Rude and Rudy

Home-made drinking glasses, daredevils only warning, cussing

2012-01-31T17:51:00.000-08:00

I found a pin on Pinterest that said you could cut a bottle with only string and nail polish. That's how this whole debacle began.

Well, the idea was you take thread or string, acetone nail polish, and fire. Already I was on board. I love those wine bottles that are made into drinking glasses. Why can't I make my own, or so I thought. Turns out when you wrap the acetone string around the bottle, light it then after a minute plunge it in cold water.....it doesn't separate as effortlessly as u thought. It doesn't separate at all unless separate means stay attached. So, I looked online again and saw a variety of methods that YouTube said worked. I got myself a glass scorer. I asked for help from nephews. We tried the glass scorer, then cold water. Then we tried the string thing again, but this time with whiskey. Then we tried scoring it then boiling the bottle then plunging it in cold water. Nothing worked. By then everyone was pissed. And everyone wanted some wine bottle glasses. I went online again and found a $40.00 kit. I thought it was probably a hoax since I already tried the scoring method and that shit don't work. So then I reasearched some more. I got myself a diamond tip for my deemed. That sucker was $18.00. So, I cut myself a bottle. I choked on glass dust, assaulted my ears and did it all without safety glasses. The glass looks about as smooth as a chainsaw blade, even after marking off a straight line with tape. I have a very very shaky hand. I endeavor to find a vise or a tripod or something to stabilize both the dremel and the bottle. I ask Sarge, and he finds me a dremel workstation. So I drag my very determined ass to Lowes and find one. I get some safety glasses too. I try and try but the damn things kept alternately falling off and then fogging up. I felt like I was looking thru scuba goggles. The Dremel workstation takes a bit of time to put together, and after the third and successful time of following the directions I find that it wont work for cutting glass bottles. Because the blade wont touch the glass. I gave it the old college try and it sort've scored the glass but it was so uncomfortable and unecessary. So I took it back and made my own little wine glass bottle holder with dremel rest.

Here's what I came up with in my garage.

Those are L-brackets, and a plank of wood I had left over. I used some old moleskin to cushion the bottle. I rested the Dremel tool on the L-brace pushed up against the bottom of the bottle and slowly rotated the bottle with my left hand while I tried to keep everything stable. I drew lines, I used tape to get a perfect cut line. It never happened. It just wasn't stable enough. My hands were too shaky and the Dremel was spinning fast. It was just messy. I have a lot of jagged bottle pieces. I added more brackets to add more stability, and used wing nuts to make it easier to adjust. I bought another diamond tip for the dremel. I got some non-prescription glasses that fit my head better at Target in the sunglass section. I assume they are for hipsters who don't need glasses but want to look cool. They became my safety glasses.

I may not look very hip, but I would look a lot less hip with an eyepatch. Wait, scratch that I would look AWESOME with an eyepatch. But alas, I'm a horrible driver as it is, I need whatever depth perception I've got. The extra stability didn't work, the bottle still wouldn't turn perfectly leaving the Dremel scoring imperfectly.

So, let me just say I have spent some cash, and spent a lot of time I could have spent :reading, quilting, napping, working out, cutting these damned bottles. I even tried just scoring them with the Dremel, and then heating up the score line with a tea-light candle, and then dripping cold water on it. It broke the glass much easier than cutting it apart with a Dremel, but again, the jagged score line made it fall apart all jaggedy. I tried using sandpaper, different Dremel sanders, my Mouse sander to smooth out these edges, but they are still pretty dangerous. So today, after walking into the living room to be irritated away from glass and other sharp objects I was bitching to Sarge about how I cannot get a straight line.

He offers this: "Have you drawn a line or used a sharpie or something?" Then he looks at my like I'm an imbecile. At that point I leave the room and begin to fantasize about breaking all the bottles.

After some long stares at my death trap glasses I decided to take a drive. I got in my Minivan and drove away from my disasters.

I called my sister Hannah and this is (sic) the conversation we had. I can't remember it exactly so this is kind've the flavor of it.

H) "Hello?"

R) "Hey, I am in a very grumpy mood because of a failed craft project and I really just want to curse really loudly while I'm taking a break in my car. But I figured I'd want to do it with someone else, because shouting obscenities alone in my car makes me feel too much like Dad."

H) "That sounds good. What was the project?"

R) "Wine bottles into drink glasses. I swear if anyone tries to drink out of them they will wreck their face."

H) Laughing. "Ok"

R) "At the count of three we will start yelling the nastiest curse words ever. The dirtier and nastier the better.

