Happy Anniversary! ( I think)

Let me preface this by saying that my husband and I do not make a big deal over our birthdays, our anniversary or Christmas.  Pretty early on in our relationship, I learned that he was just not a celebratory kind of guy. Actually, I became painfully aware of that fact on a camping/riding trip, that took place several years before we were married.  Knocking around in the mountains, on our horses, there was some conversation over something that he had forgotten to do.  After we had established the fact that he had, indeed, forgotten to do whatever it was that he was supposed to do, the conversation went like this....

Him: You can't expect me to remember everything!

Me:  Actually, I don't expect you to remember anything! Do you know what today is?

Him:  Well...it's not our anniversary? (back then we used to celebrate the anniversary of our first date)  It's not a holiday...ummm...

Me:  It's my birthday.  Today is MY BIRTHDAY!!! 

Him: Oh. Uh.... sorry, Baby.

He lived a hard life for the next few days.

Yesterday was our 6th anniversary.  Earlier this week the following conversation transpired.....


Me:  Friday is our anniversary.

Him: That's right! It is on Friday!


Me:  I'll bet you don't even know how many years we've been married.

Him (All indignant like) :  Yes, I do!  We've been married for six years!


I was impressed BEYOND belief...until yesterday...... when I came home from work and this conversation took place...

Me:  Happy anniversary, Baby! 

Him:  Happy anniversary!  How many years has it been?  Five?

Am I living in the fricking TWILIGHT ZONE???

Just Bury Me In The Backyard, But You Go First

Lately my husband has become obsessed with the idea that he wants to be buried in the backyard.  He has brought this matter up several times and has asked me to check into the legalities.  I keep promising to do so, but then I imagine calling Randy at the zoning board and saying something like, "Hi, Randy!  How's it going?  How's the wife?  Got a question for ya.  When the old man kicks off, can I bury him in the backyard?"  Then I picture him hanging up the phone and immediately calling the sheriff, who agrees that my mental stability has always been questionable.


Well, last night the do-it-yourself home cemetery plot was brought up again, only this time he added, "While we're talking about this morbid subject, we need to figure out what we'll do about all these animals."  WHAT?  Then he specifically mentioned Gaye and Skeeter.  (The two cats who have been de-clawed and can never be "outside" cats)  That's when I realized that he was talking about me taking the "big exit" first!  You see, the hubs has a very weak stomach and couldn't handle a litter box.  He manages to shovel out the dog lot as long as the poo is solid, but if one of the little turd morsels happens to mush-up at all, then he has a big ol' gag-fest.


I have heard a story about when my step-daughter was three and was left alone with her father. It seems that she had an unfortunate accident in her pants and Daddy hosed her down outside.  He claims, in his defense, that it was ninety degrees that day.


Apparently, horse excrement is far superior to that of dogs, cats and even humans, because I have witnessed (on many occasions) Johnny sitting by a trail, eating a sandwich while the essence of  horse manure hangs heavily in the air.  Shoveling horse dung is not a problem for him, either.


Anyway, I came up with the obvious solution to the problem of what to do about all of the animals, in the event of my early demise.  I told Mr. Gag-O-Ramma that he is to immediately find and marry someone who cares about animals.  That prompted him to launch into what his online profile would say. It went something like this:

Baggy-eyed old man, recent widower, 40 pounds overweight, missing a couple of teeth, likes his liquor, quite likely to be unemployed soon, owner of 4 cats, 4 dogs and 2 horses, is in desperate need of female who loves animals.

What woman wouldn't jump at that chance?

An Open Letter To The Beanee Weenee Folks

Dear Beanee Weenee Folks,

First of all let me say that I have long been a big ol' Beanee Weenee fan. Packing 13 grams of protein and sealed in a flip-top can, (the size of which nestles nicely down in my saddle horn bags) I consider them the perfect trail food.

Recently, while shopping at a chain grocery store, (that I will refer to as "Lie-Lo") I made a discovery that got me in a snit, put my panties in a wad and made indignity rear it's ugly head. The Beanee Weenees had gone from eighty-five cents per can to $1.12!!! Mad I was! Mad as a hornet! (In case you didn't know, hornets get pretty mad)

So, there I was all snitty with wadded panties, and I made a decision to write an angry letter to you folks. I thought about telling you that, if you had gold beans and a platinum wienie, then and only then would I consider paying the price which Lie-Lo was asking. I was going to be mean and write all kinds of terrible things, but first I had to investigate and get all of my ducks in a row, because I like ducks in a row and I believe ducks like being in a row.

