Roadtrip

Snapshot: Household

2009-10-11T09:32:00.003-05:00

Married life has been a little hectic, to say the least. Adding one 11 year old boy into the mix has definitely changed things a LOT around here - but in a good way. There is always something going on, a ton more mess, a ton more laundry (he changes clothing more often than a 13 year old girl!), and a LOT more noise.

None of those things are bad things, except for the laundry. I'm thankful he at least has clean clothes on though - Rockboy would wear the same thing over and over again until I threatened his life if he didn't hand over some smelly t-shirt for the wash.

Something else has been claiming my attention as well - scrapbooking. I avoided scrapbooking like the plague for years because I knew that it would be like crack for me. I love paper and stickers and all the junk that goes along with it and I knew that collecting all the stuff would be just as obsession-making as the actual activity of scrapbooking.

Alas, Patient Reader, I fell prey right after the wedding when I saw a wedding scrapbook kit at Target and thought, "Oh, that would be nice for the wedding pictures. Everything is included and I won't have to buy anything else."

Famous last words.

I'm still working on the wedding scrapbook, but I've also been doing a few pages from the past year or so. . . Halloween 2008, Father's Day 2009. . . with Skaterboy's 11th birthday in the line-up, as well as a trip to the Farmer's Market this summer.

I have to say that it's been good for me though - I like doing something creative and this forces me to come up with something on my own, rather than just knitting a pattern that someone else designed. (I have NO desire to design knitting. None.)

So, that's life in the Roadie household these days. . . laundry, cooking, a little bit of scrapbooking, a whole LOT of wrestling on TV.

And, it's perfect. It's exactly what I wanted.

You Are Not Forgotten

2009-09-11T08:28:00.001-05:00

God Bless America!

A Confession, and the Main Event

2009-09-02T19:31:00.005-05:00

Darlings, your Auntie Roadchick has been dreadfully remiss in not updating sooner, but things have been just a wee bit busy in the Roadie household. Since we were last together, Redneck and I have tied the knot. Gotten hitched. It's all official and everything. Awww.

The wedding was very small, up in the mountains around Gatlinburg at the cabin that we rented for the weekend. My parents, my two brothers, one sister-in-law, and one small niece were present. (The other sister-in-law had to stay at home with one small nephew who came down with strep the night before they were to head to the mountains.) Rockboy and his girlfriend were present. Skaterboy was present. My very good friend and her husband were present.

Anyway, it went off without a hitch (mostly) and a Good Time was had by all, except for poor Redneck who was sick as a dog with a summer cold(?) or the swine flu(?) or something. He perked up long enough for the ceremony then collapsed back into bed to nap until it was time to go to dinner in town. He perked up long enough to get through that and then was pretty much finished for the day.

For the wedding, I got Redneck a watch. He gave me the summer cold(?) or the swine flu(?) . . . which I still have and apparently am going to keep until at least our 25th anniversary when he will gift me with anthrax or ptomaine. He, of course, is much better now since he's passed it on to me and since I cannot find anyone to pass it to, I continue to hack and cough and pray for death or codeine cough syrup.

Since the wedding, things have been hectic, hectic, hectic. It was back to school for Skaterboy and that is always traumatic. More for me than for him, but there was a period of adjustment like there always is.

Yesterday afternoon, there was ominous silence from the other end of the house and I went to see what was going on.

Skaterboy, in the wisdom of his eleven years, had decided to customize his $40 Under Armor shirt that he bought with his Christmas money in January. A few snips here and there, so he could look just like his idol, Jeff Hardy (of wrestling fame).

As Skaterboy is a skinny, pre-adolescent eleven year old, he does not come close. His new name:

Jeff Hardly

And so, life in the expanded Roadie household begins.

Rainy Days and Mondays . . .

2009-07-13T14:55:00.004-05:00

I freely admit it's my own fault.

I went to the dentist today to get my teeth cleaned and have a check-up. I have more than a little dental phobia so I do not go to the dentist as often as I should. I also cannot afford the outrageous out-of-pocket expenses very often so in between visits, I'm saving up to be able to pay for the next time that I go.

When I was younger, this was not so bad - a filling or two - no big deal. Now that I'm a little older, the price has gone up - shockingly.

When I was little, we lived in a house that had well water which meant there was no flouride in it. I also had a mom that did not believe in flouride toothpaste, apparently believing it to be poisonous or the work of the devil, but anyway, it was not used. Ditto on the vitamins with flouride.

The end result is a lot of dental work. And a lot of cash. How much cash, you ask? I really don't know. Apparently, the total is so enormous that the billing girl needed additional time to figure it out and will email me an estimate. I'm a little afraid to see what it says.

In other news, I've been spending a lot of time working in the garden. I know what you're thinking: what's this? Roadchick gardening? Are they snowmobiling in hell these days?

Yes, it's true. It started out innocently enough with three tomato plants that were given to Redneck. They were planted in the ground. Then it seemed like a good idea to get some squash and zucchini and cucumbers. Those were planted in the ground. Then I needed some flowers for the pots on the deck and for the windowboxes on the shed. . . and then there was a sale at Lowe's over the weekend . . . . and now I have a "gothic" garden on one side of my porch steps, complete with a gargoyle that Redneck brought home on Saturday afternoon.

Is anyone else just exhausted today? I think the dentist's office took it out of me and it didn't help that it was the monthly birthday pizza party at my office, complete with cake. I think I've got a carb overload going on but I could just put my head down and sleep.

Only one more hour and I can go home. Just lately, it's my favorite place to be.

And Then, I Yelled at Those Kids to Get Off My Lawn!

2009-06-08T22:20:00.005-05:00

I'm a terrible, sentimental traditionalist. There are certain things that I don't want to change and if it's a memory I hold dear, I really don't want anyone to mess with it.

After a little sentimental Googling this evening, I found out that Santa's Village in East Dundee, Illinois went out of business a few years ago. I remember going there when I was a kid.

It was a Chicagoland area amusement park geared toward younger kids and built in a less-sophisticated time than the time that we live in now, but oddly, as a kid, that was exactly what appealed to me. I was the one that wanted to live in the Dick and Jane readers with a cat named Fluff when everyone else was all Strawberry Shortcake and Barbie's hot pink Corvette.

Santa's Village used to run commercials in the afternoons or on Saturday mornings when kids were home watching cartoons and if I remember correctly, for awhile, they had a jingle that went something like: "Any ride a quarter, six for a dollar!" (Yes, I know - you can't even buy a pack of gum for a dollar, let alone six rides at a theme park - or even a carnival. Now get off my lawn.)

By the time I nagged my mom into taking me, you just paid to get in and then rode all you wanted. We went on a day that wasn't really busy (apparently there were a lot of those, or else it wouldn't have gone out of business) so if we wanted to keep riding what we were on, we'd wave at the teenager running the ride and they'd just let it keep running as long as no one else was in line.

There was a frozen North Pole - coated in ice, even in July. There was a petting zoo too, but the ride that I remember the most was something called the Swiss Toboggan.

(Click HERE to check out other roller coasters of today and yesterday.)

The Swiss Toboggan was really the first "roller coaster" ride that I had ever been on and I imagined that I was quite grown up. The kid from next door and I had a whole elaborate game going on where we were rich and famous and had the park to ourselves, etc. We were always somewhere deep in our imaginations no matter what was going on around us. We always had a little embellishment, a little sparkle to add to the situation.

Do kids still do stuff like that or is it all Nintendo and texting and surfing the 'net?

It made me a little sad to find out that Santa's Village was gone - for childhood passing, I suppose, and the fact that times change whether we want them to or not.

Weddin' Nonsense

2009-06-01T22:31:00.004-05:00

So, there's the dress that I'll be wearing whenever it is that Redneck and I finally tie the knot. We don't have a date yet, mainly because it seems that one commitment at a time is enough for the poor darling. He's going to be surprised when I just tell him when it is.

Can I tell you how ridiculously happy this dress makes me? I love the net underskirt part that hangs below the skirt - so Lucy Ricardo! It's just frilly enough without being a giant meringue of a dress.

The jackety thing may stay or it may go, depending on how the dress looks with a sheer pashima wrap that a co-worker has kindly offered to lend me. I'm not much on sleeveless so one or the other is going to be worn.

Since both of us have been married before, neither of us wanted the huge wedding with attendants and all that fuss. We were actually thinking about just going to the mountains by ourselves and getting married there.

Then, I got the phone call. From my mother.
(For those of you who have read Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood, the Mother-of-Roadchick closely resembles Vivi except for the drinking and fun.)

Mother: Are you making plans yet?
'chick: For what?
Mother: Um, your WEDDING.
'chick: Oh. No. Not really. All I have to do is show up.
Mother: Hmph.
'chick: What?
Mother: Well, I certainly HOPE that you intend to get married in a church somewhere.
'chick: Well, no, that wasn't really the plan.
Mother: I'm sure that Pastor Smith would be happy to marry you at the church in town.
'chick: Why? I don't attend.
Mother: He would do it for your BROTHER.
'chick: Brother didn't even get married there. He got married in Vegas.
Mother: We are not talking about that.
'chick: Yes we were.
Mother: No, we were not. You need to give some serious thought to this.
'chick: Ok.

I seriously thought about it for two seconds and then dismissed it completely. I got married in a church last time. It wasn't really what I wanted then and it's not what I want now. I don't have a thing in the world against church, but it's not where I want to get married. Vivi hasn't brought it up again, but she will, when I'm least expecting it.

The fun part is going to be when she finds out that I've already got the dress. I wasn't actually looking for a dress but I found it, loved it, and bought it. No other shopping required. Vivi loves shopping. I do not. I knew when I put it on that it was The One. Vivi would've made me leave it there to hit eleventy-seven other stores to try on sixty-seven other dresses that made me miserable only to go back and buy the one that I knew was The One from the start.

Maybe I'll get her to take me shopping for shoes. . .

I Have A Secret

2009-05-20T06:22:00.002-05:00

He asked.

I said yes.

'Nuff said.

*g*

{This Space Reserved for a More Amusing Post}

2009-05-12T22:24:00.002-05:00

As soon as I think of one.

Life in the Roadtrip corner of the world is better now. Redneck wisely decided that he needed to get me out of town before something really bad happened. To someone else. Because I snapped and climbed a tower with a rifle.

Last Thursday, we got the chance to do a ride-along in IROC race cars and Mustang drift cars as a part of the Marlboro Hot Laps program. In a bad mood? Life going to crap? Going 140 mph will definitely lift your spirits. I highly recommend it. The only way it would've been any better was if they had let me drive.

On Friday, we got up and headed to Metropolis IL to the Harrah's Casino there. We took our time, took a 10 mile detour off the highway, hit some antique shops and then hit the casino. We didn't win anything, but it was fun. Then Redneck took me out for dinner and we just kicked back and enjoyed the time away together.

The hotel that we stayed at offered a free continental breakfast including waffles. The girl at the front desk was particularly proud of that and mentioned it several times and also informed me that there would also be boiled eggs.

I woke up pretty early but figured that no one really wanted to see me wandering down to the lobby in my pajamas so I got a shower and got dressed before heading down there.

When I got there, it was to a lobby full of rednecks (not to be confused with Redneck). I have a fondness for rednecks in general, but these particular rednecks had snaffled up all of the boiled eggs. I suspect they were packed in a cooler somewhere until they could hit Hardee's and snag some mayo, mustard, and relish packets. Voila! Dressed eggs for the picnic later! And free! That's good eatin'!

I also noticed that they ate all of the Froot Loops and Lucky Charms. Ditto the cinnamon rolls. The organic granola and bagels were safe for another day.

They were also in the process of setting the lobby on fire with the waffle iron. A rather large woman had commandeered the machine (blocking the coffee pot in the process) but had no clue how to operate it.

The iron was beeping like crazy and the little light on the front was whirling around like a propeller. She promptly turned around and HOLLERED at the front desk: "Something is WRONG with this-here contraption. I don't know how to work it. It's making noise."

I glanced over after nudging her out of the way of the coffee pot and told her quietly, "When it beeps, that means it's time to turn the waffle." After she picked the machine up by the handle and looked ready to launch it, I amended my instructions to: "If you will rotate that handle, the waffle burner will turn over and cook the other side of the waffle."

I am sympathetic to the technically and culinarily impaired, but it was a little ridiculous. The directions were on a large poster directly over the waffle iron. In pictures. With arrows. In color.

Since coming home, we managed to make it through Mother's Day without bloodshed. (This is not always a given.)

To balance out all of the good and lovely things that took place over the weekend, the Universe decided that in order to make sure my life was in balance, I needed a kidney infection to make me aware of my blessings.

There is nothing remotely amusing about a kidney infection unless you count the fact that the medicine they give you for pain does interesting things. Depending on which one you get (there are two basic varieties) you will either pee blue or red/orange. It's a fun little party trick. (Not really.) I was reading the insert on the one I got (the red/orange kind) and it informed me that if you wear soft contacts (and I do) that you should not wear your soft contacts while taking this medicine because "it can cause permanent staining of the lenses". What? Are you telling me that if I were to cry, I would cry red/orange tears? I'm halfway tempted to rent Terms of Endearment and try it out. Now THAT's a pretty good party trick for Halloween!

Insult to Injury

2009-05-11T09:34:00.002-05:00

A UTI on top of cramps.
(Sorry, guys.)

Life is not fair.

Radio Silence

2009-05-05T11:28:00.002-05:00

Patient Reader, Auntie Roadchick apologizes for the extended radio silence that has taken over the Roadtrip. Suffice to say, a couple of things in real life have my head absolutely spinning and following that old, old advice: Since I have nothing nice to say right now, I won't say anything at all.

I will be back, hopefully very soon, with the whole Roadie Crew.

Tell me something funny in Comments and make me laugh - please?

Really?

2009-04-15T23:06:00.003-05:00

Overheard at Waffle House. . .

Woman behind me (on a cell phone): Well, you know that I don't tell my business to everyone.

Woman behind me: Did you see the story about me in the paper?

Woman behind me: Well, when you get laid off from your job, how are you supposed to afford your anti-depressants?

Woman behind me: Stop talking to me about her.

Woman behind me: You know I'm not working.

Woman behind me: Well, I'll come see you tomorrow, but I'm going to the tanning bed first.

There are so many oxymorons in that conversation that I don't even know where to begin, so I won't.

But, wow. Just. . . wow.

Invasion

2009-04-10T07:47:00.002-05:00

It's that time of year again: time for the Semi-annual Outlaw Invasion. Yes, Patient Reader, the Outlaws are coming! The Outlaws are coming! And they will be here this evening.

I'm actually a little bit ahead of schedule in preparations - the guest room has been ready for a week. This is not usually the case but I had a fit of productiveness last weekend and got it done. Getting it done included a trip to Goodwill to drop off a carload of stuff that I set aside for a yard sale, and then the general cleaning and making up the futon.

I think (although I could be wrong) that all I have left to do is:
1. Make a grocery list
2. Go to the grocery store
3. Clean the hall bathroom (Rockboy has been in there. It was scrubbed last weekend, but that doesn't last around here.)

As many of you probably remember, Easter dinner is MY holiday. In the extended Roadies family, there are three major holidays: Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Easter. My sisters-in-law divide up the other two, but Easter is mine. Every year. Without fail.

One reason is because it is the one holiday that I have the Outlaws with me. The other reason is that Easter doesn't require a turkey (don't like 'em) and there is no expectation of extreme decorating. As long as I manage to get out the pair of ceramic rabbits that I own, it's all good, although I think in the chaos of Rockboy's breakup with his girlfriend last year, I might have forgotten the rabbits. I don't think anyone noticed. They would've been obscured by the drama and angst anyway.

Yesterday, I had lunch with one of my girl friends whom I hadn't seen in awhile. We went to Olive Garden and generally indulged ourselves silly. I actually took the day off work (in case I still had major prep work to do, as well as a few days next week while the Outlaws are still here) and instead of working myself to death, I thoroughly enjoyed it. There is definitely something to be said for relaxing! Who knew?

In case I don't see you before then - have a wonderful holiday! (For those that celebrate Easter.) And, if you celebrate Passover, I hope it was fabulous. If you don't celebrate either of the above, take this weekend and celebrate the fact that SPRING is finally, really coming. We can all celebrate that.

Blah, Blah, Blog

2009-03-30T19:59:00.003-05:00

So, did you participate in Earth Hour on Saturday night?

The Roadie household did not. I forgot all about it. But, since I don't usually sit in a blaze of light anyway, I'm sure that my contribution will not be missed.

I did hear that Al Gore left his landscape spotlights on at his mansion, as well as numerous lights inside. He must've forgotten too. Or else his trees are afraid of the dark.

Saturday was an interesting day anyway - we had storms roll through here with tornado sirens going off all over. Redneck and I went to the flea market on Saturday and were heading for the car when the siren at the fairgrounds went off. We looked up at the sky (dark, threatening) and at the car, about a 1/2 mile away and decided to walk a little faster. We got rained on a little, but not whisked off to Oz, so that was good.

This is a boring post and I apologize, Patient Reader. I'm tired. I feel like I've been in the car for weeks and I'm not getting anything done. I should be working (it's 8pm here) but I'm blogging instead because I just can't wrap my head around doing anymore work right now.

I'm on the road again tomorrow. Wednesday will be a fast day in the office trying to finish up a couple of things before all hell breaks loose again and one of my team members takes a couple of days off while I cover for her. I'm not looking forward to that. Three days of doing her job will have me drinking from a flask in the bathroom. Possibly at my desk by the end of it.

Then, after she comes back, I've got one day before I'm off for a few days, but it's not going to be restful time off. The Outlaws are coming for their annual Easter visit. I love the Outlaws coming. It's Easter that I don't care for very much. It's the dinner that I host every year and I just can't get up any enthusiasm for it.

Did I mention that I was tired? I'm the kind of tired that almost has you wishing you'd get sick so you could stay in bed for a few days. I can't afford that right now.

Equal Justice

2009-03-25T06:00:00.003-05:00

Is there anything that will get your heart to pounding faster than looking in your rearview mirror and seeing flashing blue lights behind you? I don't think that there is, unless it's a train bearing down on you while your car is stalled on the tracks (in which case - GET OUT NOW - THE CAR IS NOT GOING TO START FOR YOU).

