are difficult to amuse for less than $9 kazillion dollars a day. They always want to eat. They don't want to visit "Sites Of Interest". They want to race go-karts.

(Actually, Roadchick wanted to race go-karts too, so she can't say too much about that one.)

The "family" trip to Gatlinburg included a free place to stay - Best Friend's husband works in Knoxville during the week and offered to let the Roadie Crew use his apartment over the weekend. Being a typical man, away from the tender loving care of his wife, his apartment contained the following:

Navy blue leather recliner, used
TV tray
End table
TV on end table
Stereo (on floor)
DVD/VCR combo (on floor)
6000 VHS movies (on floor)
4 DVD movies (on floor)
Air mattress
3 plastic food storage containers
3 plastic glasses
Jello pudding snacks
Hot dogs
3 towels
Bar of soap
Toilet paper, 1-ply

But, it was free and it was quiet and more than adequate for the 'chick's purposes. She did not go to the mountains to sit in an apartment. And it was free. And close to a Hooter's (which was probably a big selling point to Best Friend's husband).

Unfortunately, all fun things must come to an end and the 'chick had to return to work. And that's exactly what it's been - work. A LOT of work. The 'chick hasn't seen the inside of her Nashville office in what seems like weeks and there's no telling when it will get better.

Good news is, the 'chick has entered the 21st century. Her lovely, wonderful bosses bought her a new laptop that has wireless. Amazing. Amazing technology. It's wonderful. Wonderfully amazing.

The 'chick's neighbors would likely be amazed to know that the 'chick's new laptop picks up their wireless signal when she is at home, perched on her bed, trying to finish up notes and reports. Makes life wonderfully simple, really.

It's nice to have good neighbors.

Overheard

Redneck, Roadchick, and the boys went to Gatlinburg last weekend.

Overheard from the back seat:

Skaterboy (age 9): I want a tattoo.

Rockboy (age 17): Of what?

Skaterboy: A naked lady.

Rockboy: Where are you going to put it?

Skaterboy: On my muscle.

Rockboy: Well, when you get a muscle, we'll get you a tattoo.

Word Up

Roadchick -- [adjective]: Sexually stunning 'How will you be defined in the dictionary?' at QuizGalaxy.com

Road Food

Heather tagged the 'chick for the local food meme, and since it was easier than coming up with an entry on her own, the 'chick is playing along.

1. Add a direct link to your post below the name of the person who tagged you. Include the city/state and country you’re in.
Nicole (Sydney, Australia)
velverse (Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia)
LB (San Giovanni in Marignano, Italy)
Selba (Jakarta, Indonesia)
Olivia (London, England)
ML (Utah, USA)
Lotus (Toronto, Canada)
tanabata (Saitama, Japan)
Andi (Dallas [ish], Texas, United States)
Todd (Louisville, Kentucky, United States)
miss kendra (los angeles, california, u.s.a)
Jiggs Casey (Berkeley, CA, USA! USA! USA!)
Tits McGee (New England, USA)
Kat (Ontario, Canada)
Cheezy (London, England)
Paula (Orange County, California, U.S.)
Jeff (Colorado, USA)
Fringes (around Houston, US)
Tera (Somewhere In KY by way of OH, USA)
heather (upstate new york, usa)
Roadchick (Nashville, TN, USA)

2. List your top five local eating places.

1. Waffle House. At least once per weekend. Open 24 hrs. No additional charge for the floor show.

2. River View Restaurant & Marina (no link available). Located on the Cumberland River in Ashland City, TN, this place serves some of the best catfish the 'chick has ever eaten. Their marina is also where the river tour boat docks for a 90 minute sightseeing cruise of the Cumberland River. Good times, y'all.

3. Sitar. The BEST Indian restaurant in Nashville. The chicken tikka masala makes the 'chick weep with gratitude. The firni (flavored custard milk pudding with pistachios and almonds) and kheer (rice pudding flavored with cardamom) is the perfect ending to a blazing hot meal.

4. Olive Garden. Yeah, it's a chain. But when you're needing some Italian comfort food, there's nothing better. The salad and breadsticks are delicious. It's a carb-fest and the 'chick is not ashamed, damn it!

