Today I got up and started peeling apples. It started out good.

I made applesauce. But I over-processed it and it ended up like stage 1 baby food. Still tasted good if you can get past the texture.

I also made Asian style baked bean with apples from dried beans. I cooked them all day. Then right before dinner, I turned the burner up too high and burned them.

 I also made fudgy brownies. I didn’t cook those enough and the middle was a little too fudgy.

I spent most of my day in the kitchen and the kids had ramen noodles with frozen vegetables, sliced raw apples, and the outside edge of brownies for dinner.

The moral of the story? When life hands you apples, make compost.

There are about 10 billion dollars of uranium deposits hidden below the surface in the Piedmont area of Virginia. Even though many areas of Virginia are densely populated and prone to generous amounts of rainfall, resulting in washouts and flooding, it’s the perfect place to mine radioactive materials.

Even if there was a problem and the water supply was contaminated at some point in the 1000 years it would take for the uranium waste to become inactive, who really cares? How many people in the area around Richmond, Fredericksburg, and Virginia Beach would be affected anyway? As for the area being a watershed to the Chesapeake Bay, we all know the bay’s almost dead already. No need to worry about that either.

I know that there are adequate supplies of uranium from decommissioned warheads and reprocessed materials to supply our power plants but I’m thinking much bigger. We could base our company outside the USA and sell our uranium to the highest bidder! I hear there are plenty of people that could put our uranium to good use, once it’s refined properly.

Remember back in the 80’s when our parents’ generation opposed uranium mining in VA. The Virginia General Assembly put a moratorium on it. Those crazy hippies, they were citing something about public health and a safe environment for their children. There’s no reason to worry about that now. Our generation is too busy and apathetic for that foolishness. We could just sneak a mining permit or two right through. No one will notice.

When it’s all said and done, we can shut down our company and leave the mines. Let the Federal Government deal with it. Like they did with the old pyrite mine. Personally, I think having a creek with the pH of vinegar is beneficial. Especially if you like to pickle cucumbers. I’m sure a radioactive water supply could be useful too. No use in wasting our foreign corporate millions in profit on cleanup.

So how about it? Let’s build us a Uranium mine!

Piedmont Environmental Council
Virginia Conservation Network

“Obama won the election,” I told her.

She thought about it for a minute then she told me that she thought McCain would win. She wasn’t excited or disappointed. It was just how it was. Politics mean nothing to her. We got up and had breakfast and I wondered if I should explain the significance of this election. History had been made. I needed her to know that what happened last night would not have happened when I was her age. I wanted her to feel what I felt.

She ate her corn flakes as I thought about how to explain all this to her. She’s led a sheltered life. We’ve protected her. We’ve worked hard to make sure the harmful attitude and hateful words that were so much a part of our childhood had no place in hers, even when it was hard for us. I didn’t even know where to start but I wanted her to know.

She was combing her hair and I looked into her eyes. They were now full of energy and ready to take on the new day. I saw innocence and excitement and her wonderful sense of humor. She was mumbling to herself.

“McCain is insane and Obama ate your llama!” She shouted.

I saw a child that was far more concerned about finding the proper rhyme for the name Obama than making the color of his skin significant. I saw a sweetness that only exists in innocence. I saw what could be the future and it was beautiful just the way it was. I grabbed it and I kissed it right between the eyes. Then we went out to enjoy the leaves on a beautiful fall day.

Bad things happen

My iPod is fucking with me. I’m not joking. It’s been happening for awhile and now I’m getting pissed. Just this morning I was listening to my favorite music on random play. I was getting into my groove. Dancing around the kitchen. Doing the dishes. Next thing I know things start to get weird. I mean, one minute my iPod wanted to fuck me like an animal and the next minute a train was passing at the Rivanna Junction.

I didn’t know which way it was going!

I wasn’t sure what to do. Then my brain went all haywire. There were hobo’s fucking on trains. And animals getting closer to god. By the time I sorted everything out my brain was all sticky and it needed a shower with lots of soap.

Then my iPod wanted me to hold its hand. It kept asking me, “Hold my hand. Hold my hand.” I don’t have the hand attachment for my iPod. So I tucked it in my bra and stroked its volume button. I figured that was good enough. It promised to love me the best that it can. What more can you ask for?

