Went on an errand this morning, won't say where, but it involved people in white coats and needles (not the asylum, though it probably should have been). Well, I was sitting in said place, reading a book and being jabbed with a needle, when we heard what sounded like gunfire outside. This is a college town, so full of decrepit old cars, so we all assumed it was a backfire. Then we heard the noise again in quick procession.
Turns out some freak, a block or two away, was on his balcony shooting what is being described as an assault rifle. A storm of sirens erupt in the background and we are all ordered to remain in the building and away from the windows. A couple of hours later and I've managed to sneak away home, though the situation is as yet unresolved. The reports are the shooter is holed up in his/her/their apartment with police trying to talk them out and get info.
They're saying they have no reports of anyone being hit, or even what the dumbass was shooting at. As long as noone was injured, I feel okay bitching about what a total pile of a morning I had.
So, was mine worse than yours?
I realize this is going to age me, talking about waiting up for Saturday morning cartoons when kids today can turn on the tube anytime and watch them on cable kinda gives it away, but oh well.
When I was little, you got one day a week, Saturday, to be inundated with cartoons. From the crack of dawn till late afternoon when the sports shows came on, the day belonged to you and your brightly hued, animated friends.
My cousin and I used to spends summers with my grandma in the country and we'd plan every week to stay up all night so we wouldn't miss one second of cartoons. It didn't matter that the earliest shows pretty much sucked big ones, we still felt robbed if we raced into the living room and turned on the set to find them going off.
We almost never could stay up that late, but on rare occasions we did. It was with unbridled glee that we would hear the cheesy music to the old 'Batman' tv show, because that meant our time had come. After the Caped-crusader finished off the bad guy, with the help of his trusty 'friend' Robin, the cartoons would come. And we sat through all the crappy ones, enjoying them nonetheless, knowing that around 10 the good stuff came. 'Thunder Cats', 'The Smurfs", Yogi Bear, 'G.I. Joe', 'Transformers', 'My Little Ponies', 'Justice League'....you know, the good stuff.
And each Saturday that we made it through the night, waded through the badly drawn, crappily written, out-of-date cartoons, and were about to plunge into the good stuff, we'd look up to see a furry-haired, blanket-cocooned beast come stumbling out of her room to kick us aside and burrow into the sofa. My Aunt, an 18 yr old who we otherwise worshipped, but despised on Saturday.
The first thing she'd do after staring comatose at the wall for a good half hour would be tojab one of us in the back or back of the head and grunt, "turn it."
We'd wail, "No! The good ones are coming on!"
She'd jab and grunt, "Turn it. Star Trek is on"
You can't imagine how that sent shivers down our little sleep-deprived spines.
Eventually she'd wair herself out poking and jabbing and waddle to the set, shoving us out of her way like bowling pins, left floundering in our bowls of soggy Cap'n Crunch, and turn it to Star Trek.
"Do you brats know how hard it was for me to get up to watch this? Shut up and go outside to play."
I still hate to see Captain Kirk's smarmy face late night on tv. Bastard stole my best Saturdays.
Nope, it's not the amount of time I managed to hold out with my first beau before going all the way, could never have went that long! (joke, dammit!)
No, 1 hour and 12 minutes is the total amount of sleep I've had in the past 48 hours. I'm operating on fumes, but my simple-minded system will not shut down so I can sleep! The few times I have managed to shut off my thoughts, some external shitass wakes me. One point the rude interruption came courtesy of my sisters 70# Pitbull jumping on my back and laying his little back side on my head. There's what one wants to open their eyes and see. They should really consider having him fixed, btw.
Guess I'll have to resort to an old family remedy and buy myself some whisky..as you'll note I haven't the money for any whiskey, that extra e will break you. Now that I think about it, whisky was pretty much the family remedy for just about everything..especially the dreaded condition known as waking.
Wow, I'm getting lazy here.
One of my favorite songs.
I'm a lazy and not very competent poster as it is, but when I type up a nice long-winded tirade about the creepy Hod at the bus station this morning who was a terrible conversation rapist, forcing me to talk to him even though I was clearly not interested in his social niceties and just wanted to read my stinking paper in peace, only to have the damned site lose the entire post somewhere to net oblivion, well dammit, it pisses me off!!
The insults and mental picture I painted with my words were priceless! (no, not without value) I thought of insults that filthy minded 16 yr olds would have fallen to their knees in awe after reading, but what do I have to show for it now? Nothing. There was an especially lovely tidbit about a blow to the offending bus station interloper's adam's apple, but you will never get to have that wonderful image now, poor souls.
