Key Issues

Let's Freshify Things

Boy howdy, I hate to see a blog curl up and die due to neglect. And I speak not of Key Issues, but mine own.

Nonetheless, being of sober mind and evil merriment I found the skeleton key to this site in my waistcoat pocket, and thought I would bedevil the owner a bit. Heaven forfend I pollute my own site when the Muse is out whoring around, oblivious to my ministrations.

And so we will speak of the scours. Have you ever been to a 4-H function? Heart, Health, Whatever, Whatever. I forget the last two. Nonetheless, they are Healthy and Wholesome things. I have. Been to 4-H summer camps, and listened to kids talk about birthing mammals, and the suckling word was bandied about.

But let us cut to the chase. I promised you scours, we shall have scours.

When the Senator moved us to the Farm he bought some baby calves, which we would raise. Teach us Responsibility, and where the succulent meats come from. So far, so good. But calves get the scours, a viscious diarrhoea that causes said calf to expunge, at sound barrier velocities, excrement of a most foul nature.

My calf Clyde got the scours (named him after Clyde Barrow, having just seen Bonnie and Clyde at the nickleodeon in Statesboro that summer). Would explode a stream of Grey Poupon out of his rectum reminescent of a World War II flame thrower (aside: what ever happened to flame throwers? The Army phased them out. They're gone. Nothing says I got your number like incineration. But, again, that's just me).

I forget how we treated it. Electrolytes? I'm pretty sure we just let it work its way out.

The point? I do have one. Never ever give me your keys because you have a vacation coming up. And then forget I have them. I'm on eternal holiday. I have nothing but mischief up my sleeve. And if I were a betting man I would reckon this is my last post here. Just surmising.

Let It Ice

You peeps way up yonder, up to your bellybuttons in dry, fluffy snow?!

Got no sympathy for ya. Mother Nature just spanked Georgia. Cold. Wet. Icy. Nasty. Not one damn fluffy flake. Of course.

And yet, I still had to get out of bed.

Fortunately though, I am in better shape than my poor dogwood:

Ya Done Pissed Me Off

Every one of ya.

Cat asks in a comment if I'm mad with him.
Yep.
And for abandoning his url again... Donnie.
And Denny. And Donner and Blitzen.
...And Dancer, Prancer, and Vixen.

I'm mad at ya, and ya ain't gettin nuttin for Christmas!

Okay, okay.... So you weren't getting anything anyway. It's all I can do to round up the niceties for the obligatories in my life, even though I treasure you optionals with a fondness that most of them will never know. But I've been slammed. Doing the season right, I am: baking toffee and painting snowmen...

So Cat: I love you, man. And yeah, the others too...

Meanwhile, I'm sure that I have a reason to be pissed off with the Acidic One. I usually do. However, since I've been a horrible reader o blogroll lately, I'm not sure what that reason is... Besides, I need to get out of the doghouse for failing to snail mail when he was away from blogworld. I got out the purple stationery and stared at it, but nothing happened. So as penance, I offer (in the extended entry) a portrait of da blogfaddah that I penned with my very own mouse. And now, I must do Christmas cards. (No, not for you people! I did blodgers last year. This year, I must recognize family and people I keep saying I'll meet for lunch, but never do...)

Here da man is:

Fa La La La La

The other night I finished a box of cereal, and I was monumentally proud of myself. See? I can finish things that I start. Of course, some of the more involved projects, like, I dunno, blogging, have been shamefully ignored.

Regarding Priss: Two weeks ago, I was irritated with the child, yet unable to show it, due to this Santa deal that we adults have cursed ourselves with. I'm pretty sure I was being played.

The list was due early, so that Santa could order everything online. Of course, the day after all was painstakingly price-compared, found to be in stock, and ordered, Miss Priss decided she would like to revise her list, and so, a new one would need to be emailed to Santa.

"NO!" I say. "Too late. Santa's done with you." "No problem," she informs me. "Santa's magic. Hey, it's not like you're having to pay for it or anything..."

Uh-huh... She is nine. Old enough to know the score; young enough to get away with playing dumb. Played.

Last week, the irritation continued. The child would not stay at school. I, therefore, could not stay at work. She looked okay to me. No fever. Off to school she goes! By ten, the nurse would call, and I would be summoned to collect the child.

WTF? I thought. When I was a kid, a fever or puking was the only way to get a ride home. In fact, I was constantly hacking up green shit, so I know that didn't work.

Nonetheless, gotta be good mommy. Pick up the babe. Gently remind her that a governmental nanny takes the roll every day, and regardless of her straight A's, if she would like to see the 5th grade, she must attend classes.

Well, she showed me.

Over the weekend, she spiked a fever of 101, that had risen to 103 by yesterday morning. Now, being attentive mommy, I had already taken her to the doc first thing Monday, and had since been shoving antibiotics down her throat and into her pitifully empty stomach.

Yesterday am, however, the tonsils were still huge, almost swollen together, and covered in white slime. Back to doc. More tests.

Good news! It's not strep! Bad news! It's not strep! Wha? ...No, it's worse. It's mono.

Greeeaaat.

So we were sent home with steroids, which, fortunately, have worked miracles. I was able to get her out of bed today, pick up homework assignments, and then finally darken the door to the office, where I haven't put in a full day in...weeks. Yep. Looks like the post office blew up in here.

So although I still very much love and miss all of my blogfriends, whom I am painfully neglecting, it may be the first of the year before I am able to catch up with my reading, even though I will steal time as I can.

I'm sure, however, that I'll be back before Christmas, so for now, I will simply wish you all a happy and peaceful shopping experience. Because even if the big tickets are ordered online, still gotta go out for stocking stuffers... And tape. And groceries. Fa la la la la!