Thursday Is Still Too Far From Friday

Y'all, the 'chick has guilt. Guilt for the lack of posting. Guilt because although she could not be bothered to sit down and write y'all an entry, she DID have time to tweak the template and fiddle around with HTML and apparently start an entire new industry designed to aid the technologically-impaired bloggers among us. The new venture? Roadchick Technologies, Inc. as named by Michael from Cardiac Fantasies. She is not quitting her day job, not to worry. While Roadchick understands the innernets, the innernets won't pay the cat food bill at Chez Roadtrip.

So, now that she is here and is actually typing words instead of funny code, what to tell???

The weekend in Gatlinburg was so nice. So nice to get away. Such a nice birthday present. Visits were made to the aquarium and Ripley's Believe It Or Not and Ober Gatlinburg. There was much walking involved. Redneck even paid a visit to a yarn store with the 'chick and didn't complain for one minute. Even though they walked there and it was uphill both ways. And about a mile from the strip.

The motel...well. Hmmm. It was memorable. The 'chick cannot recall the name of the establishment - Smoky Mountain something-or-other, just like everything else in Pigeon Forge and Gatlinburg TN. But, y'all.

IT WAS THE BATES MOTEL.

Complete with Ma and Pa Bates. (Ma Bates had a BEEHIVE hairdo.)(The 'chick does not understand the physics involved in a beehive hairdo.)

And a key on a plastic tag.

And paper registration cards that REQUIRE your license plate number even if it means going out into the pouring rain and howling wind to find out what your number is.

Now, y'all are going to be thinking that the 'chick deliberately searches out these relics of the hospitality industry. This is not true. They find her. Actually, Redneck chose the accomodations for the weekend. Although, the fact that the 'chick was whining almost constantly at that point might have had something to do with it. Redneck had tolerated an endless playback of:

"Where are we going to stay?"
"Do you know where we are going to stay?"
"Don't you think we should find somewhere to stay?"

until he gave up and pulled into the first driveway he saw.

The room. Y'all, the room.

It had panelling on the walls. All of them. Wooden panelling. From 1960. It felt like the 'chick was in a basement rec room of her mis-spent youth. All that was missing was the air hockey game and an Atari. The TV was on a lil metal stand in the corner. Amazingly, it did have a remote. This is good because while the 'chick is patient about a great many things, lack of a remote is not one of them. On the upside, the room was very, very, very clean. So was the bathroom. All that was missing was one of those "Sanitized for your safety" beauty pageant banners that used to grace all toilet seats in America's motels. Roadchick misses the ceremonial breaking of the banner. Sigh.

To all of you that sent birthday wishes Roadchick's way - thanks so much! That was so nice of y'all!

On the night of her birthday, October 27th, her first night in Gatlinburg with Redneck, the now-former-Mr.-Roadchick drunkdialed the 'chick to wish her happy birthday. Y'all, it is not a birthday in the South if your ex doesn't drunkdial you. Roadchick accepted his birthday wishes and was trying to get off the phone with him since she was currently at her birthday dinner with Redneck. The ex did not want to get off the phone - he wanted to chat. He was bored. And drunk. And not understanding that Roadchick was on a romantic birthday weekend getaway in the Beautiful Smoky Mountains Of Tennessee. The 'chick finally cut him off and hung up on him. It's ok though - Redneck's ex called him the NEXT night and kept him on the phone for about 10 minutes talking about van repairs and replacing engines and other such nonsense that annoyed the 'chick to no end. Not that there is a jealousy thing about the ex because there isn't - the problem was that the University of Tennessee football game was on, live from South Carolina, where the Game Cocks were getting their butts whipped and all the chatter was distracting the 'chick from the Deadly Serious Sport of Football.

The next morning, the 'chick awoke to voices. As she swam up out of deep, deep sleep she heard a man going on about 22 pounds of undigested fecal material and crusty linings and mental impairment and . . . she sat up in bed, wondering what the hell was going on. Redneck was also sitting up, apparently entranced by this infomercial. The 'chick groggily asked what was going on. His reply? They're talking about stem cell research.

Now, even as sleepy and out of it as the 'chick was - this did NOT compute. Stem cell research? What?

She listened a little bit more.

They were NOT talking about stem cell research although she can understand Redneck's confusion over the difference between feCal matter and feTal matter. However, it was just enough to send her into full-blown hysterics at 6:00 a.m. Complete with howling and tears rolling down her face. Once she collected herself, she explained what they were actually talking about was some sort of colonic program to detoxify your body and clear the mind. To relieve bloating. To remove the . . . crust from the intestines.

It was so funny that Roadchick watched it on Sunday morning too. And laughed just as hard. The guy on there was such a fanatic about it that you just know that he irrigates his colon regularly. Get up early and watch it for yourself. It's probably on the Discovery Channel or something.

In related news - the 'chick has offered her services as a reviewer to BlogLaughs. How is that related? The 'chick can think of several ways... anyway, it's a pretty cool blog and it should be interesting. Keep your eyes peeled.

Other bloggers around the innernets are participating in the blog a day thing that has some cute little initials that the 'chick cannot remember. She applauds their efforts and is glad that she will have new things to read each day. Y'all go! Good job! The 'chick is a slacker, though, and y'all know that about her so she won't even entertain the thought of making a promise like that.