On my high horse I climbed. A consumer on a mission.

Well, the investigation ensued and what I found completely changed my tune and even unwadded my panties. (What a relief) For one thing I found Beanee Weenees at another store for $0.87 per can and that appeased me pretty good, but that doesn't have anything to do with my investigation.

After peeling the top off from the easy-open can, I poured the contents on a dinner plate. Surprising it was, when I lined up all of the wienie segments and had what looked like a whole wienie! There were actually thirteen wienie pieces and that made me happy, since I'm not the least bit superstitious. While I was pretty impressed with the wienie data, the best was yet to come. Upon completing the tedious task of counting beans, I was filled with shame for ever entertaining the thought of bashing your fine product. There was a grand total of one-hundred-ninety-nine beans in that one little can!

I have decided that Beanee Weenees are a deal at any price! That being said, I'm going to wash the nasty taste of crow out of my mouth with a can of pleasingly delectable Beanee Weenees.

Very Truly Yours,
Cindy Guiton

P.S. I've never squeezed that many animal euphemisms in one letter before.

My Loaded Bucket

For whatever reason, I woke in the middle of the night and began thinking about what I might put on my bucket list. I thought and I thought, but drew nothing but a blank. My fear of heights prevents me from listing things like sky diving, bungee-jumping and parasailing, and my lack of enthusiasm where foreign countries are concerned prevents me from listing a lot of other things.

Rather than a list of things I haven't done, what formed in my mind was a list of things that I have done. It blew me away.

First and foremost, I am the mother of two great children who (in spite of me) turned out to be really good people. Granted, the things I am mentioning in this paragraph are not really what people put on a list of things they would want to do before they die, but this is MY blog and I'll mention whatever I choose. I have two really cool step-children. It's so nice when your step-kids tell you that they love you and you believe them! There are six awesome grandchildren sprinkled in the mix, too.

As for my life experiences, I have:

• been snow, water and jet-skiing as well as snowmobiling.
• gone whitewater rafting.
• sat on Virginia Beach and ate ice cream with all three of my sisters.
• driven the longest bridge in the world, Lake Pontchartrain Causeway. (24 miles)
• driven the Mackinac Bridge. (one of the worlds longest suspension bridges)
• driven the old Sunshine Skyway Bridge in Florida.
• seen buffalo, bear, moose and elk in the wild.
• chased a bull while riding a horse. (tequila courage)
  
• visited Niagara Falls several times.
• been at Mt. Rushmore twice.
• watched in awe as the Northern Lights danced in the sky.
• been on Mt. Mitchell. (the highest peak in NC.)
• played a bass drum in the worlds longest parade. (Detroit 1976)
  
• looked out over the Badlands in South Dakota.
• watched the sun rise over the Atlantic and watched it set on the Gulf of Mexico and Lake Michigan.
• driven on Daytona Beach.
• seen the Rolling Stones in concert, twice.
• ridden my horse on the highest peak in Virginia.
• looked at actual Revolutionary war bullet holes in the Old North Church.
  
• driven much of the Blueridge Parkway.
• literally had my breath taken away by the beauty of the Rocky Mountains.
• bought a coffee cup on Pikes Peak. (after 33 years...I'm still drinking coffee out of that cup)
• had my picture taken by Plymouth Rock.
• seen Tina Turner in concert. She put on an AWESOME show!
• almost gotten caught peeing on the Appalachian Trail.

The last one is not one of my finer moments, but (in my defense) I didn't even realize that I was on the Appalachian Trail at the time. I sought cover behind a boulder and found what looked like a deer path. Thankfully, the bandanna-wearing dog emerged before the hikers.

Spinach-Ranch Pizza Half-Assed Acres Ranch Style

Nothin' we like better here at The Half-Assed Acres Ranch, than some spinach-ranch pizza. It's quick, it's easy and it'll make your taste buds do si do and promenade all over your mouth!

If you're one of those people who has no imagination and has to have exact measurements, then don't waste your time reading any farther. We run a "fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants" operation around here. Sometimes a little chaotic, but it works.

This time I used 9 inch tortillas, because that's what I happened to have in the refrigerator. Even though you only see two in the pics, I actually made three, because the two of us eat like hogs. Suppertime is never pretty at our house.