I was coming home from a friend's house last night around 9:00. She lives about 25 miles from me and I've been to her house a thousand times in daylight and dark.

And honestly, when the lights flipped on behind me, I kind of figured that he was getting ready to swing into the other lane and go after someone else. Why, you ask? Because I was not speeding, I had my seatbelt on, I hadn't been on the divided highway long enough to change lanes without signaling, I was not swerving, I had not tossed trash out the window, and I had not been drinking. My tags were current, my tires were inflated, and all my safety lights (headlights, taillights, turn signals, brake lights, license plate light) were functioning. As near as I could remember, I hadn't mistakenly left a bale of marijuana on the roof of the car or a dog tied to the bumper, the trunk was not open and flapping. You get the idea. I was being a law-abiding citizen on my way home. Hell, the Kid Rock wasn't even blaring at eardrum pounding decibels.

He didn't go away, so I put on my turn signal and started slowing down and edging for the shoulder, waiting until I passed a turn off so that BOTH of us would fit safely on the shoulder without blocking the side road. I put on my hazard lights and pulled out my wallet to get my driver's license. Rolled down the window and waited.

After a minute, the deputy walked up to the window and shined his flashlight on me and said, "Do you know why I stopped you?"

Since I had already reviewed my list of possible offenses (see above), I looked back at him and said, "Honestly? I have no idea."

"What is the speed limit along here?"

"65, sir." (I knew I was going 65 because I have driven this road for YEARS and I had set the cruise control.)

"No, it's not. It's 55. You just passed a speed limit sign."

"Really? It's been 65 through here for at least the last 16 years. I know it drops back to 55 up there by the red light."

"It was changed. There have been a lot of accidents through here."

"I'm sorry. I honestly had no idea and I did not see the sign. I even had the cruise set," pointing at the steering wheel where the little light was indeed lit up, "so that I wouldn't speed. I'm pretty careful about that."

(No need to mention the last speeding ticket I got cost me nearly $200 and 20 hours of community service and was richly deserved but that was a few years ago and I paid the ticket and did my time and we're not talking about that now.)

"Where have you been tonight?"

"At my friend's house."

"And where are you going?"

"Home, sir."

"I'll need to see your "

I already had my license out the window.

"and your registration and insurance. This is your car, isn't it?"

"Yes, it's my car. Let me get those for you."

"Any tickets or problems that I need to know about?"

I considered telling him my problem of having too much to do and not enough time to do it, or about the difficulty in getting my new kitchen blinds installed, or how sometimes the power cord on my laptop seems like it's not working right.

"No sir."

So, I proceed with the digging in the console for the envelope with the registration and insurance information in it. Since it was buried under CD cases and maybe a couple of Nintendo DS game boxes, it took a minute.

I handed it over and made sure that he could see that the insurance was current. (Auntie Roadchick's helpful tip o' the day: Use a highlighter to mark the effective date and expiration date on your insurance card if it's paper. It saves a lot of time.)

He went back to his car and I sat there. And sat there some more. I sat there for so long that I thought about calling my friend to let her know that I had a lovely evening and oh, by the way, the speed limit on the by-pass has changed, did you know that?

He got out of his car and came up between our cars. I heard a cell phone ringing. It was not mine. It was his. He answered it and proceeded to stand there and have a conversation with who knows who, but eventually making plans to meet up for dinner or whatever.

I waited some more. I waited long enough to start planning my defense in court.

"Your Honor, while Officer What's-His-Name had me pulled over, he stood between his car and mine and conducted a personal cell phone call while standing on the side of the road, detaining me." (This probably would not make a bit of difference especially since I was GUILTY.)

Finally, he hung up and came back up to the window.

"Well, your record is clean and I'm not going to ruin that for you so I'm letting you off with a warning."

"Thank you - I really do appreciate that."

"You pay attention to those signs and be safe."

"Yes sir, thank you."

I stuffed the paperwork back in my purse, turned off the hazard lights, put on my turn signal, checked my mirrors, and merged back onto the road, paying very close attention to the 55 mph speed limit.

A minute later, he caught up with me again and passed me in the left lane. I was obeying the speed limit. He was not. (He had dinner plans, remember?)

I glanced at the cruiser as it went by and grinned.

A few minutes later, we were both at the red light and he was next to me. I rolled the window down and waved until he rolled his window down.

"Sir, I hate to tell you this, but your taillights are out. Would you like me to follow you back to the station for safety?"

(I had debated yelling "Citizen's arrest! Citizen's arrest! just like Gomer Pyle but had wisely decided against it.)

"What?!?"

"I'm serious. You have no operational lights on the back of your car."

"Pull over up there."

"Yes sir."

The light turned green and he hung back until I was in front of him, then he flipped on his blue lights again. We pulled over. He got out and walked behind his car. He was back there for a long time before coming up to my window. He didn't look happy.

"Ma'am, I appreciate you telling me that. The station is not far from here, so if you wouldn't mind following me back there . . . "

SCORE!

Happy St. Patrick's Day

2009-03-17T11:47:00.004-05:00

So, it's St. Patrick's Day and I'm at work.

Not working, but at work.

This morning, I had a court hearing for one of my clients. Normally, this is not a big deal - it's an appeal over a service that the state has denied or reduced but we feel is needed.

I do these hearings all the time.

I've never been to a hearing where only one side (the state) gets to speak and then it's over. Decision rendered.

Very confusing.

I contend that I did not lose because I did not speak.

I'm thinking that a nice big GREEN margarita for lunch might be just what's needed.

Have fun & stay safe, y'all.

Redecorating with Roadchick

2009-03-12T15:37:00.004-05:00

It's Springtime, when Roadchick's fancy turns to redecorating.

For some reason, when the weather starts to get a little better, I always get the urge to do something to the house. Last year, Redneck and I remodeled Rockboy's bathroom. Since his bathroom is also the guest bathroom, this was a wise choice. It went from white walls and a white vinyl floor to coffee-with-cream colored walls with a dark brown/green/gold vinyl tile floor. It's easier to mask dark hair fallout with a dark floor.

This year, I really wanted to do my bedroom, but figured the dining room should be done first since I host the annual Easter dinner for about 20 people. They were tired of looking at scuffed white walls and a damaged chair rail where the floor guys slammed into it with their pneumatic hammer.

I've had my paint colors picked out for about a year so I went to Lowe's and went shopping. Wall paint. Check. Trim paint. Check. Brown paper to cover the floor. Check. Blue painter's tape. Check. Check. Check.

Redneck had been asking me when we were going to paint. I figured that meant he was onboard with the project. Wrong.

On the Friday evening, I started clearing out the dining room. Pictures off the walls, knick knacks in boxes, as much furniture as possible out of the room.

On Saturday morning, I started putting down the brown paper to cover the hardwood floor. The bottom half of the hutch was in the way. The table was in the way. I shoved the table into the hallway, blocking the living room doorway. Fortunately, there is another living room doorway. I shoved the hutch through the doorway into the kitchen, mostly blocking that doorway. I continued papering the floor.

It's a lot harder than it looks on HGTV. There were many taping accidents. There was bad language when there was a strip about 5 inches wide angling down into nothing that had to be covered with a whole extra sheet of paper. The dining room is either NOT square or my papering job was off. Either one is a possibility, and probably both are true.

And then I started taping off for the painting. And I taped. And taped. And taped some more.

FINALLY, it was time to start painting.

The ceiling.

I hate painting ceilings. It's painful, it's awkward, it's boring, AND you have to watch out for the light fixture so you don't paint it white or speckle it with paint spray from the roller.

I was in pain by the time it was finished.

I dragged the rickety ladder in and started edging the wall. And then I painted the wall. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

Then I looked back at the first part of the wall and realized that the paint was not covering completely and I was going to have to go back over it - just a little - to cover the little speckles where it didn't quite cover.

Retouch. Retouch. Retouch.

Halfway through, I ran out of wall paint. I bought another gallon, because I wanted to do the little hallway outside Rockboy's room. There should be enough.

I will not continue to regale you with every single pass of the roller and brush, but I will tell you that it took me exactly ONE week, an hour or two at a time through the work week, to get the whole thing finished, including all the blasted crown moulding, chair rail, baseboard, and doorway trim.

ONE WEEK.

Redneck assisted for exactly 23 minutes on Sunday evening and I later had to go back over all of his "edging" of the wall because the color was not even.

But, it's finished and it looks nice:

I started the hallway on Sunday. I papered the floor, taped the edges, painted the ceiling then started the walls. It's a short hall. Should take a day, no more than two.

Right.

I ran out of ceiling paint and had to get more.

I forgot to factor in drying time for the massive spackling job that I had to do on one of the walls, where Rockboy's fist "accidentally" went through it.

And, when you're up on a ladder, close to the ceiling, you can really see the places that you missed when you painted.

And, apparently, after so much time spent inhaling latex paint fumes, it makes you paint like a drunk monkey and get green paint all over the freshly painted ceiling that you didn't completely paint the first time. This was not an issue in the dining room. Not ONE spot of green on the ceiling. Not ONE. And no bald spots on the ceiling either.

At one point on Sunday, I also managed to somehow step on the edge of the roller tray and flip it upward, spatter-painting the leg of my jeans with ceiling paint. And some of the hardwood floor not covered by brown paper. And possibly the cat. (It's easier to get paint off of a hardwood floor than it is to get paint off of a black cat who is trying to bite you.)

And then, to add insult to multiple neck, back, arm, and hand injuries caused by repetitive stress. . .

I RAN OUT OF FUCKING GREEN PAINT.

I got the first coat on and needed to go back and "cover" all the places where the paint didn't cover well the first time. And fill in the edges. I used what little paint was left in the can to get the edges.

I resorted to scooping paint out with the brush, into the roller tray and diluting it with as little water as possible, desperate to get the damn walls done so I could touch up the ceiling and paint the trim.

I'm going to Lowe's tomorrow to buy one quart of green flat enamel paint. And another roller, since I trashed the one I was using without thinking. Time involved? (Minus 2 evenings off due to other work-related commitments) ALMOST ONE WEEK. The hallway is approximately 8 feet long and 3 feet wide. ONE WEEK.

I think I'm over the painting bug for this year.

Redneck asked about painting the living room. The living room with 14-foot ceilings. And carpeting. Because we could rent a scaffold and do it in no time.

Bless him.

Stupid Cupid

2009-02-24T17:19:00.005-06:00

It has been pointed out by Liz that I have not posted in two weeks. She's right. My life has been a heady whirl of work, laundry, dishes, driving, more laundry, more dishes, more driving, and more work. Very little knitting of the sock. Try not to be jealous.

Valentine's Day came and went while I was leaving the blog shamefully neglected.

I've found it's a lot easier to be all laid back and nonchalant about Valentine's Day when you're in a relationship.

I did my Valentine's Day gift shopping for Redneck on Feb. 13. Redneck did his Valentine's Day shopping for me on Feb. 14. In the afternoon. With Skaterboy.

I like to put some thought into the cards that I choose for people and I tend to buy the cards early so there will be a good selection. I had Redneck's card not too long after Christmas.

Redneck, on the other hand, also bought my card on Feb. 14.

When he got back to house on the Day O' Love, he sat out in the driveway, in the car, for about 10 minutes, signing the card and stuffing everything into a gift bag with wadded up tissue paper.

So, it's gift time.

I'm weird about opening gifts. And I'm definitely weird about opening Valentine's Day gifts with an audience.

Skaterboy was not having any of that mushy crap of Redneck and I opening gifts alone together later. There were presents. They have to be opened NOW.

Redneck opened and read his card with Skaterboy standing right next to him, reading along. Redneck opened his gift bag with Skaterboy almost snorting the tissue paper because he was so close. I was thankful that I didn't buy the "little-bit-risque" gift that I was considering in addition to the main gift of expensive cologne. Redneck might have been having that birds & bees talk sooner than he was planning.

Now all the attention was on me. (Did I mention that I hate that and I'm really weird about it?)

I opened the gift first since the card was stuffed at the bottom of the bag. Lindor truffles and diamond hoop earrings. Very nice.

I dug the card out from under wadded up tissue paper and opened it. It was like being in third grade all over again.

Because there, smiling up at me, wearing a pink and purple tutu, was a chimpanzee, dressed up like Cupid, holding a bow and arrow. The inside said: From your favorite pain in the butt.

I don't know that I've ever gotten a more romantic card in my life. Skaterboy then proudly announced that everything in my present had come from Walmart. Uh, a little too much information there, kid. Hush up. Because now I'm thinking that the receipt for the earrings and the card would also show a case of motor oil, some athletic socks, and maybe a bottle of Advil.

Last weekend, Redneck and I were over at my brother's house and somehow Valentine's Day came up. I said that I had gotten diamond earrings and described the card, and then said: "But I guess Skaterboy picked out the card."

Redneck, bless him, does not know how to quit when he's ahead.

"No, he picked out the earrings. I picked out the card."

A Day in the Life

2009-02-10T14:00:00.003-06:00

I'm Tired. Tired-With-A-Capital-T. The kind of tired that makes the back of your neck ache a little and makes you wonder if it's too much trouble to breathe.

I would like to go home now, snuggle into my corner of the couch, and knit on my sock. (Knitting on a sock is simple - it's just round and round - no thinking involved. Mindless, for a vanilla sock with no texture.)

I would like to watch some decorating show on HGTV or something on BBC America and eat junk food and just relax. And knit on my sock.

I'm tired of working. I'm tired of typing (and yet, here I am - typing), I'm tired of solving problems and dealing with issues.

I would like to order a massive cheese pizza for dinner and have full-sugar Coke with it. And brownies afterward. With ice cream and maybe some hot fudge.

And then, I would like to put my pajamas on and Go. To. Bed.

And just sleep.

What will actually happen is - I will continue typing, solving problems, and dealing with issues. Then I will go home, deal with whatever is going on there, do some laundry or clean a bathroom, run some errands, do some more typing, deal with more issues and problems for work, and then be unable to fall asleep until it's almost time to get up again, at which point, I will say the hell with it and just stay up, after catching maybe 2 hours of sleep.

God, I need a vacation. Me and my sock.

Dear Craig,

2009-02-04T15:43:00.002-06:00

I know that you don't know me (and to be honest, I don't know you either) but I felt like I needed to write to you to tell you a few things.

I found you online awhile ago and I would glance through your pages from time to time, flirting with 'Free' and peeking at 'Arts & Crafts'. I even got wild every once in awhile and had a long session with 'Help Wanted'.

But Craig, (I can call you Craig, can't I?) we need to have a talk.

It's one thing when you and I are flirting around, maybe seeing each other on the side from time to time.

It's another thing entirely when you completely seduce my boyfriend, Redneck, into spending all his spare time with you and your slut of a cousin, eBay. I didn't even know Redneck went that way.

Oh, it was all innocent in the beginning. You'd flash 'Free' at him or give him a little taste of 'Auto Parts' but that wasn't enough for you, was it? Before long, it was a full out obsession to get him to spend hours with the 'Cars for Sale' or 'Electronics'. And so, you'd show him a Chevy ZR2 at a low-cut price only to snatch it back at the last second. He'd pant around and click frantically but never managed to be the 'first email'.

I tried to be patient. I'd sit quietly, waiting for him to get done with you. I knew that eventually, he'd have to give up.

But you're a jealous beast. You knew when he was getting bored and ready to walk away, tired of your charms.

You showed him the Sony Trinitron 32" TV for $75. And let him be the "first". He actually got to bring the TV home.

It was like the merest taste of alcohol to an alcoholic. He was out of control.

He found another Sony Trinitron but this one had a flat screen. Not working, of course, but a low, low price. It was an easy win.

He rushed to pick it up and then carried it to the repair shop. He covered it in my old sheepskin jacket - to 'protect' it from the weather. Bullshit. The sun was out that day.

He wants to compare the picture on both of the TVs, side by side. To see which is 'better'.

I asked him what he was going to do with the TV he decided not to keep, since we didn't need two huge TVs.

He LOOKED RIGHT AT ME and said he was going to YOU. He's listing on YOU. Was 99.9% of his free time not enough for you? Must you take every last minute of it?

I begged Redneck not to start this torrid affair, to not let it get out of hand, that we did not have the storage space to start this madness, this buying and selling.

His eyes were glazed over though. I don't think he heard me.

Please, Craig. Please. Give him back to me. You don't love him like I do. You never did. You never will.

Sincerely,
Roadchick

Deduct THIS!

2009-01-29T06:05:00.002-06:00

It's been a long and busy week at the Roadtrip. And in some ways, it's been one of those weeks. It seemed like every time I started to do one thing, I'd get distracted by something else so nothing got finished. That meant a lot of time catching up on stuff at home instead of at work.

Things were better yesterday though. I spent half the day working at home, then headed into the office for a little while before going to a meeting. So far, so good. The meeting ended early and I headed home instead of going back to the office. Did a little more work at home, then actually cooked dinner. Real food. The oven was even involved. (I know - scary!)

Redneck got here after he got done working - about 8:00. He ate, then I got the kitchen cleaned up, and settled onto the couch to read for a little while before going to bed at a decent hour.

Now, in the sentence above, which statement is FALSE?

If you guessed "going to bed at a decent hour", you would be CORRECT!!!

It was about 10:00 and I was a little sleepy and just thinking that it was definitely time for pajamas and bed. I fiddled around for a few more minutes, yawning and just on verge of getting up and moving when Redneck said:

"Hey, where did you say to do taxes online?"

All I could think was - you're kidding, right? You're not really going to do your taxes RIGHT NOW, are you?

He finally chose a website, then got frustrated over creating a suitably unique password that included both uppercase letters and numbers. I fixed it.

Then he didn't have Skaterboy's social security number. He had to get up, parking the laptop in my lap while he went to get his wallet.

Now, bear in mind - the website gave a list of documents that you would need in order to complete your taxes. He read the list. I double-checked to make sure he knew where his 2007 tax form was because he would need it for the AGI number.

