Slutty Sydney Steals

This test from NicoleMart. Anyways, I didn't turn out to be as
slutty as I wanted. A few of the questions on the question tripped
me up. Apparently there are some things I won't do. 36% of
them in fact. Who knew?




How much of a slut are you?

I Couldn't Even Make It Up

Not if I tried. My life is so weird even I'm gettin' some popcorn
and a diet coke - caffeine free of course - to sit down and watch.

So after surviving the hands happy doctor who wanted to show
me in detail how they insert the IV in my artery, you know, in
my groin, "right here," he said, placing his hand on it. And then...
not removing said hand. "Then, he explained, "They shave you
here," he pressed down to emphasize his point. He went on to
explain that they would insert the cardiac catheter, blah blah blah
and then went on to say, "And then they'll need to apply pressure
for several minutes on your groin," and placed his other hand on
his first and pressed down again.

There was no nurse in the room. I was trying to decide whether
to call the medical board or just go ahead and have him get me
ALL the way off. Since he was fairly attractive and is apparently
one of the best surgeons around and I may need my valve re-
placed someday I decided on option three. Say nothing and let
him finish his umm... rather detailed hands on explanation.

So after that, I get my other weird test today. My boss is in a
bad mood and gets mad at me on the way out the door. That
always makes for a lovely weekend. So afer all of THAT, I'm on
my way home and I decide that I need to get a prescription filled.
Except that last time I called the pharmacy I didn't have refills al-
though I know perfectly well that I have three remaining.

I figured the bottle was on the passenger floorboard of my car.
You know, along with most of the rest of my life. So I pulled into
K-Mart towards the side end of the lot, away from the other ve-
hicles, got out and bent over the passenger side of my car with the
door open. At that time, there were no other cars around me. Did
I mention I was wearing a rather short skirt? Ok. I was. I think
that may possibly be germaine to the rest of what happened, al-
though I could be wrong.

So I'm looking for this bottle, which I can't seem to find, although I
do come up with some other stuff I'd lost and didn't even know I
was missing. Anyway, you know when you just have this quiet cer-
tain knowledge that someone is right behind you even though you
haven't seen them yet? That weird feeling?

Well here I am, bent over my seat, car door open, and I get that feel-
ing. I look down and I SWEAR TO GOD this guy about my age was
squatting on the ground RIGHT BEHIND ME LOOKING UP MY
SKIRT. A little to my rear right actually. But I do mean RIGHT
fucking behind me. Like less than a foot. So whirled around and
saw a car (a truck actually) that I took to be his but it was at least
four or five car spaces away from mine and there was nothing but
space between my car and his truck. Unfotunately, there was little
space between my ass and his nose. I loudly demanded, "What are
you doing!"

He quickly backed away from me, almost stuttering, and said,
"Nothing, I dropped my key." He was WAY bigger than me, by the
way, but the parking lot was crowded and he left and went into the
K-Mart. I didn't see a key, nor did I hear one drop. So... I was
faced with another one of those questions.

What to do? Well, it happened there was a cop right there in the
parking lot. I mean, its a huge parking lot but in the far corner it
just so happened that there had been a fender bender so there
was one out there handling he report. So I told him what happened
and I said look, I don't know WHAT he was doing exactly but can
you please just stop him and run him for priors.

I'd hate not to report it and then find out he's wanted for this type
of thing. You know, the key dropping dress peeping maneuver. Or
something worse. Because I can live with being peeped personally,
but I couldn't live with not reporting something if it turned out the
guy had hurt someone before or something. Turns out they were
more than happy to stop the guy. It can get boring being a cop
here ALTHOUGH a lot more goes on in a small town than people
would imagine. I say that having worked with social services in
a small town in Texas for a little while.

They stopped him on the way out. He explained that somehow his
key had rolled. That's right, rolled out of his hands and up under
my ass. From many feet away. And he was just kind of quietly
trying to retrieve it. And his jacket was clean. No priors. He had
been on his way to have his key copied at K-Mart and had taken it
off of his key ring and it had just taken on a life of its own. It was a
bad key incident. They happen. And he was so sorry he scared
me. Scared me? Hell, he's lucky I didn't have a gun in the car at
that moment sneaking up behind me like that. I mean, retrieving
his key. And there you have it.