5. Frank's Hamburger (no link available). Located in Clarksville, TN, Frank's was knocked flat during a tornado that hit downtown Clarksville. Frank was discovered by rescue teams still in the destroyed restaurant, sitting on a box, drinking a cup of coffee. Local business owners could not contemplate a world without Frank's and donated the money to rebuild. This is possibly one of the best cheeseburgers ever. Nothing fancy here - sit at the counter, order, eat, and get the hell out because the doors close at 2 p.m. But it's a tradition, and you should partake of traditions whenever you can.

The 'chick is not going to tag anyone, but if you're interested in joining the herd, feel free. Let the 'chick know in comments so she can come check out where YOU like to eat.

Shameful!

Darlings, Auntie Roadchick has been neglecting you and she knows it. She has the shame and embarrassment over her lack of communication. Of course she has wonderful reasons for her absence, but the truth of the matter is - the 'chick has sucked lately at keeping her little corner of Blogistan updated and current.

To those that have wondered - yes, Rockboy is alive and well and even manages to escape his closet from time to time. He took Girlfriend to the prom a couple of weekends ago and footed the bill for the whole excursion. The 'chick took him to pick up his tux at the rental place and he went into the cubicle to try it on. Apparently the person that measured him had just come back from his afternoon crack break because the pants were three inches too small in the waist. This led the tux man to inform the 'chick that new pants could be delivered but it would be late in the afternoon before they arrived. Needless to say, the 'chick did not accept this news very well. Not very well at all. And led to discussions (somewhat heated on the 'chick's part) regarding time factors and discounts and just generally losing her rabbit-ass mind in full view of the tuxedo-renting public. Redneck had wisely decided to just stay at home and have a nap while the 'chick ran this little errand. He was torn between being glad he missed it and hating the fact that he missed it. He should know by now - nap in the car. You never know what might happen.

Redneck took the 'chick to the Renaissance Festival last weekend and a good time was had by all. The 'chick is not one to dress up in a costume, mainly because she is too cheap to buy one - a gorgeous little number was for sale - for $568.00. Shoes not included. But there was shopping and eating and watching the entertainers and talking to different people and taking pictures (still in the camera) and betting on the joust. Fun times.

Always several weeks behind the times, (writing about the Ren Fest reminded her) - wasn't it so cool that the Queen of England was at the Kentucky Derby? Kid Rock was also at the Kentucky Derby. Roadchick plans on being at the Kentucky Derby next year.

The Job has been absolutely insane. Off-the-chain crazy. People getting fired, people quitting, people getting pregnant and planning maternity leaves (no, not the 'chick although it looks like that might be the ONLY way she is going to GET a vacation this year) . . . so far this month, the 'chick has driven approximately 4 gazillion miles between three different offices.

And, on the homefront, there is something very seriously wrong.

If you eating, you may want to skip this part.

The 'chick has been doing Spring Cleaning.

Why? There is no good answer for that. Possibly in preparation to paint the walls some other color than "Resale White". The 'chick and Rockboy have lived in this house for 6 years. It's time to paint.

The painter man came over on Tuesday to give the 'chick an estimate on painting the living room and front hallway. The living room has 14 foot ceilings that the 'chick can't reach which is why she wants someone with tall ladders to do it.

The cost?

$900.00 and three days.

After picking her jaw up off the floor, the 'chick declined. It does NOT take three days. After the first day, the other two days will be spent watching cable and checking out what's in the fridge, freezer, pantry, and the 'chick's "special" drawer. And for $900.00, there had better be a hot dinner on the table when the 'chick gets home.

And it better be served by someone a whole lot more attractive than painter man.

Manic Monday

The Universe is trying the 'chick's patience today.

Things that shouldn't be that big of a deal are causing the 'chick to grit her teeth and take many, many deep breaths to clear the red fog of rage that is threatening to erupt and kill the Stupid Ones.

The State requested information to follow up on some things found during a routine review of a client's chart. This is a standard happening and not a big deal. The 'chick responded, because that is her job.

One issue that was raised regarded hearing loss.

An extensive, sedated hearing test was performed. Diagnosis? Neural hearing loss. No response to stimuli.

The State, in its infinite wisdom, emailed the 'chick back.

"Does this mean that nothing can be done?"