Those of you that believe in the power of prayer - say a prayer for the 'chick tonight. She has to go to her mother's house and give her a perm. Someone may die. It's not certain who at this point. The 'chick hates giving perms. She would rather scrub the toilet in the men's room at a truck stop. So she is giving a perm. She is relatively certain that there will be a conversation along the lines of "NO WIRE HANGERS - EVER!!!" at some point during the evening. There usually is.

And that reminds the 'chick - Lawd, y'all - the holidays are FAST approaching. At warp speed. And there is shopping to be done. The 'chick saw her first official Christmas commercial on TV last night. It made her feel vaguely nauseous.

Her sister-in-law called on Halloween night. To discuss plans for the holidays. And to talk about drawing names for the Christmas gift giving. The 'chick is in favor of this because otherwise she has to buy double the presents and does not receive an equal amount in return. Not that she's counting or anything. But being the single sister in a family of married brothers, it winds up being rather expensive. But the bomb that dropped in the conversation was whether or not Redneck was to be included in the Drawing Of The Names. The 'chick said NO, absolutely NOT. That is the relationship kiss o' death. She suspects that was what happened with her last serious boyfriend a year ago. And, since he bailed on the whole holiday thing in general, other than to appear and collect giftages, she wound up buying TWO expensive gifts instead of just one because he refused to do it after drawing a name. Asshole.

Goodness, that was a little bitter, wasn't it?

Yep, sure was.

So, no, Redneck will not be playing Reindeer Games with Roadchick's family. Not this year.

Duhhhh

Lawd, y'all, the 'chick apologizes for the lack of posting.

There is total brain-dead-ness going on and nothing really interesting happening unless you'd like to hear all about the 'chick's sinus infection.

No?

Why not?

Oh, yeah - the whole TMI thing. Roadchick does not blame you.



In a moment of shameless self-promotion, the 'chick WILL tell you that her birthday is Friday, and she will be AWAY so there will be a lack of posting over the weekend. Party like it's 1999, y'all! Woo hoo!

(Note to crazy stalkers: No, she won't. And the attack cat is at home. And a moat full of alligators. Stay away.)

What? You wonder how that would be different than right now?

Well, um, it IS different, because you've been warned. Yeah, that's it.

Hopefully the lil weekend away will generate some stories that don't involve Kleenex, Nyquil, and sinus infections.

On a happier note, and without too much TMI, the 'chick finally did go to the doctor for the wretched sinus infection and is medicated to the MAX. Unfortunately, not with any sort of pharmaceuticals that have any street value whatsoever. Bummer.

So, the 'chick wishes you a Happy Pre-Halloween Weekend & she'll see you next week.

Caught Red-Handed

Welcome to the second installment of List Elaboration.

Topic for Today: Shoplifting
Also Filed Under: A Good Explanation For Why Roadchick Is The Way She Is

When Roadchick was a wee lass of about 3 or 4 years of age, she was taken to visit Santa Claus at a local department store. This was a visit that Roadchick looked forward to every year and she prepared very carefully so that she would know exactly what to say when asked if she had been a good girl and what would she like for Christmas.

When it was finally her turn, she approached the Great Man cautiously and was seated in his lap. All the questioning went as planned and Roadchick was given a candy cane and a coloring book with Rudolph on the cover. Happy and secure in the knowledge that a good Christmas was coming, Roadchick went home.

A few days later, Roadchick was taken back to the same store by her mother and left ( ! ) in the toy department to amuse herself while her mother completed her shopping. (Obviously this was in the days of small-town America when kidnappers and child molesters stayed in the big city and before parents knew better than to leave a TODDLER unattended in a toy department.) Roadchick was happily amusing herself looking at all the Christmas toys and trying out a few that were out of their boxes.

After a few minutes, Roadchick turned the corner and there was Santa's chair. But Santa was not in it. There was a sign with a clock on it, but since Roadchick couldn't read, she didn't know that it meant Santa was Feeding His Reindeer (but more likely Taking A Leak or Smoking A Cigarette). But, it was obvious - Santa Was Not In.

Roadchick approached cautiously. She knew that Santa had magic powers and might just *POP* up when least expected. She peeked behind the chair, but there was no Santa. But, Patient Reader, Santa had Left His Bag.

Roadchick, being a nosy little wench, decided to have a look inside. After all, there might be better things in the bag instead of a Rudolph coloring book, right? Like maybe her Christmas presents! So, completely forgetting the magical power business, she rummaged inside the bag. There were more coloring books inside as well as candy canes and little boxes of crayons. She had not gotten crayons. She also had not gotten the Elves Workshop coloring book that was infinitely more better than the stupid old Rudolph one that she HAD received. And the candy cane had been eaten in the car before ever arriving home.

So, ever one to look out for herself, Roadchick helped herself to a box of crayons, the Elves Workshop coloring book, and another candy cane or two. Then she went 'round the corner to the doll aisle and settled in to wait for her mother.

Mother arrived shortly thereafter and it did not escape her attention that Roadchick had quite a selection of Christmas merchandise that she had not had in her possession upon entering the store. She asked Roadchick about it.

Mother: Roadchick, what do you have there?

Roadchick: Look - a coloring book and crayons and a candy cane.

Mother: Where did you get those?

Roadchick: Um, Santa. Santa gave them to Roadchick.

Mother: (looking around the corner and seeing the Santa chair still empty as it was when they arrived at the toy department)

Mother: (tapping her foot and looking at Roadchick with that look)

Roadchick: (looking at the floor and shuffling her feet around and trying to hide the rest of the candy canes)

Mother: Roadchick, are you sure that Santa gave those to you?

