Technorati Tags: blog meme bloghopping Wordless Wednesday

So, I’m not sick anymore. Well, not in the physical sense anyway. Mentally speaking, I’ve never been well and that suits me just fine. Sanity is for wimps.

I’m having a marvy day. Truly. If you don’t consider the fact that I’d like to scream into a pillow, tear all my hair out, and beg my doctor for a lobotomy, all in the pursuit of a moment of peace. My God. My son has drained every single ounce of patience I had left… and then some. I’m ready to dump an entire bottle of Benedryl into his spaghetti o’s and let him sleep until he’s twenty. The boy is way too high-strung and moody.

Peace, I told my father in an email; I just want peace.

Got up this morning, took my daughter to school, stopped off at the library, the grocery store, and then came home to toss some meat, potatoes, carrots, onions, and spices into the crockpot for dinner tonight. Figured that would give me time to grab a cup of coffee and relax in front of the computer for a bit. I posted on RPoL and then opened up Turbo Lister to write up a few more eBay auctions for the day. That’s when my day took a nose dive into the sea of dissonance.

Bitchin’ and moaning from the moment he got up this morning, my son suddenly decided that a hard slam to his monitor would give IE the extra incentive it needed to load. Startled the fuck outta me. Then I lost my temper on the kid, blasting him with a much-needed, though somewhat acerbic lesson in computer handling.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“It won’t load IE!”

“And you think that makes it okay to beat the hell outta your computer?”

“Well, if you’re computer was as slow as mine, you’d be mad too! But no, I got the piece of shit computer that won’t load IE! Yours works just fine. Nobody else has this problem, just me. My computer is a piece of shit!”

{he hit it again}

“STOP IT! And would you like to rephrase that before I use the same tactics on you to reload your brain? Besides, if you would take the time to pay fucking attention to what I teach you, you wouldn’t be having this problem. Patience, damn it! You just need to give it a freakin’ minute to load, it’s not instantaneous! You can’t go clicking and clicking and clicking without giving it a freakin’ chance to load! AUGH!”

{…In the background Sheryl Crow’s ‘Everyday is a Winding Road’ plays on my Media Player…}

{deep breath}

“Look. See. Now you have six windows open. If you had but waited, one would have come up in 1/6th the time that took. Now, what did you need so desperately from Google that it just couldn’t wait? It’s ready and waiting for you now.”

“Forget it. I don’t care anymore.”

“Great.”

“Mom, I don’t feel good today and I’m trying to decide what to do. What do you think I should do?”

{…blinked in the face of insanity… it runs in the family…}

“I suggest bed. Yup, definitely. Go back to bed.”

{…he smiled, all dimples and sweetness now…}

“Okay. I’m gonna make a quesadilla and watch Buffy in my room.”

{…envisioned a ‘Bang Head Here’ sign on my desk, of which I readily complied…}

It’s not too early to start drinking, is it?

***

P.S. MetalMom – Your comment on my hubby’s post this weekend… OMG! LMFAO!

This is Bob Dorannes filling in for the ailing (and somewhat stoned) Stacy.

An article recently came to my attention from the Dyckersonville newspaper, the Daily Whackrag. On the evening of October 20, 2007, Mrs. Ineida Goodun called the police claiming to have been accosted by a flasher. She testified that as she was on her way home from the Piggly Wiggly, a man in a trenchcoat leapt out of the shadows and exposed himself to her before giggling and running away. When asked to identify the assailant, she said, “It looked like a penis only smaller. …much smaller.” The police determined that this identification was enough to bring Mightonimus “Mighty” Dyckerson in for questioning.

Details to follow as they come available.

I’ve been horribly sick the last few days. It started with a kidney stone, then a UTI caused by that blasted stone getting stuck. I downed nearly a gallon of watered down, light cranberry juice on both Sunday and Monday. Thought I was over it on Tuesday, and then Wednesday I woke with a terrible pain in my neck/glands. WTH? Talk about a double-whammy.

After taking some Ibuprofen and Acetaminophen, with no pain relief in sight, I happened to glance into the kitchen. There, sitting on top of the bread box, was one bottle of Smirnoff Vanilla Vodka and one bottle of Malibu Pineapple Rum. Oh yeah! I decided then and there that I would just get drunk. I mean, seriously, what better way to numb the pain. (Yes, I omitted the question mark on purpose.) At first I thought about making a Cape Codder, but then opted for the Malibu rum instead (didn’t think I could stomach the vodka). Good choice. Pineapple rum tastes great with cranberry juice. Unfortunately, it didn’t help ease the pain much.