A few minutes later, he shoved the computer back at me while he went to retrieve his W-2s from the bedroom.

I know what you're thinking, Patient Reader. "Roadchick, why didn't you just get up and go to bed?" And if you are, you either: a) have your taxes done by a professional, or b) have never watched a man do taxes before, or c) are a man.

I knew there was going to be frustration going on. This is the first year that Redneck was going to do his own taxes instead of paying a service a lot of money to essentially fill out the form that's available for free online. He doesn't have any tricky tax situations that would require professional intervention.

I took over the process when the W-2s were retrieved. I added those in, moved on, went through deductions and all the other stuff. Clickity, clickity, clickity. No big deal - I've been doing my own taxes for years.

Now it's time to actually efile. I need the AGI. Redneck has been retrieving paperwork like an archivist at the Smithsonian and apparently his job is wearing thin. I asked him for his 2007 tax form to verify his exemptions and get the AGI.

There was a heavy sigh from his end of the couch and he hauled himself up again, went out to his truck and came back in with an envelope. He pulled out a stack of paper and started going through it page by page. I don't know what he was looking for, because I hadn't told him what I was looking for. This went on for a few minutes before I finally asked him to just give me the packet.

Him: Wait a minute.
Me: It's almost midnight. I have to get up at 5:00. Give me the packet so I can get this finished.
Him, offended now: Go to bed. I'll do this.
Me: You don't even know why I want that and YOU'RE going to do this. Give me the packet.
Him: Well, you're in a bad mood.

You'll be proud to know that I did not kill him. He handed over the packet and a few minutes later, everything was finished and submitted and accepted and all that good stuff.

I started to tell him that in a day or two, he'll have to go back to the place online where the taxes were done and make sure that all was good. He would need his passwords. That was when he wandered off.

Since he was just through the doorway in the kitchen, I kept talking. (I know. Don't even say it.) Then he wandered into the dining room and I knew it was hopeless. I waited for him to come back and started over. He looked at me like I was speaking in tongues. None of it was getting through. Passwords? What passwords? Taxes? Huh?

I gave up and wrote down his username and passwords then went to bed. I'm a little tired this morning. I didn't sleep well. He, on the other hand, slept like a baby, secure in the knowledge that his taxes are done for the year and his refund will be on the way shortly.

All I can say is - he better spend it on me.

And The Award Goes To. . . Roadchick!

2009-01-26T18:37:00.004-06:00

***This award is bestowed upon a fellow blogger whose blog’s content or design is, in the giver’s opinion, Brilliant.

This award was given to me by Sunshine Jones! Bless her heart, she wants to write just like me when she grows up. Talk about bad influences and hanging out behind the gym, smoking cigarettes!!! Seriously though, I am honored that she enjoys the Roadtrip. It means a lot to know that people are reading and having a reaction to what I've posted.

The rules:

When accepting this auspicious award, you must write a post bragging about it, including the name of the misguided soul who thinks you deserve such acclaim, and link back to said person so everyone knows he or she is real.

Choose a minimum of 7 blogs that you find brilliant in content or design. Or improvise by including bloggers who have no idea who you are because you don’t have 7 friends. Show the 7 random victims’ names and links and leave a harassing comment informing them that they were prized with “Honest Weblog.” Well, there’s no prize, but they can keep the nifty icon. List at least ten honest things about yourself. Then, pass it on!

Ten Honest Things:
1. I am seriously OCD - not in the repeated handwashing way, but in the attention to detail and a near photographic memory.
2. Must. Have. Coffee. In. The. Morning. Do not speak until the coffee consumption has begun.
3. I'm a dedicated list-maker. I have a notebook full of lists. Things to do, things to read, things to buy.
4. I don't like people to watch me eating a snack. A meal is ok, but snacks seem shameful somehow.
5. I never in a million years imagined that this is where my life would take me. I imagined fame, for some reason. For what, I don't know.
6. I'd rather be at home than almost anywhere in the world.
7. I get very annoyed when people don't put their dirty dishes in the dishwasher.
8. I sing along with the radio or a CD while driving in the car. I ignore the funny looks I get.
9. The older I get, the less I care what people think about me. (See #8)
10. It's hard to come up with 10 honest things. Maybe I'm boring. Or secretive.

_________________________________________

And. . . The Proximity Award was given to me by Autrice.

Again, I am very honored. I've been reading Autrice for years and her posts never fail to entertain or make me think. She can be wickedly funny but is not afraid to write posts that are touching and heart-felt. I admire that. I don't know that I'm brave enough to do that. If I can't be funny, I stay silent, for the most part.

Blogs who receive this award are 'exceedingly charming'. This blog invests and believes in the PROXIMITY-nearness in space, time and relationships. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in prizes or self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers!

“Deliver this award to eight bloggers who must choose eight more and include this cleverly-written text into the body of their award. According to the rules, you must mention eight more bloggers with whom you wish to share this.

And now, the nominees (who are being nominated for both awards because they deserve them so you should definitely check them out) in no particular order:

*Heather
*Knit Witch
*Ann & Kay
*Marinka
*Marla
*Susan
*Lindsay
*Franklin

I wanted to get those awards posted and do my nominations but a regular post is going to have to wait. I've got a ton of stuff to finish up for work and the end of the month is looming.

I'm Going In

2009-01-18T08:28:00.002-06:00

In a minute, I'm going to get up from my very comfortable spot on the couch, get dressed in something WARM, and go out to brave my garage.

Why?

Because tomorrow, the garage door guys are coming to replace the dreaded torsion spring.

Actually, my garage isn't too bad, but it's not too good, either. I've been getting ready for a helluva yard sale, and as I've gone through stuff, it's been packed into boxes and dumped in the garage. The boxes line one wall pretty completely and they are not the neat, tidy stack of boxes that I started out with, mainly because I suspect Rockboy has been rummaging to see what was in them.

Because they block one wall, I'm also a little concerned that the garage door guys may not be able to get to everything they need to since there's a lot of S P R E A D at the base of the pile.

And, on that side wall, there is a regular door to the outside. It's blocked by boxes and piles of crap. But, if it rains really hard and the wind is howling, water comes through the bottom of that door and makes a huge mess and gets boxes wet, etc.

So, I've re-thought the whole thing and am going to re-arrange everything and tidy it up.

I really didn't worry too much about it because the car has always fit in there, but now seems to be the time to get a handle on this mess.

It's been an interesting month, home-repair-wise.

Let's review the list:
* Broken torsion spring on the garage door
* Washing machine making funny noise (diagnosed by the way - I need a new agitator)
* Broken water supply line on the fridge, leaking water trashing hardwood floor

***NEW ADDITION: When I came home on Thursday night (the COLDEST night of the year), I thought, hey, it's a little chilly in here, I'm going to turn up the heat just a little. When I nudged the thermostat up, nothing happened. I kept nudging. Nothing kept happening. Then I looked at the thermometer, to see what the temperature actually was.

It was about 56 degrees in the house.

No wonder it was a little chilly. And the heat wouldn't kick on.

I flipped the breaker in the garage (which meant scaling a pile of boxes - part of the inspiration to DO something about that flea market out there).

It didn't help.

Sigh.

I went next door to my neighbor's house, since I had seen him rummaging around in HIS garage.

He said he'd look at it and see if he could figure out what was going on. He came. He looked. He offered to call a friend with a HVAC business. I told him to call. It was too damn cold to fool around.

The man finally came, clomped upstairs to the attic, fiddled around for a few minutes, pulled out some metal stick-looking thing, wiped it off, scraped it with his knife, wiped it off again, and stuck it back in.

The verdict: Dirty flame sensor.

The cost: $90.00

A value, since I was FREEZING, but wow - $90.00

I asked about the price. He said that it's for the service call and first hour of service, new parts not included.

I mentioned that he hadn't been here an hour yet and asked him to vacuum the living room.

He politely declined, took his check, and left.

(That's probably best, since he was young and reasonably cute, because the next thing I was going to say was, "For $90.00, you better get up on that coffee table and dance.")

I called my neighbors to let them know we had heat again. This time I was talking to the wife. She was glad the heat was running and said that when she came home from the grocery store, she pushed the garage door opener remote (not realizing that hubby was in the garage with the door already up) and the door started to go down, then gathered speed and slammed shut. Now it wouldn't go up again.

A little lightbulb went off.

I told her how to check it: pull the emergency release cord. If the door feels like it weighs 400 pounds (and it does) and you can't move it, your torsion spring has broken.

Voila.

But, my neighbor came up with a creative solution. She publishes a local home magazine that you can pick up for free all over town. She sells a LOT of advertising.

She called up a garage door company and offered to trade them ad space in exchange for fixing the garage doors.

Hers AND mine.

For free.

As in, no money.

Since I diagnosed the problem.

And, in exchange, I owe them a dinner (home-cooked) and the use of Rockboy as a slave.

Sounds like a deal to me.

I just haven't mentioned it to Rockboy yet.

Adventures in Home Ownership

2009-01-14T09:09:00.002-06:00

It all started a couple of weeks ago.

Redneck and I came back from running errands and he pushed the garage door opener button. The door went up about 8 inches, then stopped.

He did this a couple of times before I decided that he didn't know what he was doing and took the remote away from him. Amazingly, it did not work any better for me.

I went in through the front door and looked into the garage. What I saw was the cables from the garage door draped over the garbage cans in graceful coils. What Redneck saw was the torsion spring over the garage door had snapped. Then I saw dollar signs dancing in front of my eyes from how much it was going to cost to get that fixed.

Between the two of us, we heaved the garage door up (they weigh about 400 pounds for a two-car garage door) and he stood there like a statue while I backed my car out.

It went on the list. Fix garage door.

On Friday evening, I decided to get some laundry done before Redneck came over after work. I threw everything in and wandered off to do something else. A few minutes later, I tuned back into the washer because it was making a funny noise. Crap. It was still working, but didn't sound right.

It was added to my mental list while the wet stuff went into the dryer.

Redneck came in a little while later and we left to get something to eat. When we came back, I was walking through the kitchen and saw a puddle of water on the hardwood floor. I immediately knew what had happened. I screeched and grabbed towels and dropped them on the floor.

Redneck came running and saw the problem too.

The water supply that feeds the ice maker and water-in-the-door on the fridge had broken.

Crap.

We pulled the fridge away from the wall and started mopping up the mess. He turned the water off at the wall and disconnected everything so it wouldn't keep dripping on the floor. We mopped some more. We found Speedbump's 4367 scrunchies that keep disappearing. (She LOVES to play with them, especially fetch, if you shoot it for her.)

After all the water was off the floor, we took a good look at it. Not good.

The next day, Redneck headed to Lowe's to get copper line to replace the broken plastic line. I headed for the phone to call the floor dude.

The floor dude said that he would come over on Tuesday and look at the floor. I called my dad and he said he would meet the floor dude here and see what he had to say.

The floor dude was here yesterday and said that he'd give it about three months because sometimes the flooring will dry out and the floor will go back to the way it was supposed to be. The polyurethane was not stripped off, so if the floor would cooperate, it might be ok if we did nothing. If it's not ok in three months, then we'd look at replacing the warped sections. Call your insurance company and let them know that you might have a claim in three months.

Dad and floor dude finished up and headed out. Dad locked the front door behind himself. Then he turned around and locked the deadbolt. (Dad's a big believer in security and locking locks that were meant to be locked. Me, not so much. I'm lazy and usually have to pee in a hurry when I get home so I just lock the doorknob.)

I got home later than usual last night so it was dark. It was also freezing cold. And I had to pee.

I knew that the damn deadbolt would be locked, so I unlocked the doorknob and then spent precious minutes playing hunt-and-poke with the key, trying to get it into the deadbolt. I finally got the key in there and tried to turn it. Nothing. Ok, maybe it goes the other way. It turned, but did not unlock the deadbolt.

By now, I'm whimpering with cold and pee, and dropped my bags and purse on the front porch to seriously wrestle with the stupid key. It. Would. Not. Turn.

I left everything on the porch and headed for the back door, praying that I had not locked the screen door, but thinking I probably had.

I had.

Thinking fast, I headed down the steps from the deck, dragging one of the patio chairs with me.

Rockboy is not known for his diligence in home security and I was hoping this was one of those times. Oh PLEASE let his window be unlocked.

I shoved the chair up against the house and climbed up, praying the whole time: for the window to be open, to not pee my pants, to not break my body when I launched through the window. . .

It was unlocked.

I pushed the window up, chased Speedbump away from the open window and dropped into the room with the grace of a drunk koala bear. Slammed the window closed and ran as fast as I could with my legs pressed together for the bathroom.

It was close, but I made it.

I tried to unlock the deadbolt from inside with my key (it's keyed on both sides because there is a huge glass window in the door although I don't know what the difference is - if you break the window, why would you need to unlock the door? Just step in through the window.) The key still would not turn.

I gave up and went out through the back door, around the house, and hauled all my crap in from the front porch and driveway.

I tried the lock again. It opened (unwillingly) this time.

I've gotta get that garage door fixed.

No, Really

2009-01-12T12:52:00.003-06:00

Yes, Patient Reader, I do know that it is January and the holidays have been over for a little while.

But, see, I forgot to tell y'all this, what with being so outraged about Redneck's "your roots are showing" comment.

We unwrap our presents to each other on Christmas Eve. Rockboy and Skaterboy are there as well.

Redneck, bless his heart, has gotten me exactly what I wanted and had been dropping very obvious hints for during the past 5 weeks. He got me a Nintendo DS. He got me a little carrying case. He got me games. He did good.

I was sloooowly unwrapping the DS, stretching it out, because present-opening time never lasts long enough. (I personally think it should last for HOURS.)

I finally get the paper off and I'm smiling and saying thank you. I'm reaching for the next package . . . and then it happens.

Skaterboy is watching since he's ripped through his pile of loot in 3.2 seconds.

He looks up at me and says, "Daddy was playing with that the other day."

At this point, Redneck gets a guilty look on his face.

Skaterboy continues, "He got it out from under the tree, unwrapped it, unwrapped one of the games, opened it, played with it for a really long time, then put that stuff back into the boxes and re-wrapped them and stuck them back under the tree."

Me: stunned silence.

Redneck: You would never have known that if Skaterboy hadn't told you.

Me: Um, yes I would have. The game would be out of its shrinkwrap.

Redneck: You wouldn't have noticed that.

Later on, it's finally a little quiet and I can play with my new toy. I stick the unwrapped game in and turn it on. My name came up as the player.

I leaned over and showed it to Redneck.

"I may not have noticed that the game wasn't shrinkwrapped, but I think I would've noticed that apparently, my DS is psychic and knows it's me."

"At least I put YOUR name in and not mine."

"You're right. That totally makes it ok."

(And actually, it was ok, but still very funny. Especially since he got caught.)

Music Wars

2009-01-05T20:03:00.002-06:00

For Christmas, I bought Skaterboy an iPod Shuffle. He's 10. He's been wanting a MP3 player for ages and I figured that I would get one that I actually know how to operate. (Or that Rockboy knows how to operate.) Skaterboy has another MP3 player that his grandma found at a yard sale but no one could figure out how to get any music onto the stupid thing and the directions were written in Chinese.

Skaterboy opened his gifts here Christmas Eve and was excited about the iPod. Rockboy told him that if he wrote a list of the music he wanted, he would get it set up. Skaterboy wrote a list, left the iPod, and departed for his granny's house.

Late that night, Rockboy came home and looked at the list. He came and woke Redneck and me up, muttering and grumbling.

Who, he wanted to know, had told Skaterboy about this band. Did we know what this band was like? Totally inappropriate. And as for that 'Lollipop' song by Li'l Wayne - were we aware that it was about oral sex? And WAS THIS APPROPRIATE MUSIC FOR A 10 YEAR OLD???

He wandered off again, still grumbling and muttering, but I did hear him say:

"He'll get what I give him. He won't know the difference anyway. And if he doesn't like it, too bad."

Rockboy filled up the iPod shuffle without spending a dime on iTunes - he used his extensive collection of CDs, put a huge variety of music on there, and to be honest, I have heard no complaints from Skaterboy. He, apparently, does not know the difference.

I had to laugh. About 7 years ago, Rockboy and I were having that exact same conversation about bands that I felt he was too young to listen to at that point. We had arguments. We had screaming matches. We had a face to face showdown that would've put old-time gunslingers to shame. He SWORE he would NEVER treat HIS child like that.

All I've got to say is - how ya like me now?

New Year, New You

2009-01-01T00:00:00.003-06:00

This post is for the ladies. Gentlemen, move along. Trust me.

I learned something today. You would think that having reached nearly 40 (good God!) years of age, I would've figured out some basic things by now.

For the past few days, I've been really dissatisfied with how I look. I'm not usually too hung up about those things, but you know how it is when you want a haircut and don't know what you want done, and you really need to touch up your haircolor, but should you keep it the same or change - go lighter or darker or a completely different color. . .

I try to wear make-up on the days that I'm working, especially if I have visits or meetings or if I'm going to work in the office instead of at home. I feel better if I wear make-up. It is a positive thing for me. (No, I don't have to put on full make-up to run to the store to get milk or go to the mailbox. I'm not a junkie.)

Lately, I haven't been happy with my make-up. It's the same stuff I've been using for ages, but somehow, all of a sudden, nothing looked right to me.

I'd go through the whole routine (plus moisturizing - this is new) and then at the end, I'd think: I look like hell.

So, last night, I went to Walgreens for a few odds and ends and wandered the make-up aisle for a good 15 minutes. I came home with a couple new eyeliners and a couple new eyeshadow sets. (Revlon was buy 1, get 1 free!)

This morning, I tried out my new stuff and I was a little happier with how I looked, but still . . . not quite.

This afternoon, I stopped at CVS for odds and ends that I forgot at Walgreens last night and yes, you guessed it, I wound up in the make-up section.

And there, I had a revelation.

Loreal (and every other company out there) has come up with a system to simplify coordinating your make-up. But Loreal had this little card hanging there, next to the foundation. It was printed on clear plastic and you hold it above your wrist and the color that you CAN'T see against your wrist is the foundation color that is best for you. Amazing.