Roadchick: Yes.

Mother: (penetrating stare)

Roadchick: (shuffling around even more and beginning to wonder if she is going to pee her pants)

Mother: Roadchick, Santa was not there when we got here and he is not there now. Did you take those things yourself?

Roadchick: Um, no. (Roadchick was not a very bright child)

Mother: Roadchick, I'm going to ask you one more time - did you take those things yourself?

Roadchick: But this is a better coloring book and look, crayons.

Mother: That is not what I asked you.

Roadchick: But . . .

Mother: (staring and tapping her foot)

Roadchick: (hanging her head)

Mother: I thought so. Well, this is a problem. You are going to have to take those things back to Santa and explain to him that you took them without permission.

Roadchick: (HORRIFIED, TERRIFIED look)

Roadchick: (starting to cry)

Y'all, imagine the situation. Not only was Roadchick caught stealing but she was caught stealing from Santa. She knew, in her little Catholic pre-schooler's heart that she was going straight to Hell - do not pass Go, do not collect $200.00. She was flat out terrified and probably peed on herself a little. Roadchick's mother was absolutely unforgiving and unrelenting and PENANCE WOULD BE DONE.

All too soon, Santa returned from Feeding His Reindeer and Roadchick's mother led her up to the chair. Santa looked at the sobbing Roadchick and Roadchick just cried harder. Roadchick's mother told Santa that Roadchick had something she needed to tell him.

Santa: (taking a slightly damp Roadchick on his lap) What is it, little girl?

Roadchick: (holding out her loot) Santa, Roadchick took these out of your bag and she's sorry

Roadchick: (crying hysterically, knowing that there would be No Christmas or maybe Coal and Switches)

Santa: (looking at the slightly crumpled coloring book and crayons and sticky candy canes)

Santa: Well, Roadchick, I think you know it was Wrong to go in Santa's bag without permission, don't you?

Roadchick: (nodding and sniveling and generally making a spectacle of herself)

Santa: As long as you promise Santa that you won't ever do it again, Santa will forgive you and forget all about it.

Roadchick: (relieved look) Th-thank you, Santa.

Santa: And for being such an honest little girl, you can keep those things. Can you smile for Santa?

Roadchick: (trying to smile and still sniveling)

Mother: No, I don't think that would be wise. It would be rewarding her for stealing. Roadchick, leave those things here.

Roadchick: (flying into hysterics again because in her terror of facing Santa, she had forgotten that she still had to Face Her Mother)

Roadchick: (leaving the coloring book, crayons, and candy canes behind and throwing a desperate look at Santa, hoping that he might send her to the North Pole instead of Home With Her Mother)

Y'all, it was a long, long ride home with her mother that afternoon. Let it be said that the entire experience left quite an Impression on Roadchick so that she was never quite so eager to take something that wasn't hers again. And Santa? Well, he lied. It was not forgotten and there was a noticable . . . decrease in gifts from the North Pole that year.

Let it be a lesson to you, kids. Don't tug on Superman's cape, don't spit into the wind - don't steal coloring books from Old St. Nick and you don't mess around with Mom.

The Birth of a Stalker

As promised, the 'chick is back to elaborate on one of the items that she checked on the Mindless Monday list.

Topic for today: Had A Crush On A Teacher
Also filed under: Most Embarrassing Moment, EVER

When Roadchick was still just a Roadchicklet and in high school, she Had A Crush On A Teacher. Not just any teacher, mind you. He was a new teacher (just out of college with the ink barely dry on his teaching certificate) and also a football and wrestling coach. And, absolutely adorable. Absolutely.

Roadchicklet was about 16 years old and madly in love with the Coach, who was also her Geometry for Idiots teacher. There was much adolescent mooning around and contrived reasons to speak to the Coach.

One rainy afternoon, Roadchicklet and another smitten female decided it would be very cool to do a drive-by of the Coach's house (where he lived with his older brother, also a Coach and Teacher at the same high school).

So, being very cool, the pair c r u i s e d by sloooowly with much giggling involved. Then, rode around the block and c r u i s e d by sloooowly again, still giggling.

Hee hee - isn't that his car in the driveway? Why yes, it is. Hee hee hee.

A few minutes later, another slooooow drive by. Giggling ensues.

A few minutes after that, following much circling of the block, the girls get bolder.

(Y'all know that this is not going to be good, right?)

Instead of circling the block, this time the girls decide to turn around in the driveway.

Bad idea.

Bad, bad idea.

You see, Patient Reader, it had been raining. For several days. And the driveway was gravel and mud. Do you see where this is going?

Smitten Girlfriend pulls into the driveway and puts the car into reverse. She gently presses the accelerator. And promptly sinks to the axles in mud and gravel.

(The only good thing Roadchick can say about this is - at least she wasn't driving and it wasn't her car.)

The car is stuck. Stuck fast. As in concrete. Not moving.

Oh no.

Much quick thinking is going on in the car.

There is no alternative option available so Roadchicklet and Smitten Girlfriend get out of the car, sinking to the knees in mud and gravel and start making their way to the front door.

The shame and embarrassment are nearly overwhelming but again - there are no other options. This was before the days of common cell phone ownership and even if they had one - no way to avoid detection.

They ring the doorbell and Coach Adorable opens the door. Roadchicklet and Smitten Girlfriend do their best to act surprised that Coach Adorable lives in this particular house on this particular street.