The 'chick's imagined response: Nothing can be done unless the Lord Jesus comes down from heaven and lays hands upon the client. He is deaf. As the previous response very clearly stated.

The 'chick's real response was nicer and kinder and involved a lot of technical jargon.

The 'chick's imagined response was much more direct and to-the-point.

Idiots, just lookin' for death.

Fiddlin' on a Friday

Sorry about the over-lappage on the sidebar, but the snow leopard is so seriously tough that the 'chick decided to leave it alone.

You can click on the picture and it will take you to the movie's website where you can discover your own daemon. The 'chick didn't know anything at all about this movie until she clicked on someone else's daemon, but now she is ridiculously excited that this movie is coming out in December.

Still busy as hell for work.

Still exhausted and so, so glad it's Friday.

Rockboy's prom is tomorrow so there will be festivities for the prom-going couple. He rented a tux (with his OWN money) and bought girlfriend a corsage (with his OWN money).

Roadchick and Redneck are hoping for a quiet weekend, hopefully spent watching movies and just relaxing for awhile. Oh wait - that falls into the BORING category, but to be honest, boring is all that the 'chick has energy for right now. It's entirely possible that a med adjustment is needed because the last time she was this tired, it turned out her thyroid was out of whack and she needed to start taking some meds. Well, that kind of fell into the TMI category, didn't it?

Here's hoping you have a fabulous weekend, no matter what you choose to do.

Typhoid Michael

Michael, over at
Cardiac Fantasies, has come down with pneumonia. Pneumonia good enough to land him in the hospital for a little vacation.

Y'all send him a little love & good wishes.

Michael, if they break out the "good" drugs, you'd better call the 'chick.

Or else.

Roadchick's Last Name

Dear Patient Reader:

Yes, Roadchick has a last name, just like the Oscar Mayer jingle says. And, apparently, her last name is BORING.

Some of it can be attributed to spring fever. Some of it falls into the category of: Insanely Busy at Work. Unfortunately, most of it is due to her last name.

Roadchick is boring.

Roadchick didn't used to be boring. Past blog posts attest to that. She used to be witty and fun and amusing. There was always something going on. Sometimes it was even legal.

Now?

Now, Roadchick is the equivalent of an old married lady without the old or married part. Being in a relationship has evidently (somewhat) tamed the 'chick. Roadchick and Redneck have settled into a routine of sorts, and it's comfortable and they like it and are too lazy to bother changing it much since everyone is happy.

There is . . . ~gasp~ stability.

And, boringness.

Maybe now that the weather has improved, Redneck and Roadchick will be getting out a little bit more. Maybe something interesting will happen. Maybe.

The suggestion box is open.

Breaking News

Not Dead

Just hideously busy for work, y'all.

Back soon - pinky swear!

Signalling for Jesus

Roadchick's job involves a lot of time on the road. The novelty of this wore off a long time ago, so the 'chick has developed some strategies to amuse herself during a day spent in the car.

Books on CD are good for the longer drives. Interrupting other people's work days with cell phone calls provides some amusement. Singing along with music CDs can provide some welcome distraction. And, the 'chick loves billboards and bumper stickers.

The other day, while sitting in traffic at a stop light, the 'chick was checking out the bumper stickers on the cars around her. Lots of George Bush lovers and haters. Lots of honor students. One woman's bumper sticker proclaimed she loved her weiner.

At the next light, a different car was in front of the 'chick. His bumper sticker invited the 'chick to "Honk if she loved Jesus".

Since it was so close to Easter, and being in a rather holy frame of mind, the 'chick cheerfully honked her horn.

The driver immediately stuck his arm out the window and flipped her off.

The 'chick is getting a bumper sticker that says: You're Making Baby Jesus Cry.

Nigella . . . Bites

Roadchick is a FoodTV addict. Until a couple of weeks ago, the only time she could feed this addiction was at Redneck's house, since the 'chick absolutely refuses to pay for "good" cable. While her "basic" cable package includes 20 channels, including all the church and shopping one could hope for, it does not include FoodTV.

One afternoon, for no good reason whatsoever, the 'chick decided it would be a good idea to re-program her TV channels. Why? Perhaps the muse of FoodTV was whispering in her ear. As the TV flashed through all the channels the 'chick knew she had: 2 through 22, church and shopping at no extra charge, the 'chick wandered off to get a drink.