I Think I am Home Free

Kinda. Ok, by that I mean that my test yesterday came out really
well. UBER well. Except that I was told that I can no longer have
caffeine. Yes, I am going to titrate off of that. Oh, and I have to
take some drugs to slow my heart rate down. That's right. More
drugs.

I still have a couple more heart related tests on Monday, but I
hope and think actually that they will come out well too. Ok, that
said... my brain is weird. But you knew that already. My eeg came
out bad. As in wrong. As in, 'you just ain't right." Something that
people here in my new state tell me ALL the ever lovin' time. So
my brain is abby normal. I just got the results.

Very nice. Ok, but you know, that can happen - I think. That these
things come out abnormal. Maybe. Except, oh yeah, I did have that
weird thing happen last week. The incident at work. Ok, well,
There IS that. And umm, all of my eeg's have been abnormal, this
one just happens to be you know, more abnormal. So, I get an MRI
too. Just in case I wasn't pissing my boss off ENOUGH with all of
the medical tests.

But anyway, I'm still not getting really worked up over this. I don't
know exactly why, but I guess I feel kind of more comfortable with
problems in my head - you know, where me and my migraines live,
than with problems in my heart. I'm USED to having headaches so
I guess a problem with my brain isn't quite as scary for me. Weird
huh? Go figure.

I See Men

a lot like hood ornaments. Every time I find one I wouldn't be
embarassed to put on my car, I can't keep him from falling off.






copywrighted by Syd

For The Adult Crowd

So Arthur, or Chief Blogster, never one to rest on his laurels, has
begun a new endeavor. This one is a little racier. A little edgier.
A little not for the 18 and under.

Per his request, its also not to go back to blogster, for any blog-
steridians reading this. He wants to give the new guys a fair
shake without any competition. Although really this is not at
all the same thing.

Ever the entrepeneur, the Chief has come up with a new idea.
Adult Blogster
It's a link site for adult blogs. Its still in its formulative stage,
but... There you have it. Adult eye candy. Or at least, links to
such.

So What Day Is It?

The 24th? The 25th? I can't wait and entire two weeks to do
housework because the house is pretty bad. Plus, we need
clothing. Although... if I showed up to work naked I just might
be able to sell more chicken.

But seriously, as soon as Dylan wakes up, I will give him some
time, like the little vampire offspring that he is, to get used to
the fact that it is daylight outside, and THEN we are cleaning
the house. Because a lot of my tests do not occur for two weeks
and the house simply CANNOT wait until then.

To his benefit, he did do two loads of dishes in the dishwasher
yesterday. And I am going to live up to my taco promise. He
LOVES tacos. I'll bet I could feed him tacos every day and he'd
still love them. And by this I do not mean the crunchy taco shells
you buy at the store. He likes corn tortillas deep fried and folded
over at home. His preference is for me to throw some chorizo in
with the hamburger meat, but Dorothy, we're not in Kansas err...
Texas anymore. We're in Alabama. Hard to find chorizo here.

His grandmother from Texas has a cool way you can convert ham-
burger meat to chorizo. I need to call and get it from her. If I do,
I'll post it in case anyone else wants to try it.

The funniest thing about this post? I hardly ever cook. But hey,
we are poor lately. So I'm going to be doing a LOT more of it!

A Tale of Two Blogs

So... I originally came here because I was having some you know,
issues, back at home on the range on my original blog:

Blah Blah Blog... by again... ObliqueOne

I wasn't feeling creative the day I started it, hence the title. Ok,
so I was feeling really uncreative. What about it? Anyway, so I
left. You know, stopped writing there. Came to blogspot. Started
a blog. I like it here. Not only are there lots of cool blogs out here
but I can - well if I was creative I could - futz about with my own
html here. And blogspot uses the standard blogging format. Un-
fortunately, blogster doesn't.

Last week, things were resolved at blogster, at least in terms of
my issues there. But I found that I couldn't and didn't want to
give this blog up. Nice people and the ability to more or less do
my own thing here reeled me in. So since then, I've been here.
And there. But I will not be leaving here. So I'll do both. Which
is fine. I have more blathering to do than is possibly fair to ex-
pect any one group of people to read.