Not only that, but the little card also had three different categories of color: warm, neutral, and cool.

For years (and I mean YEARS) I have been buying warm-toned make-up when I am, in fact, a cool skin tone person.

I bought new foundation and blush and concealer and powder and hurried home with my new treasures. I couldn't stand it - as soon as I got home, I washed my face and started over with the new make-up.

It was amazing. I no longer look like the walking dead or like I need to wash my face because I look vaguely grimy or like someone smacked me in the eye.

RUN (or drive really fast) to CVS or Walgreens or somewhere like that and check out the little card thing and find out if you're using the right colors for you.

If you are - good for you. If you're not - join the club. And if you're a warm and have been buying cool colors, let's trade. I've got a bunch of stuff that I can't use.
______________________________________
ETA: Last night, when Redneck got to my house, we went to Waffle House (because we really know how to get wild with the New Year's festivities. While we were sitting there in the fluorescent glow, Redneck looked over at me and said: You look tired. Your eyes are red.

I'm going to (deep breath) assume that the make-up did not have anything to do with this because I was tired, I haven't been sleeping, and I'm so stressed out I could almost levitate. My eyes were red, from lack of sleep.

This morning, he rolled over and looked at me and reminded me that I need to do something about my roots. Since when did he become my personal beauty nag?

Happy New Year, y'all. I'm off to "do something about those roots".

The Year in Review

2008-12-31T00:00:00.001-06:00

I'm totally stealing this idea from Autrice. Go visit her HERE.

Autrice says, "Annie is too clever for my own good. She found this fabulous idea for reviewing our year. "You simply write the first line of the first post of each month. Include a picture if you like and, voila, you have your year in review." Visit There is no place like home. You can also share it at My Romantic Home, which Annie found as well."

(Since I'm that lazy, I even stole the explanation of how to do this but I was much to lazy to do all the linking to Annie, There Is No Place Like Home, or My Romantic Home. If you're interested [and you should be] visit Autrice and make free and liberal use of her linking abilities!)

Roadchick's 2008

January

Over the Festive Season, the 'chick's laptop had a little accident - it wound up on the hardwood floor.

February

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

March

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

April

Blogging can be very interesting sometimes.

May

Y'all, it's been Thursday for four days.

June

Redneck has informed the 'chick that this weekend, they will be going camping.

July

Sigh.

It's a holiday weekend which means the 'chick was released from work early, at 1:00.

August

If you look to the right, you will see that the 'chick has added a link to something called Roadchick Reviews.

September

It's September, isn't it?

October

I've been silent for a while now, and it's not that I've forgotten to write although I have been busy.

November

I have managed to catch a cold.

December

Hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving!
____________________________

In conclusion, all I can say is: I'm sorry that I have had such a lame-sounding year and that really, I am more interesting than this recap would prove.

Anyway - Happy New Year, y'all. Have fun and be safe!

See you in 2009!

Get It Together!

2008-12-29T11:37:00.004-06:00

THIS:

is what I should be working on, and should've been working on all through the holiday week. (No, that's not really my desk. But it feels like it could be.)

THIS:

is what has captured my attention since Christmas Eve and has turned my brain into a great big pile of video-induced haze.

Three days to work this week.

Seven days until the state shows up.

One (at least one, until I check the mail today) report to do for the after-work job.

One Christmas tree to take down and pack away until next year.

One dishwasherful of clean dishes, waiting to be put away.

One sinkful of dishes, waiting for their turn in the dishwasher.

One garage door with a broken torsion spring to be replaced, involving (hopefully) one trip up a ladder to measure the broken spring to order replacement parts.

One more minute to say - Christmas was good, sorry it's over (have I EVER said that before???), no idea of New Year's Eve plans - it may be a movie on DVD in pajamas, which would probably be ok with Redneck.

I'll post when I get a minute - and if it's later rather than sooner - HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Sooper Sekrit Recipes!

2008-12-22T18:20:00.003-06:00

Moving right along. . .

I'm baking. I cannot even believe how much that little trip to the grocery store cost. (A LOT. No, more than that. More. A little higher.)

So far, I've made a fudge pie for Redneck, to take to his mama's on Christmas Eve. One batch of fudge (with nuts in) and will make one more without nuts.

Fudge by Paul (a former co-worker)
12 oz. semi-sweet chocolate chips
1 cup milk chocolate chips
1 - 14 oz. can sweetened condensed milk
2 Tbsp. milk
1 tsp. vanilla
1/2 cup pecan pieces

Over low heat, melt chips in milk & condensed milk (stir it. a lot.) When completely melted, remove from heat and add vanilla and pecans. Spread in a lightly greased 9x9 pan. Chill for at least 3 hours.

***Instead of greasing the 9x9 pan, I lined it with the non-stick foil. Easy to flip out of the pan, and NO WASHING UP to do. I recommend this method. ***

I'm trying a bread recipe that might be similar to this bread that my grandma used to make when I was little. No one ever got the recipe because there wasn't one. My mom tried and my grandma told her something like: about this much flour, a pinch of this, a few pinches of that. . . while I could've probably figured it out, my mom didn't even bother writing anything down since she's not big on baking (or cooking).

The bread should be almost done rising. Hopefully. If not, then I don't know what I'm going to do with it.

Then, I've got to make the cookies that guarantee my admittance into the house on Christmas. Russian Tea Cakes with Hershey Kisses inside.

Russian Teacakes by Roadchick

1 cup soft butter
1 tsp. vanilla
1/2 cup sifter confectioner's sugar

Mix first three ingredients thoroughly.

Sift together, then stir into the top three ingredients:
2 & 1/4 cups sifted flour
1/4 tsp. salt

Then add:
3/4 cups finely chopped nuts (pecans or walnuts, but pecans are better)

Chill the dough.

Unwrap about a bazillion Hershey Kisses. Don't eat all of them or you'll be sick.

When the dough is cold, mold it around each kiss. Place on an ungreased cookie sheet. Bake at 400 degrees for 10 - 12 minutes until set but not brown. Let cool for a few minutes, but while still warm, roll in confectioner's sugar. Let cool completely, then roll in confectioner's sugar again.

Eat a lot of them, with milk. Yum!

I have a feeling it's going to be crazy around here for the next few days, so Merry Christmas! And remember - he sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake . . .

Ho, Ho - Ho!

2008-12-17T21:55:00.002-06:00

I am a regular little Christmas elf this year. I'm beginning to scare myself.

That would be the tree that Rockboy put up over the weekend.

That would all of the Christmas presents - wrapped.

The only thing I can think of that I need to do is make cookies, but that will have to happen next week otherwise they will get eaten before I'm supposed to hand them out to the brothers.

Fa la la la lalala.

Is It A Full Moon???

2008-12-16T17:11:00.003-06:00

It has been one of Those Days.

I should be catching up on all the work I meant to do today, until Life got in the way. Instead, I am here, to find out if it's just me, or has the world gone batshit crazy today???

The morning started out with me fiddling around with my blogger template, trying to change it to something else. That didn't work. No problem - I had the code for the template I've been using and slammed it back into blogger. Oh hell no. It didn't take. I was time-warped back to a previous incarnation including links that are a million years old. After some fiddling, I got it changed back to the way it started out before I went and got all creative.

I had to meet a client for a doctor's appointment at 9:30. No problem. I got there a few minutes early, he was already there with his staff - things are rolling right along.

TWO AND A HALF HOURS LATER we finally got called back for the appointment. Which is completely unacceptable. The explanation? There were some emergencies. I was there for that whole time. No one came out with blood on them. It was not an emergency.

Heartless? Yep. Sure am. But this client has some behavioral challenges and fortunately, he was having a much better day than I was. I had to leave that appointment early (after we finally got in back) to go to another meeting an hour away.

I got to that meeting and it started 30 minutes late. It was spectacularly unproductive.

By this time, it is 2:00 and I have yet to eat so much as a cracker - all day.

I grabbed coffee with a friend only to get a phone call from Rockboy that just about launched me into orbit.

His new (to him) XBox? Wouldn't work with his TV? So HE TOOK MY TV OUT OF THE LIVING ROOM AND HE JUST WANTED TO LET ME KNOW.

Needless to say, I informed him that he would return MY TV to the living room immediately, hook it up, and make sure it was working BEFORE I GOT HOME OR BY GOD THERE WOULD BE A KILLING.

The TV is hooked up although he didn't bother to put it back like it was. Sometimes, you just have to take a deep breath and think calming thoughts. I fixed the TV and in the meantime, eliminated 90% of the extra cords, wires, adapters, etc. that were lurking back there. (Men never do that sort of thing when they hook something up. Redneck has been back there 30 times and never did it. Rockboy certainly wasn't going to do it, since he was mad.)

Rockboy boogied out of here before I got home, but I'm waiting for him. He has to come back eventually. And when he does, it's not going to be pleasant. Because that is the kind of day I've had and I may as well take all of it out on him since he was foolish enough to give me a reason.

One of these days, he'll learn.

Monday Morning Blah

2008-12-15T06:10:00.002-06:00

It's Monday. Again.

This is technically the last full week of work for us, since we are going to be closed the week of Christmas, coming back to work a couple of days the next week, then off New Year's Day and Jan. 2.

Not for me.

The state moved our annual survey up from February to January 5, which is the first full week of work after the holidays, so that means I will be working when my other co-workers are at home, sleeping in, relaxing, having fun, etc.

Why, no, I'm not at all bitter about it.

The snow last week messed up my travel plans for work, so instead of traveling one day this week, I'll be away two days. Plus another day to go to an appointment with a client and a meeting for him on the same day.

Redneck is here. And that's fine, really. In the past couple of weeks, he's started staying on Sunday night and then just going to work on Monday.

But here's the thing: I've lived alone for a LONG time and I have little set routines, especially in the morning. I like to take my time getting ready, drinking coffee, watching (or listening) to the news, etc. and all of these things take place in my bedroom/bathroom.

Since Redneck does not have to get up at the crack of dawn, I have to do these things elsewhere which means I am perched on the couch in the living room. Which is ok, but vaguely unsettling. And when I get a shower and dry my hair, it's with the bathroom door closed so the noise doesn't wake him up. Same for putting on makeup.

I know that it's just a matter of getting used to a new routine but I'm struggling with it a little. Mornings are a struggle anyway because I rarely actually want to be up and moving and that makes it a little harder. It doesn't help that I'm envious of being able to sleep until you wake up. I know that he pays for that perk by having to work in the afternoon and evening when I'm at home in my pajamas, but let's not bring any silly logic into this, ok?

In other news, Rockboy and his girlfriend put up the tree on Saturday night. So far, Speedbump has stayed out of it, but I figure that will change as soon as she has the house to herself.

Christmas shopping is done and wrapping has commenced. Almost everything is in a box which will make it a lot easier for wrapping - nothing with a weird shape. I think opening wrapped stuff is more fun but I also admit to being lazy and using gift bags to just get the whole wrapping thing over with. That won't happen this year because I don't actually have bags that the boxes would fit in. I figure if I do one or two a day, I'll be done in no time with a minimum of pain and whining.

Crap. It's almost 6:30. I've got to get ready for work.

WTF???

2008-12-11T22:14:00.002-06:00

I live in Nashville.

It does snow here. Really.

But, um, hello? The weather guy did NOT say it was going to snow like that.

Now, I know to the northern folks, that amount of snow is nothing. Actually, it's not much to me, either.

Except that Tennessee has one snowplow and we all have to share it.

It was elsewhere today.

It took me one hour to drive 5 miles, from the interstate to my neighborhood, for a couple of reasons.

1. There was a line of 40387 cars in front of me and they were all going reaaaalllly, reaaaaallly slow.

2. There was a lumpy, bumpy layer of ice all over the road which makes the hills and curves a bit of a challenge.

But, it's beginning to look a LOT like Christmas. Maybe I should get the stupid tree out this weekend.

Christmas Solution

2008-12-10T15:48:00.002-06:00

Those of you that have been around for a few years know that I have an ongoing battle with Speedbump (the cat).

So far, Speedbump is winning.

I used to put up the Christmas tree on Black Friday. Instead of going shopping and making myself crazy, I would stay home, rummage in the attic, decorate, reminisce, and make myself crazy.

Then Speedbump moved in.

Speedbump loves Christmas. She loves it more than a toddler hopped up on cookies and hot chocolate.

She loves the presents. They're wonderful to climb on. There are ribbons to chew, bows to attack, paper to sniff. They crinkle and rustle. You can hide behind them.

But more than anything, she LOVES the Christmas tree.

She gets excited, tail twitching, as soon as the upstairs storage closet door opens. If she had hands, I believe that she would even help carry boxes downstairs.

As soon as the Christmas tree box is set down, she's on top of it, desperate to get inside. We almost can't get it open because we can't keep her off of it long enough. She insists on helping to sort the branches and straighten the tips. She inspects the center pole. She sits in the stand.

I usually wind up putting her in a bedroom and closing the door so we can get on with it already because she also likes to chase the lights and the garland.

The ornaments are particularly exciting. I used to put up a "children's tree" - a tree with no particular theme other than all the ornaments on it were made by someone I know or given to me as a gift. My mom made a zillion felt ornaments with beads and sequins - all stuffed and sewn by hand. There are the horrid ornaments I made in grade school with a styrofoam ball and glue and sequins. There are the Hallmark ornaments that Rockboy chose over the years. With colored lights, it was a gorgeous tree. Impressive. Colorful.

We don't put up that tree anymore. The soft ornaments were disappearing at an alarming rate. Some of them were found under furniture. Some were found down the hall. And some, the very unlucky ones, were found drowned in Speedbump's water bowl. Some were dismantled by systematic chewing, stuffing strewn from one end of the living room to the other.

No matter which tree we put up (there are two), she loves to climb them. She climbs up the inside of the tree, knocking branches loose as she goes. When they're just loose, it's not so bad - when they're completely removed, it becomes more difficult. Imagine decorating each branch and THEN putting the tree together after you've draped lights around them while they were in a circle on the floor. It's hard to put that stuff back together so that it doesn't look like ass.

I changed to glass ball ornaments because Speedbump can't figure out how to carry them away. She may swat them with her foot, but they don't wind up in the water bowl and their stuffins don't come out.

But, I am no longer in a hurry to get the decorations out because I know that every time I come home, I will enter the house holding my breath, waiting to see how much damage has been done this time. How long it will take to repair it.

I believe that I have found a solution. The upside-down Christmas tree. Some people buy them because they're quirky and trendy. But I suspect that the person that first hung a tree upside down from the ceiling was a person that has a demolition artist disguised as a cat.

Snapshot: Duh.

2008-12-06T17:23:00.002-06:00

I can always tell when I'm under a lot of stress.

I get things mixed up or I forget them altogether. Of course, that is also a sign of dementia or Alzheimer's, but I think I'm still too young for those.

A co-worker's husband passed away last week. An email made the rounds about a memorial service that was scheduled for Saturday.

They live a couple hours away from me, so I got up at 6:00, drank coffee for a little while, got a shower, started getting ready.

Woke Rockboy up so that he could go take his ACT today. (Graduation requirement!)

Went back to the bathroom, put on moisturizer. (I'm trying to be better about doing that. The closer I get to 40, the more I worry about it. What kind of moisturizer do you like? There are only about forty-eleven choices and I had a panicky moment at Walgreens trying to make up my mind. What was I talking about?)

Oh yes, so duly moisturized, brush teeth, wake Rockboy up again and tell him to get his ass in gear, shuffle back to the bathroom, put on make-up.

Wake up Rockboy again, go back to the bathroom, towel-dry hair, detangle, look at make-up and wonder if I look like I forgot to wash my face due to the moisturizer making the make-up seem a little harsh.

Go get more coffee. Go back into bedroom, Redneck is awake and staring around like he has no idea why he's awake. (He's awake because he said he would drive me to the memorial service.)

Glad he's awake, go back into bathroom to dry hair with the door open. (It's hot as hell drying hair in a closed bathroom. Makes your make-up come off.)

Hair finally dry, plug in flat iron. Put on black tights. Ponder between two skirts - the long, black, drapey one or the short, straight gray one. Ask Redneck. He chooses the long one. (Good choice - it's cold here.) Ask him why he chose that one. Listen to him grumble about me asking him which one and then asking questions about it. Ignore him. Go straighten hair.

Check on Rockboy. He's up and moving. Good Rockboy.

Get dressed. Figure out which earrings to wear. (Note: sparkly Christmas stocking earrings are not somber enough for a memorial service.) Decide on long, dangly, pearl ones.

Go back to bathroom to brush hair. Drop brush on floor. Yell bad word when the handle of the brush breaks off. Decide the smaller brush (minus handle) fits better in purse.

Rockboy leaves to take the ACT. Redneck gets dressed and starts the car so it will warm up. Grab last minute crap (nail file, hanky) and find decent coat. (Note: do not wear your Harley Cafe/Las Vegas jean jacket to a memorial service.)

Program Garman, hit the road.

Drive for approximately three days. Decide to call other co-workers to see who's going.

Talk to co-worker #1: Are you going to the memorial service?
Co-worker: I don't know - we had some plans for next Saturday.
Me: Isn't it today?
Co-worker: No, I think it's next weekend.
Me: Fuck. I've got to call Co-worker #2. Bye.

Call co-worker #2: Hey, are you going to the memorial service today?
Co-worker #2: It's next Saturday - the 13th.
Me: It's not today? Are you sure?
Co-worker #2: It's next Saturday.
Me: Fuck. I'm already almost up there.

Me: (Look at Redneck guiltily.)
Redneck: Next Saturday.
Me: Um, yes?
Redneck: You made me get up early.
Me: You woke up on your own.
Redneck: Never mind, we'll find something to do up here.
Me: (Looking down at long, black, drapey skirt and boots) Ok. (Thinking my feet already hurt and I haven't walked anywhere yet.)

I ask you, Patient Reader - who the hell gets the date for a MEMORIAL SERVICE wrong? Roadchick, that's who. The only way it could've been worse was if we had driven the remaining 50 miles only to get to the church and then start wondering where everyone was.

How was YOUR weekend?

