Counting Sheep Is So Bahahahahd!!! (just like that joke)

How do I lose sleep? Let me count the ways:

1. Hot flashes. There I am snoozing, snuggled under a quilt in my nice, cool bedroom...... when...DING! DING! DING! DING! There's a four alarm fire going on inside my body! Off goes the quilt and I lay, sprawled across the bed to cool down. Before long I begin to snooze again, only to wake up, because I'm shivering in the cold. Big fight with the dog to get my quilt back.


2. I accidentally hang a foot or a hand over the edge of the bed. Anytime an extremity is hanging over the edge of the bed....it just freaks me out! You may find that a little silly, but the fact is: that creature has been living under my bed for 51 years and I doubt that he's going anywhere soon.

3. It's 2:00 AM! For whatever reason 2:00 AM is the magical hour, when I wake and begin to think about things. Things like: what I'll fix for supper that night, anything I may have said that made me look like a dumbass, wonder if I set the alarm, wonder if I set the coffee pot, anything and everything that has pissed me off over the past 30 years, etc.......

4. The dog has nightmares. I wake to soothe her and tell the poor baby that everything is alright.

5. Husband has nightmares. Something is always after him. This starts out with a little moaning and rapidly escalates to hideous screeching and flailing arms. I am jolted awake with a rush of adrenaline, begin screaming at him as I get into "defense mode" protecting my face and head from his large, out-of-control arms. The other night a "big cat" was after him. The dog, who had been asleep on the couch, ran in to see about the commotion. The husband apologized to the dog for waking her up. Here's a confession: Several years ago Mr. Something's-After-Me had pissed me off before we went to bed. As luck would have it, he began having one of "those" nightmares. I slid out of arms reach and whispered, (over and over) "It's gonna gitcha."


6. Husband has to roll over. Imagine me in the middle of a good dream, a really good dream, I mean a REALLY good dream! (Sorry. No juicy dream details. It's my dream) Now, imagine a six foot long, 230 pound fish lying on it's back, right next to me in bed. The fish begins thrashing violently, making odd noises, eventually coming to rest on it's side. So much for my REALLY good dream. Dammit! After a while I drift off to sleep and have nightmares about being stabbed in the stomach with a dorsal fin.

His Pain In The Back Is My Pain In The.....

I pulled in the driveway Wednesday evening and there was my husband heading toward the barn. He was doing some slow, pathetic, Igor-like shuffle. (right foot step, left foot drag) As I approached him from the back he did a gradual full-body turn to face me. I was half expecting to see both of his arms dangling limply in front of him, but I wasn't that lucky. Igor said that he had hurt his back while hauling off the trash.

Once the animals were fed and we had returned to the house, he lost his ability to move without screaming like a little girl, which caused the dog to worry. He needed help to sit. He needed help to stand. He needed snacks. He needed the TV remote. He needed the phone. He needed a pillow. He needed something to drink. I needed something to DRINK!!! Life is never easy for me when Igor suffers an injury.

Thursday morning I left him propped up on one end of the couch, with the phone, remote and a cup of coffee, all within easy reach. I rushed off to squeeze in an hour and a half of work before returning to take him to the doctor. Unfortunately, patients is not at all a virtue that I possess. We were already going to be late for the appointment and it was taking forever and a day to get him loaded into the truck. I used every bit of restraint that I could muster to refrain from cramming him the rest of the way into the seat in order to slam the door! During our five mile commute every bump in the road was met with either whimpering, or some high pitched, not-of-this-Earth sound. It just seems weird when a big, deep-voiced man suddenly sings soprano.

When we entered the doctors office I felt my irritation steadily rise as the receptionist, who has always been unfriendly and short with me, suddenly become bubbly and chatty when Igor shuffled through the door. I managed to smile and chat along with her, only because it was satisfying to visualize my fist connecting with her mouth. It was also amusing to imagine the look on her face if she only knew how many octaves Igor's voice could climb.

A shot in the back and some high-powered pain medication seemed to provide a miraculous recovery that night, but Friday morning brought more shuffling and more shrieking. It is now Saturday morning, he says that he thinks his back is getting worse, and I have begun eating his pain pills. Why do I keep picturing him hopping up from the couch, sprinting to the refrigerator and (upon hearing my key unlocking the door) resuming the Igoresque stance?

The day after the injury was sustained, I asked him if he was he was tossing one of the really heavy bags of trash into the dumpster and twisted his back as he did so. No. That wasn't what happened. He got hurt while gathering the bag from the bathroom wastebasket....... Think I'll indulge in another pain killer!

