Is at Yellow.
That's below red, right?
Sunday, March 20, 2005
Oh, That's What That Smell Was
I called the Hubby at lunch (is this day EVER going to end?!), the Stepson and him are attacking Jimmy's room ("don't throw away any books!" my only demand). They found a dead squirell in his closet. I'm glad I'm at work.
It hasn't been there a long, long time (as I informed the Hubby). We did look for it when the smell first arose (ha! arose! ha!), but since we couldn't find what was causing it, we assumed it was either under the house, or a passing skunk.
I don't really understand how it could stay there - I have dogs who would think they're in heaven if presented some dead thing - and happily roll in it. It's the ultimate chew toy.
Thank God I won't have to worry about rotting floors anymore. I never considered anything but our cats coming up through the hole in the bathroom floor.
It hasn't been there a long, long time (as I informed the Hubby). We did look for it when the smell first arose (ha! arose! ha!), but since we couldn't find what was causing it, we assumed it was either under the house, or a passing skunk.
I don't really understand how it could stay there - I have dogs who would think they're in heaven if presented some dead thing - and happily roll in it. It's the ultimate chew toy.
Thank God I won't have to worry about rotting floors anymore. I never considered anything but our cats coming up through the hole in the bathroom floor.
Saturday, March 19, 2005
I Scared Myself This Weekend
I mean my weekend, Thursday and Friday. And I really don't know how to explain it. I'm not that great a writer, and I don't really understand why anybody would want to read about me.
I know I've mentioned this before, I don't explode - I implode. As you know, my old house has been moved - and will ultimately become my stepsons, and we are all living at the M-in-L's until the new house is up and ready. Hindsight being 20/20: I could have saved myself a lot of trouble if I stayed in a hotel. Now, mind you, I'm not saying this is the way it is - it's my perception (colored by my depression) It's been pretty much hell on me (again - my perception). I'm not a girly-girl. I'm not good at cooking, cleaning or any of the sterotypical woman stuff. And I'm the moron of the family - and have absolutely no status with the stepson. So the stepson, who's in an all-fired hurry to move in, and his friends started cleaning. This is Monday. I work, and have an approximately 90 mile round trip commute. I'm tired when I get home. They're not good excuses, but they're mine. Anyway, the Hubby told me to see if they needed help and to oversee what they're doing. The first thing that went wrong was some stuff in the fridge I had declared trash (old yogurt, old bottles of -----), the Hubby asked the M-in-L if it was still good. Then the stepson said they didn't need help, and since they are (technically) adults decided they didn't need a babysitter. I was wrong. They ended up declaring just about everything trash - and I had to dig around in the pit the Hubby had dug to get things out. I lost a lot of my knitting magazines that had slipped of the futon in the move. (I felt like) Everything was my fault. The Hubby would be SO much better off without me (I told myself). There was just no reason for living. So when everyone else was getting dinner - I went to my car and got my Springfield XD Subcompact 9mm out of the little safe in the trunk. I crossed the hay field. I crossed the field where the late F-in-L had planned to put a new pond. I went to the little wooded area beyond. It had an ancient pond, the old dam busted, but the pond not quite dry. I sat on a mossy rock. I put the gun to my head. It just fit so perfectly.
But I was unable to put my finger on the trigger, even though I was screaming at myself to do it. It just seemed so messy. So, I went back to the house, feeling like a failure. The M-in-L griped at me because I didn't feel like eating. I told the Hubby a day or two later.
Right now, I don't know where my Springfield is. That's a good thing right now. The problem is, that was actually my plan B. It just presented itself first.
And that's where we are. I'm not suicidal right now. I'm thinking I ought to go to the doctor, even though the antidepressants on the formulary suck. And while I don't like myself much, I don't hate myself right now, either.
And...
I'm still here.