Rub your baking sheet lightly with oil and lay on the tortillas. Drizzle on the ranch dressing and spread it around with a fork, your fingers or whatever. You vegans and vegetarians might like to try sweet vidalia onion dressing and you can figure out what else to do in order to make the pizza to fit your lifestyle. Load on the spinach leaves! You'll notice that I just piled them on rather than arranging them perfectly, because that's how I roll. If you happen to be a big, prissy, sissy then feel free to arrange them in any fashion you like.

Drain a small can of sliced black olives (a little over 2 ounces) along with a small can of mushrooms and distribute over the spinach. For me a little chopped up left-over chicken served as another nice topping.

Pile on the cheese! No such thing as too much cheese! I used whatever part-skim mozzarella I had along with some kind of 4-cheese Mexican blend. (even though I seriously doubt that the Mexicans had much to do with it) Sometimes I add some Parmesan on top, but I didn't do that this time.

Sprinkle garlic powder over the top and stick them in a 350 degree oven. I think I baked mine for about 20 minutes, but to be perfectly honest, I had had several drinks by the time I put them in the oven and I even had a couple more while they were baking. I guess you can understand why I forgot to keep close track of the baking time. Besides, if you're too stupid to be able to tell when they're done, you probably shouldn't be using an oven in the first place.

Well! Well! Lookie here! I actually remembered to take a picture of the finished product! (when I woke up this morning I was trying to remember if I had gotten a pic after I took them out of the oven)

A little side note: I meant to buy fresh mushrooms, but I forgot. That's why I used the canned mushrooms which were fine, because (around here) we embrace all things half-assed.

Eggs Over-Medium With Love

He likes them scrambled and wouldn't even consider eating any runny yolk. I like them over-medium, but we usually just have scrambled. Easier. Saves time.

I tend to be a little critical. Something that I've noticed about myself and I'm working on that unflattering habit.

So, I bit my tongue this morning when he was frying my over-mediums at a temperature that was clearly too high. I made this conscious effort, because I love him.

While I was eating, it occurred to me that he had prepared eggs that turn his stomach, because he loves me. Enough said.

No. There is one more thing. Those were the best eggs I've ever had.

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!"

Is That A Shotgun Sticking Out Of Your Trench Coat Or Are You Just Happy To See Me?

This post is dedicated to store owners, Bob and Jean. Two Of my favorite people.

It was December 27, 1997 and I was way late for work at my second job in the local Mom and Pops convenience store. I normally went in at 1:00 on Saturdays, but I had a funeral to attend (in the rain) so, it was 5:00 PM when I arrived. Should have waited till 7:00.

Let me paint a little picture of the lay-out of the store. Two cash registers side by side facing the back of the store. To the right of the register on the right is a counter and vice versa. In other words, if you're standing facing a register your back is to the door. That is how Carrol and I were standing on that cold, rainy, one customer in the whole damn store night. I was on the right and Carrol was on the left.

Around 6:15 my partner had just fixed himself what must have been one Hell of a sandwich and we were standing there chatting while he was devouring his creation.That's when I heard the telltale "squeak" of the door. (apparently a sound that Carrol did not detect, because he was eating and talking) Anyway, I turned my head to greet whoever was entering, but all I could see was a black trench coat opening up and the barrel of a .410 shotgun being raised to point at me. Immediately, the accomplice of Mr. Trench Coat scurried around to my side of the counter, waving two pistols at me. Well, my mama didn't raise no fool. I was quick to figure out that this was a stick up! At the same time I'm thinking, Two pistols? Really? Isn't that over-kill? Do ya think if you only had one I would balk and say, "Oh, Hell no, Mr. One Pistol, you're not gettin' a penny from this old girl. If you had TWO pistols...now THAT would be a different story!"

Believe it or not, I actually had the presence of mind to remember how to open the cash register and I did just that! Then, without even being told, I began to extract money from said register, beginning with the 20's and working my way down to the smaller, less desirable bills. Two Pistols had to lay one pistol on the counter in order to free up a hand to take money from me. Money that I just couldn't wait to give him!


Somewhere in all of this, with my left eye I caught a glimpse of Mike (our only non-gun-wielding customer) walk up to Carrol's side of the counter and then quickly retreat to the back of the store. (guess Mike's mama didn't raise no fool, either)

About the time I was digging the 5's out of the drawer, I heard a sound. It was the sound of words being filtered through bread and other sandwich material. For God's sake! Carrol was still eating that damn sandwich and talking to me, completely oblivious to the fact that we were being robbed at gunpoint!

