Key Issues

A Haberdasher Tale

Disclaimer: I'd originally planned to post this Friday night, while Key was at Eric's, in an attempt to keep this site on life support, Neglect being the 8th Deadly Sin. But I was distracted by an attempt to create the perfect ossa bucca, and some Grey Goose...

I'm not sure what is more despicable: the fact that a person travels to Tennessee for a blogmeet, with the back door left wide open, or the fact that some screwhead acts upon that fact. Actually, the latter. But who is tallying my transgressions? Certainly not Trotsky, so there you have it.

When I was 13 my father took me to his haberdasher, Harold X, for the fitting of a suit. I forget the occasion. Perhaps a spring dance. I simply do not recall. The fact remains, though, that I was there, and Harold fitted me beautifully, as he always dressed a young gentleman, and then it was time to drive the 35 miles, 40 miles, to the farm. As one left Chatham County, and entered Effingham County, there was this road. Known locally as the 9 Mile Straightaway. 9 miles of exceptionally bad road, its only saving grace the fact that even cops would not habituate it. No Man's Land.

Now the Senator, having had a wee bit too much of the Canadian, decided it was time for my wee ass to learn the intricacies of the manual shift, the clutch, the innards of a Karmann Ghia.

And so he pulled over at the beginning of the 9 Mile Straightaway, and explained the workings of the pedals, enunciating VERY LOUDLY lest I not understand his particular brand of pidgin English (an aside: I knew the dialect well, having been subjected to language immersion classes in it from an early and tender age).

So as I meshed gear, tested brake, gingerly sampled acceleration, the Senator pulled a pint bottle from the glove box, and a six and a half ounce Coke from underneath the passenger seat, and settled in for what surely was less threatening to him than fighting cursed Jerry in the Big War.

A word on that Karmann Ghia. It was my father's second, the first having been a used hardtop. This one he ordered direct from Wolfsburg. Why he, killer of Nazis, was so enamored of these Volkswagens was beyond me, but perhaps it was a capitalist thing. This was the first Ghia VW had ever put a cassette player in, supposedly, they being a newfangled device. Had to go aftermarket. It was also the first convertible Ghia put air conditioning in. Those two characteristics considered at the time mutually exclusive. But there it was. And on the day the old man drove to Bill Ussery's to pick up his Sunset Orange Kharmann Ghia... it was turquoise. Still nice. He overlooked the color, loved that thing.

Back to the task at hand. After several miles in No Man's Land I was getting the hang of the beast, he making me stop, learn how to use the clutch, proceed. But then his wicked sense of humor took over, and he began to take his tyrolean hat off his head, and smash it upon mine, driving it down over my eyes, blinding me, forcing me to weave uncontrollably. And he laughing his ass off. I would pull it off, proffer it back. And he would do it again. This went on for the next 12 miles, long after we'd left the Straightaway for Georgia 17.

He eventually tired of the sport, and settled in. And when we arrived home I was forced to go try on the suit, and model, nay, parade it around for me mom. The Senator dodged serious mommy asskicking that night once he explained my superior driving abilities, and dashing figure in a nice new Harold X suit. How? I do not know. But now every time I buy a new suit, I am tempted to take a hat with me and smash it upon my head as I drive home with my fancy new threads. Kind of a bond from beyond.

Happy Halloween

As we operate our biz out of the upstairs unit of our building, which is on THE square in town, it is our duty, therefore, to hand out hundreds of dollars worth of candy to every child in town that ventures our way in costume.

...or not in costume.
...or teenaged and collecting it in their purse.
...or grown, not even attempting to dress up, but unemployed, and all about the hand out.

Fortunately though, it was mostly a kid thing.

And yes, I am finally posting a pic of the Priss. She is sort of disguised though. Miss Hula is handing out candy in the first pic, and gazing out the office window at the last of the trick-or-treaters in the second.

If I don't get back to you guys before Monday, hope you have a happy one.

Pimped!

Better than being knighted, right? Certainly more exclusive.

(This concludes my second in the series Pics in Lieu of Writing.)

The Moment of Truth

Only...

I don't know if this was the moment before or the moment after the now infamous Vdaddy attack.

Do you recall, Sammy Baby?

25K Question

Here are your clues:

A used Band-aid
Used dental floss
A used Q-tip
Toe nail clippings
A used Kleenex

Got it? What are...

Better Late Than Never? (Hopefully...)

I have caught a meme.

I took Echinacea and Zinc, drank herbal tea, and disinfected furiously, but apparently all that did was draw out the incubation.

Couldn't have caught it from a better fella, though. My hunky bro. My Elmo skinned fiery sofa screwin' hero!