They explain the situation and Coach Adorable looks over their shoulders to see the car mired in his driveway. Fortunately Coach Adorable's older brother is NOT at home - yet.

Coach Adorable makes his way out to the car and has to help PUSH the car out of the mud, getting liberally coated in mud in the process. Roadchicklet is ready to die of embarrassment. She offers a pan of brownies, completely homemade as a bribe for his silence.

Coach Adorable agrees not to say anything (yeah, right!) in exchange for brownies.

The next day, Roadchicklet delivers the promised brownies to school. When she gets to Coach Adorable's brother's class (he taught biology), she was treated to a few rather cryptic comments regarding mud and brownies and driveways and cars. She wanted to sink through the floor. Coach Brother agrees to keep silent in exchange for chocolate chip cookies.

A couple of years later, when Roadchicklet was graduating, she received a present from the Coaches. It was a pan of brownies with a Matchbox car sunk in the middle.

Roadchick did learn a lesson from the whole experience and refined her stalking technique. She now knows to NOT turn around in the victim's driveway because you just never know what might happen if you do. Let Roadchick's embarrassment be a lesson to you - it's better to stalk from a little further out.

Mindless Monday

Fill in what you’ve “done”:

(x) Smoked a joint
( ) Done cocaine
(X) Been in love
( ) Had a threesome
(x) Been dumped
(X) Shoplifted
(X) Had feelings for someone who didn’t have them back
( ) Been arrested
(X) Made out with a stranger
(X) Gone on a blind date
(X) Had a crush on a teacher
( ) Been to Europe
( ) Been to Canada
( ) Been to Mexico
(X) Seen someone die
( ) Thrown up in a bar
(X) Met a celebrity
(X) Met someone from the internet in person
(X) Been moshing at a concert
(X) Gone backstage at a concert
(X) Lain outside in the grass and watched cloud shapes go by
(X) Made a snow angel
(X) Flown a kite
(X) Cheated while playing a game
(X) Been lonely
(X) Fallen asleep at work
( ) Fallen asleep at school
(X) Used a fake ID
( ) Been kicked out of a bar
(X) Felt an earthquake
(X) Touched a snake
( ) Slept beneath the stars
( ) Been robbed
(X) Won a contest
(X) Run a red light
(X) Been suspended from school
( ) Had braces
(X) Felt like an outcast
( ) Eaten a whole pint of ice cream in one night
(X) Had deja vu
( ) Totaled a car
( ) Stolen a car
(X) Hated the way you look
( ) Witnessed a crime
(X) Been to a strip club
( ) Been to the opposite side of the world
(X) Swum in the ocean
(X) Felt like dying
(X) Cried yourself to sleep
( ) Sung karaoke
(X) Paid for a meal with only coins
(X) Done something you told yourself you wouldn’t
(X) Made prank phone calls
(X) Caught a snowflake on your tongue
( ) Been kissed under the mistletoe
( ) Had a bonfire on the beach
(X) Crashed a party
(X) Seen a tornado
(X) Had a wish come true
( ) Gone bungee jumping
( ) Screamed in public
( ) Told a complete stranger you loved them
(X) Had a one night stand
(X) Kissed a mirror
( ) Had a dream that you married someone
(X) Gotten your fingers stuck together with super glue
( ) Been a cheerleader
(X) Sat on a roof top
( ) Talked on the phone for more than 6 hours straight
(X) Stayed up all night
(X) Not taken a shower for three days
(X) Made contact with a ghost while playing a Ouija board
( ) Had more than 30 pairs of shoes at a time
( ) Gone streaking
(X) Been skinny dipping
( ) Been pushed into a pool/lake with all your clothes on
(X) Had sex in a public or semi-public place
(X) Been kissed by a complete stranger
( ) Broken a bone
( ) Caught a butterfly
( ) Mooned/flashed someone
( ) Had someone moon/flash you
( ) Cheated on a test
(X) Forgotten someone’s name
(X) Slept naked

Well, that's a rather telling list, isn't it? The 'chick invites you to complete one too. Consider yourself tagged if you're interested.

The 'chick is going to use some of those as blog ideas...it occurs to her that some of them might require some explanation or elaboration and some of them will make a damn fine story.

So, on a Mindless Monday...do a list!

Blame It On The Nyquil

After spending the weekend in a Nyquil-induced haze, the 'chick is back - at least somewhat.

Sunday was spent in bed, watching 8 hours of Flavor of Love with Flavor Flav. Y'all, this is not normally something that Roadchick would do. She blames it on the Nyquil. However, Nyquil did make the entire series infinitely amusing.

The 'chick got sucked into it...couldn't tear her eyes away and watched it to the thrilling conclusion to see who Flav was going to choose to be his new amour. Y'all, it was Deelishious. New York was scorned for the second time after being invited to re-join the show midstream. Hee!

Roadchick has to state for the record that she is somewhat alarmed that all this really started to matter to her yesterday. Couldn't Flav see that New York was a scheming, conniving biatch? Who was out to control his life, just like her mother? Would he figure it out in time? Would the camera crew tip him off that in her little personal asides she was saying things like: I'll let him think he's in control.

Drama, people...drama.

So, it's Monday, and the Flavor of Love drama is over except for the reunion show coming up next weekend. Roadchick sincerely hopes that she'll be over it all by then and not tune in, but the previews showed a fight worthy of Jerry Springer so it's entirely possible that she'll be glued to the TV next weekend too.

She blames it on the Nyquil and a massive case of Medicine Head.