I know I've mentioned this before, I don't explode - I implode. As you know, my old house has been moved - and will ultimately become my stepsons, and we are all living at the M-in-L's until the new house is up and ready. Hindsight being 20/20: I could have saved myself a lot of trouble if I stayed in a hotel. Now, mind you, I'm not saying this is the way it is - it's my perception (colored by my depression) It's been pretty much hell on me (again - my perception). I'm not a girly-girl. I'm not good at cooking, cleaning or any of the sterotypical woman stuff. And I'm the moron of the family - and have absolutely no status with the stepson. So the stepson, who's in an all-fired hurry to move in, and his friends started cleaning. This is Monday. I work, and have an approximately 90 mile round trip commute. I'm tired when I get home. They're not good excuses, but they're mine. Anyway, the Hubby told me to see if they needed help and to oversee what they're doing. The first thing that went wrong was some stuff in the fridge I had declared trash (old yogurt, old bottles of -----), the Hubby asked the M-in-L if it was still good. Then the stepson said they didn't need help, and since they are (technically) adults decided they didn't need a babysitter. I was wrong. They ended up declaring just about everything trash - and I had to dig around in the pit the Hubby had dug to get things out. I lost a lot of my knitting magazines that had slipped of the futon in the move. (I felt like) Everything was my fault. The Hubby would be SO much better off without me (I told myself). There was just no reason for living. So when everyone else was getting dinner - I went to my car and got my Springfield XD Subcompact 9mm out of the little safe in the trunk. I crossed the hay field. I crossed the field where the late F-in-L had planned to put a new pond. I went to the little wooded area beyond. It had an ancient pond, the old dam busted, but the pond not quite dry. I sat on a mossy rock. I put the gun to my head. It just fit so perfectly.
But I was unable to put my finger on the trigger, even though I was screaming at myself to do it. It just seemed so messy. So, I went back to the house, feeling like a failure. The M-in-L griped at me because I didn't feel like eating. I told the Hubby a day or two later.
Right now, I don't know where my Springfield is. That's a good thing right now. The problem is, that was actually my plan B. It just presented itself first.
And that's where we are. I'm not suicidal right now. I'm thinking I ought to go to the doctor, even though the antidepressants on the formulary suck. And while I don't like myself much, I don't hate myself right now, either.
And...
I'm still here.
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
Just Too funny
Home-Schoolers Hold National Basketball Tournament In OKC
Says Tyler Heath:
Tyler Heath, who plays for a team from Midland-Odessa, Texas, said he is learning a lot by watching his peers.
"(We're) getting to play against people better than (us) and seeing what they are doing ... seeing how we can improve our game," Heath said.
You can get the same thing, every day, without leaving your city, county, state, whatever - by just being in a public school! Meet new people! Different colors! Different religions! Different views! It's called life - real people, real situations. You can't hide your head in your little Stepford (original movie - not the remake) universe. At some point in time, you're going to butt your head into the rest of us - the great unwashed.
Oh, and to whether I've accepted Jesus as my saviour - maybe yes, maybe no. It's none of your damn business.
Oh, and I already know there's lots of reasons for homeschooling (see my third grade below). Get off my ass!
Says Tyler Heath:
Tyler Heath, who plays for a team from Midland-Odessa, Texas, said he is learning a lot by watching his peers.
"(We're) getting to play against people better than (us) and seeing what they are doing ... seeing how we can improve our game," Heath said.
You can get the same thing, every day, without leaving your city, county, state, whatever - by just being in a public school! Meet new people! Different colors! Different religions! Different views! It's called life - real people, real situations. You can't hide your head in your little Stepford (original movie - not the remake) universe. At some point in time, you're going to butt your head into the rest of us - the great unwashed.
Oh, and to whether I've accepted Jesus as my saviour - maybe yes, maybe no. It's none of your damn business.
Oh, and I already know there's lots of reasons for homeschooling (see my third grade below). Get off my ass!
Tuesday, March 15, 2005
Sunday, March 13, 2005
Breaking News
I called the Hubby like I usually do at lunch. He says our bassetts, Bubba and Cooter are missing at the M-in-L's! He's frantic. I'm like 45 miles away (at least) and can't help him. I just hope they're wandering around the M-in-L's 40 acres and ignoring the Hubby's cries.
They're kinda good at that.
UPDATE: Cooter's returned, but not Bubba (yet).
UPDATE2: Bubba came back sometime between my last break and when I got to the M-in-L's house.
They're kinda good at that.
UPDATE: Cooter's returned, but not Bubba (yet).
UPDATE2: Bubba came back sometime between my last break and when I got to the M-in-L's house.
Saturday, March 12, 2005
Brown Sheep News
We closed on the house Thursday. I'm in a goodly bit of debt for the next 20 years.
