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.