Turkey Day, Black Friday, and Beyond

2008-12-01T09:20:00.003-06:00

Hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving!

Amazingly, our family Thanksgiving did not include bloodshed this year. It was close a couple of times, but disaster was averted and a (reasonably) nice time was had by all.

I got off work at 1:00 on Wednesday and came home with the intent of cleaning the house because it's been ages since I've had the time (and an empty house) to get it done.

Rockboy was home and intent on hanging out with me for awhile, which was fine, but then he had to leave to pick up a kitten for girlfriend. Finally. The house to myself.

I started in the living room, mainly because there's not a lot of stuff in there. Couch, loveseat, chair, coffee table, 2 end tables, 2 lamps, TV, and 5 pictures on the mantle. Not a lot of knick-knacky crap to deal with. For some reason, a simple cleaning turned into Fall Cleaning - doing the windows, baseboards, windowsills, etc. Apparently, I've got something of a Black Friday cleaning tradition going on. I think that is what I did last year at this time.

This continued on for the next several days although I did take a break on Saturday and Sunday because Redneck was here and we did a little shopping.

I still have to finish the kitchen. Above the cabinets is a space - presumably for displaying your decorative items. So, I displayed decorative items. And other than looking upward from time to time and shuddering, never did another thing about it. It was time. I climbed up there and hauled all that nasty, dusty crap down and cleaned it up and put 90% of it into a yard sale box. Then I vacuumed up the dust and scrubbed the stupid woodwork rail and upper cabinets. The stuff I decided to keep is parked on the table at the moment. I really don't want to put it back up there but I don't have anywhere else to put it but it's also stuff I don't want to get rid of because it's either an antique or from a family member, or both. So, it's in limbo on the table until I can make a decision about what to do with the stuff.

It's not allowed anywhere else in the house because it's kitchen-y looking stuff AND it will not coordinate with the way the rest of the house looks.

It's a dilemma, y'all. What do you do with the stuff you can't really get rid of, but don't really want to keep? It's beginning to look like it may wind up in boxes in the attic.

Really, the entire point of the exercise was two-fold: to get the house clean, and to get rid of stuff.

I try really hard to keep my level of stuff to a minimum - I really do try. But then I get confused by this kind of stuff.

I'm not terribly sentimental - I can get rid of things that were given to me as gifts without a second thought. If I don't love it or don't use it, it's got to go.

But the gray area of family heirloom/antique kind of gets me. It doesn't help that every time I go to my mom's house, she has some little something that Great Aunt Mary crocheted or whatever and she wants me to have it. Since I'm the only girl, I've become the repository for all this stuff from my mother. I hate to tell her no, I don't want it - she gets that hurt look.

I can promise you that those doilies and back-of-the-chair-head-protector things will never see the light of day again - they've been stuck in the drawer that holds my one tablecloth and cloth napkins (for Easter). My decorating style could be considered Mid-Century Modern with a minimum of clutter/frilly crap.

And I'm afraid that if I get rid of the stuff - on Craigslist, Ebay, yard sale, whatever - that I'll wind up regretting it later. Once it's gone, it's gone, right?

Welcome to December. 24 days until Christmas. Have you finished your shopping yet? I've got some doilies that I'm sure someone on your gift list would just LOVE.

Distracted

2008-11-25T15:02:00.002-06:00

I'm distracted, y'all.

I'm sitting here at work and I should be working. Finishing November notes. Finishing an audit. Finishing something.

I'm thinking about all the stuff that I need to do when I get home. I need to do laundry. I need to sweep the floor. I need to dust. And vacuum. And really clean the entire house. The cobwebs are threatening to take over and Halloween is long gone.

And I have at least one report that I need to type for my part-time transcription job for fun and profit. And I need to mail back all those little tapes because they're really starting to pile up and in all honesty, I don't know how many I can keep before they'll have to buy more because apparently, I am starting a collection of them and can never part with any that I receive. Either that, or they may start docking my check to replace them. So, I need to go to the post office and mail the damn things.

I need to start thinking about the holidays. Amazingly, I am almost done with the shopping. Only Rockboy left to go. But he's the difficult one.

I need to figure out if I'm going to do the whole Christmas tree thing. And when. Speedbump LOVES the Christmas tree and dismantles it every chance she gets. And steals the ornaments. And hides them.

I need to get my ass to the DMV and get the renewal stickers for the car. I did manage to sit in a mile long line yesterday afternoon and get the emissions test done - why can't they just give you your stickers there instead of having to go to some other government building to stand in another line? And write another check.

I need to return a call to the Outlaws from this past weekend. They called but I was in a crap mood and didn't answer the phone. Because I am a bad person. I will make it up by ordering them a Christmas present. Add that to the list. Don't let me forget.

I need to remember to go to my mom's house to do her hair color on Friday. This is also the day that I have to change their beds. I am a traveling chambermaid. They have a housekeeper who comes every two weeks. I don't know why that woman can't change the beds. Actually, I do know. It's because this way my mother knows she will see me every two weeks whether I like it or not. What she doesn't realize is that if I didn't have to change the damn beds, I might actually come visit once in awhile.

I need to remember to keep my mouth SHUT on Thanksgiving Day and NOT get involved in all the family drama that is always swirling around. I've managed to stay out of it so far, but that's mainly because I believe that distance = silence. Thanksgiving Day will be the test of how well I can take my own advice and shut the fuck up and stay the hell out of it.

I need to remember to post to this blog more than twice a month.

I need to remember everything that I'm grateful for, including you, Patient Reader.

Have a wonderful holiday!

It's NOT Fair!

2008-11-10T08:00:00.002-06:00

I have managed to catch a cold.
That makes it sound like I've done something really difficult - like catching a fairy with a snare set with moonbeams and marshmallows. Or a 10 pound bass with yarn and a safety pin.
Actually, I think it should be the other way around: A cold has managed to catch me.

Let's rewind just a bit.

Remember a few weekends ago, when Redneck and I went to Gatlinburg for the weekend? And we went poking around in dusty old buildings up on Cades Cove and I got a sinus infection? Remember?

I went to the doctor and got fixed up with some antibiotics and just finished them - YESTERDAY.

Now, I know that antibiotics don't mean a damn thing when it comes to colds since colds are viruses. That is not the point of this.

The point of all this is: IT'S NOT FAIR. I was just sick. Now I'm sick again. And at the end of the virus-y cold part, I will develop a sinus infection laden with bacteria that will need to be treated yet again with antibiotics, that I just finished taking.

And, of course, I have a crushing schedule this week with absolutely no time built in for inconvenient things like illness. I'm desperately trying to shuffle things around to fit it all into four days instead of five because I'm working from home today to keep the contagion to myself. My co-workers have threatened me with death before for coming into work while sick and I don't want to go see clients and possibly make them sick OR (huge possibility) pick up something else from one of them who caught a bug somewhere.

It's cold and flu season, darlings. Use your hand sanitizer. Sure wish I had.

Happy Halloween!

2008-10-31T13:32:00.001-05:00

Be safe & have fun!

A Picture Is Worth 1000 Words

2008-10-27T17:56:00.006-05:00

Or, at least, I hope so, because following my weekend o' birthday fun, I've been sick on the actual day (today) with some kind of sinusy-headachy thing.

But, we had a blast this weekend:
(You can click on the pictures to biggify them.)

This was the view from our room - nothing spectacular, but we stayed at the "Bates Motel" again. Decor from 1972, but CLEAN. And, by Pigeon Forge / Gatlinburg standards - CHEAP.

Redneck asked me what I wanted to do on Saturday, and I told him I wanted to go back to Cades Cove and actually drive through it this time. The last time we were there, Rockboy and Skaterboy were with us and they are not much on the scenic beauty and historical places. They were all about the go-carts and electronic amusements. There were a lot of people riding bikes through Cades Cove - including these Mennonites (on the left).

I have to admire anyone willing to even TRY to ride a bike through there. The traffic would terrify me, but in addition to that, it's an 11 mile loop. With steep hills. And really rough roads. I have a feeling there were spouses and significant others who got quite a chewing out later in their hotel rooms for even THINKING that it would be "fun" to go for a bike ride there.

This is a view across the valley at Cades Cove. The Today Show assured me that "leaves were at their peak" in the Smoky Mountains. The Today Show was wrong. The color was just starting, and I have a feeling that this coming weekend is going to be spectacular, especially since it's gotten cold here.

This is a grist mill at one of the stopping places (and the only place with a bathroom on the loop).

There was a lot of neat stuff to look at there, including a blacksmith.

What was a shame was that for some reason, people felt it was necessary to write their names all over everything, even though there is a sign warning you not to do that.

It took a long time to get all the way around the Cades Cove loop, but it was worth it. Except for this:

That, Patient Reader, is what made the 'chick sick.

Apparently, it is infested with mold or mildew or something because not long after leaving there, I started sneezing my head off - to the point that Redneck thought it was funny - at first - and then started getting a little worried because it would NOT stop. I spent the rest of the day sniffling and coughing, eyes red and watery, and halfway lost my voice.

We went to Gatlinburg and walked around for a little while, poking around in gift shops but didn't buy anything except a corn dog. I was more interested in getting to a drugstore or Walmart to get some Nyquil.

After dosing up on Nyquil later that night, the sniffling/sneezing/running nose etc. finally stopped and I fell asleep and felt pretty good yesterday, for the drive home. This morning? Not so much.

But, it's nothing serious and it's back to work tomorrow. At least it will be a short week. Halloween is Friday which means trick-or-treating with Skaterboy and then his FIRST wrestling meet on Saturday morning and then, a trip to Memphis with Redneck, Best Friend, and her husband. Good times. And more pictures, I'm sure.

That Time of the Month (Or Year)

2008-10-23T05:23:00.004-05:00

It's time for the Third Annual Birthday Trip to the Mountains! Yay! (Once I get through the Required Fourth Annual Voluntarily Mandatory Company Retreat At The Other End Of The State which takes place today.)

So, anyway:

Roadchick

+

Redneck

+

Roadtrip

=

Birthday Shenanigans!

See y'all next week!

(Weeeeee!)

p.s. - A note to any burglars: Rockboy WILL be home, as well as Speedbump, the ill-tempered Attack Cat.

If it looks like there's a loud, drunken party going on, please inform Rockboy and Speedbump that YOU, Mr. or Ms. Burglar, will be contacting the police and Roadchick after you leave with the 'chick's worldly possessions. Thank you.

New Twist on Selling

2008-10-21T08:40:00.002-05:00

My sister-in-law works for a local mail-order company that is in the business of selling Southern food to anyone willing to pay to have it shipped. The company has been around for ages and is a well-known local landmark. (No, not Hickory Farms.)

A few years ago, the gentleman that started the business decided to retire and sell the business. Another business man saw the opportunity and bought the business. Then he installed his daughter as the manager. She has no more management experience than a package of bacon.

A couple of weeks ago, the town held a country ham festival and the business donated hams.

My sister-in-law subtracted the donated hams from the inventory so when the next order was placed, they would be replaced.

The manager reviewed the order and wanted to know why those hams had been subtracted since they hadn't been sold.

My sister-in-law just looked at her boss.

Her boss explained, "We didn't sell the hams. We don't need to replace them."

Sister-in-law: "But we don't have the hams anymore. Why wouldn't we replace them?"

Boss: "Because we didn't sell them."

* * * * * * * * *

The company is now in the business of selling the idea of country ham rather than the ham itself. Saves on purchasing, storage, packaging, and shipping.

Win / win.

My Style

2008-10-18T19:50:00.002-05:00

From Sunday Scribblings.

I immediately thought of my house, not my clothes. Why? Because my "uniform" is pretty standard: jeans, tshirt or blouse, sandals or sneakers. I'm lucky that I can wear that stuff to work.

I dress my house with more care than myself, I must admit. It's because I can see my house, but I live inside clothes.

When I lived at home, my style was dictated by my mother's style. There wasn't a lot of individuality allowed: hand-me-down furniture (usually hers), tan carpeting, bedspread with the pillows rolled into bolsters underneath.

When I first got married, my house was still hand-me-down chic, only someone else's hand-me-downs. My in-laws. Everyone had just moved to Florida and they had extra furniture from the larger house they left behind. So, in Florida, my style was Early American with heavy, dark wood and heavy, dark velour upholstery. That house never felt right.

When I moved to Tennessee, I had left my husband because I couldn't deal with the drinking anymore. I left almost everything behind. What I had room for were things that couldn't be replaced: photos, a few momentos of my childhood.

I moved into an apartment with nothing except an air mattress. No table and chairs for the kitchen. Nothing to sit on in the living room. No pictures. Nothing at all. Over time, I got some old lawn chairs and stuck them in the living room and used a card table in the kitchen.

As more time went on, I slowly started to get some furniture - used, of course. My brother sold me his old living room furniture because he got some new stuff. I liked this furniture - it was much closer to my style and it was adaptable, depending on the look you were going for. It could be country, or it could be a rustic modern. The lines were clean and the cushions were black.

Fast forward a few more years. The husband and I got back together, then split up again, this time for good. After he left, I got the first income tax return check that I ever got to keep, all to myself. I went out and bought some new living room furniture. The first new furniture I ever had.

My style is mid-century modern. Clean lines. No clutter. My couch is red, the loveseat is blue, the armchair is green. The colors work together because they have the same tone.

Getting that furniture set the tone for the rest of my house - lots of black and white photographs. Round mirrors with beveled edges. A collection of vintage barware in the dining room.

My style is me. I'm comfortable in it. And whenever someone new comes over, they always say the same thing:

"I knew that your house would look like this. It's perfect."

And it is.

The Third Candidate

2008-10-15T20:24:00.011-05:00

I'm watching the debate.

I've watched all of the debates.

I would like to announce that as of this exact moment, I am officially, formally, totally, completely, and absolutely SICK TO DEATH OF THIS PRESIDENTIAL CAMPAIGN.

I propose that we all vote for Dolores, who is running as the candidate from the Fibertarian party. For more information about Dolores's recent campaign, go here and learn about her platform. Booze and cigarettes for everyone. And yarn.

Dolores, Fibertarians United, and the Van Hoofen/Teitelbaum graphics were all created by Franklin Habit, an artist and knitter from Chicago, and are posted here with his permission. His first book It Itches. just came out on Interweave Press, and although I have not seen it or read it yet, I can guarantee you that it will be hilarious because his blog is hilarious. How can cartoons and essays about knitting NOT be hilarious?

Wouldn't it be a blast if the candidates were as honest as Dolores?

McCain: Yes, I'm totally in this for the power and what's in it for me. I'm tired of being a Senator - I've been doing that forever. My wife is loadedededededed with money and all this politicking really makes a nice hobby to keep me busy. I'll tell you lies while telling you it's the truth and you'll never be exactly sure where I stand on any issue. Vote for me!

Obama: No, I don't have a lot of years of experience in the political arena, but why should that hold me back? I can make bad decisions with the best of them. Besides, being President pays a LOT better than community organizing. I'll tell you lies while telling you it's the truth and you'll never be exactly sure where I stand on any issue. Vote for me!

Van Hoofen (Dolores): Mandatory cocktail hour - daily. Smoking is relaxing. Yarn for everyone! Vote for me!

eta (10/23): How embarrassing. I just realized I spelled Ms. VanHoofen's first name incorrectly. Mea culpa!

Politically Incorrect

2008-10-15T05:35:00.002-05:00

In the past two weekends, Redneck and I have attended TWO gun shows. Because, well, it's the South and. . . my boyfriend's name is Redneck.

Hi, my name is Roadchick and I have a confession. I own 2 guns.

I have a .22 long rifle (the infamous Valentine's day present from the Now-Former-Mr.-Roadchick) and a .357 Magnum.

Yes, I know how to shoot.

Yes, I have ammunition.

Yes, I also have a teenage son.

No, I am not insane.

When I first got the rifle, the ex and I took Rockboy with us when we went target shooting. He got a chance to shoot the rifle and then we showed him the amount of damage a .22 caliber bullet can do to a plastic milk jug that was filled with water. He learned that you never, ever point your weapon at anything that you don't intend to shoot. That you ALWAYS assume a gun is loaded, even when you KNOW it's not. And that if you touch the rifle without permission, getting shot will be the least of your worries.

Rockboy has a healthy respect of his mama's arsenal.

When I got the .357, Rockboy was again taken out to try a little target shooting and to inspect exactly what kind of damage can be inflicted with this gun. Same rules apply. Again - no problems with fiddling with the gun when I'm not looking.

On the off chance that curiosity (or stupidity) would get the better of him, there is usually a child-safe lock on the .357, since that one would be the most portable if he were to decide that he wanted to be so foolish as to take it somewhere. Hard to look cool with a neon yellow steel cable with a padlock running through the chamber of the gun. Dork.

Next month, I will be going to a permit class for handguns. While I'm sure they cover typical gun safety issues, this class also talks about "street survival" and how shooting at the range and a nice, safe paper target differs from what you would encounter should you ever have to use your gun to protect your safety or the safety of others.

Do I live in a crime-ridden area where break-ins are the rule rather than the exception? No, although home invasions are increasing.

So, if I live in a reasonably safe community with paid police wandering the streets at all hours of the day and night, why do I need a gun?

Because I want one, first of all.

But mainly because when it comes to what I consider to be mine: my family, my home, my belongings, my car, my money, my safety . . . I'm an extremist. Do NOT mess with what is mine. I worked for it. I earned it. I birthed it and raised it. If you want it, get your own, somewhere else.

Protecting Rockboy is not as big an issue as it was when he was little. I have always said that if anyone EVER did anything to him (like a kidnapper, sexual molester, etc.), they had better hope that the police got to them before I did because I would go to prison smiling, knowing I did what needed to be done.

But if someone were to break in and have him at knifepoint or gunpoint, I don't want to have to stand there, wishing I could do something besides beg and offer cookies.

At the end of all of this, you might expect me to come out in support of one candidate or another. Nope. If you know me, you might be able to guess my political leanings, but it's entirely possible that you would be wrong.

In all honesty, I don't like EITHER one of the candidates that we have to choose from. Both have very definite faults that I find to be incredibly offensive. Both have policies and beliefs that make my blood run cold.