There was a little bit of exitement regarding the moving of the hovel. There's some official form you have to get from the county. To get said form you have to provide: the title, where it's being moved to, in whose name it's going, and the current years taxes. Pretty cut and dried.
Except, I never got a title. Being the brown sheep of the family (i.e., not good enough to be white, not bad enough to be black), my Dad cosigned for the hovel - this being just before Mama's stroke. Then we had problems. No, I'm not making excuses for it. Jesus God, as depressed as I am, I couldn't begin to put a positive spin on it. Let's just say, right now I don't feel like a complete WHB (worthless human being). Let's let the past be the past.
I end up having to call my sister, to see what was going on (Mama put her on their account way before her stroke). Turns out, it was supposed to be repossessed, but they didn't do it, my sister says, because it didn't look like it was worth anything.
Me and the Hubby don't really understand that. It looks perfectly fine (well except for the skirting, but that's not a part of the house) on the outside. It's the inside that's falling apart. Odd.
Back to the present, we're pitching a fit because it doesn't look like we can move the hovel for the nice, new house. I called the mobile home place and they suggested we move it to the side for now and go on with the new house. OK. We call the trucker to suggest that, and the Hubby tells him that if he had his druthers, he would hook the house up to the John Deere and move it to the M-in-L's down country roads. "You can do that?" the trucker asked. Yeah, the hubby tells him there's only the one major road to cross and one corner that may be tight. "Oh, I can do that."
Cool. Dodged a bullet there. Now the front and back porch is gone (thanks to my stepson, his friends and beer), with just a few cinder blocks for stairs. Now we have to move all the trash, leaves and such that accumulated under the porch in the last 10 years.
The hovel gets moved Monday. The guy putting in the concrete runners can't come until the end of the week, and it takes, roughly, 5 days to dry (weather permitting). So the earliest the house will be delivered will be the end of next week. We'll be staying at the M-in-L's until it's ready.
There was a little bit of exitement regarding the moving of the hovel. There's some official form you have to get from the county. To get said form you have to provide: the title, where it's being moved to, in whose name it's going, and the current years taxes. Pretty cut and dried.
Except, I never got a title. Being the brown sheep of the family (i.e., not good enough to be white, not bad enough to be black), my Dad cosigned for the hovel - this being just before Mama's stroke. Then we had problems. No, I'm not making excuses for it. Jesus God, as depressed as I am, I couldn't begin to put a positive spin on it. Let's just say, right now I don't feel like a complete WHB (worthless human being). Let's let the past be the past.
I end up having to call my sister, to see what was going on (Mama put her on their account way before her stroke). Turns out, it was supposed to be repossessed, but they didn't do it, my sister says, because it didn't look like it was worth anything.
Me and the Hubby don't really understand that. It looks perfectly fine (well except for the skirting, but that's not a part of the house) on the outside. It's the inside that's falling apart. Odd.
Back to the present, we're pitching a fit because it doesn't look like we can move the hovel for the nice, new house. I called the mobile home place and they suggested we move it to the side for now and go on with the new house. OK. We call the trucker to suggest that, and the Hubby tells him that if he had his druthers, he would hook the house up to the John Deere and move it to the M-in-L's down country roads. "You can do that?" the trucker asked. Yeah, the hubby tells him there's only the one major road to cross and one corner that may be tight. "Oh, I can do that."
Cool. Dodged a bullet there. Now the front and back porch is gone (thanks to my stepson, his friends and beer), with just a few cinder blocks for stairs. Now we have to move all the trash, leaves and such that accumulated under the porch in the last 10 years.
The hovel gets moved Monday. The guy putting in the concrete runners can't come until the end of the week, and it takes, roughly, 5 days to dry (weather permitting). So the earliest the house will be delivered will be the end of next week. We'll be staying at the M-in-L's until it's ready.
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
Kinda Sad Today...
One funny thing happened this week. My son, who, yes, joined the Navy, evidently is not cutting his hair until he reports. So right now, he looks like a Beatle. I like it, the Hubby doesn't. Now his McJob has rules about hair, rules that Jimmy and his Beatle hair have gone way beyond. They haven't said anything to him, well, that he's told me about. I suspect their view is, "Hey, he works. Who gives a flip about his hair?"