Symptoms of this "meme" virus include revealing stuff about yourself that you would usually only reveal after several martinis. "Myself" can be boring, so I shall try to be brief, given the lengthy questions. This for you ADD turkeys, but if you want details, lemme know... I can rock on.

What were three of the stupidest things you have done in your life?
(Or in my case, what three things have you done that are so stupid that they almost got you killed?)

1. Climbed the wrong side of Stone Mountain. The side with the faces. No equipment. No brains, apparently. (I was 17.) Damn steep. Woulda been evicted from the park if caught fo sho, and yet, I found myself wishing for a helicopter rescue. ...Ended up climbing the sewage lines - out of desperation - to get up to the fence at the top. (The sign on the other side of the fence read "DANGER: Do not go beyond this point." ...This, btw, accounts for my fear of heights.)

2. Electrocution by percolator. Tip: Do not plug cord into wall before plugging into metal percolator, particularly if you have a wet countertop. It fucking hurts. I am told that I am alive thanks to my GFCI surge protectors.

3. I forget this one. I think I killed the brain cells responsible for that particular memory, but I'm pretty sure it had something to do with wrong place, wrong time, etc.

At the current moment, who has the most influence in your life?
My daughter. Not because of her wisdom, still budding, as opposed to her sass, which hopefully has peaked, but because every major decision that I make is centered around this child of mine. And maybe one day, she'll even appreciate it. (Or not...)

If you were given a time machine that functioned, and you were
allowed to only pick up to five people to dine with, who would you pick?

1. Jesus (of course)
2. Hemingway (my sick attraction to tormented souls)
3. FDR (to ask WTF?)
4. My great, great, great, great grandparents (I would give them some Nikes, a solar calculator, and the blueprints for the Model-T in exchange for their purchase of 10 acres, gulf front, to be deeded to their great granddaughter's eldest granddaughter's eldest daughter.)
5. My great, great, great, great grandchildren (Just want to see what they will look like, and have them bring me a few historical almanacs. Sports, lotto numbers, etc.)

If you had three wishes that were not supernatural, what would they
be?

1. Well, I'd rather not be deformed. Naturally. Although, I will readily admit that it could be worse. And one could argue that the wish would be better spent adopting a great talent. Hey, it was a tough call.

2. Money honey. Not so that I could be rich and sit on my ass, but so that I could build all of the ideas that are stuck in my head, tormenting me. I feel certain that I could turn 50 million into 500 million in ten years or less. (Don't believe me? Loan me $50 mil. I'll even cut you in on the profits, generous soul that I am.)

3. Can't I PLEASE have the power of suggestion? You know, so that I can control political decisions without ever having to leave my living room?? It's not really supernatural. Not like flying or being amphibious... (If the answer is NO!, then I'll settle for being a guy for a week. A fine honey. I don't want to commit; I just want to see how the other half lives.)

Name two things you regret your city not having, and two things people should
avoid.

A theater would be nice. Shit, a Taco Bell would be nice...

Avoid the east side of town. Things happen there. Not pretty things. Oh, and don't get your script filled in town, unless you want the whole county to know what ya got.

Name one thing that has changed your life.
One thing? Marrying, mothering, foster parenting, blogging... Oh wait, was this supposed to be a change for the better? Heh. Of course, nothing is bigger or better than becoming a mommy.

Keep the virus alive. Swap spit with five hotties.
1. Elisson P.I.
2. Velocisizzle
3. Catdaddy
4. Random Petit-Ami
5. Red Hot Step Bro

If you've already done it, gimme yo link. If you don't want to do it, you should have thought about that before you strutted yo fine stuff all up in the blogosphere.

Get busy.

Are You Reading Me From Your Refrigerator?

So I hear I can get a refrigerator with a built in bar code scanner. All I have to do is scan the UPC label of my groceries as I run out, and the refrigerator will generate my grocery list.

Of course...It must be attached to a network printer.

What's up with that? I can get a refrigerator with a built in MP3 player, but no grocery list printer?

Man. Guess I'll be roughing it.

Or I could hire a network administrator... You know, so I can get my oven, refrigerator, washer, dryer, and light switches capable of Internet communication.

And I guess all the rest of you guys are just going to stand idly by while these so-called appliances take over the world?

I'm Off For the Weekend

Going to Vandy.

They're doing better than expected this year. Hopefully the Dawgs will take this serious-like, as I'd hate an embarrassment. You know...like going into the locker room at the half two, zip, Vandy. They worried me that day...

This was Vandy 03. See all that red? Where were their students, you ask? Oh, we passed them picnicking on the grassy knoll, as we made our way to the stadium.

Warning: This is Gross

10-12-05
Dinner at a Mexican restaurant: An enchilada a la carte for me, of which I ate half. (Thanks to my slothful thyroid, I must eat light these days, lest I balloon.) And Shrek ordered a huge combo platter, nachos, cheese, and then ended up finishing up Priss's quesadilla. (We did abstain from margaritas though.)