Will I vote? Yes. And so should you - because if you don't vote, you can't complain later.

But as we approach the end of this incredibly long, drawn out political season, be open-minded when someone believes something contrary to what you believe. Be willing to have a conversation about why they believe what they do without resorting to anger because "your" side is the only logical choice.

Don't be a fanatic.

Orson Scott Card, in the Afterword to his book Empire defined fanaticism as this: You are so convinced of your views and policies that you are sure anyone who opposes them must either be stupid and deceived or have some ulterior motive.

Do I own guns? Yes.
Do I think you should own guns? I don't know - do you think you should? If you want one, get one, get trained, and be safe. If you don't want one, that's ok too.
Just don't take mine away from me. I promise to be careful.

Checking In

2008-10-09T20:16:00.002-05:00

I've been silent for a while now, and it's not that I've forgotten to write although I have been busy.

The problem is that I didn't have anything funny to tell you. No amusing little stories about something that happened, or was said, or that I saw.

It's not that I haven't seen funny things or made people laugh in the time I was away, because I did, and I have. But it was "you had to be there" stuff and that's just not funny when you write it out.

But I seem to have hit a period of suspended transition in my life. It could be that another birthday is approaching. I really don't know.

What I do know is that I'm frustrated. Time moves forward but so many things in my life have not. There have not been any bad changes, thank God, but just not any good ones either. I feel like I'm trapped in a suspension of time.

The things that I did yesterday, and last week, last month, last year . . . I'm still doing them. Doing them well, most of the time. Doing them half-assed, some of the time.

There are things that I would like to see move forward. I'd like a new challenge at work. Not in the form of another client or another new employee to train. A new project. Something to get me excited. Something to get me thinking. Something to give me a reason to get in the car every morning and drive in rush hour traffic.

I'd like to stop living a semi-single life. Things with Redneck are great. We're happy. We don't fight. We really don't even argue, for the most part. We agree that this is long-term. Two years and counting. So, yeah. Move forward already.

I'm annoyed with Rockboy. He's a great kid. He has a heart of gold. He's technically an adult. But he doesn't seem to have any drive. He has no motivation. He makes decisions on a whim that I'm very afraid he's going to regret later, but he doesn't listen. Of course, who did, at nineteen?

I'm worried about the economy. My own, primarily. The economy of the nation comes a far second when I'm having trouble making ends meet. I'm really resentful over those Wall Street assholes who are living large while I have to worry about how much I'm going to be expected to fork over to correct their greedy mistakes. I resent the fact that the government thinks it's a brilliant idea to bail their asses out. Actually, I'm furious about it. Who is going to bail me out if I screw up? Um, that would be no one.

I'm so tired. It just feels endless, waiting for Friday to come and the weekend to start.

Um . . . Hello?

2008-09-16T16:17:00.002-05:00

It's really the 'chick's own fault. Neglect the blog and the readers will stray.

But, on the plus side, it also means the pressure is off. No audience waiting breathlessly for the next post. No need to worry about being entertaining all the time, or attempting (HA!) to be socially relevant.

It's entirely possible that the 'chick is actually dead. As in not living. Because there has probably never been such a long stretch of nothing funny happening in her life. EVER.

The 'chick could discuss the tragic with you - racking up $$$ in car repairs on Rockboy's car. But maybe another day. The last visit to the transmission shop is still too fresh and painful.

Like Michael, the 'chick has a hard time being a dedicated blogger unless there is a whirl of activity or tragedy or something.

Anyway, lots of typing to say - to those of you still reading, thank you.

The 'chick will try to do better.

Whole Lotta Nothin'

2008-09-15T14:32:00.002-05:00

So.

Yeah.

There is nothing to talk about.

Nothing funny.

Nothing amusing.

Nothing dramatic.

The 'chick admires the bloggers that always have something to say. The mommybloggers have kids that are always amusing and entertaining.

Rockboy? Not so much.

The knitbloggers have a bunch of stuff to write about - all the projects they're finishing, how much progress they've made.

Roadchick? Slow as hell.

The smartass bloggers always have some sarcasm about current events or things happening around them.

Yeah. Roadchick doesn't get out much and isn't about to dip into the political pool.

The singlebloggers write about dating and going out and work.

Roadchick is single, but falls into the category of: Single-but-committed. Unless Redneck does something really funny, there's not much there. Work is boring.

So what to write about?

Apparently, nothing. Nothing at all.

It's amazing how long you can stretch out a post about nothing.

Susan is looking for a Halloween costume.

The 'chick can't remember the last time she dressed up for Halloween. She also can't remember the last time she WANTED to dress up for Halloween.

If you were going to choose a Halloween costume for the 'chick, what would it be?

Remembering. . .

2008-09-11T09:16:00.000-05:00

You are not forgotten.

Catching Up

2008-09-03T04:30:00.005-05:00

It's September, isn't it? How did that happen?

August was crazy - back to school, the Outlaws' semi-annual visit, tons of work.

So, the Outlaws were here, on and off, for two weeks. Roadchick managed to keep her level of crazy to a bare minimum with the cleaning and going to the grocery store and the general level of insanity that she manages to achieve before houseguests descend.

An extra Outlaw inserted herself into the mix this year - an elderly aunt who lives in West TN. She rode the Greyhound over on a Sunday afternoon and had to be picked up at the bus station. Roadchick is very familiar with the bus station since she spent the Fourth of July there last year.

Aunt "I Don't Want To" made quite an impact with her visit. It was good to see her again but lawd, y'all, she was difficult to entertain. When the Outlaws come, the 'chick always tries to plan some activities so they can get out and see some different things - it might be a trip to the Country Music Hall of Fame, or Second Avenue and Broadway where all the country music clubs are located, or a trip to Jack Daniel's Distillery. Maybe a trip to Metropolis, IL to the Harrah's casino there. Something, especially since the 'chick usually takes a couple of days off and to take time off work, there should be an activity planned.

As you've probably already guessed, Aunt "I Don't Want To" threw a monkey wrench into the works. Out of respect for her age, the 'chick did not plan a hike to Fall Creek Falls or anything that would be too strenuous.

Aunt did not want to go to the Country Music Hall of Fame. She'd already been there. Twenty years ago. It did not matter that the exhibits change periodically. Once was enough.

Aunt did not want to go to the casino. She had her handheld slot machine game. Why pay money?

Aunt did not want to take a bus tour of the country music stars' homes.

Roadchick despaired. What to do?

After wracking her brain, she finally came up with something. The Roadie crew would go look at the Amish, in Ethridge, TN.

(Yes, the 'chick is aware you're not supposed to take pictures but those kids were SO cute! And they didn't know their picture had been taken because the 'chick was inside the car.)

The Roadie crew visited several farms and came home with a TON of fresh produce - tomatoes, cantaloupes, purple hull peas, and a pile of watermelon. What is a pile of watermelon? The crew also wondered until one of the Amish ladies explained what she meant.

We asked how much the watermelon was. She said it was $2.00 for the one on the porch or else $5.00 a pile. Huh? She pointed to the right of the porch. That pile there is $5.00, for all of them.

So, seven watermelons for $5.00.

Load 'em up.

Roadchick was wildly popular for a couple of days until all the watermelons were handed out. Now, not so much since she no longer has fresh produce to give away.

(And, as an interesting side note - all produce grown on Amish farms is organic because they don't use any chemicals to fertilize. They spread manure. They do not pay for the organic certification, but they don't have to - as long as you know it's natural.)

Anyway, the trip to the Amish? Not so successful, as activities go, at least with Aunt "I Don't Want To". She was not impressed.

So, the next day, the 'chick hauled everyone to a local Confederate cemetery. Yeah, not impressed. Then on to a cute little antique shop, where the Outlaws always love to go. Nope, not impressed.

The next evening, the Roadie crew met up with Redneck to eat catfish on the river. It's a little bit of a drive, but there is a bunch of interesting stuff to look at on the way. Aunt commented, "This is so far out, I don't know how they stay in business."

That was when Roadchick took a deep breath and took a Xanax. To prevent a killin'.

It's been a long month, y'all. A long, long month.

(In other news, there is a new book review up. The link is on the right.)

Sleepless in NashVegas

2008-08-23T05:55:00.003-05:00

Gotta love ya some insomnia.

Auntie Roadchick isn't even exactly sure if she is tired, Patient Reader. Body-tired, maybe, but her brain won't shut off.

It's 6 am on Saturday and the 'chick stayed up until 2 am, fell asleep for a couple of hours, woke up, and that's all she wrote. Want to bet that by this afternoon, the day will be kicking the 'chick's ass?

It's comforting to know that even at 5 am, you can get up and watch either the Olympics or 'Little House on the Prairie'. The old ones, where Melissa Gilbert needed braces in a desperate, buck-toothed way.

When the 'chick was growing up, her mother was rather strict. (Still is, actually, bless her. Not that it does a bit of good.) (Should we call Roadchick's mother Roadhen? Hee!) Anyway, television was considered to be a waste of time and horrible trash.

Exceptions for television watching were made for 'Little House on the Prairie' which was felt to have some sort of redeeming value. What, the 'chick is not sure, but since she was about 6 years old when the show first aired, it did not matter. Roadchick wanted to BE Laura Ingalls. Many an afternoon was spent with a friend, playing 'Little House'. Roadchick and friend would dress up in old, discarded, faded skirts with aprons and tote old schoolbooks and a tiny bucket as a pretend lunchbucket. They would trudge miles around the backyard, finally getting to the schoolhouse - the backyard shed that housed the lawnmower. It was hard imagining around the scent of gasoline and lawn implements, but the 'chick and friend managed.

Shows that were horrible trash? 'The Dukes of Hazzard'. The 'chick had to sneak to a friend's house to watch because it was NOT allowed on the television at home. Because that Daisy Duke? Worse than a prostitute, dressing that way, flaunting her womanly charms. In front of her cousins. Shameful!

The 'chick was also not allowed to watch 'The Dick Van Dyke Show', which was on in reruns. Why? The 'chick has NO idea - it was never explained. It was just, "Turn off that horrible trash and go DO something. Now."

As the 'chick got older, other things were forbidden. Prince (or the Artist-Formerly-Known-As, or that weird symbol that has no name) was NOT allowed. In any form. No 'Purple Rain'. No cassette tapes. No posters. No magazines with pictures or articles. It was enough to make doves cry. Because the 'chick had a serious passion for the Purple One.

The Battle Royale over Prince was a long one. The 'chick owned every single Prince cassette tape ever made but kept them hidden in a little lock box. The 'chick's friends were going to the Purple Rain concert and the 'chick wanted to go so badly that she would've done anything to get there. The 'chick's mom got wind of the plan and the 'chick was grounded until the Purple One left town. Just to be safe.

Amazingly, the 'chick's mom never did quite figure out that Sheila E. was part of the same posse that Prince ran with. Sheila E., while bad trash, was not horrible trash, and was allowed. At low volume.

Roadchick's mom no longer has to be quite so in the mainstream, but does call Kid Rock "that rock person". She does not love the Kid. She came over one day and the 'chick had left a couple of Kid Rock CDs on the counter and of course, her mom picked them up and then had a serious discussion with the 'chick about letting Rockboy listen to that horrible trash.

Patient Reader? The 'chick is ashamed to admit that she sold Rockboy south and let him take the blame, especially since he wasn't there at the time.

What? The 'chick didn't want to get grounded.

Ohhhhh-prah

2008-08-13T20:52:00.005-05:00

Sometimes, as a treat, Auntie Roadchick will buy herself a copy of O - The Oprah Magazine. There's always a ton of stuff to read, just enough self-help to keep you busy for a little while, and tons of pictures.

What can the 'chick say? She's pretty easy to entertain.

The September issue did not disappoint. According to Oprah, "This issue is for anybody out there who's feeling overwhelmed."

Um, hand up, right here, 'kay? A tiny, wee bit overwhelmed.

Anyway, so lots of self-helpy this month. Add that to the list.

Improve self.
That goes right under: Clean litter box.

But Oprah & Co. rarely disappoint.

In the Tech Toys section (page 180), there are high tech vibrators. Yup, you read that right. Vibrators, in Oooooooo magazine. Gives a new meaning to the Big O, don't it?

Anyway, one, called Naughtinano by OhMiBod, plugs into your iPod and it "pulses in sync with the tune you're hearing." Visit http://www.ohmibod.com/ for more details or to purchase. Appropriately priced at $69.

There's another selection for the more. . . discreet: The Tiny Spot by Myla "that could pass for a piece of custom art." You know, in case you're into leaving your vibrator on the coffee table. Visit http://www.myla.com/ for more details or to purchase. Only $150.

Now, your Auntie Roadchick does have to say that those are two excellent ways of relieving a little stress. Or a lot. If you have lots of batteries.

Where were we?

Oh yes, the magazine:

There's always a gorgeous fashion spread with tons of clothes the 'chick would LOVE to have. But, they're not practical. They're good for getting ideas of what is "in", but the 'chick cannot see herself buying a $995 Marc Jacobs summer dress. Ever.

But the best part is: "Can I wear my summer dresses in the fall?"

Answer: Yes. And you can save money by wearing tights ($23) with your open-toed high-heeled sandals (also from summer).

Hee. As if anyone that can buy a $995 dress needs to save money by schlepping the look into fall with tights.

Ohhhhhprah, Auntie Roadchick loves you, yes she does. And if you ever need a reviewer for . . . products (or books), the 'chick is available.

Shameless Self-Promotion

2008-08-05T21:22:00.002-05:00

If you look to the right, you will see that the 'chick has added a link to something called Roadchick Reviews.

The 'chick has been getting books to review, and as she goes through them, she'll add a review to the page.

Sometimes, the 'chick will share the riches and give away her preview copy so be sure to check over there. You never know when there might be free goodies for you, Patient Reader.

(Wasn't the 'chick just complaining about all the reading she had to do for work? Why yes, she was. Call it a busman's holiday. Somehow, reading for fun is not work. And charts sure as hell ain't a copy of Tan Lines. If they were, people would be lining up to audit charts. Really. It was that hot.)

We Have Inches To Go Before We Sleep

2008-07-31T09:50:00.003-05:00

"Inches," you say, "why, Roadchick, that's nothing. Quit whining already."

If it were a marathon or a crawl to the safety of a beach after being nearly drowned, the 'chick would agree with you.

The inches the 'chick is referring to is: Inches of paper. In a chart. That is made up of 3 four inch binders. That should've been completed DAYS ago.

This chart is truly in the realm of making War and Peace look like a little beach reading for a sunny afternoon. It's kicking the 'chick's ass.

In the course of her job, auditing charts is pretty interesting but it's amazing how many different writing styles there are - just within one company.

Most of the people working as case managers have college degrees. Four-year college degrees. Which should have, at some point, included at least ONE course in "How to Write So You Don't Look Like A Damn Fool - Oh, And Spelling, Too". Apparently this class was offered early in the morning at most universities and hungover students skipped a LOT.

There are plans that would make the mind reel. Thoughts not followed to conclusion. Choppy paragraph structure. Run-on sentences so long that they make the 'chick's brain explode and ooze from her ears. Plans that make the 'chick want to open a blank template and start revising immediately.

But.

In a tactful world, this cannot be done. People are amazingly possessive of what they write and are offended by the suggestion that it could be done better. Even though they've bitched the entire time they've been writing, they don't want a better looking end product, even if half the state is going to read it at some point.

And so, the 'chick turns another page, takes another drink of coffee, and shudders.

Only five inches to go.

Mama Warned There Would Be Days Like This

2008-07-29T22:15:00.002-05:00

In the South, there is no such thing as PMS.

There is, however, FTS. What is FTS, you ask?

FTS stands for "Fixin' To Start".

Had the 'chick known that today was going to be a FTS day, she might have stayed home so that the general public and her co-workers would've been safe.

The early morning hours did not give any indication of the true levels of bitchiness that the 'chick would achieve in the next few hours.

There is a huge crunch going on at work which is standard for this time of the year and the 'chick in particular is under the gun to get a lot of highly detailed work completed in a very short amount of time.

The finish line for this work is in sight, but still far enough away that it took very little to set the 'chick off. The particular chart that the 'chick was auditing was no worse than any of the other 12 that the 'chick has gone though in the last 10 days. What was worse was the 'chick's state of mind.

When the company computer dude came in to fix a template on the 'chick's office mate's computer, he said, "Let me just get a cup of. . ."

And the 'chick promptly said, "Gin? Because if the 'chick had to do that every time a plan came in from that person, she would need a cup of gin."

And that was when she took a deep breath, packed up her laptop and the chart she was working on and headed out the door, promising to return in a better mood tomorrow.

Everyone say a prayer that tomorrow will be a better day. It will be safer for everyone.

Hanging On

2008-07-25T09:23:00.003-05:00

Yes, the 'chick sucks. Gone forever, posting crap when she does appear and then suddenly reappears only to whine about how horrible things are.

Actually, things aren't all THAT horrible. Just a case of the mean reds and at the moment, even those aren't too bad.

Some of it has to do with not getting good sleep.
Some of it has to do with being majorly stressed at work.
Some of it has to do with expectations that the 'chick holds that others do not.
Some of it has to do with the fact that Rockboy turns 19 today. (Happy Birthday, Rockboy!)
Some of it has to do with PMS and stopping the meds a wee bit too early. (Every month, the 'chick tells herself not to, but she's feeling good and a little bit cocky and then it all goes to hell.)

Last weekend, Redneck, Skaterboy, and Roadchick went to Gulf Shores, AL for a couple of days of sun, sand, and surf. It was a nice little break where nothing was accomplished except swimming, eating, napping, reading, and some knitting. The mean reds got worse while driving in to work this morning and realizing that exactly one week ago, the 'chick was sitting in an Alabama Cracker Barrel, drinking coffee and looking forward to hitting the beach. Why is it not last week again???

This weekend, there are possible plans to head to a local waterpark, depending on how much other work-related work needs to be done by the 'chick and if Redneck has stuff he has to do.

Really, darlings - all Auntie Roadchick wants to do is curl up and have a nap. It's a little bit grey and rainy here - perfect napping weather.