So, after handing Two Pistols the less desirable one dollar bills, I stepped behind Carrol and tapped him on the shoulder. He turned and (I swear this is the truth) said, "What's goin' on?" (I'm guessing this is where he FINALLY put the sandwich down) Well, upon noticing a man standing there pointing a gun at his head, Carrol began doing what I had just done, emptying a cash register. He started with the less desirable one dollar bills, but something tells me that Two Pistols didn't even notice.

At some point, while Carrol was handing over cash, I noticed that Two Pistols was having a hard time cramming all that cash into his pockets. So, being the customer-oriented girl that I am, I asked him if he wanted a bag. He didn't, but (being the customer-oriented girl that I am) I wasn't taking "No" for an answer. I asked again. He still didn't want a bag, but at least I tried. In retrospect, I suppose he may have thought that I could be the second Annie Oakley and that maybe there was a gun hidden down there where the bags were kept. Actually there was a sawed-off shotgun down there, but that was the farthest thing from my mind. The ONLY thing that interested me was getting them out of the store without Carrol or myself having to eat any lead. Besides, I'm pretty sure Carrol was already was already full from his sandwich.

Under the watchful eye of Mr. Trench Coat, who was still poised at the door behind us with his trusty .410, my partner handed the last stack of bills over to Two Pistols. Then came the moment that I'd been anxiously waiting for...the bad-boy gun-slingers exited the store, without firing off a single round.

This is where Carrol redeemed himself for the sandwich eating and talking during the entire first half of the robbery. As I was hitting the floor and grabbing the phone from under the counter, he snatched a pistol out of a drawer and headed out the door. I remember saying to the 911 operator, "We've just been robbed and there are shots being fired in the parking lot!" That's the only part of the conversation that I can recall, because I was completely consumed with terror and had no idea what was actually transpiring in the parking lot. I know that I was sure relieved when Carrol came back through the door bearing not a single bullet wound.

It seems that, with Carrol firing over their heads the bad boys didn't want to take time to stop and climb into the getaway car, so they just ran right past it and disappeared into the woods. The female driver of the car took off down the road. I suppose she thought the boys would come back out to the highway and that's why she turned around and came back, but upon seeing Carrol out by the road (pistol in hand) she decided that was a bad idea after all. In an attempt to make a quick turn around she pulled into the path of another driver and got T-boned, which disabled her stolen ride. At that point the woods on the other side of the road looked pretty good to her.

The long and short of it is: the girl was apprehended about an hour later and claimed she had no idea that the guys were going to rob the store and she didn't know that the car was stolen. (in her defense, my friends and I always carry our shotguns when we shop in convenience stores...never know when a game bird might fly off a shelf... and it's not unusual for us to drive cars with screwdrivers sticking out of the ignitions, because we tend to loose our keys) Mr. Trench Coat and Two Pistols were arrested several days later. They all were convicted, served time and have since been released.

I had only been working at the store for three months when we were robbed. The next day I showed up for work again and did the same for the next nine years. Did I really say, "My mama didn't raise no fool"???

Make Lentil Sprouts, Because I Said So!

Not only because I said so, but because they are: loaded with nutrients, easy to make, absolutely delicious and cheap, cheap, cheap! (I'm all about cheap) Besides, you probably already have everything you need to make the sprouts in your house. If you don't have any dried lentils go to the store and get a bag. Yes, they are in the dried bean section. Go ahead. I'll wait.

You're back! Great! Now, we're going to call this: "Lentil Sprouts 101" or "Sprouting For Idiots". Personally, I like the latter and you can learn from the Master Idiot. Don't be afraid. Just dive into that bag of little legumes. But first, let me tell you why you should sprout rather than just cook the lentils. Sprouting actually ups the nutritional value and makes them so much better for you. They become a wealth of amino acids, B vitamins and a bunch of other stuff too numerous to mention. (or stuff that I can't remember) Don't expect me to explain how sprouting changes the make up of the lentil, because (quite frankly) I'm not intelligent enough to explain it and I would just have to plagiarize someone else's writing and I am not about plagiarism. So, you'll just have to trust me on this one.