Close to Midnight: Shrek retires to the bedroom with a glass of fruit juice, and I, of course, bum a sip.

10-13-05
3 am: I am awakened, even out of my Tylenol PM induced REM-coma, by sounds of violent retching. Violent. Hu-eggggh...splash. Hu-egggggh...splash. This happened, oh, about a dozen times.

3:05 am: I try to muster compassion as I envision the queso-gastric smoothie splattering the lid of the porcelain throne. I did. I tried. But all that came out when he re-entered the room was, "FUCK! I can't believe I drank after you...Dammmmmit!"

Oh, I was nice about it. Eventually. In fact, right after I exclaimed, "Eeew, it stinks. Did you flush?," I asked, "Are you better now? Can I get you anything?"

See. I came around. I must admit, though, wee hours of morn are not the best hours for consciousness in my book. They seem to be, however, the preferred hours for projectile vomiting, no?

Why is that? And why did I have to drink after him? Dammit.

My Camera Loved Da Mullet

Be gone paparazzi! Can't you see the Mullet is entertaining?

Ah yes. Crowd around. There is enough Mullet for all...

It was definitely the power of the tats.

(Okay, so I got pulled in as well...)

Wardrobe:
Zonkwear provided by the Metro, the Blightess, and Me.
Princess tiara provided by the Omnibus Driver.

Noooooo...!

I don't usually Hollywood blog, but I'll make an exception for my childhood crush. Well, crushes to be precise, as I had two: Remington Steele and David Addison. That would be Pierce Brosnan and Bruce Willis, respectively, for those of you who do not share my 80s-scented puppy love.

So, imagine my glee when my boy Pierce became the next James Bond, 007 numba five, and this was, IMHO, the finest casting since Connery. The man oozes Bond. He nails it. He has the look. The smirk alone seals the deal. What more can I say?

Except: WTF is this? Look, I have nothing against this Daniel Craig fellow. He is a cutie, he has the accent, I'm sure he'd do in a pinch, and I really don't give a rat's ass that he's blonde.

But we are not in a pinch! I have my Bond! Don't fix what ain't broke. I fully expected him to continue the role until he is too aged to pull it off.

"But he's asking for more money!"

Why, you don't say! Really? Is he now? I have a simple solution to that problem: Pay. The. Man.

'kay? That way everybody can go home happy. I hate to be a baby about this, but no Pierce, no shellin' out $9 bucks for the theater. (It'll hit TMC eventually.)

Geez. I feel dirty. I blogged Hollywood. Understand, I had to. For Remington.

(...what an endorsement. And I don't even get a kick-back.)

More Blogmeet Pics?

You never know who you'll catch sharing a bed at these things:

Oh, and check out the view from my room!

(Chalet Kristi, Animal Kingdom Lodge... Not that different. What can I say? I love animals.)

A Merciful Pic

Side-splitting pics to follow, courtesy me.

This one is my girl and my boy, courtesy The Kind Photographer.

Again, this is an example of a kind shot. My pics? Heh. Well, I've provided a teaser in the extended entry:

I Survived Disneyworld!

And all I got was a coupla bruised feet and a depleted bank account. Oh, and a hankerin' for a highly addictive drink called Nami-nami (sp?), which tasted like a frozen bananas foster, and was served at the tiki bar by da pool at the overpriced, yet kid kool resort where we stayed.

(Pics of Disney and blogmeet to be simultaneously developed within the week.)

Get 'er Done!

Due to time constraints tomorrow and mind numbness today, I shall attempt a Cliff Note summary of the blogmeetus uptus.

Friday, the party was indeed at our place. My gurlfriend honey sweetie brought the yummy, non-twinkie tasting cupcakes, the metro-mutant boytoy brought the now infamous punch, and my next-life fiance made a wonderful pot pie, one which had us all in a fork-fight for seconds, behaving as though we had just seen food for the first time.

And I'm sure pics of the burfday gifts will be scattered far and wide. The princess tiara is from Leslie, who came bearing gifts for all. Including chocolates. From which I attempted to abstain, but thankfully, it was forced upon me. Leslie is the sweetie who screws up our Yankee stereotypes. She and her traveling companion, Buckaroo Bonsai, are both of the supah friendly sort, definite bringers of the bloglove.

The other piece of headwear came from the Velociraptor: I am now the proud owner of an adorable, red straw pimpette hat. Well, was. Miss Priss stole that little piece of cuteness before I could even get in the house from the trip. "Cool!" said she, placing it on her head, "What else did you get me?"