Well, I went there to get food, because I hate to cook and the Hubby wasn't feeling good. I didn't see Jimmy. Most of the kids there I recognize, even though I don't know them. There was this one kid I didn't recognize, had a teeny pony tail sticking out of their hat. Yeah, it was Jimmy. I smiled, I laughed and he gave me dirty looks. I have since gotten a hand-me-down camera phone, so I mistakenly told him I ought to take a picture. He said, "You don't...Oh you do! Get away!" After that, he was never close enough to get a picture. Darn.
I guess I can't blog about work anymore. Not that I ever did a whole lot of it. I may not like my job, but I need it. Darn.
And yeah, I'm feeling a little sad today. Yeah, I should probably be on an antidepressant. but I've been on all that's on my formulary. Maybe I should go back on the one that works that's on the formulary and say the hell with a sex drive. Part of me thinks I deserve to be happy, that I'm a worthwhile person. Part of me just doesn't think I matter a damn.
Oh well, life goes on.
Well, I went there to get food, because I hate to cook and the Hubby wasn't feeling good. I didn't see Jimmy. Most of the kids there I recognize, even though I don't know them. There was this one kid I didn't recognize, had a teeny pony tail sticking out of their hat. Yeah, it was Jimmy. I smiled, I laughed and he gave me dirty looks. I have since gotten a hand-me-down camera phone, so I mistakenly told him I ought to take a picture. He said, "You don't...Oh you do! Get away!" After that, he was never close enough to get a picture. Darn.
I guess I can't blog about work anymore. Not that I ever did a whole lot of it. I may not like my job, but I need it. Darn.
And yeah, I'm feeling a little sad today. Yeah, I should probably be on an antidepressant. but I've been on all that's on my formulary. Maybe I should go back on the one that works that's on the formulary and say the hell with a sex drive. Part of me thinks I deserve to be happy, that I'm a worthwhile person. Part of me just doesn't think I matter a damn.
Oh well, life goes on.
Sunday, March 06, 2005
This Is Where I Butt In
From the Chicago Tribune:
6-year-old suspended after mother refuses to spank him for numerous disciplinary infractions; instead she yanks him from school
This gets personal for me.
I started out loving school. I adored my first or second grade teacher. My third grade, if I figured it out right, was the '67/'68 school year, my world went straight to hell.
You have to bear with me, I don't remember it first person. When Mama would tell it, and I imagine her memory was alive and vivid, it would always start by her trying to tell my third grade teacher how best to teach me. She got the "are YOU a teacher?" speech.
One day, I came home crying. Mama was still at work, and this was when Grandma was living with us. I had been spanked for not finishing my work. I don't think it was just once, but I just don't remember. I told Grandma what happened, and I guess, Mama, when she got home. I have never seen my Mother so angry, either before or afterwards. An anger that would never die. The anger you see when you come between a polar bear and her cub. So, yeah, she kind of ripped the principal and the teacher ( I think her name was Mrs. Dickenson) a new one.
It effected the rest of my life. It caused my first depression. It would last until I was around 20/21. I got fat. I went way beyond just being shy. School for me was over. I wasn't stupid enough to drop out, but it was kinda like being in prison. I don't think I did a lick of homework ever again. I would fake stomache aches every now and then to get out of school (God knows how Mama knew it was real when I got appendicitis).
I can still tick off everything that went through my child's mind.
I knew my parents did everything in their power to try to make me happy. Did they do too much? Did they make my life too safe? Well, in the scheme of things, probably. But I don't think they felt like they had a choice.
Oh, and about Grandma, she was the ONE person I could be myself with, and being myself was ok.
6-year-old suspended after mother refuses to spank him for numerous disciplinary infractions; instead she yanks him from school
This gets personal for me.
I started out loving school. I adored my first or second grade teacher. My third grade, if I figured it out right, was the '67/'68 school year, my world went straight to hell.
You have to bear with me, I don't remember it first person. When Mama would tell it, and I imagine her memory was alive and vivid, it would always start by her trying to tell my third grade teacher how best to teach me. She got the "are YOU a teacher?" speech.