I'm Just A Stupid Girl!

One Saturday, when I was working the part time country convenience store job, a slightly scruffy looking, late 20's early 30's couple came in and headed toward the automotive supplies. After a minute or two the man started walking back in the direction of my post behind the counter and said, "Do you have any...." (took one look at me) "Oh, you wouldn't know." It has always amazed me to think a person would make assumptions about what I do or do not know just by seeing my face. I've often wondered if I had a "STUPID" tattoo on my forehead that was only visible to others. I was pretty sure that (in his shallow mind) my lack of a penis severely hindered my ability to answer his question. Despite the fact that I am just a stupid girl, I figured I would humor him a little and find out what it was that I couldn't possibly have known. This is how the conversation went:

Me: What are you looking for?

Scruffy Moron: I need some 2 in1 oil.

Me: You mean 3 in1 oil?

SM: Yeah. That's what I need.

(I take him and the lucky little lady over to the 3 in 1 oil and hand him a can)

SM: No, I need the oil that you mix with gas for a chainsaw.

Me: You want two-cycle engine oil.

SM: Yeah. That's what I want.

To the other end of the isle we went, I handed him the oil and (unable to stop myself) sweetly said, "For a chainsaw you need to mix 2 1/2 ounces of oil per gallon of gasoline, but if you're going to put the saw through heaver than normal use, you might want to use 3 1/2 ounces of oil instead. The saw will smoke a little more and you will loose a little power, but it will keep the engine better lubricated." Resisting the urge to finish it up with, "You ignorant A-hole!" He just mindlessly nodded his head. Another satisfied customer.

Twenty some years ago a wise man told me that he admired my ability to use diplomacy in order to tell someone to go to Hell without them even realizing it until an hour or so later. I'm still at it, John.

Thoughts ~ Some Serious Some Not So

Call: 1-800-IHAVEISSUES Listen to the instructions for leaving a message, which are something like, "Leave a message after the tone", then wait until after the tone to hang up without leaving a message, because you are a total idiot!!!

It annoys me to no end to see people staring down at their feet while they're walking. I mean REALLY are they admiring their shoes or what? Yet, I can't stop watching, because (secretly) I'm hoping they will run head first into something and I wouldn't want to miss that.

I bristle whenever I hear anyone use the word "retarded." (I hate it as much as I hate the "N" word) At one time it was a clinical term and then it became a derogatory term. Regardless the context, it is a word that should be stricken from our vocabularies.

The older I get the more selfish I am with my time.

Recently, two of my friends and I laughed until we cried. It felt SO good!

I love that odd sensation that comes from picking something up that you think is going to be heavy (but it's really not) so your arm and the object, go flying up into the air.

Every spring I get the gardening fever and have grandiose illusions of a lush vegetable garden, but then it gets really hot, I get really lazy and everything goes to Hell in a hand-basket.

This one will make the women jealous and the men say, "EEWWWW!" I don't have to shave my legs all winter long and you can't even TELL! I only shave in the summer, because the breeze blows the little hairs around and tickles my legs. Warm weather is just around the corner...time to sharpen the straight razor.

I believe that when someone tells you they have had no regrets in life, they're either lying to you or lying to themselves. Regrets are a part of life. We all have them. Shut up!

I'm pretty sure that people, who don't appreciate animals, suffer from some sort of mental disorder.

Is a green arrow just too much for some people to contemplate? "Oh, green. I know that means 'Go', but its pointing to the left! What am I supposed to DO???"

I'm pretty sure there are a lot of people who think I'm a nicer person than I really am.

I wish I had a "pause" button to stop conversations when I'm getting really pissed off, because several hours later I can think of the best come-backs!

I find myself worrying too much about things that don't matter and too little about things that do. I think the latter is a defense mechanism allowing me to hold on to what tiny shred of sanity I have left.

I'm sort of like a chameleon, in the respect that I can blend in with people from all walks of life. I used to think it was a gift, but more and more I wonder if it's just an indication of what a phony I really am.

It's irritating when someone calls me a cowgirl just because I ride a horse. So,I tell them that I always wanted to be a cowgirl, but I can't be one because my horse is afraid of cows.

Whenever I see a vehicle with one of those "How's my driving? Call 1-800-whatever" signs, I want to call and say something like, "I've never witnessed such incredible driving! AMAZING! Where did you find this guy? Does he give lessons? Never failed to use his signals, came to a full stop at all stop signs, very skillful at merging AND he knew exactly what to do at a green arrow!"