It then told me that I could rely on the old mans money. The old man was down stairs pretending to tele-commute but he was really playing poker on his cell phone. I think it also called me a bitch. At this point I wasn’t going to argue because apparently my iPod is a country boy and somewhat religious. It wanted a fiddle and farming tools.

I’m not sure why my iPod is doing this to me. I’m a nice girl with good manners. I eat my vegetables and floss my teeth, sometimes. I deserve better than this. I’m not gonna take it anymore! I told my iPod so. It seems to have gotten the message. It’s moved on now. It has a new best girl. I think it’s trying to make me jealous. But really, I also have a guitar and it loves me way better than my iPod ever did. I can play it all day and its battery indicator never turns red at night. So fuck you iPod. Until you can act like you have a little common sense and start treating me right, We’re Through! Seriously, You ain’t ever caught a rabbit and you ain’t no friend of mine!

This post brought to you compliments of iPod random play, too many Reese’s cups and a couple cans of Dr. Pepper.

Song List

Closer –NiN
Steel Road – Tim Barry
Hold My Hand – Hootie and the Blowfish
Rich Girl – Hall & Oats
Thank God I’m A Country Boy – John Denver
We’re Not Gonna Take it – Twisted Sister
My Best Girl – Lucero
Red at Night – Gas Light Anthem
Hound Dog – Bryan Adam Tribute to Elvis

They didn’t seem to have any concerns about the fact that I found the recorded phone call rude. Nor did they seem surprised when I told them I did not appreciate the other phone calls I received with a recorded message of people screaming their “outrage” into my phone. Hummm.

I might need a new category for this. Any suggestions?

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[Update: Does spending a lot of time on something make it more worthwhile? Should you value something just because you've invested a good deal of time trying to make it right? How do you know when it's time to throw in the towel, let go, and move on to something new? It's a gamble. You can be content with working with what you have or scrap it and start new. Either way you lose something.]

I don’t think anyone wants to admit that they are prime fodder for ghouls, ghost, and ax murders. I think we all like to think we’re at least a little bad-ass and prepared for hostile alien attacks or marauding pirates. When I imagine my response to a sudden in home raid by homeland security, I’m swinging a frying pan and throwing apples at those asshats. Blood thirsty bat people attack while I’m hiking in the National Forest? No problem, I’m grabbing the nearest tree branch and going all Kung Foo on their ass. This belief gets me through my day. That and my box of wine I got from Target.

Unfortunately, my peace of mind has been lost. Well, I haven’t actually lost my mind. It’s more disrupted. You see, I’m actually not the least bit bad-ass when faced with make-believe goblins or bloody chain-saw hitchhikers. Shocking, yes? But it is true. I’ll give you examples.

Example 1 – I am cruising through Club Blood with my oldest when a man dressed in black with chains and a hood walks up beside me. He states that I should follow him “to my doom”. I say, “OK, but are you sure you’re giving me good advice” He starts to chuckle. I followed him anyway. And I liked it.

Example 2 – I am riding the electric cars through the woods at night. A bloody man with a chain saw walks up beside my car. He asked me if I would stop and give him a ride. I did stop and I told him “Sure, jump in” He looks at me funny then walks off. I honestly thought his shift was over and wanted a ride back to the station. Then I worried that I’d hurt his ego because I wasn’t scared of him.

There are more examples but I’ll just get depressed if I sit here and type them all out. Let’s just say if I ever had to protect my family from possessed clowns, my plan to throw a pot of boiling water on them then run out the back door to get the pick ax isn’t going to work out. I’d better have a backup plan. Like… feed them gingerbread and milk and sing lullabies until they fall asleep. Or scold them about dripping entrails on the carpet and sneak out the back door while they’re finishing up their bubble bath. I mean, bad-ass is one thing but I’d never pull it off. Might as well go with what works. What else can you do?

Last weekend I decided to watched The Dog Whisperer. There was a German Shepard that would bark and growl at everyone that went by the house and would even bark when people tried to walk upstairs. Cesar said the problem was they let the dog in the house first instead of making him wait until they went in. When they did that the dog though he was in charge.