"1-2-3"

At the same time:

R) "FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT WASTE OF MY TIME CUNT KNUCKLE POND SCUM DOUCHE BAG TWAT WAFFLE BAT SHIT WHORE FUCKITY FUCK FUCKTARD ASSWHIPE DOUCHE CANOE PUTRID CUM OF SATAN SOGGY PIECE OF WHORE SHIT!!!!!!!"

H) "WHORE BAG FUCKITY SHIT HOLE ASSTARD BITCH SHIT FUCKERY NETI POT USING SYPHLITTIC WHORE ASS STUPID WANKER DOUCHE BAG, CUNT WHORE CUM BUBBLE!!!

(note: I can't remember every thing we said so I just put in a lot of curse words.)

R) deep breath

H) Whore-bag

R) Slimy Cunt Sauce

H) "Feel better?"

R) "Yeah, much. I'm going to Popeye's to eat some food but I'm going to eat it in my car because I"m ashamed of eating that much food in public."

H) "Yeah, I know about that."

So, I think I may have given up on this project.

Tell me, would you put your lips on this?

This is after sanding.

My failures....

Let me remind you, if you try to drink out of these YOU WILL WRECK YOUR FACE.

Present Please

2012-01-26T11:49:00.000-08:00

Jed.I just came up to me and asked for a present.

"More Present Please."

Me "What?"

He grabs my hand and leads me to our computer that is on screensaver mode. Our screensaver is all of our pictures. He points at one where he's opening a present at christmas.

"More present please?" He asks again plaintively.

me "No sweetie, it's not your birthday or Christmas. Those presents you already opened. There are no more."

Jed.i "More present's please???"

This goes on for awhile. I sit on the couch and start to text Sarge to tell him what a cute and ridiculous kid he has. Jed.i climbs into my lap, puts both his hands on my face, pulls it towards his and asks,
"More presents pleeeeeeease?????"

I laugh some more and tell him he has to do something for me before he gets a present.

I made him tell me on camera what it is he wanted.

Yep, it somehow worked.
So I went into the candy bowl, found an old candy cane from Christmas and put it behind my back. I asked him to close his eyes and hold out his hands. He couldn't master both so I had to open his hands while he was trying desperately to close his eyes and still see.

I gave him the candy cane. He looked at it. Then he looked at me.

Jed.I "Present?"

Me "Yep, that's your present."

Jed.i "More present."

Me. "Nope, only gonna work once kid."

Jed.I with his present

Yeah, I know, I'm a sucker.

Rudy

ps. This is the picture that started it all. It's him when he was around 18 months old.

"More presents." 18 months old and so demanding. Well not really, he couldn't really talk much at this point.

Spam

2012-01-25T18:21:00.000-08:00

Do you remember Spam? It's gotten a bad rap recently. But I used to like Spam. It's a tasty treat. Or so I remembered.
The other day someone opened some Spam in front of Jed.I. He took a big sniff and this was his reaction.

Anyway. What's so funny about this is that I don't have a dog. And all the people I could think of at that time didn't feed their dogs wet food. So, where on earth did he learn this? Is it just a natural reaction to Spam that even a two year old wouldn't eat it and know's it better left for a dog?

Oh wait, his Meme and Pop have a dog, and they might feed it wet food. Either way, I smelled the spam after him and it did smell just like Dog Food. Or as Jed.I. says, "Dog Pood."

After this I was singing the Save Ferris song "SPAM" for quite a while.

Save Ferris-SPAM

Spam
It's pink and it's oval
Spam
I buy it at the Mobil
Spam
It's made in Chernobyl
Spam

Now when I was a child
My family was so poor
They didn't have the finer things in life to eat
So we had a plan
In a big blue can
The government substitute for meat

(Repeat Chorus)

To get me to eat it at dinner
They said I'd grow up like Bruce Jenner
He was a winner that never knew defeat
And when he got hungry
When he got hungry
He cracked open that special treat
It was

(Repeat Chorus)

S-P-A-M
Don't you know it's my best friend
S-P-A-M
Again and again and again

S-P-A-M
Don't you know it's my best friend
S-P-A-M
Again and again and again and again

So go and forget your O-S-C-A-R
There's one meat by-product that's best by far
It's SPAM

Where were you?

2012-01-19T19:49:00.000-08:00

Well, I had a lot going on recently. And I just couldn't make myself blog about it. But, I figure I'm due for some disclosure.