You Always Hurt The Ones You Love The Most (or) Why E-bay Should Offer Free Anger Management

As a little girl I longed for two things: 1. a horse and 2. a Raggedy Ann doll. Neither of which were to become a part of my childhood reality. In retrospect, I can fully understand why horse ownership was not a feasible dream for me. For one thing my parents didn't own enough land to support the needs of a horse, and for another, nobody in the family had a clue how to properly care for one. Sure, it's easy to see why poor little Cindy was not allowed the opportunity to glide through fields full of wildflowers on a sunny summer day, perched upon a shiny black stallion, her hair blowing back in the breeze. (all in slow motion - of course) No. For my parents, fulfilling the "horse" dream was simply not possible. BUT, to deny me the companionship of Raggedy Ann??? We didn't have a lot of money, but SURELY, SOMEHOW, SOMEWAY they could have gotten their mitts on that coveted fabric fantasy of mine!

Anyway, I shoved my unrealized yearnings to the far back corners of my mind and before I knew it I was forty-one years old. And it was in my 41st year that I met a man, who I would later marry. Guess what! He had a HORSE!!! And before long I had a horse of my very own. Along with that horse came all of the gliding through fields full of wildflowers, hair blowing back in the breeze stuff.  Well, when Christmas came that year, I found myself shopping for a present for my  true Love's 3 year old granddaughter. Browsing through the toy store, without any idea of what to buy for little Hannah, I turned down an isle full of dolls and there before my eyes were two beauties with flaming red hair!  One for Hannah and one for ME!!!  Now, I like nothing more than to point out a good "morel of the story" whenever there is one. So, the morel of the story is: Good things come to those who wait.
For almost a decade my cherished Annie sat on a folk-artsy wooden rocking horse. That is until the other day when the horse suffered a broken leg (rocker) in a freak "husband tripping over it" accident. Poor Annie was rendered horseless. Her smile even seemed to fade a bit and thus served as a reminder of poor, horseless little Cindy. It just broke my heart!  What was I to do?  Woe is me.  Woe is Annie. Then it hit me...e-bay! The answer was obvious.  Surely, I could find a rocking horse, suitable for Annie's needs, on e-bay! 

The search began and after about an hour of looking at plastic rocking horses, wooden rocking horses and even rocking horses with tails missing, there it was! The perfect horse for my perfect doll was a buckskin (natural wood finish) with a flaxen mane and dowel handles sticking out from each side of his head. A less sleek version of her last steed, but what made him an even better fit for Annie was the fact that his saddle was wider and thus would keep her centered rather than slumped over to one side and looking as though she was riding all liquored-up.
Bidding on e-bay is a game in which you don't want to show your hand too soon. In other words, just because an item has obtained zero bids does NOT mean that no one has their eye on it. They could be lying in wait to bid at the last possible second to grab it up at the lowest price. (which was exactly what I was going to do to get my Annie a new ride) The time for the bid ending was near. I positioned myself in front of my computer screen, fingers on the keyboard, and.....then.....it.....happened.....out-bid!!! Someone (much quicker than myself) had swooped in and scarfed up Annie's new dream horse! The NERVE!!! Several obscenities escaped between clenched teeth as I slammed the keyboard drawer back. Stomping through the living room I went, mumbling some not-so-nice things about whoever that jackass of a horse thief was, when she caught my eye.  There on the bookshelf sat my beloved Annie, looking at me through her button eyes and smiling that wonderful smile, as though all was right with the world........I punched her square in the face.






...and that, Folks, is why ebay should offer free anger management!

You Want To Know How I Am?

I am on a personal mission to make people think before using the standard, "How are you?" greeting, which (to me) sounds more and more like fingernails on a chalkboard. Talk about over-used! It's thrown out there time after time, day after day and (quite frankly) I'm sick of it! You know and I know that the individual asking probably doesn't give a rodents rectum how anybody is. And don't you think it's a rather intimate question to be asking a total stranger, anyway? What if (God forbid) everybody decided to give honest answers? Nobody really wants to know how you are, so why the Hell are they asking??? My pet "How are you" peeve has to do with the dumbass who doesn't know when to quit asking! (we've all had this happen) You meet someone in the hallway, they say, "How are you?" to which you reply, "Fine. How are you?" (then it happens) they say, "I'm fine. You?" Theoretically, that conversation could go on forever.

