Roadchick Scissorhands

As Roadchick headed out the front door. . .

Redneck: Where are you going with those scissors?

Roadchick: Southern Living says you should trim your monkey grass in March.

Redneck: And you're going to do that outside?

Roadchick: ---

And then the 'chick's head exploded.



(Lest there be any confusion, a photo of monkey grass is shown below.)

Rolling Snake Eyes

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

It all started last Thursday. The 'chick had a visit to do for work and the house is out in the country. In Tennessee, you know you're in the country when the directions to the house include the phrase "turn off the paved road". The 'chick turned off the paved road.

When she got to the house, she parked in the gravel driveway and went inside. Everything was fine. She went back to her car and managed to step in about 12 inches of mud. Which she immediately tracked into her car. All over the floor mats. After arriving back at her office, the mud was dried to dirt and proceeded to fall off her shoes all over the carpeting and chair mat. (The cleaning crew at the office did not clean it up so the 'chick finally did it today, with Windex.)

On Friday, the 'chick had more visits to do (in the pouring rain, of course) and needed to fill up her car. She pulled up to the pump and got out into what she naturally assumed was a puddle of rainwater. After pumping her gas and getting back into the car to continue on her merry way, she realized that it was NOT rainwater - it was gasoline in that puddle. Nothing like adding a layer of gasoline to the ground in mud already on the floor mats. She went through the rest of the day halfway high from the fumes wafting up from her feet. (There is no cleaning crew at the 'chick's house so she hosed off her own floor mat and it is sitting on her front porch, drying.)

On Saturday, the 'chick played it low-key and stayed home except for a quick trip to Walmart for some basic supplies.

On Sunday, Redneck had promised to take the 'chick to the
Southern Select Alpaca Show. (The 'chick is interested in such things because she is a knitter and also a Southerner and it is expected that at some point you will traipse around some kind of fairground to gaze at animals.) The 'chick has been to Shelbyville TN many times and knows how to get there. Redneck, who has NEVER been to Shelbyville TN in his LIFE thought it would be faster to go on the interstate. The 'chick said "ok" and the two of them proceeded to get completely lost to the point that they had to stop and buy a MAP to find their way BACK to Shelbyville TN. After much circling in Shelbyville, they finally found Calsonic Arena where the alpacas were being shown. It was so late in the day that a great many of them had already gone home. Figures.

A little later, Redneck and the 'chick decided to go eat at Applebee's. The 'chick ordered a BBQ chicken sandwich which came with so much BBQ sauce that the 'chick managed to get it on her hands, the sleeve of her hoodie, and down one leg of her jeans. Applebee's was out of the molten chocolate cake thing that Redneck & the 'chick love so they headed to Sonic for a hot fudge cake sundae thing. While cautiously eating that, the 'chick managed to drip hot fudge down the front of her white t-shirt . . . the one item of clothing that had not been liberally coated in BBQ sauce.

After starting a load of laundry (the white t-shirt soaking in pre-treat), the 'chick climbed into bed, pulled the covers over her head, and announced her intention of not coming out anymore until the weekend was completely over.

Your weekend (or stain removal tips) in comments.

Reality Check

This morning, the 'chick was watching 'Leave It To Beaver' and it occurred to her that June Cleaver dressed nicer to clean the house than the 'chick does to go to work.

If you'll excuse Auntie Roadchick, she is going to slip into a dress and some heels and clean the oven.

Kleenex and Cough Drops

In the past week, the 'chick managed to catch a horrible cold? flu? and has spent days in bed, not caring what was going on in the world around her.

Last Tuesday, the 'chick was on the road for work, at a branch office a couple of hours from home. The 'chick was fine. All day. Wonderful. Full of energy and good cheer. Redneck called to let her know that he had picked up the headboard and delivered it to her house, but was going home again because he didn't feel well.

The 'chick came home, lugged the headboard and bed frame into the house from the garage and began ripping apart her bed to put the new bed together. She polished the wood and used neutral shoe polish on the leather and everything was lovely. She flipped her mattress and box spring up against the wall and hauled out the old bed frame (into the living room where it would remain like modern art for DAYS) and scooted the headboard into place.

Now, to assemble the frame. This should not be difficult, right? The 'chick has done this before. It would not hook into the headboard. Maybe a little gentle persuasion with a hammer. Which was in the toolbox, in the closet. Behind the flipped up mattress and box spring. Shit.