Have a good weekend!

Thanks, Heather!

2008-07-12T11:29:00.000-05:00

Your results:
You are Deanna Troi

Deanna Troi		95%
Uhura		80%
Geordi LaForge		75%
Will Riker		65%
Jean-Luc Picard		60%
Mr. Scott		50%
Chekov		50%
Worf		50%
Beverly Crusher		40%
Spock		35%
Data		32%
James T. Kirk (Captain)		30%
Leonard McCoy (Bones)		25%
Mr. Sulu		25%
An Expendable Character (Redshirt)		20%

You are a caring and loving individual.
You understand people's emotions and
you are able to comfort and counsel them.

Click here to take the Star Trek Personality Test

Gone Crazy

2008-07-03T16:36:00.003-05:00

Sigh.

It's a holiday weekend which means the 'chick was released from work early, at 1:00. This is good news.

The bad news is that when she got home, it was to a house full of teenagers.

The 'chick intended on coming home and doing some cleaning before the weekend officially got underway, especially since it seems like forever ago since she did a good cleaning.

It's very difficult to clean while teenagers are in the house. They move away from cleaning implements (natural avoidance) but wander back into just cleaned areas once the scary objects have gone away.

By scary objects, the 'chick means dust rags, vacuums, glass cleaner, etc.

So, after 2 hours, what is clean is the kitchen (since there is no food in the house, there is no reason for teenagers to go in there), the 'chick's bedroom and her bathroom.

The living room looks like Taco Bell at closing time.

The guest bathroom is like the boys' locker room after wrestling practice.

The dining room is passable (only because there are no electronic devices in there and there is no food in the kitchen).

And, the 'chick gives up. The urge has passed.

If they go away, there will be a quick wipedown of surfaces in the living room and the vacuum cleaner will be pushed around the carpeting.

The odds of them going away are slim because Rockboy's car is down for repairs following a catastrophic failure last week. Redneck is fixing it, but he's had to do it between maintaining his own paid employment. Fixing Rockboy's car does not constitute paid employment although Redneck would probably say that there are benefits to it.

Hope everyone has a great holiday weekend. Stay safe!

At Odds

2008-06-24T10:15:00.003-05:00

This morning, on the way to work, the 'chick was stopped at a red light coming off the interstate.

At this particular exit, the homeless tend to hang out from time to time, holding up signs.

The man this morning was dressed neatly and was holding a sign that said: "Please help if you can. God bless."

As the 'chick sat and waited for the light to change, the man stood up and walked away. When he was a little way down the sidewalk, he threw the sign down in the grass and kept going.

This has bothered the 'chick since she saw it - the throwing down of the sign, maybe because it was at such odds with the nice, polite message on the front. Kind of like, if you'll help me, bless you. If you won't (or can't), fuck you, AND, feel free to pick up my trash.

But, Of Course!

2008-06-16T12:47:00.001-05:00

Please excuse this meme-break in the yearbook action. The 'chick wasn't up to shuffling through dusty yearbooks over the weekend.

In the meantime (shamelessly stolen from Susan):

You are The Star

Hope, expectation, Bright promises.

The Star is one of the great cards of faith, dreams realised

The Star is a card that looks to the future. It does not predict any immediate or powerful change, but it does predict hope and healing. This card suggests clarity of vision, spiritual insight. And, most importantly, that unexpected help will be coming, with water to quench your thirst, with a guiding light to the future. They might say you're a dreamer, but you're not the only one.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

We're So Great, Can't You See

2008-06-11T20:53:00.002-05:00

Coz we're the Class of '83

8th grade:

From a BFF(?): "It was a blast this year and being best friends for awhile. Sorry it couldn't work out. I can't say I'll miss you since I see you at Provi all the time. It was cool writing about Jerry and Petey on all our folders all the time. Well have a good summer and I'll have to take you to the club to meet Jeanne sometime."

We were actually BFFs for two more years into high school. Jerry and Petey were two neighborhood burnouts that we ragged mercilessly. Jerry had a severe southern accent (and this was in Northern Illinois) and we called him 'Lil Georgia Peach' which just really pissed him off. Petey was a year or so older than us and was always trying to get one (or both) of us to go off into the woods with him. As IF!

- And - does this not start out like she's totally breaking up with the 'chick??? WTF?

From a stalker-like girl who wanted to be friends: "It was fun being in your homeroom. Hope to see ya a lot at the ball field. We'll watch Nick together."

Nick did NOT know we even existed. He was almost ready to graduate high school. He may have noticed the 'chick because she had bodacious tatas even at 13, but not being the cradle-robbing sort, he did not speak to us.

From the burnout of '82 who called the 'chick an omelette: "Will you feed the horse?"

Apparently, this young friend had been shooting horse.

From the narc of '82: "I'm sooo glad that we became better buds this year (even though we had our tiffs) & it's a DA_N shame that you're going to Provi. I hope that we see each other in Beverly Hills when you're Mrs. Robert Lowe & I'm Mrs. C. Thomas Howell, otay? Buds forever!"

Ah yes, The Outsiders. ~swoon~ The 'chick can still recite that poem:
Nature's first green is gold
Her hardest hue to hold
Her early leaf's a flower
But only so an hour.
So leaf subsides to leaf
So Eden sank to grief
So dawn goes down to day
Nothing gold can stay.
- Robert Frost
Stay gold, Ponyboy!
(Please excuse the 'chick while she gets a tissue.)

From an 8th grade stud: "Don't forget me, I know it's hard."

Who the hell was he?

From ANOTHER BFF: "Ello! You're a true fiend. You and Laura are my best buds. I wish you were going to L-Way. I'm really gonna miss ya. We've had a blast in 8th and in 7th while we were partners. I'm glad we've grown to be such close friends. I'll never forget you, hon. Hey, I'm really sorry if I hurt your bod, but I mean it could have happened to anyone!! None of it was intentional (whatever). If you never speak to me again I'll understand. I truly will. Well, we'll have to go somewhere over the summer so we can reminacese. See ya bud! Keep in touch because a life without me is a life without guys. What could you do without them."

We were science partners in 8th grade chemistry. We regularly tried to set fire to things and toasted marshmallows in our alcohol burner. The 'chick cannot remember what the girl did to hurt her bod. . .no doubt in gym class or science. No telling.

From ANOTHER burnout: "Don't start my bod hobbits mon, because they can really screw you up. So have fun over the summer and party hard! Good luck with the guys!"

Ok, so don't start your bad habits (getting high/drinking) but party hard over the summer. Oxymoron, anyone?

And over and over and over again, there were references to the fact that at least the 'chick would no longer have to be worried about hanging from the chandelier. Since the 'chick could not remember EVER actually hanging from a chandelier, she had to think about this one for a little while and then she remembered. There was a language arts teacher who did not particularly enjoy young teens and their shenanigans. The 'chick was excellent at shenanigans. When the 'chick would instigate shenanigans, this particular teacher would threaten to hang the 'chick and her compatriots from the nearest handy chandelier. What annoyed the battle axe even more is that the 'chick was excellent at language arts so she could not be flunked.

In the next episode, we will delve into the dark world of high school yearbooks. There is some seriously hot gossip in there, darlings.

Stay sweet!

Time Trippin'

2008-06-10T19:51:00.003-05:00

While cleaning out a closet, the 'chick ran across a stack of her old yearbooks. Remember when you couldn't wait to get your yearbook and have everyone sign it?

Let's blow the dust off and crack the cover, shall we?

This one is from the 7th grade, in 1982.

(All typos are exactly as written in blue Bic ink.)

From the captain of the volleyball team: "I'm glad we became good freinds. Too bad I won't see you next year. I call you and maybe come over. F/F (friends forever)"

From the 7th grade sex god whose last name was House: "Stay cool over the summer. If you want to keep your family small, stay away from Houses."

From a burn-out: "You remind me of an omellette! Just kidding!" (WTF? That still doesn't make sense.)

From a BFF: "Beware of boys with eyes of brown, they'll kiss you once then strip you down! Sorry I narced! P.S. Good luck with you-know-who!" (Who the hell was you-know-who? Someone that the 'chick was sure she would NEVER forget. . . and can't remember now. And what did the BFF narc about? Probably something that landed the 'chick in detention, no doubt.)

Proving the 'chick's stalker tendencies started early: "Hi! What's up? Mabey I'll see you in Cherry Hill some day! You drive me crazy sometimes but have a nice summer anyway! WITHOUT CALLING EVERY NIGHT!!! Ha Just Kidding! but don't anyway!"

And again: "It was fun in lunch and don't forget to be mean to Kim! She's dead! Stay nice as you are & hope your in other classes next year." (Who was Kim? Why did we want her dead? Did she narc? What was the narcing about? Damn!)

And hung around with stalkers: "Have fun over the summer and say hi to your brother with the earring for me!"

And more haters: "I do not even like Dawn R." with an arrow pointing to a weird, ugly bird used as a trademark by the yearbook company. (Apparently, he really did NOT like Dawn R.)

Referring to parties, possibly: "Don't puke on your bedsheets." (This could explain the memory lapses.)

Everyone wanted to be "Friends Forever" and wished the 'chick "Good Luck with the Boys!". Everyone wanted to hang out over the summer and wrote down phone numbers.

God, we thought we were SO grown and when the 'chick looked through the pictures, we were such infants with NO idea what the world was really like. We actually thought we would be BFFs and F/Fs and stay sweet and keep in touch.

Since there is still a stack of yearbooks yet to go, stay tuned for another installment of the BFF files.

Weekend Update

2008-06-09T14:38:00.003-05:00

So, camping.

Redneck was in NO hurry to get to the campsite. Roadchick, however, was in a hurry to get to the campsite because, camping! fun! swimming! hot dogs! beer! But Redneck was all heat! humidity! blazing sunshine! bugs! In the end, Redneck won and after a massive shopping trip at Walmart, the Roadie crew finally made their way to the campsite around 6 pm.

When they got there, Redneck parked the truck down by the river and the Roadie crew got out and talked to everyone that had been there all day. After much chat, Redneck and Roadchick decided it was time to put up the tent. Since Roadchick doesn't have a lot of experience (any) putting up tents, she was the helper. The tarp was spread under the trees and Redneck laid out the tent. The poles were threaded through the channels and the tent rose from the ground. And sagged. Like an old woman's boobs. After much fiddling and a conference with other experienced campers, it was determined that the poles were not the correct poles for the tent. Another trip to Walmart was in order. Redneck brought back another tent and it went up without a hitch. He threw the air mattress inside and hooked up the little rechargeable pump to inflate the mattress. It worked like a charm - for 15 seconds, then promptly died and the mattress deflated. Redneck and Roadchick looked at each other and shrugged.

Skaterboy had a great time tubing in the river while Redneck and Roadchick had gone back to Walmart for the tent. By the time the new tent was set up, it was getting too dark to get in the river. Too dark, you ask? Yes. There are snakes in the river. Some poisonous, some not. While the 'chick is not afraid of snakes, she would like to see them coming. So, everyone hung around the campfire for a little while and then Redneck, Roadchick, and Cousin Too-Hottie went fishing. Redneck caught a couple of catfish that he released again. Too-Hottie caught hell from his girlfriend for fishing instead of smooching around the campfire with her. Roadchick caught a chill from sitting out in the damp after being overheated for half the day.

Back to the campfire for a few more hours until finally Roadchick decided it was time for bed. On the hard, hard ground. Skaterboy was woken up and dragged from his lounge chair by the fire and herded to the tent. He crawled inside on the left and promptly fell asleep again. (Oh, to be 10 again!) Redneck crawled inside and thought he was going to sleep on the right until Roadchick informed him that it was his son that kicked like a mule and she wasn't sleeping in the middle. Redneck grumbled but moved over, figuring that since there was no air mattress, he'd better smooth things over as best he could. Roadchick crawled inside and tried to get part of the sheet under her to cover the plastic (flat) air mattress and rolled up in a beach towel (damp) and snuggled against Redneck in the hopes of absorbing his body heat since he wasn't cold at all.

There was a lump under the 'chick. There were rocks under Redneck. And, as it turns out, there was part of a tree root (sticking up) under Skaterboy, but since he is a contortionist, he curled around it and it didn't bother him at all. The cows in the next pasture mooed around from time to time which was ok, in fact, kind of soothing. The crickets were chirping. The frogs were croaking. The cousin in the tent next door was snoring like a fucking freight train. If the 'chick had not been so tired, she would've gone over there and smothered him with a pillow.

It was a long, long night. Towards dawn, the 'chick could hear coyotes howling in the distance. When the coyotes would start up, the jackass (seriously, a jackass, not a cousin) would start braying. Then the birds woke up and started singing and that was when the 'chick decided enough was enough and got up. Redneck (who was also awake) asked where she was going. She told him that she was going anywhere that she didn't have to lay on the hard, hard ground rolled up in a damp towel.

It heats up quickly in Tennessee, especially on a gravel beach next to a river. Redneck had thought ahead and brought a camp coffee pot and made coffee for the 'chick, which was much appreciated. After a few hours, everyone else was up and moving and the Roadie crew started breaking down the tent and packing everything up again.

As a farewell gesture, Redneck drove his 4-wheel drive truck into the river. Not straight in - just a glancing blow, to shower everyone with water. As gestures go, it was spectacular. Until the truck sank into the mud of the riverbed. When Redneck opened the door on his side of the truck, the river promptly began to enter the truck. Roadchick and Skaterboy promptly bailed out on the other side and stood on the riverbank watching. After much macho fooling around by Redneck and the male cousins, the truck was pulled out by another truck with a tow chain.

And, since you have read this far, Patient Reader, you will be glad to know this: the 'chick peed outdoors and did not once have to wash her shoes in the river.

Disclaimer: the photo above, while amazingly accurate to the situation, does not contain any of the Roadie crew.

Did Someone Say Bandwagon?

2008-06-06T09:28:00.004-05:00

So, the 'chick stole this from Fringes, who stole it from Moo, who stole it from . . . blah blah blah. Go look. It's worth a few clickitys but NOT before you check it out here!

The rules:
a. Type your answer to each of the questions below into Flickr Search.
b. Using only the first page, pick an image.
c. Copy and paste each of the URLs for the images into fd’s mosaic maker.

The questions that inspired the photos:
1. What is your first name? Cynthia
2. What is your favorite food? Cherries
3. What high school did you go to? Providence
4. What is your favorite color? Blue
5. Who is your celebrity crush? Kid Rock
6. Favorite drink? Dirty Martinis
7. Dream vacation? Traveling Route 66
8. Favorite dessert? Chocolate-dipped strawberries
9. What you want to be when you grow up? A photographer
10. What do you love most in life? Love
11. One word to describe you. Smart(ass)
12. Your flickr name. Roadchick (what else?)

The 'chick's mosaic:

You can also visit the 'chick's Flickr page for a larger view - click on the Flickr link in the right column.

Have a great weekend!

The Great Outdoor Bathroom Experiment

2008-06-03T13:51:00.003-05:00

Redneck has informed the 'chick that this weekend, they will be going camping. That's fine, except that the 'chick has never GONE camping.

While she is sure that she will enjoy it, there is one area of concern. Just a little concern, of a delicate nature.

Where they are going camping is truly the Great Outdoors which means . . . no restroom facilities.

This is fine for the guys. They are handily equipped for just such an adventure.

The 'chick? Not so much.

So, over the past few days, the 'chick put out a call to the other females in her office to get some advice.

1. Pee downhill.
2. If you can't pee downhill, it's better to take your shoes off.
3. If you can't take your shoes off, wear washable shoes.
4. If possible, take off all lower garments, including shoes.
5. Whenever possible, pee downhill.

Helpful hints in comments.

Granola Crunchy

2008-05-29T13:39:00.005-05:00

It's been quiet around here for a few weeks, hasn't it?

Life in the Real World has been busy - nothing earth shattering, just day-to-day stuff like laundry, getting the grass cut, an endless round of graduations (from pre-school to high school), and things like that.

And, while the 'chick was quietly minding her own business, living her own life, all of a sudden the economy took a turn for the worse and gas went up to almost $4.00 a gallon and all of a sudden there wasn't a whole lot of extra money anymore. The 'chick drives for her job and has to drive TO her job and Rockboy was between jobs and having a hard time keeping gas in his car . . .

Anyway, what is the point, you ask?

The point is this: All of a sudden, it seemed like everything was terrifying and falling apart and OH GOD THE WORLD IS ENDING.

Sound familiar? The mean reds, all over again.

But while everything was swirling around and looking desperate, the 'chick was smacked upside the head not once but twice.

By these:

Sometimes, it takes the equivalent of an anvil falling on her head for the 'chick to realize things. For instance, did you know that most of the food we eat comes from Elsewhere?

Elsewhere is usually Far Away. And takes a lot of fuel in the process of getting to where you are. And when the food gets to Here from Elsewhere, it's been on the road for at least 5 days, if not more. So it is not picked when it's ripe - it's picked when it will ship well.

And, did you know that you are probably eating more corn than you thought? You are. It's in everything. Including things like the hamburger you ate. Because They (large, corporate entities) force cattle to eat corn instead of wandering around pasture, eating grass like God intended. (Did you know that cattle are not supposed to eat corn? If you did, you get bonus points. The 'chick did not know. They are not made for it.) And while you were eating that hamburger, you also got a nice dose of growth hormone and antibiotics.

So, all of that good news made the 'chick panic just a little bit more, because, why worry ONLY about the price of gas when you can worry about a few more things like chemicals and feedlots and NO GAS TO BRING IN THE FOOD BECAUSE DIESEL IS ALMOST $5.00/gallon.

Did you know that if you go to a farmer's market in your town, odds are really good that you can get organic or beyond-organic produce that was grown by someone close to where you live? And meat? And eggs? And milk that is not full of antibiotics and growth hormone? And all kinds of cool stuff like homemade soap and candles and even clothes? And if you buy local, you're helping your neighbor while doing something good for yourself and your family.

Is this all sounding a little granola-crunchy for you and you're wondering if the 'chick has lost her mind?