I thought about it and my dog only barked when MyHusband wasn’t home and she was in the backyard. She was fine in the house or when we went on a walk. So I decided to try it. I made the dogs sit and be calm before I opened the back door then made them stay until I went out and called them. This supposedly made me the head dog of the pack and they could go about their business of chewing bones, chasing squirrels, and pooping without worrying about protecting me. It seems to have worked. I noticed a big change the first day and today she has not barked at anyone, even the bitchy neighbor that deserves to be barked at. I was impressed.

Now, my other dog has a problem of jumping on people. It isn’t the least bit aggressive she’s just being playful but it isn’t a good thing when small children come by. Even though she’s very gentle and hasn’t hurt anyone, I’m afraid she might. So I once again took Cesar’s advice and when she jumped I made her sit down and be still. It didn’t seem to help. So I stepped it up a notch and when she jumped I rolled her over onto her back and made her stay there until she settled down. I had to do this a few times because she’s a little slow. But, it seemed to work. She still gets ready to jump but as soon as I say ‘down’ she sits back down and doesn’t jump. I was impressed again.

So to the Dog Whisperer, I want to say Thank You. Now that I’m the head bitch around here things are much better. To the rest of you, I just want you to know this technique is for dogs and trying it on your husband can lead to very different results. But I do believe every wife should jump on top her husband and yell, “I’m the head bitch around here!” at least once. It’s so worth it.

Summary : Observations obtained on location at a local middle school

Conclusion: Those adolescents sure are funny.  With all rights reserved to change opinion in a few more years.

Field Notes:

Adolescent Subject A was standing with her mother and her little sister looking at books in the local middle school library. I observed an adolescent male approaching from the right. He was accompanied by another male of approximately the same age. I judged his age to be about 12.

Upon spotting Subject A the male subject lifts his head abruptly up then immediately dropped to stare intently at his feet. This was a signal to the accompanying male to mimic the same shoe staring action.

Subject A then looks up and sees the shoe staring young males and turns her head sharply to the left pretending not to see them.

At a distance of approximately 10 feet from Subject A the male subject mumbles “Hi Oldest” then immediately looks back at his shoes. Accompanying male never breaks the shoe staring pose.

Subject A looks over and mumbles “Hi Keith” then turns her head back to the left. Male subjects proceed forward and look at the stack of manga books.

Little sister appears to be aware that something is amiss but is unsure of the proper social response. So she takes a finger pointer and pretends to pick her nose. This is followed by about 10 minutes of all subjects ignoring each other.

Upon exiting the library the accompanying male looks up at subject A, grins, nods his head and says, “Hi”

Subject A nods but does not verbally acknowledge him. 

The male subject looks at the accompanying male, grin, and says, “That’s what I said”

They proceed to act like normal boys as they walked down the hall and out of the building.

Subject A then turns to her mother and says, “That was Keith.” Then she grins and quickly changes the subject.

Note: Keep an eye on this Keith dude.   

They swarm me at the grocery store, they put flyers in my mailbox, and they buzz around my ears with opinions that scare me. I’m not even going to mention the aesthetics of a denim jumper. I’ve put up with it for years and have alternated between anger, frustration, and pity. But I have grown and matured (a little) and today I find the whole fundie belief system has become a slight nuisance. Nothing more, nothing less. But, I do reserve the right to verbally attack when they push me too far.

So, today I sorted through mail and found a flyer for the hazardous waste collection day at our local landfill. I scanned the listed items and about half way through my jaw dropped and my eyes opened wide. I couldn’t believe what I saw.

FUNDICIDE!

They were collecting fundicide - a substance used to destroy or inhibit the growth of irrational fundamentalism. (Definition taken from my imaginary dictionary) I didn’t even know this stuff existed. Why has no one ever told me about this stuff? I could have put it to good use.

I was gonna make a picture to go with this but I’m not in the mood. Maybe later. Maybe not. I just checked and I haven’t made a picture for anything since July. I suck.

<= This is.  What’s yours?  Here’s a list

Sexual Style TYPE N

This means that:

You like relatively kinky sex, and you have the great imagination that will always keep your partner guessing and excited! There’s no getting bored with you around, you could never settle for dull sex, you want something fun and new all the time. You aren’t afraid to try out anything you hear about. You might just be an intelligent lover who needs to be mentally engaged, or perhaps you have some dirty dark secret kinky desires, but either way, you’re never boring.