Scootch the mattress and box spring down, retrieve the toolbox, get the hammer out - back in business.

Pause to sneeze.

Ignore sneezing because obviously dust has been stirred up (and vacuumed away) and there was the polishing that went on.

Fiddle around with the bedframe some more. Attempt to hook in the footboard as directed. Fiddle, fiddle. Sneeze.

Fiddle a little more and cringe when the headboard falls forward and the frame crashes to the floor, just missing the 'chick where she is crouching by the footboard. Carefully pick up the headboard, scared that there will be large slashes in the leather from the hooks on the bedframe. Sigh in relief that all is still in one piece.

Sneeze, sneeze, sneeze.

Think about it for a few minute and say "Fuck it" - slide the headboard back to the side wall, move the frame pieces into the hallway and drop the box spring and mattress down onto the floor like a college student. Slowly remake the bed, retrieve the pillows from the couch in the living room, ignore the old bedframe in the middle of the living room floor, put on pajamas, dose up on Nyquil, and get into bed.

Get up in the morning to snow and ice and closed schools. Check the planner and see that there are visits that MUST be completed ON THIS DAY, or else. Sigh.

Wait a little while for the roads to clear a little, take a hot shower (hoping that would help clear her head), and hit the road.

Do the visits as fast as possible, not staying more than a few minutes and trying not to touch anything so she won't contaminate her clients' homes. Advise staff to Lysol after her once she's gone.

Talk to Redneck. Express her intention of going home and dying.

Stop at the store. Buy more Nyquil, toilet paper, milk, everything that was running out. Forget Kleenex. Forget to get anything to eat for lunch.

Go home. Unload everything, put it (sort of) away. Collapse onto the floor/bed. Look up in astonishment as Redneck appears and laughs at her design statement of the floor/bed.

Get up again, help him put together the headboard and bed frame. Feel vindicated when he cannot get the headboard and frame to mate happily without chiseling away excess wood. Remake the bed with fresh sheets.

Stagger around, finding pajamas, changing clothes, finally collapse into bed.

The 'chick did not stir from the bedroom for more than five minutes in three days. Well, actually, that is not true.

Redneck took her to lunch at Cracker Barrel on Valentine's Day. It was miserable, but only because the 'chick was too sick to enjoy it, unable to hear due to stopped up ears, and really uncomfortable sitting in an upright position for more than a few minutes.

Back home again. Back to bed.

The bed is lovely. It was not properly made until Saturday so until then, the 'chick had no idea what it would even look like for real.

But, health is slowly coming back and the 'chick is in the land of the living once more. Luckily, the 'chick's office is closed for Presidents' Day, so she has one more day to get herself together and clean up the house.

(The old bedframe was taken apart on Saturday and stashed in the attic in case it's ever needed again. The living room looks much better.)

Doing Her Part To Keep The Economy Strong

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

It did not start out that way. The 'chick intended to window shop, consider her options, weigh them carefully, and make an informed decision.

Redneck asked the 'chick what she wanted to do on Saturday, and since she's been kicking around the idea of buying a headboard for the bed, it seemed like it would be a good idea to actually go LOOK at some. The local Sofa Connection and More! is going out of business and there were promises of HUGE discounts. They lied. There was not even anything there worthy of a digital picture.

On to the next store. Rooms To Go. They had a beautiful headboard:


Beautiful, but somewhat pricey. $600. And very, very tall. So tall that the 'chick was afraid that her nightstands, which she intended to keep, would look like odd, midget dollhouse furniture next to the bed.

And the next. Ashley Home Furniture (or something like that). Prices here were more reasonable and Redneck and the 'chick found a possibility:


A chrome headboard with gray/silvery pleather panels. But very shiny. Shiny. Tinsely, shiny.

Roadchick asked nicely if Redneck would take her to one more place. Since he is so nice, he agreed and they headed over to American Signature Furniture. And found The ONE:



In the CLEARANCE ROOM. And when the 'chick asked Bob, the salesman if that was the best price, he dropped it another $50. So, a hardwood and GENU-WINE leather (black) headboard for $250. (Please excuse the table blocking the view of the headboard. There was not room to swing a cat in the CLEARANCE ROOM.) The 'chick was almost delirious. That red tag? That would be the "Sold To Roadchick" tag.

After so much shopping, you would think that Redneck and Roadchick would be ready to go home and watch TV. But no!