So anyway, blogster was purchased on ebay initially and was
grown into a community of bloggers. By Arthur, affectionately
(most of the time) known as the Chief Blogster. We were a dif-
ficult group to keep in line I'm sure.

Two or three days ago, Arthur sold Blogster. For an undisclosed
amount. Its not, by the way, his only gig. Never was. But con-
gratulations and I'll miss you, Arthur. You know. In a weird sort
of way ;)

ChiefBlogster

p.s. You guys here may wonder - why is she telling US about this?
Well duh! I have to talk about it somewhere, and I can't tell the
folks at blogster because... they ALREADY KNOW. And there
you have it.

The Funniest Thing

that happened today is my doc said, so during that TIA yesteday-
Look, I said, we don't KNOW that it WAS a TIA. That remains a
hypothetical diagnoses. As I was saying, he went on, when the un-
KNOWN EVENT occurred yesterday, did you think to take your
pulse?

Are you fucking nuts? I said. The "event" that occurred yester-
day where my entire world narrowed to a pinpoint of light? The
one where I was fairly certain was going to die, silently and alone
in the front of my office? No, I did not think to take my pulse. I
thought about how fast I could have gone through all the life in-
surance at my son's age. I thought about what dorky dress my
mom would probably put me in for the funeral. But no, I did not
think to take my pulse. And there you have it. Again.

It Would Seem That

My health isnt all that good of late. It would seem actually that my
health falls into the category offically called, "kinda sucky." So yes-
terday I had some kind of weird head thing where I almost passed
out. It may or may not have something to do with my heart, which
was making very rude noises this morning and not acting at all so-
cial.

Since I'm fairly certain I had a T.I.A. yesterday, I got scared. I had
a little miniature nervous breakdown. So I called my mom. And
cried. You know, briefly. Then I pulled it together and called my
doctor.

And then began the adventure that is the normal trip to my doc's
office. Please try to remember - it's free. My doctor says, I really
want you in here. But its Saturday. Your heart, he says, doesn't
care what day it is. Hell of a good point he's got there. And be-
sides, wasn't that me crying on the phone, first to my mom, and
then, a little calmer, talking to my friend Cindy? Yes. Yes, in fact
that was me. So... I drive to my doc's office in a nearby town. He
has his builder and painter there (they recently moved offices and
are still doing the buildout while seeing patients). Of course, he's
not open today, just there.

His son calls. Oh he says, you'll have to ride with me to (insert the
name of another small town in Alabama here) to take the boys to
their friends. No problem, I said, we can talk on the way. So I ex-
plain what's happened and he, unhappily, agrees I've very pro-
bably had one in a series of T.I.A.'s - his son regales us with a story
written by his brother wherein the entire town is overcome by a
giant fart and then explodes in cloud of methane and FEMA is un-
able to handle the aftermath. The doctor is embarrassed. About
me hearing about the giant fart I mean. I find the story actually
quite well-written and timely. And amusing. As fart humor goes.

So we go back to the office where I am examined. My mitral valve
is loudly announcing HA HA, I don't close all the way, HA HA! But
lots and lots of people have that I said. Not like this, he said. Oh.
And it appears there is some damage that has occurred to my
heart. But HEY, just a very small area. And my carotid arteries
sound funny. Right. Ok. Well... lovely then.

Did I ever tell you that NOBODY in my family EVER gets cancer?
I said. He was not amused. I said, Umm... my mom wants you to
call her. (He hates that shit) He said, Tell her that this is probably
not going to be fatal. I said what do you mean probably. He said,
I mean we can probably fix whats wrong with your heart. Ok... I
said, and again - by fix - what are you thinking. Oh, he said you
very probably need a pacemaker. And someday, you will have to
have that valve replaced, but the cardiologist will tell us if we can
wait a few years.

So I call back on Monday to find out when I come back for a sleep
study, and EEG (those two on account of the TIA thingie), a car-
diac cath, you need your carotids dopplered and... we've already
set you up for an echo and a stress test. Between now and then
don't do anything strenuous, don't have sex (like that was gonna
happen) and - and here he said the thing that freaked me out.
Because this is a guy who in the past has told me that clear liquids
could include vodka. But he said, and I would invite you back to
my house for a beer but I don't want you to have ANYTHING at
all to drink until we're clear of these tests.