You are pretty confident in bed. This means that you know you can please your lover. Maybe you’ve read a lot of sex manuals, or have the experience from previous lovers, or just tend to be skilled at whatever you get your hands on, but you’re good and you know it. You can really get results and know that you have pure talent, so you won’t be hiding away shy, pretending to be all innocent. Your partners love your naughty self assurance, you don’t hesitate and this makes you a sensational lover.

You tend to be submissive in bed, so you prefer to go along with what your lover likes rather than your own plans. You might like being ordered around and acting out a slave/master fantasy, or perhaps you just get turned on by being helpless and unable to move. Or maybe it’s as simple as you lacking courage so prefering firm instructions in bed to make sure you are doing things right. Either way, you won’t be dominating your lover anytime soon, and might prefer the missionary position to any others.

You prefer to give than recieve. This makes you a very unselfish lover, devoted to the needs of your partner rather than your own. You get your pleasure from seeing them get theirs, you are a model sex partner. I’m sure plenty of people would love to have someone like you in bed with them! Remember though that if your partner gets pleasure from returning the favour it’s okay to let them, they might love giving as much as you do!

WE SUGGEST YOU:
Get crazy with the kissing. It sounds basic, but perhaps with all your wonderful kinky antics and games, you have forgotten how good it can feel just to kiss someone all over, and have the same done to you! Practise with different kissing styles, kiss your lover in places you’ve never kissed them before. Kiss to tickle, kiss to seduce, kiss for hours, or kiss when you know you can’t go any furthur with it, like when you have to be at work soon. Rediscover kissing.

Take The What’s your sexual style? Test at HelloQuizzy

A few weeks later another letter came in the mail. This letter one once again made it seem like I was morally obligated to fill out the survey because they sent me money. Another copy of the survey was inside and a letter assurring my confidentiality. My name wouldn’t be associated with the data in any way.

I laughed a wry little laugh when I threw it in the recycle bin. If my name isn’t associated with the data, how did they know I hadn’t returned the survey? Can someone please explain that to me?

Anyways, if you get a large envelope in the mail from a survey company, be sure to open it before you throw it away. It just might have $5 in it.

Bulgar Pilaf (With Two Cheeses)
4 servings (more like 3)

1T Olive Oil
1 Cup Diced Onions
2 Cloves Garlic, minced
1 Cup Bulgar Wheat
1 Can Diced Tomatoes (I use Jalapeno Tomatoes)
1 ¾ Cup Vegetable Broth
½ Teaspoon Salt
(It also calls for cheese but I don’t use it)
½ Cup shredded Edam or Mozzarella
Grated Parmesan for garnish

1. In a saucepan on medium, heat the oil. Stir in the onion and cook for 5mins until the onion is translucent. (Slightly more time if you’re smart like me and chop a bunch of onions all at once then freeze them in 1 Cup freezer containers)
2. Stir in the garlic and bulgar and cook for two minutes. (This is when it smells really good)
3. Stir in the tomato, broth and salt and bring to a boil. Lower heat, cover and simmer for 20mins until the liquid is absorbed. (I just dump everything in and cook it in the pressure cooker for 10mins.)
4. (Stir in the Edam Cheese. Garnish individual portions with parmesan)

Sometimes she walks quickly and at attention. Her head up and eyes alert, scanning the bushes and trees, stopping to check out whatever has caught her attention. Other times she meanders in a serpentine path with her head tilted to the side lost in her own thoughts. Today she had an umbrella resting on her shoulder. It was tilted at an angle that made its rain blocking abilities questionable. But it wasn’t really raining, more of a light mist, so it didn’t matter. She was walking slowly and eyeing the puddles.

The first puddle was tempting but she managed to miss it. The second puddle she skimmed across the top with the tip of her shoes then hurried on. She walked through the next puddle but I could see her sites were set on the mother of all puddles. The ankle deep splasher just to the right of our driveway. That’s been a favorite for years.

She picked her path carefully. She had to end up in front of the puddle so she could splash without making it look like she meant to splash. A quick side-trip to check out the neighbors’ flowers was all it took. The puddle was in her line of sight and she was going for it.

Then she stopped, took off her shoes and went for it.

When she got to the door she left her shoes and wiped her feet.