It's possible. And the 'chick has not thrown out everything that was in her fridge or pantry only to fill it with brown rice and bean sprouts. She will still go out to eat, but maybe not as much and not to McDonald's.

But - the 'chick is going to think a little harder about what she's buying and WHERE it came from and how much it cost to get it here. And what is actually in it. And what that might eventually do to her health.

And she's going to the farmer's market this weekend, to see what the farmers have to offer. According to the list that was emailed - it looks like strawberries (locally grown) are in . . . and about 10 kinds of salad greens . . . and homemade bread . . . and some plants to stick in the ground at home. Heirloom tomatoes, anyone?

Roadchick Hearts Awards

2008-05-14T21:38:00.000-05:00

Rules:
This is an experiment devised by a friend (Autrice). Go visit her. Here.

Please feel free to pass this award along to friends that you feel blog with heart (we all love an award or six.)

The rules:

1. Please write a short post explaining why you are giving this award out. You may include up to three people as winners. Provide the rules and the graphic link (you can use your own host or simply use the code that I provide.)

2. Stop by that person’s blog and leave them a short comment that tracks back to your own blog (and these rules.)

3. Make sure that you include the image on your own page. Please do not alter the image! You can save the image to your own computer or picture hosting service.

So, without further ado, the 'chick is presenting the award to:

Heather because she tells it like it is: good, bad, or ugly.

Susan because reading her blog is like living her life, peeking over her shoulder

and, last, but not least

Neilochka because he lets it all hang out.

Go on. Go look. You know you wanna.

Happy Mother's Day?

2008-05-12T09:52:00.003-05:00

There are some holidays that the 'chick doesn't believe are worth the effort.

Mother's Day is one of them.

If you would like to do something nice for your mother, do the laundry. Or clean the house. Hell, clean the bathroom or pick up your dirty socks.

Rockboy asked the 'chick forty-eleven times what she wanted for Mother's Day and the 'chick answer was the same every time:

Nothing. Because next you're going to ask to borrow money and that spoils the entire exercise.

So, Rockboy, thinking ahead as always (by 5 minutes) stopped at the gas station on his way home Saturday night and bought 3 dead roses in a cellophane sleeve and then WOKE the 'chick up to present them to her.

Happy Mother's Day, y'all.

Toothless

2008-05-05T09:28:00.002-05:00

Redneck had to go in to work very early this morning - he was actually working by 3:00 a.m. He was finished with what he had to do by about 7:30 so he called the 'chick to see if she wanted to go to breakfast before going to work. The 'chick, ever agreeable to eating breakfast, agreed to meet Redneck at a Shoney's not too far from her office.

While Redneck and the 'chick were eating, an elderly lady was seated in the booth directly behind Redneck but was facing the 'chick so she could see what was going on.

The lady got her breakfast from the buffet and sat back down. While she was eating, she was carrying on a conversation the entire time with her finger held up to her left ear. The 'chick figured that the lady had a Bluetooth and couldn't quite hear so was pressing it into her ear a little more tightly to improve the sound.

As Redneck and the 'chick were leaving, they passed by the old lady's booth. Much to Roadchick's amusement, the old lady had her finger plugged into her ear and was speaking into her finger, not a Bluetooth in sight.

Portrait of the 'chick in 50 years.

It's Thursday - Again

2008-05-01T17:16:00.003-05:00

Y'all, it's been Thursday for four days.

Ever have a week like that? The 'chick keeps thinking "Oh good, it's almost Friday" . . . and it's not.

Redneck changed jobs a few weeks ago and while the new job is a good one, it's a second/third shift type of thing. Bleah. He likes the job, he likes the people he works for, but he doesn't like the shift.

The 'chick is glad he likes his job and his boss, but she doesn't like the shift either. At all.

Anyway.

There are a few things that have been dragging at the 'chick - Redneck's work situation is one; the other one is the economy.

Now, long-time readers will know that the 'chick rarely ventures into political/economic territory but y'all - the 'chick is seriously nervous about what's going on.

In Tennessee, gas is averaging $3.60/gal (or at least it was 20 minutes ago - it changes so rapidly). Yes, gas IS higher elsewhere and the 'chick's heart goes out to you.

But it's scary. The 'chick's job is based on DRIVING. And it's getting too expensive to do it.

According to the news, Congress is looking into it. How reassuring.

What's your money-saving secret?

Procrastination

2008-04-25T08:22:00.002-05:00

How appropriate that Eileen Cook chose to write about procrastination! Procrastination is the 'chick's middle name. Seriously!

For anyone who was not paying attention, Eileen is the author of this very entertaining book: If y'all are looking for an entertaining read, this is your book:

So, without further ado (or procrastination). . .

Procrastination has a bad reputation. There are entire books devoted to learning to avoid it and no one wants to be accused of doing it. We’ve turned into a nation of priority setting list checkers. I’m all for getting things accomplished, but I think procrastination isn’t always such a bad thing. A sample of the random things I’ve done while avoiding working on my book include:

Realized my hair dryer vent was clogged with fuzz requiring my focused attention and a pair of tweezers;
Brushed my dog’s teeth;
Searched for random items on Ebay, including grilled cheese sandwiches with the Virgin Mary burned into the side; and
Endless random surfing of the internet where I learned fascinating facts like more people are killed yearly by falling vending machines than in shark attacks.

The best part of being a writer is that all of this procrastination counts as work. Instead of calling it procrastination, we call it “brainstorming” or “research.” This fact, along with the idea that the writer’s work uniform consists of yoga pants and a giant sweatshirt and makes writing an ideal job.

For me procrastination is part of the process, I can’t jump right into the story, I need to sneak up on it. If I go directly at the project it bolts. Some of my best ideas I’ve tripped over while doing something else. If more people embraced their inner procrastinator who knows what they might discover? Procrastination is the mind’s way of getting off the highway and taking the back roads. Ask yourself- on your last road trip where did you find the really interesting stuff? The highway may get you there quicker, but if getting there is supposed to be half of the fun, then you’re missing out. Let your brain take an off ramp once and awhile.

Put procrastination back on your to-do list. Give yourself permission to waste a little time. Who knows what will come from it- if nothing else your blow dryer may end up lint free and you’ll know to give the vending machine at your office the respect it deserves.

Smackdown for Jesus

2008-04-23T07:39:00.006-05:00

JERUSALEM - Dozens of Greek and Armenian priests and worshippers exchanged blows at one of Christianity's holiest shrines on Orthodox Palm Sunday.

Witnesses say the brawl erupted when Armenian clergy kicked out a Greek priest from their midst, pushed him to the ground and kicked him.

When police intervened, some worshippers hit them with the palm fronds they were holding for the religious holiday. ~ courtesy of CNEWS

Someone is gonna have some explaining to do when they get to the Pearly Gates. If that conversation goes anything like the ones that Roadchick's parents had with her when she did something wrong, it will go something like this:

God: So, anything interesting happen during Orthodox Palm Sunday in 2008?

Clergy/Priest: No . . . nothing I can think of.

God: Really? Are you sure?

Clergy/Priest: Yeah . . . pretty sure.

God: 'Cause that is NOT what I heard.

Clergy/Priest: Really?

God: ~tapping foot~

Clergy/Priest: ~thinking fast~

God: Mmm-hmm. So. Would you like to explain to Me why I looked down and saw a fight going on in front of one of My holiest shrines? And the two of you right in the middle of it? Causing it? And then getting everyone so worked up they were whipping the police with palm fronds? That I just got done laying a blessing on?

Clergy/Priest: ~pointing at each other~ It was his fault.

God: Oh, y'all are in so much trouble. Get yourselves to Purgatory and don't come out until I say so.

*****

Coming soon!

A guest post by Eileen Cook, author of Unpredictable.

If y'all are looking for an entertaining read, this is your book:

It's Earth Day

2008-04-22T07:21:00.003-05:00

So, today is Earth Day. It's been all over the news and on talk shows - Oprah is doing a show about it this afternoon.

Little things YOU can do to save the planet.

The 'chick was at Walmart over the weekend and they had an entire magazine/flyer explaining how YOU can save the planet.

Seems like it would've been a better idea to save all those trees and run a video on the in-store system.

The 'chick is moving slowly towards more "green" products to use when cleaning - after all the "harmful" stuff is used up.

Because it seems like going green costs a lot more green.

Organic is another thing that's been all over the news and in magazines - the 'chick can see the benefits of eating/using/wearing organic products, but again - if these items have LESS stuff in them, why do they cost MORE?

It would be a lot easier to save the planet if it saved money too.

*****

Coming soon!

A guest post by Eileen Cook, author of Unpredictable.

If y'all are looking for an entertaining read, this is your book:

Top This

2008-04-21T10:28:00.004-05:00

This morning, the 'chick got up and was rather pleased that she had something new to wear to work today. A new top.

Soon after arriving at work, the 'chick had the following conversation with an employee from another company in the building:

Emp: So . . . are congratulations in order?

Roadchick, looking down: No, it's just a shirt.

Emp: Oh, I am sorry - those smock shirts look like maternity shirts.

Roadchick: The 'chick is planning a trip to Target after work and wants to park in the 'Expectant Mother' space right by the door.

Fucking clothing designers.

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

Coming soon!

A guest post by Eileen Cook, author of Unpredictable.

If y'all are looking for an entertaining read, this is your book:

Duh

2008-04-10T16:38:00.003-05:00

Lordy mercy, the 'chick is tired.

Why is she tired, you ask?

Well, Patient Reader, Roadchick is tired because she is the single parent of a teenaged boy, otherwise known as Rockboy.

Rockboy, perhaps under the effects of spring fever, or new love (there is a new girlfriend), or one too many vanilla cokes, took it upon himself to just leave school after lunch. Every day. For the past two weeks.

The school finally got around to calling the 'chick about it a couple days ago.

(Why did it take so long? Who knows. Not the 'chick.)

So, the 'chick and Rockboy had a real come-to-Jesus discussion on Tuesday night.

It seems that Rockboy just figured that since he didn't particularly enjoy art class, his time would be better spent at the skate park or at the new girlfriend's house.

And, according to Rockboy, it never occurred to him that there might be a problem with that. After all, he's 18, right? An adult. In The Eyes Of The Law. (Or so he informed the 'chick.)

And that, Patient Reader, was the exact moment when the 'chick went postal and let Rockboy know that there was not a jury in the world that would convict her for MURDERING her "adult" son.

Rockboy. The poster child for birth control.

Unpredictable

2008-04-09T09:56:00.000-05:00

Blogging can be very interesting sometimes. A few weeks back, the 'chick got an email asking her to review a new book, Unpredictable, by Eileen Cook. Always on the lookout for free books and a chance to talk about them, the 'chick was quick to agree and answered the email with a definite "YES!"

The other day, the Book arrived. Days when books arrive are always good days. The 'chick could barely restrain herself from hiding it in a chart or on her keyboard tray to start reading immediately even though she was at work.

Unpredictable is what could be classed as "Chick Lit" - how appropriate! The heroine, Sophie Kintock, has been in a long-term relationship with the man she considers to be her Mr. Right. Unfortunately, Mr. Right has moved out because he needs "space" and winds up meeting another woman. Determined to get her man back, Sophie decides to give the new girlfriend a psychic reading (even though Sophie is not psychic) that will scare her into breaking up with Sophie's Mr. Right. Of course, mayhem and hilarity ensue and there is a fantastic twist at the end.

Unpredictable is a very easy read - the 'chick was drawn into the story from the first page and finally had to sit down tonight after work and finish it to see how it was going to end. (Roadchick did NOT peek at the ending ahead of time. Congratulate her on her self-restraint.)

One of the best things about this book is that most of the ladies out there will be able to identify with Sophie and her behavior following the break-up. The 'chick knows that there were a couple of break-ups that drove her to consider taking up voodoo or learning to hex someone. Unfortunately, none of the 'chick's attempts led to the interesting turn of events that happen to Sophie.

When Ms. Cook emailed the 'chick, she mentioned that she would be willing to do an interview or a guest post at the Roadtrip. If you, Patient Reader, have any questions for a real, live, published author, please feel free to leave them in comments or send them to the 'chick's email and they will be considered for the interview.

You can visit Eileen Cook's website by clicking the link or at www.eileencook.com

She doesn't just talk about her book there - she finds a lot of funny stuff on the innernets and shares it with the rest of us.

With beach weather coming, now is a good time to pick up this book. It's available at major booksellers everywhere.

Before-the-Weekend-BS

2008-03-28T14:25:00.001-05:00

What obsolete skill are you?

You are 'Gregg shorthand'. Originally designed to enable people to write faster, it is also very useful for writing things which one does not want other people to read, inasmuch as almost no one knows shorthand any more.You know how important it is to do things efficiently and on time. You also value your privacy, and (unlike some people) you do not pretend to be friends with just everyone; that would be ridiculous. When you do make friends, you take them seriously, and faithfully keep what they confide in you to yourself. Unfortunately, the work which you do (which is very important, of course) sometimes keeps you away from social activities, and you are often lonely. Your problem is that Gregg shorthand has been obsolete for a long time.
Take this quiz!

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Excellent!

2008-03-26T21:25:00.002-05:00

Roadchick's friend and former yarn pimp, Sheila, honored the Roadtrip with the Excellent Award pictured to the right in the sidebar. Cool! Thanks Sheila!

The Rules: By accepting this Excellent Blog Award, you agree to award it to 10 more people whose blogs you find Excellent Award worthy. You can give it to as many people as you want but please award at least 10. You deserve this! Feel free to recognize blogs that have already received this award.

1. Heather at dky bar and grill
2. Susan at Random Moments
3. Autrice at Bemused Muse
4. Laurie at Crazy Aunt Purl
5. Killer and Liz at Killer Rants
6. Neil at Citizen of the Month
7. Fringes and Q at Naked Pictures
8. Pacian at Space Cat Rocket Ship
9. Woo Woo at 2 Boys & An Angel
10. Kim at Embroider the Silence

Since the 'chick likes to change it up a little, she is not going to post at the winners' blogs - hopefully they're reading her as often as she reads them and will see they've won an award on their own. If you're feeling generous, leave a comment for them and let them know that you found them through the Roadtrip.

And to anyone that the 'chick did not mention - she still loves you, but linking is a biatch.

. . .

2008-03-25T08:17:00.002-05:00

To all the parents out there:

It never gets any easier to watch your child have his heart broken.

Rockboy and his long-time girlfriend broke up over the weekend and it has been one of the most painful things to witness EVER.

Does anyone ever really forget that instant of numb shock before the full body blow of pain crashes, feeling like it starts in the middle of the chest before radiating out to every point of the body?

How do you tell him (so that he really understands) that it DOES get better, that it's much better to get back into a routine as fast as possible (go to school, go to work, stay busy) than hiding under the covers even though that feels so safe?

You expect to stay up all night when your kids are babies - not when they are almost 19 - but you can't leave him alone when he hurts so badly and you're afraid that he might take off in his car or do something to hurt himself.

Advice to the lovelorn in comments. . .

Space for Rent

2008-03-14T14:19:00.001-05:00

What Roadchick Means

You are wild, crazy, and a huge rebel. You're always up to something.

You have a ton of energy, and most people can't handle you. You're very intense.

You definitely are a handful, and you're likely to get in trouble. But your kind of trouble is a lot of fun.

You are well rounded, with a complete perspective on life.

You are solid and dependable. You are loyal, and people can count on you.

At times, you can be a bit too serious. You tend to put too much pressure on yourself.

You are usually the best at everything ... you strive for perfection.

You are confident, authoritative, and aggressive.

You have the classic "Type A" personality.

You are balanced, orderly, and organized. You like your ducks in a row.

You are powerful and competent, especially in the workplace.

People can see you as stubborn and headstrong. You definitely have a dominant personality.

You are very open. You communicate well, and you connect with other people easily.

You are a naturally creative person. Ideas just flow from your mind.

A true chameleon, you are many things at different points in your life. You are very adaptable.

You are truly an original person. You have amazing ideas, and the power to carry them out.

Success comes rather easily for you... especially in business and academia.

Some people find you to be selfish and a bit overbearing. You're a strong person.

You tend to be pretty tightly wound. It's easy to get you excited... which can be a good or bad thing.

You have a lot of enthusiasm, but it fades rather quickly. You don't stick with any one thing for very long.

You have the drive to accomplish a lot in a short amount of time. Your biggest problem is making sure you finish the projects you start.

You are a seeker of knowledge, and you have learned many things in your life.

You are also a keeper of knowledge - meaning you don't spill secrets or spread gossip.

People sometimes think you're snobby or aloof, but you're just too deep in thought to pay attention to them.

What's Your Name's Hidden Meaning?

Roadchick Scissorhands

2008-03-09T18:45:00.003-05:00

As Roadchick headed out the front door. . .

Redneck: Where are you going with those scissors?

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

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

Roadchick: ---

And then the 'chick's head exploded.

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

Rolling Snake Eyes

2008-03-03T13:43:00.003-06:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your weekend (or stain removal tips) in comments.

Reality Check

2008-02-24T09:18:00.002-06:00

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

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

Kleenex and Cough Drops

2008-02-18T11:45:00.003-06:00

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

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

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

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

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

Pause to sneeze.

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

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

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

Sneeze, sneeze, sneeze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Back home again. Back to bed.

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

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

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

Doing Her Part To Keep The Economy Strong

2008-02-10T19:03:00.000-06:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Roadchick presents:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Google This!

2008-01-29T07:33:00.000-06:00

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

2008-01-27T21:40:00.000-06:00

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

2008-01-22T12:26:00.000-06:00

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

2008-01-16T08:14:00.000-06:00

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!

2008-01-14T20:44:00.000-06:00

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!

2008-01-13T21:32:00.000-06:00

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

2007-12-25T20:38:00.000-06:00

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

2007-12-20T18:40:00.000-06:00

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

2007-12-18T18:42:00.000-06:00

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

2007-12-16T19:14:00.000-06:00

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

2007-12-04T18:46:00.000-06:00

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

2007-11-08T17:09:00.000-06:00

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:

2007-11-02T14:30:00.000-05:00

"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

2007-11-01T09:59:00.000-05:00

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!

2007-10-31T13:12:00.001-05:00