Ok, now? NOW I am scared.

This type of thing

May begin to sound oddly familiar to some of you. Here's the deal.
I couldn't find my keys yesterday morning before work. Not any-
where. Now, the previous evening I had gone to bed, although not
necessarily to sleep, at 6pm. Yes. Again. My son had come up-
stairs and needed to used my debit card. I said, yeah sure - oh,
and be sure to get us some drinks too ok? (You know, diet coke
and the like. He's too young to send out for vodka.)

I heard him dump my purse out on the floor in the living room.
Through the haze that was my half sleep, I inwardly cringed, but
then thought, oh well, what the fuck. Ok - a brief side story. I'd
had a bad EKG earlier that day, and I've been having some in-
creasingly annoying heart symptoms. Shortness of breath upon
exertion that isn't even laughingly called exertion (like - rolling
over in bed for instance, or say - taking a shower), ultra fast heart
beat, that sort of thing. Oh yeah, and some chest pain. But really
the other symptons bothered me more. And the fatigue of course.
So anyway, I've always had some slight cardiac issues, but they
had seemed to be resolving until very recently. Now, they aren't
and I've had a worse than usual EKG. And I was really tired. So
back to my story.

I hear all the stuff spill out. I think to myself, Gee, I hope he's put-
ting all of that stuff back. Oh well. Then at some point, I go to
sleep. Fast forward to yesterday morning. I wake up. Dylan is at
school. I can't find my keys. Anywhere. Or my bankcard, which
he took with him the night before. I'm going to be late to work. I
am assuming my son has my card and also may have moved my
keys as he had my purse the night before. I call his school and de-
mand he be sent home. Hey, I have to go to work, ya know?

So on his way home, he decides, I DON'T KNOW WHY, to stop by
the Piggly Wiggly to get the drinks that he apparently forgot to
purchase the night before. He apparently is afraid I'll be mad that
he forgot so he takes this precious time that I am already late for
work to do this. He gets home. In the meantime, I have (oops)
found my keys. However, I still need my bankcard.

He walks in with the drinks, a look of panic on his face. He CAN'T
FIND HIS BILLFOLD. Wait. The one you just had at the store?
The one with my bankcard in it? And by the way, why the hell
did you GO to the store NOW anyway? Uggh! He runs back
down to the store. His billfold is not there but the truck that was
parked next to his car is gone. Lovely. I cancel my bankcard. I
have no less than eight items per month that come out directly
from my account. I now have to contact each of these places with
the new # the bank gave me. I go to work. He goes to school.

Last night when I got home my son said... You didn't call the cops
yet did you? No, I said. Why?

Oh. I found my billfold in the bushes next to our house. You know,
right next to where I park the car. It must have fallen out of my
pocket... I love you mom.

Having Not Slept

More than two hours night before last - you know, being worried
that Dylan wouldn't wake up in time to make it to the bus barn to
get his hatbox - I went to bed at 6:30 or so last night. Couldn't
sleep. Took a half an ambien. Couldn't sleep. Took a whole am-
bien. Couldn't sleep. Talked to friends. Finally fell asleep.

Was awakened by my friend's son. He's about my age. He weighs,
at last count, somewhere in the neighborhoood of 300 lbs and is a
policeman at a very very very small neighboring city. That is to
say, town. That is to say, a town EVEN SMALLER THAN OURS.
(A town even smaller than our is a very small town indeed.)
Because he has washed out of both the police department and sher-
riff's department here. First a shooting at the police department, of
suspicious circumstances.

Although, my friend does not think so, and I do not comment in
front of her out of respect. (Really, Ranger Tom, THIS ONE WAS A
BAD SHOOTING and they fired the right officer, HIM. My friend's
son.) So anyway, the other thing is. He has five kids. He pays child
support for two, the other three, from his first marriage, he left his
parents to raise for most of their lives while both he and his first
wife went their separate ways, lived elsewhere, and did not offer
financial support. So anyway, I don't have a huge amount of respect
for the guy. Now his mother, the one who raised his first three kids,
is a good friend of mine.