The 'chick hopes that y'all had a more productive weekend than she did. Actually, she's pretty ashamed of herself for indulging in 8 hours of Love. Let's not mention this again.

Friday the 13th Follies

Well, it's Friday in Roadchick's world - probably your world too, unless you are over the International Date Line and then Roadchick does not know what day it is for you. She has enough trouble keeping track of her own days.

It was one of those mornings at Chez Roadtrip - waking up in the dark (ugh!) and wondering why it's not Saturday or Sunday thereby allowing one to turn back over and go back to sleep. Of course, the hefty dose of Nyquil last night did not help matters much at all. Apparently, the 'chick has caught a change-of-weather cold. Misery to all. And there will be misery to all because Roadchick is not much on suffering in silence or alone. No, not really. Actually what the 'chick really, really wants is to go home, put on her 'jammies, and crawl into bed to sleep for about 12 hours. That would truly be heaven.

Michael at Cardiac Fantasies was conducting a dream experiment in which he gave an idea to think about before bed with the purpose being to actually dream of the scenario. (Wow, that was a messed up sentence, but, please figure it out or keep moving - there is no editing for clarity today.) Anyway, the 'chick was playing along and actually remember to prompt herself for the dream but apparently Nyquil voids all bets. The 'chick did have a dream but it involved 1/4 inch thick contact lenses that were scaring her because she didn't know how she was supposed to put them in without them hurting. This had absolutely NOTHING to do with what she was meant to dream about which included secluded woods and spooky moons and things like that. Just creepy corrective lenses. It is entirely possible that the reason she had contacts on the brain was due to the episode of CSI: Las Vegas last night and Halloween contacts. Who knows?

Laundry was a topic of conversation around the coffee pot this morning. Y'all know it's time to do laundry when you're down to either a) church clothes or b) club clothes. If you're coming to work in a low-cut top and granny panties, you'd better be getting to the Soap Opera Laundromat. Fast. No, the 'chick did NOT make an appearance in either of those items. Her laundry is relatively caught up. The granny panties remark did cause a discussion though . . . how does underwear get those little holes in it? This led one co-worker to comment, while looking down in the general direction of her underwear: Yeah - hey - what's going on down there that I don't know about??? This caused Roadchick to have hysterics, which made her eyes water (from the cold), and then caused all sorts of unpleasantness. But still - funny.

Another friend went to a songwriter's night on Wednesday and said that one of the artists did a song about "When you're down to your Christmas panties, it's time to do the wash." How true, how true. There was another song about "I got all worked up over nothing, then I married him." Roadchick is thinking that she (the singer/songwriter) might be just a tad bit bitter over the men in her life. Just saying, is all.

On that cheery note, the 'chick is going to get busy & hopefully get some work done so she can go home and burrow under the covers and swill Nyquil like a wino. Hope y'all have a great weekend!

Rocktober

Happy October, y'all.

October is Roadchick's favorite month of the year for several reasons. The first reason is...it's finally cooling off and the humidity, for the most part, is GONE. Another reason the 'chick loves October is because the leaves are starting to change. The colors are phenomenal and by the end of the month, it's going to be absolutely gorgeous here.

Now, the two most important reasons that Roadchick LOVES October:

1. Her birthday is at the end of the month.
2. Halloween is also at the end of the month.

It's hard to decide which of these two makes the 'chick more excited.

The 'chick actually, usually, enjoys her birthday even though all the milestone ones have passed. Or, at least the milestone ones that are enjoyable like turning 16 and getting a driver's license...turning 21 and getting drunk....turning 25 and having the car insurance rates go down....you get the idea.

So, her birthday. This year to be spent in Gatlinburg, TN with Redneck. Awww. Roadchick has lived in Tennessee for about 14 years now and has never been to Gatlinburg. There was talk about her citizenship being revoked for such sacrilege. That little oversight will be remedied before the month is out.

And, Halloween. Y'all, this is most probably the 'chick's favorite holiday because there are no expectations and nothing is required of her. That, and it's very very close to her birthday. Close. Since the 'chick loves Halloween so much, she has a pretty good collection of Halloween decorations and once she gets her lazy butt in gear, pictures will be taken and posted for your voyeuristic enjoyment. (Edited: Assuming, of course, that BLOGGER allows her to post pictures ever again.)

In the meantime, the 'chick's thoughts have turned to pumpkins. One pumpkin has already been carved by Rockboy as a surprise for his mama. Awww. Y'all, it has flames for a mouth. It's tough. There will be a picture (see above: getting her butt in gear). (Also see above: re: Blogger and the whole picture thing. Sheesh.)

Redneck took Roadchick pumpkin shopping on Saturday afternoon and after much comparing, a pumpkin was selected.

Today, while at work (and she is still at work), it occurred to the 'chick that she was a little tired of the usual pumpkin patterns that she's used for the past several years - witches, vampires, bats, etc. TO THE INNERNETS!

Roadchick has found her patterns. Roadchick is muttering incredibly bad words at Blogger for not uploading the pictures for you to see.

(Edited to add: Please see the apology at the end of the post for all the whining you have and are about to read about uploading pictures. Thank you.)



Anyway (sigh) Roadchick and Rockboy will have Ozzy and Sharon Osbourne gracing the front porch this festive season. Another pumpkin purchasing expedition will have to be planned.



You can look at the patterns at
The Pumpkin Wizard. Definitely worth a look although not all the patterns are free.

There are also some really cool patterns at Zombie Pumpkins. Again, not free, but not expensive either.