Can't get that damned Blogger to work right either. Maybe that bus station hod is working some powerful woodoo on me and that is why the computer is rebeling against me. Or possibly Google is out to get me, the bastards.
Hoosier~signing off before the damned thing electrocutes me.
Yes, it is a question of that epic proportion. I spent the entire day yesterday presented with that enigma, and I have to say it isn't a pleasant, nor easy question.
It started out a lovely day, sunny, 90 degrees, with just the faintest hint of a breeze blowing off the lake. What better way to spend a summer day than shoreside on a 900 acre man made lake? Except maybe if you were the homeowner or a descendent of the poor bastards they flooded to build it, in which case you probably have a little bitterness..which I'm sure could put a damper on a lovely summer's day. But that's not me, so let 'em find another way to spend the day.
Well, about half way through the afternoon, nicely bronzing up and feasted on by fewer than 3 mosquitoes, I was feeling quite nice, when I felt a tell-tale snap from my bra strap. One side let go and left me lopsided. Well, it was no biggy (the situation, not the bra which is more than adequate, thank you) they didn't look too uneven and it was a fine day after all. But, it's the damndest thing, after awhile the mental presence of the unevenness swarms out all other thoughts until it gnaws away at you, and you can think of nothing else! Soon, I was tugging and pulling at the damn thing every 5 seconds and I'm sure any person swimming, boating or drifting by thought I was a lunatic or a cowardly exhibitionist. Now, I could have just taken the thing off and free wheeled it, but I just don't have the ass for such a public display, so a perfectly lovely summers day next to the beautiful lake was ruined by a busted strap.
I just read an article about this store in Scottsdale, Ar. that came up with the brilliant idea of putting a camera in the dressing area so women could see how the pants made their asses look. Well, personally , the first thing I thought, was brilliant! Why didn't someone think of that before? You would no longer have to rely on the opinion, or good natured lies of your friends or partners, but have actual visible proof staring you in the face. But then what happens? Read this quote from the owner of the store.
"Alot of people dread trying on jeans and so any more entertaining you can make it the better," explains shop pwner Tom Simon. "We're even thinking of doing a 'best of' and putting it on DVD." he said. "Best of Butts '08 or whatever, yeah."
That's just what you want to hear from someone with a camera pointed at your ass, that they're taping it and have it stored in a closet somewhere. That just has Perv written all over it. And frankly, I would be more concerned with what they were saying about my ass than them looking at it,lol. (kidding..sorta)
Hoosier~ keeping my pants on in the dressing room!
Every woman in the world knows the feeling you get, when once a month your period arrives unexpectedly and you race to the bathroom, throw open the cupboard and find the box bare! Now, usually, most women have reinforcments of some kind, somewhere, so as to not be stuck without anything, but my sister takes things to the extreme and will not be without at least 5 boxes at any given time due to some unhealthy terror at the idea of being without.
Now, sister not only has and hoardes her tampons about the restroom and house, but keeps the closest watch over them. She's like the Fort Knox of vaginal plugs. This woman will literally give you her last dime and not think twice about it, but if you think for one bloody second that she would pry a card board applicator from her grubby hand in the middle of a flow emergency, your going to be one messy lass. So, you can imagine her shock this week to find that her two daughters and assorted slew of reprobate friends and relatives had thwarted her best efforts and pried the bottom flap of each of her 5 boxes, sneaking out the amount they needed and shoving the box back on the shelf empty. I was sitting on the sofa with her teen son when we heard the most unholy of snarls erupt from the bathroom. You'd have thought someone blew their nose on her wedding gown, the disgust that was coming from those grunts and hollers. Nearly an hour later, she emerged from the bathroom red-faced and completely silent. She refused to talk to any of us for over a week. Literally, did not speak to us- not even her girls!
We were sitting in the front yard one morning, the girls surrounded by the current crop of teen boys jockeying for a spot, and my cousins boss was there, when we heard the window to the upstairs bedroom open and saw sis's head poke out. She's got this grinchy smile on her face and pops back inside..a moment later a huge box tips over the ledge and hundreds of tampons come raining down on the assorted hangers about in the yard. Sister is laughing her ass off upstairs and as she shuts the window says. " That'll teach you bitches to touch my stuff." Never mess with a neurotic tampon hoarder.