The Chisos Mountains in Big Bend National Park

The Finish Line

We got back from Sarge's Big Bend Ultra 50K on Monday. He ran 30.1 miles. In the desert, in Big Bend. He didn't die. I thought he did though when he was later getting back than I expected. I was mentally checking my contacts to see if I still had the number to that guy who was a pilot because I was sure I had to get in a fucking plane and look for him Glock in hand.
Turns out the shuttle was late and it took awhile to shuttle them back to the little parking lot where they had started. But, I thought that:
1. He broke his ankle
2. He was kidnapped by Mexican refugees and forced to lead them past border patrol
3. Got eaten by a bear
4. Got lost in the fucking mountains of Big Bend and died of heatstroke
5. Got his hand stuck under a bolder and had to gnaw it off with his teeth to escape and then had to finish the ultra marathon because he's just so bad ass.

Whatever happened, I was sure I would need to contact local law enforcement, and possibly become a bounty hunter to support my now father-less son, because what the hell else would I do with all these damn guns my late husband left? That's right. Bounty hunter. That or secretary, my skills are limited.

Then he showed up all sunburned and in pain and I forgot to do anything I was just so happy he was alive.

He said he would never do it again.

Then the next day he said he would "consider" doing the Big Bend 50K again.

Then, just a few hours ago he said, " I"ll do that one next." Referring to the Appalachian Trail. "All 2000 miles of it." He paused, "I may have to take some time off."

I replied, "So, we'll see you again at Jed.I's 16th birthday."

Sarge, "Yeah, about."

Rudy, "So, who will be my replacement husband while you're gone?"

Sarge, "I don't know, someone."

Rudy, "You don't know yet? I'm supposed to train this guy myself too I guess? Jesus, just what I need. Show that dumb-ass the ropes. "

Sarge looking up at the T.V. and seeing a commercial for Parks and Rec said, "Paul Rudd, he's my replacement."

Rudy, "Oh, Ok, I'll be ok training Him."

Sarge, "I thought you would."

I bet Paul Rudd wouldn't mind watching Pride and Prejudice with me. The BBC 5 hour version. Because Paul is a cool BBC watching guy.

I just may let him father my next child.

Rudy

Has it been so long?

2011-12-26T14:04:00.000-08:00

How was your Christmas? Mine was super. I had a great time, got some goodies, and generally enjoyed my family's penchant to engorge ourselves on food.

But, now that the ham and turkey is in our fridge slowly turning into leftovers, and the boxes have been (mostly) hauled away by the garbage men you may ask..."Why so long in between posts, Rudy?"

Well, the Nutcracker really. I danced in the Nutcracker. I swear, I really did.

I'm second from the left in the last photo. So there, I did something awesome and that's why I wasn't doing the awesome blogging that I am totally known for, in small circles.

How was your Christmas?

I know what you should have gotten. You should have gotten this.

Merry Christmas all.

Rudy

Awesome eighties hair---styled in bed during REM

2011-11-30T07:42:00.000-08:00

This morning I woke up with eighties hair. Awesome, amazing, huge big teased curly hair. Now, don't think this didn't take a lot of effort. From the time of 9 pm till around 6 am, I was working on it. It is mostly styled during the deep sleep phase of R.E.M.

Prepare to be amazed.

here's a pic of Jon Bon Jovi looking just as good.

Definitely took hours and hours of deep sleep to make this superb coiffure happen.

Funny Moments

2011-11-26T13:54:00.000-08:00

I don't know how often you have seen Toy Story 3, but I have seen it alot recently, especially since Jed.I has fallen in love with both Toy Story and Toy Story 3. We don't have 2 yet. (yet, I'm fairly sure we'll get it for x-mas)

He see's the pictures of Woody, and Buzz and says in a rapid fire way, "WoodyBuzz, WoodyBuzz." Like it's all one name.

On Thanksgiving I found him playing with a Buzz Lightyear toy. When he set it (threw) it down to play frisbee or "Disbee" I took a picture of old Lightyear.

It's like he spoke to me.

If you've seen the movie you understand.

Thanksgiving

2011-11-26T13:46:00.000-08:00

I am thankful for many things. But mostly, for food. For all the food I am blessed to overeat. There's a lot of it around, and it's readily available and cheap and that's just super. I will not go hungry if my family has anything to do about it. And that's a super great thing. I feel for those who cannot have the wealth of food that I have available to me. For those who are dieting, for those who are skinny, for those who cannot appreciate over-eating until comatose, I am very sorry for you.

I tried my hand at cooking again. With mostly good results.

I made lemon cookies that were wonderful and spongy and moist.