When she came back, the TV was finished with whatever it does to re-program channels. Just for giggles, the 'chick clicked her way through, one channel at a time. The channels did not stop at 22. They jumped from 22 to 78. On channel 78, Rachel Ray was busy working her way through a 30-Minute Meal. The 'chick sat down.

Two hours later, she got up. All her old friends were back: Rachel, Paula, Alton, Emeril. (The 'chick is on a first name basis. You understand.)

Rockboy was ecstatic. Rockboy knows that when his mama watches FoodTV, there will be meals. Roadchick will cook things. From scratch. Voluntarily.

On Easter Sunday, while the 'chick was cooking dinner for 14 people, Nigella Lawson came on at noon. Usually, at noon on Sunday, the 'chick is having breakfast with Redneck, or on her way somewhere - far away from the TV.

Nigella, with her delightful English accent, was explaining her concept of "Temple Food". Basically, what this meant was eating healthy, lightly cooked foods, mostly of Vietnamese or Thai recipes. Lots of fruit. Lots of vegetables.

It is entirely Nigella's fault that the 'chick stopped at the grocery store on her way home from work last night, to buy the following:

*apples
*carrots
*cucumbers
*celery
*yogurt (Sidenote: If you have a Publix nearby - RUN to the dairy department and buy some honey almond yogurt. Words cannot describe how delicious it is.)

It is also entirely Nigella's fault that the 'chick fully intends to consume at least one container of yogurt while reclining in a bath, lit by candles.

Not to worry, Patient Reader. This fad will only last as long as it takes to consume the lot - a few days. By then, Ace of Cakes will be on and the 'chick will be under the impression that she is actually a pastry chef.

Let them eat cake!

We Are Honored

Apparently what it takes to get the 'chick to actually sit down and WRITE a post are gifts and awards. The gifts have been a little slow in coming, but Autrice did send a little bit of Award Love to the 'chick.

So, without further ado, the 'chick is getting her homework done. The nominees, in no particular order are: (Feel free to put yourself first on the list if the 'chick hasn't - web pages are only so wide, ya know!)

Cardiac Fantasies is always a thought provoking site. Michael is not afraid to explore the darker side of his personality and share it with the Innernets. He's also always willing to play along, whether it's collaborating on a post (the Venus/Mars thing), inviting guest bloggers, and generally causing mayhem in the blogosphere.

Pacian is a blogger that the 'chick met while doing Sunday Scribblings. He has a flair for writing really killer sci-fi as well as some amazing posts about astronomy and space. There are times when the 'chick is visiting his blog that she thinks that she might not be quite intelligent enough to be hanging with the smart kids (but that doesn't stop her from trying to copy their homework).

Fringes always has something to say and she's not afraid to say it. She has a flair for writing the things that the 'chick winds up pondering long after she's away from the computer.

Heather is relatively new to the blogosphere but is already making a name for herself both through her blog and as a host (hostess??) on Bice's internet talk radio show.

Mist is hysterially funny and generally makes the 'chick think that she's not as good at this writing thing as she thinks she is. Mist looks at things with a definite twist, and always has shoes to match.


The origin of the Thinking Blog can be found here.

The participation rules are simple:

1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think.

2. Link to Ilker so that people can easily find the origin of the meme.

3. Optional: Proudly display the 'Thinking Blogger Award' with a link to the post that you wrote. Silver version / Gold Version

Swash THIS Buckle

My pirate name is:

Iron Jenny Read

A pirate's life isn't easy; it takes a tough person. That's okay with you, though, since you are a tough person. Even though many pirates have a reputation for not being the brightest souls on earth, you defy the stereotypes. You've got taste and education. Arr!

Get your own pirate name from piratequiz.com.
part of the fidius.org network

Don't Walk - Run!

Living in Nashville, one has the opportunity to attend many music-related events. This is the week of Tin Pan South, a songwriter's festival that occurs annually here in the Music City. This is the 15th year this event has taken place.