In related creepy news, Roadchick and Redneck were at a car show on Saturday. Redneck has a 1950 Chevrolet DeLuxe that used to be his daddy's and he takes it to shows occasionally. While at the show, Roadchick and Redneck were next to a lady that owned a really bitchin' Impala...year uncertain (Roadchick is uncertain, that is - Redneck would know immediately). The car was called the "Black Widow". Anyway, over the rearview mirror, there was a braid. Of human hair. Tied on both ends with a red, white, and blue ribbon. Just hanging there. HUMAN HAIR. In the Black Widow. Mysterious, no?

Finally, curiosity got the better of Roadchick and she asked Maxine (no joke) about it. All that Maxine would say was: It's from the days when I was racing.

This led Roadchick to wonder - was it Maxine's hair? Was it a competitor's hair? Whose hair is hanging from the rearview mirror? And WHY??? There are no answers to that one, folks. Sorry. File it with the Skull In The Basement story.

Post-scripted whining: Why Blogger? Why? Why do you not let the 'chick upload her lovely, funny pictures? Why? She has read the FAQ. She has read the Help files. She surely cannot be over her limit. This is not possible. Why? Oh why?

Post-post-scripted ....apology???: Thank you, nice Blogger for letting Roadchick finally upload her nice and funny pictures. Please to be enjoying.

And the Winner Is. . .

Pacian!

Congratulations!

Here's what we had to start:

The glint in his gray eyes as he seated himself opposite her told her that Rhy was well aware why she hadn't chosen the sofa, but she ignored him and amused herself by watching the parade of early-morning travelers.

Their flight was five minutes late, and Rhy was already restless when the loudspeaker called their flight number. He got to his feet and took her arm, and suddenly gave her a whimsical smile.

"Those are some spikes you're wearing," he commented. "You come up to my chin...almost."
"They're also dangerous weapons," she said, her mouth curving.

And the thrilling conclusion:

At that moment the klaxon began to sound.

"Scramble! Scramble!" the chief air marshal screamed, leaning out of
the
stark spire of the control tower. Behind him, in the red-bathed
twilight
sky, the approaching air-jellyfish could already be seen, electric
barbs
poised and ready to attack. Ponderous civilian airliners veered away
from
them all too slowly.

The fighter pilots raced to get airborne before they reached their
prey.

As Rhy swung his leg over into the cockpit of his triplane, his short
wife
straightened the tall death-spikes on her helmet and climbed into the
cannon
mounted beneath the aircraft's hull. Rhy paused for a moment, twirling
his
moustache. "Good luck!" he shouted.

"You too!" his wife returned.

When he was out of view she unbuttoned her flight jacket and checked
that
the stolen plans were securely fastened into her belt. Rhy thought she
was
his loyal wife, but if he only knew that her true loyalties lay with
the
air-jellyfish and their gibbering octopus god…

******************************************************************************

Pacian, if you'll email the 'chick a snail mail address, your wonderful prize package will be on it's way to you.

Have a great Monday, y'all!

Sunday Scribblings: Skin

Well, boys and girls, isn't this an interesting topic for a Sunday Scribbling???

The 'chick has considered her options for the post and her mind wandered from a medical discourse discussing the properties of skin to a cosmetic commentary discussing the care and maintenance of skin to a self-confidence type entry discussing "love the skin you're in" but all of these were rejected for sex.

Y'all knew that was where this was going, didn't you?

The 'chick is going to discuss the industry of skin and the profits of said industry.

Hee!

In her past, the 'chick has visited several, ahem, adult establishments. Always as part of a group and not as a voyeur or for personal gratification.

The first time the 'chick set foot in a strip club, she was with a boyfriend who was applying for a job as a bartender. The 'chick is not going to discuss her feelings on this endeavor, rather she is going to discuss her impressions of the experience.

Roadchick was young at the time and not nearly as jaded as she is now. She had seen such things in movies but in her sheltered existence, she had never actually been to a club. It was dimly lit, although not too dark and there were little groupings of tables and chairs surrounding the stage area. The bar was located at the back of the room. Roadchick and Yucky Boy made their way to the bar and he began filling out an application. While he was doing that, the 'chick looked around to see what there was to see. A few girls made their way to the stage and did their dance numbers, collecting dollars from the few men scattered about. No one was particularly enthusiastic about any part of the process, girls or men. That made the 'chick wonder - then why bother???

As the 'chick sat there, waiting patiently, a number of the girls approached the bar and were talking to the 'chick. Was she there to apply? Did she want to dance? Wasn't she just the prettiest thing? And what pretty hair. She would be so popular. Did she want to come backstage and look around? Had she danced before? The 'chick was astounded by all the attention. The men in the place were also astounded that all the girls were more interested in chatting to the 'chick than chatting to them and possibly earning dollars. The 'chick came to the conclusion that at least she was a novel experience - the men were all the same.

The 'chick also attended a "dance" performance of Florida's Finest - a male review, with her sister-in-law. A gaggle of screeching, giggling women waving money and acting like fools. The 'chick was not included in the gaggle since she was using her dollars to buy drinks - a much more sensible purchase and much better value for the money. It was fun, as those things go, but not so much fun that the 'chick wished to return anytime soon. To cap the evening off, several of the dancers gave sister-in-law their phone numbers. That made the 'chick laugh when she thought about how many of those women present were writing phone numbers on the dollars they were stuffing down g-strings.