Oh, they are all gone now. Gone into my belly.

Then I made two kinds of stuffing. Cornbread and regular stove-top and both were eaten and no one got sick so Hallelujah!

Then came the Piece de Resistance. The Butter Brickle Frozen delight. I found it when I was looking for more recipes that used cool whip.

Here's what it's supposed to look like.

Heaven on a plate

But due to the strange nature of cool whip and the even stranger nature of my recipe reading skills I froze my delight, and then thawed it. Which I wasn't supposed to do. Because it's a Frozen delight, not a thawed delight. Anyhoo, it melted and deflated everywhere when I took it out of the springform pan.

Here's what mine looked like.

It slowly absorbed everything in it's way, like a carmel toffee amoeba

It started melting over the sides of the plate so I dumped it in a bowl and called it Butter Brickle Trifle. Still, not many ate it. I'm sure because of the wealth of desserts not because it wasn't as "delightful" as I had hoped.

Happy Thanksgiving.

I don't think I'm very good at this

2011-11-15T13:10:00.000-08:00

Gardening is one of the many domestic arts I can't seem to master. We had concrete laid in some areas in our yard that needed concrete: the driveway, the sidewalk, and a patio. But to do so required me to move some plants that were in the way. I'm not one for gardening. I can't get mold to grow. But I thought that since these plants would never die no matter what I had done to them in the past that maybe they'd survive. I gave them a nice little area to live in. I MAY have neglected to dig holes in the ground to place their roots in and just slapped them onto the very dry and rock strewn ground. I may have sprinkled some dirt over their roots "just in case". I may not be very good at this.

This is the "Wandering Jew" after "planting" them. I use the word planting loosely.

I'm not sure but I may have planted this one upside-down.

In my defense the ground was really really hard, Danny kept wandering off and I had to keep reeling him back to me. And my back was hurt from all the rock moving. Did I mention I moved a lot of rocks. Like a ton. No, seriously, a TON of rocks. See for yourself.

It was all worth it though because now we have a SIDEWALK, and a PATIO, and "loud bugle music playing" A FULL SIZE DRIVEWAY!!.

SIDEWALK

Patio and filled in planting bed

DRIVEWAY!!!

So, maybe I'm much better and things involving rocks and concrete, and not so much things that involve water and earth and maintenance.

So long wandering jew, you were pretty and purple now you're all dead in my garden.

Halloweiner

2011-11-04T14:08:00.000-07:00

On a not so gross note. We went trick or treating!!!

Here's Jed.I.

Can you tell who he is supposed to be?

I'll give you a hint.

That's right, Calvin and Hobbes. He does make a striking Calvin in my opinion. Even better, this costume was super easy to make.

How to:
Get black and red striped t-shirt.
Find black pants in his dresser,
also shoes you had lying around, f
ind a stuffed tiger and
put a name tag on both.

TA DA!!!

Not many people got who he was. About two. But still, for us, it's priceless!! Almost as priceless as when Jed.i. would go up to the door and say, "Tri-Tree" (trick or treat). He's now saying Ok to questions and directions we give him. But when he say's it, it comes out, "O-tay." I would try to get it on camera, but I spent about five minutes trying to get him to say "Spa-teddy" (spaghetti) and it never worked. Some things must just be remembered.

Ah, motherhood.

Wanna see something gross?

2011-11-04T13:32:00.000-07:00

I warned you. But you had to click on it anyway. It's like you've never seen a chimpanzee foot before. Actually, a chimp foot isn't really all that gross. It's not as adorable as say, a kitten paw but what I really wanted to post was a foot that was really gross. My foot. Especially, my toe. I bruised my toenail during rehearsal for the Nutcracker and it fell off.

Do you really want to see this? You don't have to you know. There's plenty of adorable things on internet.

Ok, you asked for it.

I told you it was gross. Dancing on your toes takes a toll on well...your toes. Speaking of my toes, they never had to support this much weight the last time I danced on them. I was losing some weight and then this week came around and I failed at my diet called "Stop eating junk food fatty." (copyright)

It was falling off for about three weeks but only half of it. Then I bruised it again, but on the other side and it really started falling off. Well, I didn't want a naked toe so I superglued it back on. That didn't really help, it actually hurt more. I managed for a couple more days before I finally just said, yuck, and tried to pull it off on my own. Came off quite easily. Which again, is grosso.

The internet professionals say that it will take six month for it to grown in completely again. So, no more sandals. The last time I bruised my toe I just painted over the skin on it when wearing sandals. Good thing Sarge isn't turned on by feet. At least not that I know of.