You will need: a quart canning jar (I prefer large mouth), a ring to fit the jar, 1/2 cup lentils and some clean fabric large enough to cover the jar top and thin enough to be able to screw the ring onto the jar. Some use cheesecloth, but I use panty hose. Water has to be able to pass through the cloth and it is important that air can circulate during the sprouting process. NEVER,NEVER, NEVER use any peas, beans or legumes that have been packaged for planting, because they may have been coated with an agent to make them germinate. I should mention that kidney bean sprouts, tomato seed sprouts and potato sprouts are all POISONOUS! In other words: don't sprout 'em and don't eat 'em.

Measure out 1/2 cup of lentils and sort through carefully, removing any that are broken or chipped, as they will not sprout. Instead, they will rot, compromising the quality of your finished product. Let's face it...nobody wants to eat rot!

Dump the lentils into the jar, put the cloth over the top and secure with the jar ring or rubber band. WOW! What a relief! The hard part is OVER!

Run some cool water right through the cloth onto the lentils to wash them, drain and repeat about three times. The only thing better than having clean lentils is having clean hands...I always say. Now, run warm water (never hot) into the jar. Pretty much filling the jar just so you know you have ample water for the lentils to soak up. Let those tiny discs sit there and soak for 8-10 hours.

Drain off the "soaking" water and rinse with cool water a couple of times. Drain off the rinse water and find a nice dark spot to keep the jar or jars. I keep mine in a spare bedroom, which doesn't get much light and I cover them with a dark bath towel. Make sure that the jar is tipped at an angle to allow excess water to drain. A dish drainer provides a handy "jar-propping" place. I set mine on a tray to catch any water that may drain out. Let the sprouting begin!

Just rinse with cool water and drain, every morning and evening. Be gentle as to not break off any of the tender shoots. On the third day you should have sprouts that are about 3/4 inch long. PERFECTO! (that's Spanish for perfect) Add cool water to the jar and let the sprouts get all charged up with a good drink. Let them soak for a couple of minutes before draining in a strainer. Put a paper towel in the bottom of whatever container you'll be storing your delectable little goodies in. Dump the well drained sprouts on top of the paper towel and store in the refrigerator. They easily keep for a week, but after three days you should rinse and place on a fresh paper towel.

Just look at what a half cup of lentils will produce! Check out the fancy crystal bowl, because that's how we roll here at the Half-Assed Acres Ranch! Now, make yourself a big ol' salad and scatter a bunch of these little goodies over the top. It'll make your tongue slap the roof of your mouth and beg for more!

If you're going to use them in soup or stew, add them during the last 5 minutes of cooking time, cause you don't want to cook them to death. I don't recommend just cooking them in water and draining the water off, because you're going to dump some of the nutrients down the drain.

I'll bet (with a little imagination) you could blend up some sprouts in your food processor, mix with some plain yogurt or soft cream cheese, throw in a few spices and have a tasty dip or sandwich/wrap spread. I haven't tried that yet, but when I do I'll let you know.

Feel free to post any comments or questions, as long as you don't criticize, because I don't handle criticism well and I hold a grudge forever!

Look! I Married Oliver Wendall Douglas!

"Faaaaaarrrm livin' is the life for me."

One day, as I was passing my house, I looked over and there he was going down through the front pasture on our 46 year old tractor. Immediately, I was struck with the image of Mr. Douglas. Even though Oliver's tractor was always referred to as a Hoyt-Clagwell, it actually was (just like ours) a Ford! When I found that out, it gave me CHILLS! (not really...I'm just being dramatic) Now, besides the tractor, The Horseman and Oliver Douglas both have the silver tresses goin' on and my husband has actually been to New York city! It is true that you're not likely to see him bush-hog in a three piece suit and "lawyer " is a term that you will never see on his resume, but (is it just me) or are the similarities uncanny? In fact, I'm quite sure that he would be likely to utter the words, "You can keep Manhattan. Just give me that country-side."

I'm a far stretch from Lisa Douglas and I'm sure my Mr. Douglas is glad of that. (although I suppose he'd be pretty happy if I looked like her) There is one common thread I share with Lisa in that I, too, get allergic smelling hay! Truth be known, I am probably more likely to be compared with (farmhand) Eb Dawson than Lisa.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go outside, climb the telephone pole and make a call.