On a recent trip to the grocery store I was minding my own business in the canned vegetable isle, when Ms Grocery Store Manager came marching toward me with another shopper in tow. I knew it was coming, the same conversation (only conversation) I've had with that woman a hundred times. "How are you?", she asked. I cordially replied, "Fine." She stopped about five feet from where I was standing and helped the other shopper find something, all of which took about three seconds. As Ms Manager marched back by me it happened...the SECOND "How are you?" A chill ran up my spine as the fingernails slid down the board. In my mind I had her by the throat and was slamming the back of her head into the canned peas as I shouted, "Why didn't you pay attention the first time! Stop making me repeat myself!" Actually, I just gave the same cordial, "Fine," and waited for her to get out of ear-shot then added, "...you stupid bitch!"

I've been thinking that we should have some responses at the ready for these "double askers." The responses that I came up with fall into three basic categories, 1. Smart-Ass Reply (the one we all know and love) 2. TMI Reply (give them too much information, because they wanted to know SO badly they asked you twice) 3. Scary/Crazy Reply (this one is designed to make them think twice before asking the first time)

1.Smart-Ass Reply (while not very funny these are great to use in a hurry)

• "My! Don't we have a short memory?"

• "Is there an echo in here...in here...in here..."

• "Get off my back!"

• "I'm better than nothing, but I hear you're not!"

2.TMI Reply (makes everyone uncomfortable and that's always fun)

• "I'm hopeful that, once I get the wart removed, he'll love me again."

• (wiggle around and scratch a bit) "I'm uncomfortable. They're really bad this time of year."

• In a whisper: "I'm terrified to make any sudden moves. The squirts. Like water only dark and smelly." (pretend to nervously suppress cough)

• "I'm SO excited! The hubby just got one of those 'implant' things..."

3.Scary/Crazy Reply (requires a little acting ability and should only be used on strangers)

• "The voices are telling me that I'm ok. Why? What are they telling you?"

• "I'm pissed! My lawyer just told me there's no way he can convince a jury that the axe slipped out of my hand over and over and over..."

• "Well, my dog says that I'm a lot more fun since I'm not on my medication."

• "Actually, I'm hungry. Did you know that human flesh tastes like chicken?"

How am I? Well, since you asked...

You Can't Get There From Here

I was walking through the parking lot at my workplace the other day when a car pulled up next to me and stopped. Behind the wheel was an older gentleman. When I say, "older" I don't mean an OLD man, just older. We exchanged the usual pleasantries before he asked if I could tell him where the Tags Office is located. (for those of you who don't live in the south, the "Tags Office" is where we go to purchase the little stickers that affix to our license plates) Well, as a frequent visitor of the Tags Office, giving those directions would be a piece of cake...or so I thought. The interaction went something like this:

Me: "Yes. Just go back out to this road, take a right and when you come to the third stoplight take another right then an immediate left..."

Older Gentleman: (shaking his head) "That man he give me crazy directions. Crazy! He tell me to come down here. Ok. I come to the first stoplight then what?"

Me: "You just go straight. The second stoplight is sort of a main intersection where the liquor store is..."

OG: "Oh, the Tags Office is up town! I need to go up town!"

Me: "No. You would have to turn at the second light to go up town, but you don't want to turn at that light. You don't turn until you get to the third light. At the third light make a right and then a left. There's a restaurant there and...oh...I can't think of the name of it."

OG: "BB&T?"

(BB&T is a bank) A feeling of helpless frustration began creeping over me.

Me: "No."

From the passenger seat the man produced a flier with a large, shiny picture of a vehicle license plate and said, "This is what I'm looking for." He turned the flier over, pointed to an advertisement on the back then added, "Nationwide Insurance!"

At that point I knew life was just not being fair to this nice man.

Me: "Do you want to buy a sticker for your car?"

OG: "Yep! That's what I want."

Me: "Ok. Go down here and turn right at the third stoplight then turn left. The Tags Office is in a little strip mall right next to Dollar Tree."

OG: "Dollar Tree? I know where Dollar Tree is! So, I go to Dollar Tree and go up the hill..."


Me: "Well, you just go to Dollar Tree, park your car in the parking lot out front and you will find the Tags Office right next door."

OG: "Thank you, Mame. You have a nice day."

With a heavy heart, I watched him drive away and I wondered if he would find the Tags Office, Dollar Tree or even the third stop light. I pictured him in another part of town, telling yet another stranger, "That women she give me crazy directions. Crazy!"