After a long hiatus, they went to the Auction. The good junk auction in Nashville.

Roadchick bought something that made her even more deliriously happy than the headboard, if that is even possible.

Roadchick presents:


The LED Flash Cross. Made in China. And contains, according to the package insert:
Elegant workmanship and wonderful design.
Brilliant saint light and splendid music.
Very good for keepsake.

When this gem came up for sale, Roadchick called Best Friend and asked if she would like Roadchick to buy one for her too. Best Friend declined but did ask the 'chick to stop by after the auction so that she could see this religious relic from the Plastic Age.

When Redneck and Roadchick arrived at Best Friend's house, Best Friend immediately removed the batteries from the remote control in order to power up the LED Flash Cross to see it in its full glory.

According to the Operation Instructions, this is the procedure to follow:

(Read carefully - all descriptions and typos are presented exactly as they are on the packaging.)

Open the lid at the bsck of the product, put into 3 'AA' batteries.
Insert the cross into the "U" shape base.
Push the swith to the left, 3 lights are on at the base.
Push the swith to the right, the upper light, left light, and right light are on.

The batteries were inserted and Roadchick moved the swith to the right. The saint light and lights at each tip of the cross came on. No splendid music. Roadchick tapped the base of the cross, to encourage the splendid music to come on. No music. No choirs of angels. Nothing. Just flashing lights.

Redneck and Best Friend's husband looked into the problem.

In order to have splendid music, the cross must have a 3-position switch. Alas, Roadchick's cross only has a 2-position swith. Ain't that always the way?

It was too much to ask for Disco Jesus to have music too.

Google This!

From time to time, the 'chick likes to take a look at the Roadtrip's stats, just to see how people wandered in.

The mind reels.

13 people wandered through the closet door looking for mariachi pants. Several people also rummaged around looking for some killer jeans. Apparently, there are a lot of people wandering around without pants on.

This could explain why there are several people strolling around, wanting explanations for cock rings and flikr cop cock. The 'chick wishes them well in their quest.

It's possible that those folks might meet up with whoever was looking for Renfair boobs. (Michael, can you help that guy out?) It's possible that this is the same person that found their way to the Roadtrip looking for a "Show Your Tits" bumpersticker.

Y'all may want to take to carrying mace when you visit when you see that other things people have been looking for include: pooping in a bag, how to wash panties, sugar daddy blondes (???), roadtrip large panties (obviously NOT the 'chick's panties), songs about sugar daddies, hermit thrust pictures, and American girls' phone numbers.

There were also a lot of people wondering how to wash clothes and how you fold your clothes reveals your personality. People also came in looking for clothes hampers and something called a panties hamper. (If you need a separate hamper for your panties, it's entirely possible that you are not doing laundry often enough.)

Then there were the people who came armed with credit cards, ready to do a little Goodwill Hunting. (The 'chick is still not going to give up the location of that amazing Goodwill where designer fashions can be had for pennies so don't even ask.)

Several people also wanted to see a picture of a squirrel hoarding nuts. To the best of Roadchick's recollection, she does not have any pictures of squirrels hoarding nuts.

As Dolly Parton (playing Truvy in Steel Magnolias) said: There are some pretty sick tickets in this town.

Y'all be careful out there.

Newfangled

A couple of weeks ago, Roadchick moved into the 20th century. Not the 21st century. The 20th century.

For years (ever since moving into the current Chez Roadtrip) the 'chick refused to pay for more than the basic Basic Cable - which included the local channels (all the better to watch Stormtracker 2004, 2005, 2006, and 2007) and all the church and shopping you could handle.

For reasons unknown, the 'chick was also able to access FoodTV and VH1. The 'chick did not share this information with the cable company.

Right after the first of the year, the 'chick took the leap into the 20th century and signed up for Direct TV. A satellite dish is in proud residence on the side of the house. Thankfully, technology has advanced to the point where satellite dishes no longer require the purchase of additional acreage. (The neighborhood association would not like a space station in the side yard.)

Y'all - there's a lot of TV out there to watch. The 'chick has seen the wonders available on good cable and on the satellite networks. Friends and family have them. The 'chick has even managed to not snatch the remote away to find her own show to watch. (Usually because among the 10 remotes on the table, the 'chick was never entirely sure which one was for the channel-changing and would've hated to catch the house on fire from using the one for the fireplace or turned on the lawn sprinklers in the middle of a child's birthday party.)