Shout- Out

I just have to give a big ol' shout-out to a couple of local writers. First is poet Jonathan Bolick, whose book, "Diamonds From Coal" I purchased last month. Loved it! I will order his latest soon. To read some of Jonathan's work go to: www.boloworks.com . I found out about Jonathan from my friend Gina. It's kind of funny how I recently told Gina that I like to write poetry, but I don't like reading poetry, (yes I am an oddball) but I sure enjoyed Jonathan's work.

Last, but not least, is Carolyn Steele Agosta. I work with Carolyn's sister Jacki, who directed me to her website: www.carolynagosta.com . When you go to Carolyn's site click on , "Links to published stories" which is on the left. That will bring up many great short stories, but the one I want you to read first is, "Another Weekend With Suzie".

I wouldn't recommend them if I didn't think they were wonderful....so, check 'em out!

Kick-Ass Computer, Sprouts And Deals

Well, here I sit (grinnin' like a possum) at my new, kick-ass computer! Which, by the way, happens to have 160 gigs of hard drive, 2 gigs ram, a CD burner and a four-fifty-four with a four-on-the-floor! The Computer Guru really out did himself and got back in my good graces. (looks like his name may reappear in my will) I could hardly wait to get home from work to hook this baby up. The laws of nature and my own bad karma prohibit me from ever having things go as planned. So, I had to make a trip to Wal-Mart to buy a new mouse, but that's ok I'm still grinnin'.

I'm so pleased with myself, because I started two different batches of sprouts yesterday. (green pea and soy) Those are new to me. The only thing I've done before were lentil sprouts. Now there's some fine eatin'. Sprouts are really good for you and here's the best part.....they're super cheap to make!

Speaking of cheap, (by the way "Cheap" is my middle name) I went to the grocery store yesterday with some coupons and hit pay dirt. Sugar was on sale for 99 cents, had a 30 cent coupon which was doubled. HOLY CRAP....four pounds of sugar for 39 cents! Oops...I peed myself a little. When I came to the French's mustard and realized that I could get a 14 oz. bottle for 20 cents, I could barely conceal my excitement! Then came the best part...they actually had to pay ME to take a 12 oz. bottle of French's spicy brown off their hands! YIPPIE-FRICKIN'-I-O! I was lovin' life!

In case you didn't notice, I'm in a much better mood than I was when I put up my last post and you may be wondering if I had to tell anyone to go to Hell. I did not, but there were a few close calls. The mental illness is on the back burner for now, but it's still simmering.

In A Bad Place

Have you ever been mad at the world and not quite sure why? That's where I am right now, but in a way I know why. In a nutshell....taxes and people who don't understand how income tax works. Anyway, that's what got the ball rolling and at the moment I can think of several people who have irritated me in the past few weeks, who I would just like to tell to go to Hell! Hopefully, that won't happen at work tomorrow, but there's always that possibility. Actually, there are some, who haven't even pissed me off yet, but I picture them doing just that and I picture myself....telling them to go to Hell. Oh, yes! I can feel the mental illness welling up in my throat!

There should be a good place to go when I'm in a bad place. (a bad place being the dark corners of my own mind) How about the doctors office, because my right knee is swelled up like a balloon? No. I guess not, because he would tell me to stay off from it for a few days. Bullshit! Does he have any clue how my life is?

On the "up" side....The Computer Guru has everything ordered for my new, kick-ass computer and I'm sooooo happy about that! I'm pretty sure that's the only saving grace that is keeping me from actually telling several people to go to Hell!

Wordless

His name was Paul, but I can't recall how I came to know his name. Maybe he wrote it on my order pad. Years after we met I learned his last name when I saw his picture in the paper. "Paul Whitesides", it said above his obituary. Sadness swept over me as I remembered many wordless conversations between Paul and myself. The only time actual words were involved was when one of us wrote something down on paper for the other one to read or when he pointed to whatever menu item he wanted.



Looking back on my conversations with Paul, I have to wonder just how ridiculous my awkward hand gestures must have seemed to him. I couldn't sign. Maybe he got the same feeling I get when I'm talking to someone who is just learning to speak English. He probably felt like I was butchering his native tongue.



Quite often I would flail my arms and pretend to be very irritated with him, which always produced a big grin. No telling what the other customers thought when I behaved that way.



Meeting Paul taught me that you don't need to verbalize to let people know that you like them and that you're genuinely happy to see them. Words are just words, sometimes empty and meaningless. Only our actions truly speak to other human beings, a language of their own.