We have had a couple of words about how I feel she doesn't take
good enough care of herself, trying to care for three grandchildren
with her husband, on their limited income without the financial or
physical support of either parent. I worry about her, because both
she and her husband have health problems. I do have to say, her
grandkids WERE better off with her. Apparently, her son has
recently moved back in with her. Good. He can help with the kids.
You know. His kids. So anyway, he called and woke me up at 8:30,
(not really his fault as it is considered polite to call anyone after
10am and before 10pm unless expressly asked not to do so, or un-
less a restraining order is in place) and I answered, drugged on
ambien, and our conversation went as follows:

Hi, Sydney - I'm trying to set up a wireless internet for my mom
I didn't wake you did I? You sound a little weird?

Me? Oh - no, I umm, no, it couldn't be, it was just umm, just a min-
ute. A wireless system? At your mom's? Walmart? No no, not
$200.

Yeah, he said I needed three different pieces of equipment but I'm
just trying to hook up these two computers and I...

(Never one to let ANYONE complete an entire sentence awake
or asleep you ARE going to notice me interject a lot. It's one of my
tackier character flaws - you'd think I'd grown up in New York or
something, and by that I do mean the city, not the state - particu-
larly the upper portion of the state where people are oh so gen-
teel.) Listen, you don't need three pieces of equipment, to buy I
mean. All you need to buy are a wireless router and a card for the
computer that is away from the cable modem, you know, the one
upstairs.

I'm sorry? Our cable modem IS upstairs! The computer that's a-
way from it is downstairs!

(Of course, how silly of me to forget that everyone's house isn't
wired just like mine) Right. Of course, but anyway, same thing.
Just the other way around. Anyway, you just need those two
pieces of equipment. Be sure the wireless router has room for
a hard line to go to the one computer that's right next to your
cable modem.

But what about the hub that charter gave us?

Charter gave you a hub? Really? In addition to your modem?
(For a moment was thinking - even through the ambien - that all of
the planets had come un-aligned and charter was not a "for profit"
company after all. The world as I knew it threatened to teeter on a
precipice. See, Charter would NEVER GIVE you a HUB. They don't
like to even think about you USING a hub. If you happen to MEN-
TION that you are using a hub when you are talking to them, they
close their eyes and think about baseball. In their minds every
customer hooks up with one computer and buys a new connection
for each new computer. That's how they make money. Now the
guys that come out to your house to hook you up? They know you
use a router to hook up all of your computers. But then, they don't
really care. They don't really work for Charter. They're con-
tracted employees.)

Oh. No, I guess its a modem after all.

Ok... Well, you are GOING TO NEED THAT. Its what brings the
internet into your computers. From there, the line goes into the
wireless router, then, one line goes into the one computer and the
computer on the other floor receives the connection in a wireless
manner. Got it?

But... There is only space for that cable cord going into the cable
modem, not coming out of it.

Umm... Lets go over this again because I think I probably havent
been communicating very well... (ambien) The cable cord comes
out of the wall. It goes into the cable modem charter gave you.
You take the computer cord, not a cable line, from the cable modem
to the wireless router. From there, you will run another computer
line from the wireless router to the computer nearest the cable
modem. On the computer downstairs, you will install the wireless
card, or plug a receiver into the usb port dependent upon what
type you buy, and... voila! You're hooked up!

Ok, well, how much do those components cost.

(What am I now, mysimon?) I don't know, probably around 70
bucks for the wireless router and 30 or so for the card if you buy
the kind you install in the desktop and 5o bucks or more if you buy
the external type that you plug into the USB port. If you wait and
go to radio shack you might get a better price although the super
walmart did have several brands last time I looked.

And you're sure I only need those two parts cuz the guy at Wal-
Mart said I needed three.

Ok well, you have to decide whether you trust me, or some guy
working at walmart who hasn't already fixed your mom's compu-
ter 5000 times.

Oh, yeah... true. Well, thanks.

No probem, night.

Saving UP

So I saved up everything I needed to do this weekend for today.
Then my son Dylan popped himself in the eye (umm, not really in
the eye - that would have been way bad - but near the eye) with
a power cord and cut his cheek open and we just got back from
the ER. Him with stitches. Err... stitch. Or two. And they said,
you can come back to get it taken out in five days or so. Right.
We'll be doing THAT little operation at home.