Then she told me about a bug she’d seen and we looked it up in the field guide. She found it all on her own.

Then she practiced her spelling words. Only missed one.

She fixed her own breakfast and watched Spongbob.

We did some writing (simple sentences) and math (two-digit addition). Then she read a new book.

She went out to play with the dogs and now I’m sitting here wondering if she was pretending to be a big kid or if she really is a big kid. Does it really matter? I pretend to be a grownup all the time. Right now I’m sitting here typing this up but my bare feet are working their way to the backyard. There is a puddle back there and it’s calling my name.

It’s not like I haven’t had zucchini before. I make wonderful zucchini bread. Sometimes I cook zucchini and squash together and it is a tasty treat. But I have never bought zucchini, it was always given to me. I stood in front of the zucchini display and, in my mind, I saw a proud, dirty little face in coke bottle glasses standing at my front door.

“Miss ImPerceptible, my zucchini plant grew real live zucchinis. See?”

He handed me two zucchinis and stood there very proud and little shy, shuffling from side to side and avoiding eye contact.

“They’re for you. You can have them.”

I thanked him, gave him a hug, and invited him in. He went to play Zoo Tycoon with my oldest. I found a recipe for zucchini bread and baked two loaves. When he left I sent one home with him.

A few weeks later he showed back up at my door with zucchini.

“These are for you. My mom said I can’t ask you to make more zucchini bread even though it was the best bread I have had. Ever. You are such a good cook but these are for you. I can’t ask you to make zucchini bread for me.”

I made more zucchini bread and told him not to worry, he didn’t ask me, I decided to make it myself. He was one happy little boy. On his way out he turned back and gave me an awkward little hug then ran out the door and back home.

So yesterday I bought enough zucchini to make several loaves of zucchini bread. We’ll eat some and I’ll put some in the freezer. I’m sure they’ll be good. But they won’t be as good as the ones I made, without being asked, from real live zucchini hand delivered to my door. That was the best zucchini bread ever.

Bicker. Bicker. Bicker.

I have to have the last word. You are stupid because you don’t think like me. My way is right and it’s the only way. You big poopy pants, you don’t listen to me. So called facts are thrown around. The fighting becomes personal. Buttons get pushed. Feelings get hurt.

Anger.

Things become more aggressive. Friendships are broken. Now the original problem has long been forgotten. It’s all about proving that I am right. I am smarter. I care more about the issue. I am better. Listen to me. Agree with me. I need to win.

I will win. I will win. I will win!

One wins. One looses. But nothing has been solved. Both are angry and it will take a lot of time and effort to fix the damage that has been done. In the mean time, we still need to protect our country. Our children still deserve more than they will ever get. There are parents who can’t feed their families and babies that need medical care. Warriors need help as they return from a war. Trees need to be planted and fences need to be mended. Teenagers need help finishing school. Debts need to be paid.

It doesn’t matter if you believe. It doesn’t matter if you want. It doesn’t matter if you win and it doesn’t matter who is right. It matters what is right.

What is right?

There are open volunteer positions in every organization across the country. Use your time wisely. Words are powerful. Use them with purpose and use them sparingly. Change can happen. It doesn’t happen with bickering, anger, and a consuming desire to win. As far as I’m concerned there is room at my table for everyone, even the idiots. Just don’t eat my last fudge brownie. That really pisses me off.

Now stop your bickering or I’ll give you all a time out.

She came out of her room and requested an audience. She had a song for me. Then with a scream unlike any I have ever heard from a sane and uninjured individual she began.

Even a flip-flop is dangerous if it gets stuck in your mouth!
Stuck in your mouth!
It’s dangerous if it gets stuck in your moooouuuth!
You might choke.
It could happen.

You’ve got no bars for the holiday
No bars for the holiday.
You’ve got no bars for the holiday
Because your cell phone got flushed down the toilet.
And you’re never gonna get it back.

You’ve got no love for the holiday
No love for the holiday
You’ve got no love for the holiday
Because you flushed your girl down the toilet
And you’re never gonna get her back.

You might as well give yourself a swirly.
Just swirly yourself right down the drain.
Ride a boogie board to the sewer.
You might find your bars
And your love
Watch out for poop (pause to see if I’m going to say anything)
And the pee (Another pause and mischievous look)
Poop and pee
Poop and pee
Poop and pee 

“Youngest!”