What a sucky-arse day that was. So far, today is a smidgeon better. At least I’m able to form coherent thought.

I think?

Moving along…

I was going to post an image with my blabbering today, but I got sidetracked. Truth be told, I ran across a funny cartoon by Off The Mark when I Googled ‘Achoo!‘. It made me chuckle and I wanted to share that laugh with you. I know, at least, that it would have made Mr. Fabulous smile; maybe even Mr. Dyckerson too. But then I discovered that Off The Mark doesn’t share too freely with bloggers. Oh, they offer a ‘free weekly auto-updating cartoon‘ to website owners, but not so for blogs. From what I read on their site, apparently one too many hotlinkers have gotten under their skin. That, and they state that their cartoon coding doesn’t work well with blogs.

Bummer. Maybe someday they’ll fix that little problem. In the meantime, check out the blog-friendly and ever-so-witty Andertoons in the top of my right sidebar. Mark Anderson is a funny, funny guy.

I’ll leave you with that thought, ‘cuz I’m beginning to lose any coherent thought of my own again… Is the room spinning where you’re at too?

Bah.

Technorati Tags: blog meme bloghopping Wordless Wednesday

I had a nightmare or two last night. The first one involved seeing a male family member dressed in a dark suit, brown eye shadow, heavy mascara, 3″ strappy-black heels, and white socks. {shudder} White socks? Truly frightening.

I’m certain you understand why I suddenly woke, my heart pounding. I looked at the clock. 2:16 am. Ergh. Go back to sleep, Stacy. …If you dare. Mwah-ha-ha-ha-ha! …Oh, shut up!

The next thing I know, there I was crossing the street with a throng of people. The street signal was flashing in bright white ‘Walk‘. It was a beautiful day, bright blue sky, pleasant temperature–just lovely. It was my first time visiting The Windy City and I was having so much fun! Downtown, shopping; what could be better?

Somebody slap me! Hard. Please? I mean, seriously… shopping? Fun? Two words in the English language that, if you know me very well at all, you would know they would never be combined in the same sentence, let alone the same paragraph. This should have been my first clue that something was horribly amiss. That, and there wasn’t even a wisp of a breeze blowing. But noooooo… I was completely oblivious.

As I was herded across the street with the crowd, bags in hand, I couldn’t help but overhear this nice man talking on his cell phone.

“No, damn it! What do you want me to do? I already told you I can’t find the bastard! It’s like somebody stuck a pin in his fat ass and ol’ Big Jake whistled the fuck away. He ain’t here, I’m telling ya…”

I don’t know what possessed me to do so, but I made the mistake of smiling at the nice man.

“Hey,” he said, showing me his pearly whites in return. He had such a nice, warm smile. “You from around here? You know a guy goes by the name of Big Jake, Jake Trovati?”

“No, sorry.” I smiled apologetically as we both stood there on the curb. He looked so disappointed that I decided I wasn’t going to let him down. “I could call a friend of mine and ask him,” I offered. “He knows plenty of people. Maybe he’d know this Jake friend of yours.”

The nice man’s brow quirked, his eyes bright with interest. “Yeah? That’d be great, thanks.”

I fumbled with my packages, trying to rearrange them on my arm so that I could get to my purse. “Oh nuts!” I said. “I can’t find my cell phone. It was in here earlier, but I must have dropped it.”

“Here. Use mine.” He said, shoving his phone in front of my face. But I was still digging in my purse, determined to find my own phone. And then I pulled out a scientific calculator-looking contraption out of my purse.

“Oh, here’s my daughter’s phone!” I exclaimed. “I’ll just use it.” But there was a slight problem with that. I couldn’t figure out ‘how‘ to use it. It didn’t look like any phone I’d ever seen. There was no ‘talk’ button. It didn’t flip. There was nothing that looked even vaguely familiar to a top or bottom–no speaker, no microphone, no screen, no camera lens, no freaking number pad; just buttons with weird symbols on them. WTH?

“What’s the hold up, lady?”

“I, uh… I don’t know how to work this thing.”

“How hard can it be? Just dial the numbers and talk.” I could hear the agitation in his voice. I felt so utterly lame as I began pushing buttons, any and all buttons, and then the friendly fellow leaned in for a look-see. “Look.” He pointed to numbers on the pad that I swear weren’t there before. “Just dial him up, doll. What’s his number?”