The 'chick almost doesn't know which way to turn first. There's BBC America and all the great British TV . . . one hour on the local PBS station on Saturday nights was never enough. There's the Discovery Channel - who can ever get enough Mythbusters or Dirty Jobs? There's the History Channel - Redneck and Roadchick watched about 3 hours of Nostradamus and the End of the World last night. (Romantic choice, wasn't it?)

Did y'all know that late at night, when you can't sleep, odds are entirely in your favor that a show called "Erotic Shopping" will be on? Yes, indeedy. These two women who look like they could be your neighbors sit on a couch and show all different types of vibrators and sex toys. Who knew? And, as an added incentive, there is a special phone number for the ladies to call, where other ladies will take your order without judging you for needing the $145.00 Super Thrust with Rotation. Imagine.

2008 promises amazing things in Roadchick's world. Who knows what wonders of technology she'll buy next?

Pour Another One, Just Like The Other One

The Recipe For Roadchick

3 parts Defiance 2 parts Intellect 1 part Power Splash of Wit Finish off with a little umbrella and straw

What's the Recipe for Your Personality?

Some days, the only thing that is going to make it better is a drink. This is one of those days, darlings. This is one of those days.

For those of you that are prayin' folk, send a few words skyward on behalf of the 'chick's sanity and for the safety of others that are getting in her way.

That is all.

In Which The 'Chick Tries Very Hard Not To Go There

Mysterious title, no?

Auntie Roadchick shall explain, darlings.

Last night, while driving home, the 'chick was chatting on her cell phone. A good friend and co-worker was on the other end and many, many topics were discussed.

Toward the end of the conversation, Mr. Malaprop said:

Did you see on the news where they busted that cock ring?

Roadchick: . . . (moment of breathless silence). . . followed by hysterical, screeching laughter

Mr. Malaprop: You know, that sounded wrong in my head, but it came out of my mouth anyway. What is it called, then?

Roadchick: (still screeching) It's a cockFIGHTING ring. Not a cock ring.

Mr. Malaprop: Oh, I said something bad, didn't I?

Roadchick: (more screeching laughter) Slightly.

Mr. Malaprop: What if I had said that at work? Can you imagine Mr. Bossman's face?

Roadchick: Oh, the 'chick would pay for tickets to see that.

Mr. Malaprop: Are you sure it's not a cock ring?

Roadchick: (swerving slightly on the road, still hysterical) Tell you what - you go Google cock ring and cockfighting ring and see what you find.

Mr. Malaprop: (a minute later, post-Googling) If I had said that at work, I would've have to move to Africa. To Zimbabwe or somewhere. No one would ever see me again.

Proof yet again, darlings, if it sounds wrong in your head, don't let it come out of your mouth. If you do, please make sure the Auntie Roadchick is nearby so she can blog all about it.

Brrrrr!

There is an ongoing problem in Roadchick's world.

The problem is this: it's freaking COLD in her house. The thermostat is set to about 70 degrees.

It is around 65 degrees inside the house.

The heat will not come on often enough.

This is the third thermostat that has been installed.

Now, here's the kicker: when it's not terribly cold (or hot) outside, everything works just fine.

When the temperature even thinks about going to an extreme, the heat or A/C will not come on properly.

The heat and A/C are two separate units.

Redneck has no idea what the problem is (we really thought changing the thermostat would solve it) so Rockboy and the 'chick have taken to bundling up like Eskimos and shuffling through the house wrapped in blankets and quilts. Speedbump has taken up residence on the 'chick's down throw blanket and hisses whenever the 'chick tries to get it away from her to use for her own self. Thinking warm and sunny thoughts does not help.

Unfortunately, it is looking like a call is going to have to be made to some sort of HVAC repair person. Who will want real dollars for coming out to figure out why the 'chick's house is at sub-zero level. Of course, by the time the 'chick actually gets a professional out to the house to look at the problem, the weather will have warmed up and the problem will no longer be evident.

Ironically, just a couple of days ago, it was too hot in the house. Too hot even for Redneck who thinks that he should be able to wear a t-shirt year-round while inside the house and won't even consider layering to save on heating costs.

It's now cold enough that the 'chick's fingers are refusing to type properly, so y'all keep warm and the 'chick is going to bed, to hide under the covers until it warms up.

Maybe she'll pretend it's like Little House on the Prairie when there are icicles hanging from the rafters in the loft. Hopefully Pa will get up early and build a big ol' fire in the woodstove before the 'chick has to get up.