One day, I came home crying. Mama was still at work, and this was when Grandma was living with us. I had been spanked for not finishing my work. I don't think it was just once, but I just don't remember. I told Grandma what happened, and I guess, Mama, when she got home. I have never seen my Mother so angry, either before or afterwards. An anger that would never die. The anger you see when you come between a polar bear and her cub. So, yeah, she kind of ripped the principal and the teacher ( I think her name was Mrs. Dickenson) a new one.
It effected the rest of my life. It caused my first depression. It would last until I was around 20/21. I got fat. I went way beyond just being shy. School for me was over. I wasn't stupid enough to drop out, but it was kinda like being in prison. I don't think I did a lick of homework ever again. I would fake stomache aches every now and then to get out of school (God knows how Mama knew it was real when I got appendicitis).
I can still tick off everything that went through my child's mind.
- Even though Mama constantly told me how good I was, or pretty or whatever - I didn't believe a word of it. Parents are supposed to say things like that.
- I adored and envied my sister. She was prettier than me, smarter than me, thinner than me, outgoing. I just plain wanted to be her. I tried to be her, and did a piss poor job of it.
- I just didn't fit in with anybody in my family, or extended family (except for Grandma). Mama, Daddy, and my sister all had brown eyes, I have green. They were thin and I was fat (Daddy didn't count on this one). They were smart and I was dumb. They were talkative and I was shy.
I knew my parents did everything in their power to try to make me happy. Did they do too much? Did they make my life too safe? Well, in the scheme of things, probably. But I don't think they felt like they had a choice.
Oh, and about Grandma, she was the ONE person I could be myself with, and being myself was ok.
Saturday, March 05, 2005
I Don't Feel Right
The hubby says I want something to be wrong. I have to say that's partially true. I've gained around 40 pounds in one year, when I've been pretty steady the 10 years we've been together. I used to be able to walk all day, now I'm wiped out after a little bit - and really achy afterwards. Maybe it is that I'm just fat and don't exercize enough. But, I feel, something changed in the last year.
Let's see, I changed to and after a while stopped taking, Zoloft (big waste of time). My hours changed from evening shift (me and the hubby used to do some running around before work) to morning shift (I come home and sit, wiped out). I'm not going back to an evening shift. Let's just say, when I shift bid, it's more for which supervisor I want, than hours. Besides, the dog usually wants up (and out) at 5:00 am anyway.
It just seems odd to me. Not necessarily that something's wrong, but NOT RIGHT.
Let's see, I changed to and after a while stopped taking, Zoloft (big waste of time). My hours changed from evening shift (me and the hubby used to do some running around before work) to morning shift (I come home and sit, wiped out). I'm not going back to an evening shift. Let's just say, when I shift bid, it's more for which supervisor I want, than hours. Besides, the dog usually wants up (and out) at 5:00 am anyway.
It just seems odd to me. Not necessarily that something's wrong, but NOT RIGHT.
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
It's Easy!! All You Do Is...
You show your driver's liscense at the gate, and you're IN LIKE FLINT!
Or...maybe not.
fishbowlDC's quest for a day pass.
Via Atrios.
UPDATE: Strike Two.
Or...maybe not.
fishbowlDC's quest for a day pass.
Via Atrios.
UPDATE: Strike Two.
Damn! I'm Good!
Shamelessly copying from Corndoggerel:
From The Gematriculator:
I think it's being generous, but, hey, it's the expert!
From The Gematriculator:
I think it's being generous, but, hey, it's the expert!
The Hubby's Bad Day
Yesterday just started out wrong. I was going to put cooter out to potty (because he doesn't run away like Bubba). And there was Cheyenne (the wolf hybrid - see November archive). Cooter yelps and runs away down the hall, Bubba starts his horn-dawg whine. I shut the door quickly. She had snapped her cable. I woke Randy up and put Cheyenne on the leash and brought her in the house. Then I went to Wally-World to buy a new cable. Of course, they only had one type - for dogs under 70lbs. Yay. Well, it'll be a stop gap measure, I told myself. Got her hooked up, everything good, I went to work (stopping to vote along the way).
On my first break, the Hubby told me he had to have Heidi (our 10 year + Sheppard mix, aka the smart one) put to sleep. Heart worms and congestive heart failure. She had been declining fast the past few weeks, so I knew it was inevitable. She was a good dog; a mean puppy; and smart as a whip. When she was almost a year old, the Hubby had to have his galbladder removed. While we were in the hospital, John, the Hubby's dad, taught her some tricks: Sit up and shake she did for free, roll over, round and round, down and crawl she only did for treats. She will be missed.