So anyway... Now I have to finish cleaning the house, do a project
for work, write a legal letter for my sister, do laundry, and any
number of other things TONIGHT. Why? Because I did what I
always do. Saved up. But not in the good way implying that I
somehow multiplied my funds or something of that nature. No,
I procrastinated. Saved up my misery. That's right. Saved up.

Getting "Uber" It

I umm... didn't know what the word "Uber" meant. By that, I
mean that I didn't know what the word uber meant until yester-
day. Now, obviously I wasn't eaten up with curiousity about this.
The meaning of the word "Uber." Else I would have looked it up.
I had some vague idea that it had something to do with sex. Why?
Because until proven differently, I hope that everything has some-
thing to do with sex.

Below is a long meandering and ultimately pointless story about
how I came to understand the meaning of the word uber. That
was my disclaimer. Don't say I didn't forewarn you. I have ADD.
Which means that my brain is animation incarnate from the mom-
ent I wake up until the moment my head hits the pillow at night.
I mean until the moment I fall asleep at night. Umm, come to think
of it, gee whiz, that just might be one of the reasons WHY I have
difficulty falling asleep at night.

Now my son, he has ADHD. That is to say, his body FOLLOWS
his brain into all of that activity. My body is much lazier than his.
We both take adderall 30 mg XR, a handy little medication, to slow
everything down enough so that we can attempt to do ten things at
once instead of a hundred (Tom Cruise be damned), and there you
have it.

So... All of that said, back to the "Uber" thing.

I was watching tv out of the corner of my eye whilst on the compu-
ter and I saw the promo for some new reality show where people
submit their inventions and the show actually produces, tests and
then markets the product. Immediately, I thought of some pro-
ducts I'd test if I had an opportunity like that including one I'd call
the "Uber Pond" - a little ready made landscape pond since people
seem to be so fond of water features these days.

And so this is how my brain works. Brain - huh. You better make
sure Uber doesn't have anything to do with sex. Then you'd be mar-
keting a sex pond (ok - remember this is already ridiculous because
I'M NOT MARKETING ANYTHING). So I look it up online. Uber
means "over" in German. In usage its used to mean something is
super or ultra, as in, "Dude, those jalapenos are uber hot!" or...

"Paris Hilton is an uber skank." or...

"Uber Ponds are uber stupid."

Customer of The Year

I have one customer to whom I owe a huge debt of gratitude. I
had a broker basically stick us with 29 loads of chicken earlier
this year. It was supposed to have been sold to a large corpora-
tion whose name I will not mention in this post. He gave us his
word on it. And since my boss knew him and had worked with
him before, we bought the inventory based on that. Well... I'm
sure you can see what's coming here. He didn't really have the
deal sewn up. And when it fell through he kind of shrugged and
said, "Wow, I'm really sorry guys."

Enter the customer of the year. Since we are wholesalers, we
sell to a lot of distributors. This customer, who was actually my
very first customer when I got into this business (and he taught
me much of what I know about poultry and deli meats), pitched
in immediately to try to help me move the loads. Now under-
stand that 29 loads of chicken means 29 x 40,000 lbs. Or, in lay-
man's terms, a lot of mother fucking chicken.

So COTY has sold a few loads a month for me every month. As
the chicken market began to dive I have not made money on all
of them, but the most important thing is that I have lost MUCH
LESS than I would have without him as I would not have been
able to move many of the loads. (The company that manufactures
the product and I are in he same market so its difficult to find
customers to whom they aren't already selling, and since they are
the manufacturer they can always beat my price.)

Anyway, thanks to COTY I am down to 5 loads of that product now
and he hopes to have them moved Monday. But in addition to that,
he just called me today. On Saturday. ON SATURDAY! To let me
know that he is in the process of making a deal on the only other
load I need to move so that I can get it out of the way and not lose
money on it. What a great guy!*

*Just as a general FYI, the hurricane took the market up for a
very short time, but it is now falling and is expected to return to
something closely approximating pre-hurricane levels very soon.

This is Why Your Mama Tells You

to pick up your feet...