Even a flip-flop is dangerous if it’s stuck in your mouth!
YEEEAAAAH!

(Runs back to her room giggling)

I laughed so hard my sides hurt.

Let’s face it. A fresh ripe tomato is nothing more than a fresh ripe tomato. It hasn’t been around long enough for seasoning. There might be slight variations in color, texture, or size but nothing remarkable. A tomato has to be around for awhile to become remarkable. It has to be simmered and seasoned, and stirred. Time changes the tomato. Experience makes the tomato more interesting.

I don’t want my tomato sitting there looking sweet and ripe but unable to express it’s true desires. Half the time they don’t even know what their true desires are. They think it has to do with their stem. You also have to handle them gently or they’ll bruise. I don’t want a tomato that needs to be handled gently. I want a tomato that sits on the counter, looks me in the eye and says I am Lasagna! Stuff me between noodles! I want my tomato to know what it wants and make me want it too. Actually, I don’t want a tomato at all. I want cheese.

Extra sharp aged cheddar. The kind that is so rich and flavorful that it melts on your tongue and leaves you wanting, if not begging, for more. Put it on crackers or sprinkle it on a salad. Serve it with grapes and wine. Perfectly aged cheddar is the ultimate in culinary experiences. It knows what you like and it gives it to you. It takes years to age cheddar to perfection and that is time well spent.

The first was green tomato hotdog relish. I went all out and bought new jars for that recipe. They’re the ones in the middle. Aren’t they cute? The second was Brushetta in a jar. The recipe said I could ‘enjoy the convenience of ready-to-serve garden-fresh tomatoes all year long.’ You know I’m not passing up a recipe that uses both a single and double hyphenated word back-to-back in the description. I like my hyphens. I won’t know how they turned out until I actually open and eat them but I feel good about them.

Also, here is another picture:

This is the other half of the hottest garlic clove ever known to man. As I was waiting for the relish to finish cooking I decided to sample a left over piece of garlic. Next thing I knew I was in serious pain. I screamed and should have spit but instead I swallowed. It burned all the way down and I started crying. I went to wipe the tears from my eyes and unfortunately I had garlic juice on my hands.  It was not a good thing.  But I picked myself up and finished those recipes.  I deserve the gold medal.  As of now my tummy still hurts a little, my ‘can you make that a little hotter’ pride is bruised, and I might have a garlic induced ulcer. The Tums are helping.  I might need a foot rub.

I was staring off over a field and looking at an old piece of farm equipment. Cotton I thought, that harvests cotton. I wondered if I could grow cotton in my back yard. I grew corn, why not? That’s when things got weird.

Suddenly MyHusband rolls down his window and starts waving like a mad man. Another church, another revival. But in addition to the bouncy castles, there was a life size plastic Jesus standing all alone in the middle of a field. The girls and I didn’t wave. We just sat there staring at MyHusband.

“You guys are so hosed! You didn’t wave to Jesus. I waved to Jesus and now I’m in with the man.”

MyHusband obviously didn’t know the rules of conduct for God’s Country.

We continued our journey and there were a few more statues of Jesus hanging out on the side of the road. This time the kids were in on the fun. It was a 60mph plastic Jesus meet-and-greet. I was starting to get hives but I was doing all right. I was doing all right until my youngest saw a Jesus made out of stone.

“Rock on Jesus!” She shouted and flashed the ‘Rock on’ hand sign. “Get it, he’s a rock!”

That’s when I realized we would not be stopping at the Piggly Wiggly on the way out of town and I thanked God when we were finally back on the Interstate.

He was shuffling slowly, almost painfully towards me and he was saying something. He voice was gruff, barely a whisper. He stopped in front of me and spoke to me but I couldn’t understand what he was saying. Then he held out his arm for me to take. I told him I’d love to take a walk with him.

We walked around the common room and he talked to me. I don’t know what he said. It sounded melodic and rhythmic. I wasn’t sure if he was singing a song or reciting poetry. I suppose it’s all the same. After a few minutes he started to get confused and agitated and the nurse came to take him back to his room.