Da Zonkmeister-mullethead! Now, he was a lot more fun to outfit. Kel and I gifted him with the "Motorhead Bastard" tee and the humungo silver-framed Elvis style glasses, which might I add, offer 100% UV protection. And Vman gifted the ultimate: the tattoo sleeves that had the ladies drooling. Yes, myself included. The power of the mullet ensemble was simple overpowering. I was caressing the tattoos, in fact, when the Single White Wife exclaimed with beautiful Scottese, "Be carleful! You'rde going to EX-CIIITE 'im!" Heh. Ya gotta love her. And the hubbie with the pretty freckled belly too. It was good to see them both. (I wonder if Dax ever got around to making that "red, buttery slipper" that she was asking for. Oh, and I want one too.)

Dax and Donnie are the strong, silent type fellas in da crowd. So good to see my bro again. I only momentarily considered placing bets on who would win should these two hunks brawl. I quickly decided I'd rather them both have my back, should anyone give me any trouble.

Speaking of gifts, due to Donnie's new ranking among his peeps, Zonk and I gifted him with a jewel Elmer glued encrusted PIMP cup, fit for kings.

I would provide links in an effort to showcase all of these splendid gifts, but my guess is that someone will have the actual pics up before day's end. Mine? They'll be up in a week (or two).

So, I believe I was on Saturday now, though I neglected to mention Denny, prince of my sofa Friday night. He was in awesome spirits. Also a must-love individual, he had every girl in the place at his beck and call, fetching him punch and laughing at his one-liners.

After only a handful of meets together, I have developed a serious addiction for my cyber-mate, the one and only Sammy Baby. He is, frankly, the nicest badass you could ever hope to meet. Gotta love 'im. And for him, I stood on the downside of the slope, so that he didn't have to wear out his tip-toes. The highlight of the trip: I have the cutest pic of Sam and Donnie laying on their bellies, heads propped on hands, in uh... Who's room was that? Anyway, that pic later. What I wish I had a pic of happened 30 seconds later, and cannot be described. Suffice it to say that if you ever want Sam to move at lightning speed, you need only to let Velociman mount him from the backside.

Elisson will not say so on his blog, but he is a P.I. living in Miami. Well, that's my story and I'm stickin' to it. He and his wife, btw, look SO adorable together that I was stunned to discover that they have been wed going on three decades! Very impressive. Elisson and I bonded over headwear. He was pimped. I was P.I.ed. If I had the constitution of the Velocibride, we coulda bonded over that wicked drink of his, but uh, seriously, I was afraid to smell it. I did, however, look at it, so I figure I get partial credit. I'm thinking Moogie shoulda had one or ten of those things, as she did not dance on the table with a lampshade over her head, as I was hoping she would. But we had a good time, and I'm glad she was there, and we can't always wear the life-a-da-party crown. Riiiight Georgia? Heh. Nevermind. She totally wore dat crown. Good to see her and Rick, and they even brought Acidman. Acidhead, in fact, has formally apologized, proclaimed the priceless value of my enviable friendship, and sworn never again to piss in my Wheaties, at least not while I'm looking.

Side-note regarding lost and found: As far as I know, everything has reached its rightful owner. But as of Saturday morning, us cabin gurls had an extra pair of swimmin' trunks, Sam had Vman's shirt (and his monkey), Shoe had Zonk's pickle, and Velociman was MIA in Shoe's pajamas.

In other words...Killer meet. We partied til near dawn every night, and still...It just wasn't enough time, and I fear many of us suffer PBD, as mentioned by my Blight gurl in my Shoe gurl's comments.

And so... What to do now???

Hell, I'm going to Disneyworld.

(Heh. No joke. The Priss is out of school, and we are booked. Leaving tomorrow. Will lurk tonight, and will be posting again in a week. And hey, no posting of unflattering pics while I'm gone!)

I LOVE YOU MAN!!

Blogmeets, they are beautiful things. When we are not threatening to beat one another's asses, we are the lovingest buncha fools you could evah hope to meet.

Admittedly, I was at times wishing for a tranquilizer gun, so I could put everyone down at 2am, particularly my giggly-assed roomies*, who had me laughing in my sleep, even as the dark of night began to lighten a shade or two.

And this wouldn't have been so rough, had the cabinhold not seen fit to wake at 9am. I sat at that hour, scowling at them for a few in disbelief, wondering if they were serious, but then I relented, had to get up, for the same reason they did...

Might miss something! Peeps to pimp, pimps to pose, mullets to love, punch to infuse!*

And then it must end, and the end is tragic. I'm guessing it's like separating siamese twins. The freaks must be divided, but it feels kinda weird.

(*Links to be added tomorrow, along with a decent sum-up, when both my computer and my brain are not operating at dial-up speed.)