I always drag my feet. I'm not speaking figuratively here, al-
though hey, that is CERTAINLY true. But I'm just talking physi-
cally. Why? Hell, I don't know. Probably laziness. But I can still
remember when I was a little kid walking down the sidewalk in
hush puppies, my mom saying, PICK UP YOUR FEET! And now?
Now that I'm an adult? My receptionist tells me the same damn
thing. So there's no getting away from it. I've always wondered
what the big deal was. Maybe they just don't want me to go
through what happened to this man:

The Perils of Static Electricity

So My Son Left His

Hatbox on the bus left night. After the game. You know, his band
hat. Which would be moderately ok. I mean, he could just go look
for the thing on Monday morning. Except that to compound his
problems, he left his billfold IN the hatbox WITH the hat. Yes, my
son is getting to be more and more like his mother every day. Hell,
I can't even get mad at him. When's the last time I did something
that stupid. Last week? Yesterday? Did I forget to mention that
this IS a bus that will be used first thing Monday morning to haul
students to our local high school. Yep. It is.

So it would seem wise to at least attempt to retrieve the hatbox
over the weekend if possible. But then that means disturbing
someone else's weekend. You know, to let us into the bus barn.
Have I mentioned here previously what an absolute JOY it is
that my son is in the band. On so many different levels? No?
Seriously. I mean, it is. I bitch about it a lot, but it is. Well at
least, you know, during the five minutes that he's actually march-
ing across the field. Then I get to watch him from the stands at
the home games with all of the other proud parents, queso from
the nachos I serve at the concession stand spattered across my
shirt...

Here's The Deal

I REALLY don't want to move blogs again. So... I've turned off my
anonymous comments and I hope that doesn't cause any problems
for anyone trying to comment. Anyway, I'm just going to go from
there. Other than that, I don't plan to post on this topic anymore.
Way past time to move on.

OK, Let's Move On... To BOTOX!

Please. Because, I reaaaaaaaally don't need the additional stress,
ya know? So can we talk about botox for a minute here? Yes, I
get botox injections. Four time per year. And my insurance pays
for it. That's because most of it goes in my neck and shoulders, and
the rest of it goes in my forehead. You might think that I'd walk a-
round looking like one of those automotons, but noooo... Not me.
Why? Because like everything else in medicine, my body is just
weird.

The botox doesn't do its civic duty and totally paralyze my facial or
neck and shoulder muscles. (Of course I don't get it in all of my
neck muscles because then if it worked, I wouldn't be able to hold
my head up and I'd have to get rings of gold around it to prop it up
like that one African tribe in... well, wherever the fuck they are.)

So, I have apparently developed somewhat of an immunity to botu-
lism and the botox only partially paralyzes my muscles. The entire
idea behind using botox for migraine and headache relief is that when
you have a headache it becomes a vicious cycle. Your muscles con-
tract from the pain, and then they become sore, they throb, which
makes your headache worse, and so on and so forth.

So the theory is that by paralyzing the muscles, it cuts down on the in-
tensity of the headache. And I do think it helps somewhat, otherwise
I wouldn't go back and let them keep sticking me with tiny little need-
les and shooting me with toxins right under my skin.

Of course, the bonus is that she always sends me home with lortab
and muscle relaxants. So that's always fun.

Another Thing

The entire deal with the thong photos was this: The owner of blog-
ster made up some blogster paraphenalia and put it up for sale at
whatever that place is - Cybercafe? Cafepress? One of the items
was thongs with the blogster logo on them. He put up a challenge
that if anyone would buy the thongs and then submit a photo of
themselves in these official blogster thongs, they would get their
money back. So I mostly did it on a lark because I had never done
anything like that before, nobody thought I would follow through,
and I thought it would be fun. Which it was. Very freeing in a
weird sort of way to conquer all of the fears that I had about my
body and my thighs and my butt and whether or not they are too
wide, and what other people would think, and my fears about other
people SEEING my body in just thongs and the blogster camisole.
And wondering if they would stone me, or laugh me out of the
place, or what. So the entire thing was a good experience for me
until the problems began last month.

Huh?

What the fuck? You know, every once in a while something hap-
pens that just makes you SO glad you made a certain decision.
Like oh... say - changing BLOGSITES. Today's been one of those
days. Sorry Cindy. Maybe I shouldn't post links to anymore of
my friends on my blog if they post a new blog on blogspot. It
appears that some of my less friendly readers - you know, one
or two individuals who were definitely NOT fans, have found me
from my old blogsite and get information off of my blog.