At the risk of being labelled a hater, let the 'chick take a moment to admit that she just doesn't get it. The 'chick likes music. She likes live music. She has attended many, many concerts. But she doesn't get why people like to go and hear the people that wrote the songs sing them. They have musical ability and can play guitar and have good voices. But usually, they are the ones that never quite made it to the spotlight. They are the ones who write the songs that make the whole world sing but they're not the ones singing them.

On Tuesday night, the 'chick attended one of the sessions with a group of friends. It was in a bar - always a good thing for these events. There were familiar faces and the 'chick always likes being recognized. So far, so good.

Then the singing started.

There were three women and one man up on the stage. Each of them took turns showcasing different songs they had written and even recorded on the type of CDs that you have to buy at the event because you can't find them anywhere else. The man was excellent. One of his songs was funny, several were poignant - overall, just fine.

One of the women only sang songs about relationships gone wrong. She did finally figure out that the only common demoninator in all her failed relationships was her, but at the cost of the 'chick's sanity.

The other pair of women were a songwriting "group" and their songs all seemed to involve children and angels and puppies and kittens. The contrast between all the sweetness and light and the "he done me wrong" songs from the other female made the 'chick's head spin.

She turned her attention to the crowd instead. Seated at a table close by, there was a young blonde woman in jeans. Seated directly behind her was an older gentleman who, at first glance, appeared to be her father. It was her date.

Blonde woman was exhibiting the signs well-known to women everywhere of "leave me the hell alone - if you're hanging on me, I can't pick up that hot cowboy at the bar." Daddy wasn't getting the hint and actually followed Blondie to the bathroom.

This amused the 'chick to no end and she made sure to point it out for the viewing pleasure of everyone in the group.

As the evening drew to a close and the "done me wrong" singer finished her set, she chose the perfect song: You just can't walk away from a love like ours.

Judging from how fast Blondie was moving, apparently you can't walk away, but you sure as hell can run.

Goodwill Hunting

A new Goodwill store has opened a few blocks from the 'chick's house. Normally, members of the Roadtrip household are not much on shopping at thrift stores except for books or things like that. Digging through racks of previously worn clothing does not rate high on the fun-o-meter.

Last Saturday, Redneck and Roadchick made a trip to the new Goodwill store out of curiousity. There were no parking spaces left. People were parking in the road. Clearly, something good was going on.

It was the Grand Opening of the new store and in honor of the occasion, just about everything was 50% off their already low, low prices. People were carrying huge armloads of clothes. There were squalling children and strollers everywhere. (Did you know that you can buy wedding dresses at Goodwill? You can. However, you CANNOT buy underwear at Goodwill. This is a good thing.)

Redneck wandered off to the Men's Department to look for jeans. Roadchick strolled through housewares and books. Since Redneck was still picking through the racks, the 'chick headed to Women's to see if there was anything worthwhile. There was the usual Megamart-type crap but there were also a LOT of designer label item too. Intrigued, the 'chick dug a little deeper and started her own armload of clothes.

Several outfits later, she emerged from the racks and found Redneck wandering the aisles. He'd found a pair of brand new Levi's for $2.

The total bill for the excursion? $13.

Yesterday, Redneck and the 'chick returned. Once again - jackpot. The 'chick found two more skirts and a shirt and paid $5. Hard to say no to DKNY for $1.50.

It's entirely possible that next Saturday will find the 'chick hunting the racks again. Someone needs to start donating some Manolo's so the 'chick will have some new/used shoes to wear with her new/used clothes.

Open Wide

Lord, y'all, it's been a hell of a week so far.

This morning, the 'chick woke up healthy. By mid-afternoon, she was praying for death and still had a two hour drive ahead of her, just to get home. A lovely co-worker came to the monthly staff meeting with the flu last week. So, just to be on the safe side, considering that the 'chick was coughing her head off, she went to the doctor when she finally got home.

Luckily, her doctor's office does a walk-in clinic in the evenings since the 'chick's illnesses usually refuse to be scheduled or occur during convenient daytime hours.

Roadchick likes her doctor although she avoids going most of the time. He knows this about her so he was shocked to hear that the 'chick's symptoms started only this afternoon. Usually the 'chick will wait a week or two until one of two things happens. 1) She is nearly dead and frightens people in the waiting room. 2) She has battled her way through the initial illness but cannot shake the secondary infection, is nearly dead, and frightens people in the waiting room. The doctor always asks: "Why did you wait so long to come in?" And the 'chick always responds: "Because the 'chick was much too sick to come sit at the doctor's office."