I leaned in and kissed him on his cheek, then I told him I loved him. His eyes started to sparkle and for a second or two I thought he was young again. I couldn’t watch as the nurse walked him back down the hall. I just wanted to remember that look in his eyes. And I did.

I’d never seen that man before but when I said I love you, I meant it. I’ve never seen him since, but when I think of him I still love him. I don’t understand how things like that work. For some reason I think he did.

In my mind Im goin to carolina
Cant you see the sunshine
Cant you just feel the moonshine
Ain’t it just like a friend of mine
to hit me from behind
Yes Im goin to carolina in my mind

Karen shes a silver sun
You best walk her way and watch it shinin
Watch her watch the mornin come
A silver tear appearing now Im cryin
Aint I goin to carolina in my mind

There aint no doubt it no ones mind
That loves the finest thing around
Whisper something soft and kind
And hey babe the skys on fire, Im dyin
Aint I goin to carolina in my mind

Dark and silent late last night
I think I might have heard the highway calling
Geese in flight and dogs that bite
Signs that might be omens say I going, going
Im goin to carolina in my mind

With a holy host of others standing round me
Still Im on the dark side of the moon
And it looks like it goes on like this forever
You must forgive me
If Im up and gone to carolina in my mind

I’m sure you understand :)

It’s taking some time to get caught up with laundry, gardening, having sex, and reading your wonderful posts. Due to my remarkable speed-reading skills, I’ve caught up with a few blogs and I was wondering, What the hell is going on? I leave you guys alone for one week and you guys go out of control. Why don’t you do that when I’m here to enjoy it?

I mean really, I open up my reader and I find that:

Mamazilla has either run off with Johnny Depp or the Cicadas got her and flew her to OZ. Click your heels together, Mamazilla. Click your heels!

Beloved bought some leather and a bike. No one has heard from her since but I hear there are rumors and pictures circulating.

Whit’s wife is out of town and he is writing about oral sex and masturbating in a stream with barking dogs.

RTK was giving samples of his urine to women but they weren’t interested because it was red and contained anchovies.

Anthony is probably dead and currently being consumed by his cat.

Frowning Bill is currently unable to update his comics because Crystal has him tied up in a closet until he promises to stop burning the lawn furniture. Unfortunately he likes it, so it might be awhile before he posts again.

Chris is riding packhorses around National parks and looking for Rubies while using his ADD to throw marshmallows at Michael Phelps.

Lady Banana is having a gender identity crisis. My opinion, stick with Lady. Sir Banana sounds a little odd.

Dan stopped complaining about me giving him blisters and is booking a flight so I can take him on a real walk and, teach him, how to, use commas. He’ll be here once he fulfills his duties and kicks some blogger ass. I’m not sure whose.

An episode of Strange Love went terrible wrong and Cami is currently remote blogging until they can figure out how to get her untangled and down from there.

Ed got a call when he was in New Orleans and is now giving away his kid.

Amelia has joined the Mormon Church and might be moving to Utah once she stops kicking me in the ribs.

Dawn is fighting a terrible addiction and loosing. Step away from the curriculum, Dawn. Step away!

Phil is showing off his legs and playing with floating tree branches because it’s cool.

Bill is throwing up after he partied with the twins but he at least remembered to wrap it up.

Okay, that’s as far as I’ve gotten. I think I’ve gotten everything straight. My speed-reading skills are amazing aren’t they? Did I miss anything?

I was tired of waiting. I walked hurriedly back and forth, up and down a long hall. I was looking at faded art prints. Flowers, vases, and vases of flowers. All the standards. Well done but not remarkable. Thirty minutes passed. The children were lost in their gamesboys. Quiet and happy. I should have been content. But, I wasn’t.

I carefully took the prints off the walls and threw them out the back door. They turned into owls and perched on the tree in the back. They were hungry and angry. They cried out and their wings flapped viciously. I grabbed handfuls of corn and threw it to the birds. They mocked me “You know better. You know better!” Their large eyes followed my every move. Owls don’t eat corn. They eat meat. Live meat. I was happy I had hotdogs in the fridge. They turned their backs on the hotdogs and became very quiet. I gave them the name of a vole farmer.

I went back to walking. Back and forth, up and down a long hall. Except now the hall was empty and I was angry. I was going to fix hotdogs for dinner and I wasted them on owls!