The last time the 'chick attended a strip club, it was at the tail end of a bachelorette party for Best Friend. The group of women met up with the bachelor party men for the groom at a Nashville club. Roadchick wound up sitting next to a drunken man of non-American origin who spoke no English. As the 'chick didn't speak his language either, she was having a hard time telling him to take a long walk off a short pier and if he didn't keep his hands to himself, she was going to kill him and dump the body in the lake. It took Best Friend's husband-to-be to finally get the guy to back off and go 'way.

At this club, the 'chick was older and a little more philosophical about the experience. She wondered if the girls' mamas knew what their little precious darlings were doing to earn pocket money (what pockets???) while away at that prestigious Ivy League university. And, she was impressed at the athleticism it must take to hang upside down from a pole with only one leg hooked around it. And she has never seen so much silicone in one place in her life. Rightside up, upside down, it didn't matter. Honey, those boobs did NOT move. Impressive.

There was a room toward the back and the crowd could see through the doorway. This was the Lap Dance Room. Anyone who paid for a lap dance went back there with the dancer of their choice and was seated in a recliner. The 'chick watched for a few minutes. She could only see the back of the man's head but completely see the dancer's face. She was moving, dancing away, but by the expression on her face, she was making out a grocery list or wondering if she turned the iron off before she left home. It was a good thing the man could NOT see that or else he probably would've asked for his money back.

While there, the 'chick needed to have a pee. (Well, she did, and what other choice did she have???) In her other two experiences, she did not ever visit the facilities so she was unprepared when she entered the restroom here. There was ONE toilet. With a tiny little partition and NO door or curtain. There was NO way to lock the outside door. She understands why this is, but it creeped her out anyway. See, the 'chick is a private bathroom person. She cannot pee when others are present. She can if she has her own little stall, but not as a social activity. At a strip club, evidently, it is a social activity. A dancer came in while the 'chick was in there and proceeded to chat with the 'chick while she desperately tried to pee. The 'chick was getting embarrassed because it was taking her forever and she wondered what the dancer must be thinking. "When is she going to get done? She's been there FOREVER. My next set must be coming up soon - I hope she's done by then. Is she even peeing or just sitting there? Maybe I should turn the sink on, maybe that will help. Did you ever see such modesty in all your life? And at a strip club too."

That experience pretty much cured the 'chick of hanging out at skin establishments.

So, skin. We've all got it. But the 'chick really doesn't need to look at anyone else's. Especially not if it costs money and leads to peeing as a social activity.

Tagged! and a Contest

Autrice tagged the 'chick with the following meme:

The Rules of this tag game are:
1. Grab the book nearest to you...no cheating!
2. Open to page 123.
3. Scroll down to the fifth sentence.
4. Post text of next 3 sentences on to your blog.

In the spirit of innernets cooperation, here goes:

The glint in his gray eyes as he seated himself opposite her told her that Rhy was well aware why she hadn't chosen the sofa, but she ignored him and amused herself by watching the parade of early-morning travelers.

Their flight was five minutes late, and Rhy was already restless when the loudspeaker called their flight number. He got to his feet and took her arm, and suddenly gave her a whimsical smile.

Since the 'chick got the email at work, y'all are just lucky that she keeps a book in her desk drawer in case the innernets are down during lunch - that way she'll still have something to read.

The excerpt above came from "An Independent Wife" by Linda Howard.

In all honesty, the 'chick has read no more than the cover and the blurb on the back - no pages until now have been read. Judging from what she just read while typing it onto the blog - that may be all that is read.

It did get a little more interesting just a line or two down, so for your amusement, the 'chick will include those here:

"Those are some spikes you're wearing," he commented. "You come up to my chin...almost."
"They're also dangerous weapons," she said, her mouth curving.


"Anyone care to take a guess at what happens next?" asked the 'chick, with a knowing leer.

Hmmm..maybe a little contest, y'all. Feeling up to it? Got your game on? Using the lines that came from the book, finish up what YOU think happened. The best entry (not necessarily the one closest to what actually does happen) will win the 'chick's copy of this monstrosity and another little giftage that has yet to be determined and will be a BIG SURPRISE! In addition, because y'all know that you really, really want it - the 'chick will autograph the book for the lucky winner.

"That is surely worth the entry!" she said, smiling at the paparazzi.

Deadline for entries will be Sunday, October 1, 2006 at 5:00 p.m. Central Time. Please do not post your entry to the comments - email it to:

talk2roadchick AT yahoo DOT com

"Get busy," she said, rubbing her hands together in anticipation, "and the winning entry will be posted for all the innernets to see!"

And lest you think the 'chick forgot:

Donkey, dahlin',
Pacian, love,
and
Tinker, honey

TAG - you're it!

Daydreams About Night Things

In the middle of the afternoon.

(How appropriate that those are lyrics from Mr. Ronnie Milsap - one of the two admitted star crushes that the 'chick has.)

Some days, the 'chick wanders the web. Just wandering, following links, seeing where it takes her. Sometimes it's because of something in a post that she decided she wanted to know more about. Sometimes, the writer even includes a handy link to take you to the place that they mentioned, to see what sparked their interest and ultimately, led to an entry.

Today was one of those days.

The 'chick was reading Crazy Aunt Purl's entry about sharing pictures of where people like to knit. She was inspired to do this because of this entry, asking for people to send pictures of their beds.

Where on earth is Roadchick going with this, you ask? Well, she's going to tell you.