As soon as he heard that there had been flu exposure, he stepped back, feeling for the doorknob.

"Um, I'll just have the nurse do a flu test. Takes about 10 minutes."

And with that, he was gone.

The nurse came in with a rather long cotton swab. The 'chick regarded her, wondering exactly where she thought that overgrown q-tip was going to go. Fortunately, it was only for a nasal swab. Although the 'chick has excellent control over her gag reflex, it does not extend to cotton swabs on long sticks.

Ten minutes later, Dr. Disappearo returned, looking much happier. No flu, according to the q-tip. The 'chick was happy when she saw that he was carrying a sample bag. It's just like Halloween for grown-ups. All you have to do is open wide and say ahhhhhhh. . .and sometimes you get good things.

Come to think of it, that might work well in other situations too.

Roadchick Will Show You Hers . . .

Read my VisualDNA™ Get your own VisualDNA™

As Pacian said - all the cool kids are doing it. Never let it be said that the 'chick didn't jump off the cliff with the rest of the group. Get yours. Join the clique.

Since the 'chick is going to be spending most of the week on the road for work, this may well become The Week of the Meme and Blog Crap rather than leave the blog home alone. If you've seen a good one, feel free to send it the 'chick's way.

We All Wiki

1. Go to wikipedia and type in your birthday, month and day only.

2. List 3 events that occurred on that day.

3. List 2 important birthdays.

4. List 1 death.

5. List a holiday or observance. (if any)

6. Tag 5 other bloggers.

Birthday:

~~~October 27~~~

Events:

1904 - The first underground New York City Subway line opens; the system becomes biggest in United States of America, and one of the biggest in world.

1961 - NASA launched the first Saturn I rocket in Mission Saturn-Apollo 1.

2004 - Curse of the Bambino: The Boston Red Sox defeat the St. Louis Cardinals in Game 4 of the World Series, winning their first championship since 1918.

Birthdays:

1967 - Scott Weiland, American singer (Stone Temple Pilots and Velvet Revolver)

1984 - Kelly Osbourne, English television personality (Ozzy Osbourne's daughter)


Deaths:

2003 - Rod Roddy, American television announcer (b. 1937) (from "The Price Is Right" game show) - Guess he was finally told to "Come on down!" Rest in peace, Rod.


Holidays:

United States - Navy Day

Tagged:
Pacian
Autrice
Kim G.
and anyone else that would like to play

Yo Quiero Los Pantalones!

The other night, Redneck and the 'chick went to a Mexican restaurant for dinner. It's just a little place in the town where he lives and the food is really good.

As they drove through the parking lot, a mariachi band was entering the restaurant. Redneck asked the 'chick if she still wanted to have dinner there, since it was pretty apparent that the band was going to be playing. The 'chick was feeling adventurous and they decided to stay.

Halfway through the chips and salsa, the band appeared in the bar area. They made their way slowly from table to table, taking requests and playing songs. The 'chick informed Redneck that she really, really wanted a pair of black mariachi pants with silver chains. By now, Redneck knows to just nod and smile and eventually the 'chick will forget all about it.

Until that very moment, it had never occurred to the 'chick that mariachi bands played anything other than typical, mariachi-type music. She was wrong. This mariachi band was much more accomplished than that.

In addition to playing the old standards like La Bamba, Tequila, and O Ye Como Va, this mariachi band also blazed through the fight song of the University of Tennessee (Rocky Top) and that old wedding favorite, the Chicken Dance. (Pollo dance?)

The evening came to an abrupt end though, because when the mariachis approached Redneck and Roadchick and asked if they had any requests, the 'chick blurted out: Yo quiero los pantalones!

There was dead silence for a moment, until the head mariachi, taking the safest way out, calmly informed the 'chick that they didn't know the music to that song. They quickly moved on to another table, away from the 'chick's apparently clothes-snatching ways.

They were just lucky that Redneck doesn't speak Spanish, because he was going to ask for their wallets.

Sold!

Over the past few weekends, Roadchick and Redneck have been attending auctions. Now, lest you think that these were high-falutin' affairs, let the 'chick assure you that they most certainly were not, unless Sotheby's or Christie's has started serving nachos and cheese sticks at their sales.

There is a place in Nashville that holds an auction every Saturday night. They have all sorts of things up for bid, from packages of socks (hopefully new) to home appliances and electronics to furniture. What they have changes every week, so you never know what you might find.