That Bites!

Over the Festive Season, the 'chick's laptop had a little accident - it wound up on the hardwood floor. The screen did NOT like this. Anyway, fixed now, so let's move on, shall we?

This story was told to the 'chick and the teller swears that it is true. The 'chick does not doubt it.

The guy telling the story was talking about his ex-girlfriend. She had decided to take up stripping for fun and profit. A local club agreed to let her give it a try and up on stage she went.

All was going well until the manager motioned for her to use the pole.

Anxious to please the boss, the girl goes for it. She launches herself at the pole, catching herself and trying to flip herself upside down.

She launched herself harder than she thought because she hit the pole, slid down like a fireman going to a fire and her butt slammed down onto the stage. When her butt hit the stage, her mouth flew open and her false teeth popped out and fell into the first row.

There's an advertising angle the denture adhesive companies never thought of . . .

Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas to everyone from the whole Roadie crew!

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

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

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

Giftcards galore from other family members.

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

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

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

Merry Christmas!

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

So.

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

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

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

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

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

Sigh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mother: Well, I think that's excessive.

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

Mother: Fine. We'll see about this.

Roadchick: That will be fine.

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

The 'chick emailed the pictures to Mother.

Apparently, Mother made some calls too.

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

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

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

It's the Final Countdown

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The 'chick was hopeful for that again this weekend.

It was not to be.

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

Home remedies in comments.

The Ghost of Christmas Past

So, yeah, it's been awhile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But there was magic and there was hope.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Technical Support

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

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

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

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

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

So, a test document in Notepad. Nothing printed.

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

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

Things started to print.

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

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

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

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

Sex and computers.

And a hot breakfast afterward.

Overheard:

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

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

Blow Pop Month

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

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

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

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

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

Long Live Blow Pop Month.

Happy Halloween!

It's That Time Again

Redneck
+
Roadchick
+
Mountains
+
Weekend
=
See Ya!

Work At Home

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

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

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

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

How much actual work is getting done, you ask?

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

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

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

They're Trying To Kill The 'Chick

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

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

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

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

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

Is the bed spinning to y'all???

Ummmm. . .

The 'chick had something brilliantly funny to post.

Really.

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

And it was totally kick ass.

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

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

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

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

__________________________________



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

__________________________________

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

__________________________________

We now return you to your regularly scheduled program.

Think Pink in October

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

October is Breast Cancer Awareness month.

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

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

Ladies, you KNOW how important breast cancer research is.

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

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

It's for a very good cause.

Letters, Letters

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Five Questions

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

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

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

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

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

Interview rules:

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

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

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

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

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

It's Just Static

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

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

And, the 'chick sucks.

For being such a slacker.

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

There is no drama.

There is no excitement.

Life is good and life is sweet.

Rockboy is doing well.

Redneck is doing well.

Skaterboy is doing well.

Work is busy but not interesting to write about.

So what is a blogger to do?

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

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

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

Count on it.

9/11

You are not forgotten.

Copycat - Thanks, Heather!

Your Band Name is:

The Cultivated Sadists

Band Name Generator

The Cure Shares Your Taste in Music

See their whole playlist here (iTunes required)

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

Labor Day 2007

Happy Labor Day, everyone!

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

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

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

So, what has the 'chick been doing?

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

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



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

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

Criminal Mischief

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

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

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



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

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


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

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

Not as easy as it sounds.

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

Then it happened.

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

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

The results are as follows:

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

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

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

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

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

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

They don't call it NashVegas for nothing.

Ch-ch-ch-changes

Yeah.

Well.

Bandwagon, anyone?

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

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

Snaps to Pyzam for the template.

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

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

This Explains a Lot

With thanks to Heather for the idea!

You're Adventures of Huckleberry Finn!

by Mark Twain

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


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

Oh, Please

It's either a cold or bad allergies.

Whatever it is, it is NOT welcome right now.

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

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

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

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

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

August Follies

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

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

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

So, the troops have been called in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, it was a Very. Good. Weekend.

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

Simpsonized & Something for the Bunny Girls

Get yer own:

www.simpsonsmovie.com

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

For the bunny girls:

Ice, Cubed

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

Movin' on Up

The 'chick has moved.

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

Kind of.
But not really.

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

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




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

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

Anyway, housewarming party at the 'chick's.

Bring nice gifts! And more beer.