The entry about "sharing beds" got the 'chick to thinking about, well, sharing a bed. (No, not like that, although that certainly does happen - the 'chick does not have her head in the sand like an ostrich.)

It occurred to the 'chick that sharing a bed with someone is one of the most intimate things that you could possibly do. Why? Aside from the sex thing, that is?

Because when you're sleeping, you're vulnerable. You're unconscious and unaware. You are exposed. (No, not nekkid, not necessarily.) By exposed, the 'chick means that you can't suck in your stomach or check to see if you've got morning breath or that your hair is perfect. You just . . . are, in all your glory, or lack of glory.

To Roadchick, sharing a bed with someone, actually sleeping with someone, takes a higher level of trust than a roll in the hay. After a roll in the hay, you can make a mad dash for the bathroom to wipe off the smeared eyeliner or do a shot of Scope. You are aware.

With the right someone, sharing a bed can make everything right in the world. It is your safe place. It's where you can curl up and watch TV or read or snuggle and just be.

With the wrong someone, it's an anxiety attack wrapped in Egyptian cotton sheets. The pressure is on. Do you snore? Kick? Steal the covers? Are you less than perfect??? Answer yes on any of those counts and it will be discovered. There is no hiding.

Not even in the dark.

So here's to the ones that accept us for who we are: the good, the bad, and the ugly. Because, honey, you might not think so, but at 4:30 in the morning - we're all ugly.

The Jackass Highway Blues

Over the weekend, the 'chick spent a fair amount of time on the road. This is not unusual. What was unusual was the things to be seen while on the road. Yesterday afternoon, the 'chick was headed into the city and noticed a loaf of bread lying by the side of the road. Hmmm. Interesting. A little further on, there was a package of hot dog buns by the side of the road. Hmmm. Odd. A little beyond that was a package of brown & serve rolls. Hmmm. This is getting weird.

Y'all, how do you manage to lose bread products from your vehicle at regular intervals and not notice? Or, if you're doing it intentionally - why? Why throw carbohydrates right out the window? Why?

These are the things that make the 'chick wonder.

A little later on, the 'chick was turning onto an on-ramp to get back onto the interstate. There was a pickup truck hauling a trailer in front of her. On the trailer was a large, professional-type riding lawnmower. When the truck and trailer hit a bump, combined with the curve of the ramp, the lawnmower very gracefully launched itself into the air and off the trailer, bounced twice, and slammed into the guardrail. If Roadchick had been following any closer, it would have bounced right onto the hood of her car. Yikes.

Redneck and the 'chick went to the movies on Saturday night and saw Jackass, Number Two. This was Redneck's choice and Roadchick went along in the spirit of being a good sport since Redneck was very kind to Roadchick after she was food poisoned by eating bad Mexican (although it was delicious).

Anyway. Before straying too far into the land of TMI. . .

Redneck and Roadchick got their tickets and headed for the theater. The manager-lady was angry that the ticket boy had let Roadchick and Redneck back toward the theater before she deemed it was time. She also had a police officer stationed at the door to the theather to make sure that everyone going in had a ticket for that movie and to check IDs on those that seemed a bit...young.

Now. The 'chick understands the reasoning behind all of this, but it made for a rather cold and impersonal atmosphere.

When it was the 'chick's turn at the head of the line, she showed the police officer her ticket and he waved her in. Redneck was right behind her. The manager-lady screeched at the police officer that HE NEEDED TO LOOK AT REDNECK'S TICKET TOO! Apparently, Mr. Police Officer wasn't nearly as impressed with her authority as she was because he just looked at manager-lady and said, "Yeah, I saw it." Which he hadn't, but it was pretty obvious that Redneck and Roadchick were there together and it was also pretty apparent that neither Redneck nor Roadchick were going to be scamming the Megaloploplex out of their $8.50 for all that Jackass goodness.

What? You want a review of the movie? Well, it was all right. There were parts that had the 'chick cracking up but there were also parts that had her covering her eyes and wishing she could not hear what was going on. Not so big on the vomiting/bodily fluids parts of the movie. Ewww.

If you are male, go. You will enjoy it. Every last minute.

If you are female, consider carefully. This is not a movie for females. This is a movie for males. If your male deserves a reward for something and wants you to go, do - there is enough funny to make up for the gross. Otherwise, watch the DVD when some male brings it home.

The 'chick has to wonder though, about the Jackass crew. Why? Why do you do those things? Why do you do them when you know it's going to hurt? Or make you throw up? Why? Why is showing your butt considered high humor? Why do you tattoo or brand things onto your body that you can't get rid of? Why?

(Note to Patient Reader: The 'chick has nothing against tattoos or even brands per se...what she doesn't understand is why you would let someone put something on you that you didn't choose, is not aesthetically pleasing, and might just label you a Jackass???)

Sunday Scribblings: Instructions

Image from engrish.com

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What the 'chick needs is instructions on writing instructions.

Any takers???

Arrrgh

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

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

Gone. Gone. Gone.

Now, who on earth would want that???

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

SHE WANTS THE FIRST ROLL OF PICTURES!!!

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

Sigh.

So unlike the 'chick.

Thieves! That must be it. Photo pirates.

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

Arrrrgh.

Now We Are Six

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

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

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

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

Things that make you go "Awwww":

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

State Fair

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy HUMP Day!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Happy HUMP Day, y'all!

Roadchick and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good Day

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

9/11

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It made a point.

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

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



Order yours here.

Rest in peace. You are not forgotten.