This auction house also buys the contents of storage units whose owners have fallen behind on their rent. All sorts of things come out of those - the items mentioned above as well as mysterious boxes of various items that the renter saw fit to pack up and put in storage.

The mystery boxes are sold complete, contents undisclosed. You never know what's inside until it's handed over to the highest bidder.

Normally, the 'chick is restrained at these affairs, always worried that a misplaced twitch or scratch would find her the high bidder on a 1972 Ford Pinto or a lovely clock embellished with ceramic unicorns.

Two weekends ago, the 'chick caught auction fever. Going home with heartburn from auction cheese sticks was no longer satisfying. She longed to take something home with her that would last. That she could point to on a shelf, to prove that she is a shrewd bidder.

The last mystery box of the evening was being held aloft. The 'chick caught her breath, bidding number clutched tightly. She was ready.

The bidding opened at $2 and rose steadily to $9. Going once, going twice. . . SOLD!

The man brought the box to the 'chick and she savored the moment. What would be inside? A crystal decanter and wine glasses? Silverware? Some rare books, first editions, autographed by the author?

Slowly, the 'chick removed the tape holding the box shut and folded back the top.

Inside?

Inside were two 4-packs of off-brand toilet paper, a bottle of dish detergent, and a (heavy) box of lawn & leaf bags.

Unfortunately, there are no do-overs at the auction.

Your Opinion Counts

Somewhat, anyway.

The BlogLaughs review of the Roadtrip is up.

A few lovers, a few haters, but it's all good.

However, it's been brought to the 'chick's attention that some people might find her habit of writing in third-person somewhat . . . offensive or distracting.

Never let it be said that it's not all about y'all. Here's your chance to cast a vote to determine the future of the Roadtrip.








You'll have to hit "refresh" to see your answers added in if you choose to play along.

Your answers will be taken into consideration, but it's entirely possible that since it's the 'chick's blog, she'll do whatever the hell she wants to anyway.

Ghost in the Machine

Writing about Sylvia Browne the other day made the 'chick think about her own real-life encounters with spirits. A few years ago, Roadchick and Rockboy were moving out of the house that they'd lived in for about five years. The amount of packing to be done was insane and seemed like it would never end.

During that time, odd things began happening around the house. The TV would suddenly change channels but no one was touching the remote. Or else it would come on unexpectedly when no one was in the room. Lights turned themselves on and off.

It was a little disturbing at first, but after a couple of days, Rockboy and the 'chick decided that there was a ghost in the house. It didn't seem to be doing any harm, so they went about their business and the ghost went about its business.

Then the Outlaws came to visit. (Side note: It's never a good time to come visit when people are packing up to move.) Luckily the Outlaws are good sports and without having to be asked twice, climbed into the attic to get everything out of there that Roadchick would've just left behind for the new owners. Especially since most of it belonged to the Now-Former-Mr.-Roadchick. They learned to not be alarmed when the TV or lights started acting up.

One evening, while everyone was in other parts of the house, the dishwasher turned on. Without human assistance. Considering that it took an instruction manual and an engineering degree to get the dishwasher to work, it was not an accident. It was also not loaded with dirty dishes which proved that the ghost was not female.

The 'chick had had enough. She finally had to have a talk with the ghost.

"Roadchick and Rockboy are moving. If you want to do something useful, pack a box. If you want to be entertaining, find a way for the 'chick to get E! Network on cable."

The male ghost was never heard from again.

Channeling the Colonel

There are not many days that the 'chick gets to indulge in daytime TV. Her bosses do not understand that it is vital to be able to keep up with what is happening on "Montel" and "Ellen" and "Oprah". It's more special when you're on a first-name basis.

Wednesday morning was different.

Roadchick got a call from the office manager on Tuesday night. She said the building would be closed for at least part of the day on Wednesday because a pipe broke and there was no water.