And remember, this was just by my first break.
I should have called during my lunch, but I went to Wendy's instead. It didn't occur to me anything else could go wrong. It did.
The Hubby called me at around 1:30. He was in so much pain, he said, he could hardly move. He sounded like he was at death's door. Cheyenne had gotten loose again and attacked the neighbor's dog. COME HOME. That was easier said than done, but I was able to leave (making today - being my Friday - extra long).
When I got home I learned that Cheyenne had followed Max, the neighbors dog back home. Their 3-year old openned the door. Luckily, that scared her, and she ran home. That time she broke the loop on her collar, so the Hubby attached the cable directly to the collar. The Hubby said he almost killed her then and there. What were we going to do? We've been trying to give her away since Rogue was killed. She doesn't understand what she's doing. She's just protecting her area. Well you can probably see where this is going, we had her put down. I just don't understand. She's not viscious, but that said, she's attacked a dog, our cat Artie, and killed Rogue. But she loved Bubba, and us. Oh, we are, of course paying Max's vet bills, it's only fair.
We went from 4 dogs to 2 dogs in one day. The Hubby's calling himself a murderer.
Can we just stick to Dachshunds, Bassetts, and small-to-medium Heinz 57's?
On my first break, the Hubby told me he had to have Heidi (our 10 year + Sheppard mix, aka the smart one) put to sleep. Heart worms and congestive heart failure. She had been declining fast the past few weeks, so I knew it was inevitable. She was a good dog; a mean puppy; and smart as a whip. When she was almost a year old, the Hubby had to have his galbladder removed. While we were in the hospital, John, the Hubby's dad, taught her some tricks: Sit up and shake she did for free, roll over, round and round, down and crawl she only did for treats. She will be missed.
And remember, this was just by my first break.
I should have called during my lunch, but I went to Wendy's instead. It didn't occur to me anything else could go wrong. It did.
The Hubby called me at around 1:30. He was in so much pain, he said, he could hardly move. He sounded like he was at death's door. Cheyenne had gotten loose again and attacked the neighbor's dog. COME HOME. That was easier said than done, but I was able to leave (making today - being my Friday - extra long).
When I got home I learned that Cheyenne had followed Max, the neighbors dog back home. Their 3-year old openned the door. Luckily, that scared her, and she ran home. That time she broke the loop on her collar, so the Hubby attached the cable directly to the collar. The Hubby said he almost killed her then and there. What were we going to do? We've been trying to give her away since Rogue was killed. She doesn't understand what she's doing. She's just protecting her area. Well you can probably see where this is going, we had her put down. I just don't understand. She's not viscious, but that said, she's attacked a dog, our cat Artie, and killed Rogue. But she loved Bubba, and us. Oh, we are, of course paying Max's vet bills, it's only fair.
We went from 4 dogs to 2 dogs in one day. The Hubby's calling himself a murderer.
Can we just stick to Dachshunds, Bassetts, and small-to-medium Heinz 57's?
Am I Embarassed!
The 3/4 cent sales tax in Logan County passed. You can read the blurb here (registration - yuck - required). But let me save you the trouble. It passed 3131 (59.5%) to 2134 (40.5%). My guess is they won the surronding cities in Logan County (Crescent, Mulhall, Coyle and Langston) and lost Guthrie. Guthrie's moaning about lost sales because the tax would be too high just fell on deaf ears. Like I've said, most locals, except for some less mobile retirees, shop in OKC or Stillwater. And they should have decided the sales tax was too high at least a penny ago.
I guess this means I have to get my pizzas, and hamburgers in the city, also, before I get home.
It better be some really woopee-wow jail.
I guess this means I have to get my pizzas, and hamburgers in the city, also, before I get home.
It better be some really woopee-wow jail.
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
I Voted
Today's the day! The 3/4 cent sales tax referendum. I'd call it ill-conceived, but my husband disagrees. He thinks the County Commissioners are planning for this to go down in flames. That way they can say they did all they could, but, gosh darn it, they have to raise property taxes now.
Plausible.
I voted against anyway.
Plausible.
I voted against anyway.
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