Dumbfounded, and somewhat annoyed with this ninny portraying me in my dream, I told him the number. He punched it into the phone and hit the ‘talk’ button for me. It rang on the other end. My friend answered.

“Hey Mat, it’s Sandy. Listen, have you ever heard of a guy that goes by the name of ‘Big Jake’? I’ve got a fellow here that’s looking for him. …Yeah. …Okay.” I turned to the fellow, “He says to try Lombardi’s on 5th and Chestnut. Trovati’s known to dine there. …What’s that?” As I drifted back into my phone conversation, I felt the fellow’s hand on my low back, guiding me down the street. I assumed we were heading toward Lombardi’s. “Oh, I don’t know,” I kept talking to Mat, answering his question. “I think it’s an old friend of his or something. Yeah. He’s nodding at me so I guess that’s right. …Okay, I’ll let him know. Thanks, Mat. No, everything’s just fine. I’ll call ya back in a bit.”

We said goodbye. I hung up the calculator and stuffed it back into my purse. “Mat said there’s another good place to look for your friend, Jake, that’s not too far from here. A small deli that makes the best sandwiches you’ve ever had.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s great. Say, why don’t you do some more shopping and I’ll meet back up with you across the way here.”

I glanced across the street. Lombardi’s was quite the fine dining establishment. “Okay, great!” I beamed, glad to be of help, and equally happy to do more shopping. “I hope you find your friend.”

(Yeesh. Could I be any more lame? Why hasn’t anyone slapped me yet?)

About 45 minutes later I stepped out of the department store and headed across the street. The nice guy was off to the right of Lombardi’s, waiting for me. He seemed a bit anxious for some reason, and he had changed clothing. I thought that was rather odd. I mean, he had looked so dapper before. But now… he was wearing a lime green cut-off sweatshirt and a pair of black biker shorts. I think he was barefoot too.

“Gosh, I almost didn’t recognize you,” I said, walking up to him. “You’ve changed your clothes.”

“Yeah, just thought I’d get comfortable for the ride home. C’mon, I’ll give you a lift. It’s the least I can do.” He smiled warmly again, and I felt compelled to accept. But once I got in his suburban and we were driving down the highway, a thought suddenly hit me like the slap I’d been asking from you people and never got.

Oh shit! He changed his clothes because he got the other ones dirty. …Bloody dirty. He killed Big Jake!

I was riding in the back seat. Don’t ask me why. I glanced down at a black bag on the floor and saw something poking out of it. I slid the bag back with my foot and saw that it was a gun. Briefly, I wondered if he had killed Big Jake with that gun.

“Uh, you just passed my exit… back there.”

No answer. This wasn’t good. I looked at him in the rear-view mirror to see if he had heard me. He smiled back, a smug kind of smile that made my skin crawl.

Son-of-a-monkey’s-non-banana-eating-uncle! How did I get myself into this mess? This was really, really bad! How could I be so stupid? Well, I was through letting my alter-gullible-ninny-dipstick-dream-persona lead the way. She had gotten me into enough trouble already. It was time for the real Stacy to please stand up!

“So, where are you taking me?” I asked, carefully using my feet to lift the gun up until I could grab it with both hands. I’ve never fired a gun before, but I knew enough to make sure the safety wasn’t on. I glanced down quickly, then looked back up again. Briefly, I thought about checking for bullets, but had no clue how to go about doing so without making any noise. Heck, I just flat out had no clue.

Still, no answer.

I slid the gun up and placed the barrel against the base of his skull. “Why don’t you pull over and park, Mr.–”

“Burns,” he said, a devilish glint in his eyes.

“Burns? Your name is Mr. Burns?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “It fits.”

“Oh. Well look, Mr. Burns, either you pull over and get out, or I’m gonna have to pull this trigger here and make your head explode all over these nice leather seats.”

“I like your spunk, doll face, but if you pull that trigger we’re likely to wreck.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

***

My dog started whining at the front door just then. I opened my eyes to find that it was only 3:42 am. My dog let out another short bark. I groaned. Either I got up to take him out, or I’d have a pile of poo to greet me later in the morning. I prefer my mornings to start with a 16 oz cup of boca java’s Boca Sunrise gourmet coffee, five packets of sweetener, and five teaspoons of non-dairy creamer. Not poo.

I wonder if I shot the bad guy?