Wednesdays are always a good day to be home because Sylvia Browne is on the Montel show, doing her psychic thing. She knows who the murderer is in an unsolved case. She knows that a man in the audience has a piece of metal in his pocket and it changed his life. One man in the audience has already had 42 lives. The 'chick doesn't want 42 lives, unless she gets richer in each one.

Sylvia never gives out winning lottery numbers or tells people which horse to bet on in the third race.

The 'chick wants to go on Montel and talk to Sylvia Browne. She spends time wondering what she would ask if she had the chance. Would she ask which departed relative was thinking of her? Would she ask where her missing earrings are? Would she ask which career best suited her?

The sad reality is that if the 'chick had the chance to talk to Sylvia Browne, she would most likely disgrace herself and ask something completely stupid.

"What are the 11 herbs and spices in the secret recipe for Kentucky Fried Chicken?"

Sylvia Browne is the Google of the spirit world.

Killer Jeans

From Yahoo News:

NEW YORK - Naomi Campbell says she very much regrets losing her temper and hitting her maid with a cell phone over a pair of missing jeans last year. "I felt very remorseful for having thrown the phone at someone that didn't deserve it," the 35-year-old supermodel tells the TV show "Extra" in an interview set to air Tuesday. "I have a deep sense of shame for the things I've done."

What made her do it? It was "tiredness, lack of sleep (and) just so many things," she says.

"I was being really destructive to myself. ... I didn't know how to reach out," she says. "It was a really scary time."

Campbell, who has a reputation for angry outbursts, pleaded guilty to misdemeanor assault last month for hitting Ana Scolavino in the back of the head with the phone last March. Scolavino was treated for a head injury.

"I threw a cell phone in the apartment. The cell phone hit Ana," Campbell said at her court appearance. "This was an accident because I did not intend to hit her."

In exchange for her guilty plea, she was ordered to pay Scolavino's medical expenses of $363, do five days of community service and attend a two-day anger-management program.

"I do therapy every day," Campbell tells "Extra," adding that she's also partaking in the healing powers of crystals: "I think they bring great energy. ... You should see how many I travel with."

___



Here's what wasn't said:

"I warned that bitch to stay the hell out of my closet. Did she listen? Hell no. Like her fat ass could fit in my jeans. And that cell phone wasn't worth a damn after that. I ought to make her pay for that. Damn hard head."

The 'chick translates for you:

"I have a deep sense of shame for the things I've done." Translation: It was a shame I got caught. I can't believe she turned me in. Does she not know who I am???

"I didn't know how to reach out," she says. Translation: You mean that's NOT what "Reach out and touch someone" means???

"This was an accident because I did not intend to hit her." Translation: Or at least, not where she could prove that I did.

"I do therapy every day," Campbell tells "Extra," adding that she's also partaking in the healing powers of crystals: "I think they bring great energy. ... You should see how many I travel with." Translation: Shopping counts as "therapy", right? My crystals cost more than the medical treatment for the head injury.
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In the want ads tomorrow:

Wanted, personal maid. Must have references and pass a background check. Must wear larger jeans than employer. Helmet provided. Must be able to carry large bag of crystals.

Frozen Pees

The 'chick routinely listens in on conversations when she's standing in line at the store or wherever she needs some amusement.

The prize-winner was overheard today, at Walgreens. A small boy and his mother were standing in line at the pharmacy and talking to another woman. Apparently, they all went to church together.

Woman (to small boy): We missed your daddy at church on Sunday. Was he sick?
Boy: No, Daddy couldn't come to church because his dick hurt.
Mother: ...horrified look...stammering
Woman: Really...
Mother: (trying to be discreet) Chuck had a vasectomy on Friday.
Woman: Oh, ok, well, that would explain him not being there.
Boy: We can't use the bag of frozen peas that he was holding there.
Mother: (now even more horrified) Well, the doctor did say that peas would conform really well....of course we've thrown them away.
Woman: (nodding, making a mental note to NEVER eat pea salad at the church potlucks again.)
Boy: Daddy said peas are good for his pee-pee.
Mother: Hush now.
Woman: Well, uh, I think I'll just go see if my pictures are done being developed.
Mother: It was nice to see you ...

See parents? Your kids do listen to what you say.