I ask for forgiveness.

Rudy

Just sitting here, with my urine filled diaper

2011-10-30T16:25:00.000-07:00

My son, Jedi gets a kick out of throwing stuff away in the trash can. He freaks out if he can't have "my turn" as he calls it. He especially likes throwing away his dirty diapers. Sometimes it's because if it's soiled we go to the outside trash can and any time spent outside is great. Other times he just wants to push down the lever on the floor that lifts the lid. Not that he has managed to ever get it to lift that way, he just likes pushing down on it.

Yesterday morning we were watching cartoons. I changed his diaper. There were blows thrown. He threw them, they landed on me. Lots of kicking, lots of screaming and lots of tantrum. I grabbed his wet diaper and walked towards the trash can.

An uproar emerged. I offered him his wet diaper and asked if he wanted to throw it away. He yelled, "No diaper, No diaper." While stretching out his hand for it. I told him to come get it. He said, "NO DIAPER NO DIAPER." I asked again, "Do you want to throw away your diaper?" He said, "NO TRASH, NO TRASH!!" So, in a fit of not wanting to stand there and hold urine in my hand I just threw the damn thing away.

Jed.I. screamed. He cried, he thrashed on the couch. Then he did what he was forced to do. He got up off the couch, ran to the trashcan. Opened the lid and rooted around the trash can for his wet diaper. Then he took the diaper and ran back to the couch, and then sat down, crossed his legs, put his diaper in between his legs and held it between his legs like a mother hen incubating her eggs for 15 minutes while he watched tv.

Damn Papparazzi

He then realized that he still had the diaper in his lap and then grabbed it and put it in the trash can.

Because he could.

Food Network watch out

2011-10-25T12:02:00.000-07:00

I have mishaps in achieving excellent domesticity. What was that you just said? What on earth did you just say.

Translation: I'm not always great at doing Wife/Mom things. Case in Point. Cooking Disaster Umpteen.

Mini onion and cheese quiches with NO pie crust.

Ugh cripes. Every damn time I think I'll get creative, shit gets real nasty real fast. So, I had made these chese and onion quiches before and they turned out flavorless because I had all pie crust and not much egg and onion and cheese. Suffice it to say, I substituted many of the ingredients for things I had. Gruyere: nope, substitute mozzarella. Heavy Cream:Nope, substitute fat free half and half. Pie crust: Nope, substitute bisquick. When I follow the recipe exactly, well, I still only follow it halfway. You can imagine how things turn out when I "wing" it. The first cheese and onion quiches would barely come out of the muffin tin so I thought *cupcake cups* would solve this problem.

So, I bought cupcake liners in the hopes that sometime within the next six months I might need them. Cue a few weeks ago. I have all the ingredients for cheese and onion quiche. I whip up a batch and put in paper cups and forego the pastry crust all-together. This way I get more egg and more cheese!!!! Yay Cheese!!!

I don't have enough mixture to fill all the cups so I make some more and fill them up 3/4 of the way. Which I assume will be just enough, and do not at all assume this will be way to damn much.

I cook it, they smell wonderful. I pull them out of the oven, and they are all overflowing but I'm so damn hungry I don't care. Then I let them cool and they deflate. The implode in on themselves bringing their paper cupcake liner with them. I can barely get half of the quiche off of the paper. And when I eat it, expecting glorious rapture, I get yellow oniony sponge.

HALLELUJAH.

THIS IS WHY I EAT SANDWICHES AND CHICKEN NUGGETS FOR 75% OF ALL MY MEALS.

Wonderful Wonderful Men-ups

2011-10-13T08:10:00.000-07:00

Look at this fabulous calendar called Men-Ups by Rion Sabean.

Property of Rion Sabean

I cannot tell you how wonderful this is. I will have to order this calendar when it is done.

Ha

Pregnant Oranges

2011-10-06T13:21:00.000-07:00

EVERY DAMN TIME I cut open an orange to feed myself or my son I get a pregnant orange. I can't find any navel oranges without outie's.

Pregnant Orange

It's like all my oranges are desperately trying to grow another orange inside of them. Or maybe all the oranges I buy have hemorrhoids. I don't know what's going on. I don't peel oranges because I wouldn't eat them ever, because I'm lazy. I cut them open making orange smiles for me and my son and never get to eat all the orange, because it's got some pulpy, no juicy orange fetus inside of it....fucking with my orange consuming plans.

God. What the hell Walmart? Maybe I'll be switching to tangelo's over at HEB, that'll show them.

Robots at Hastings-Letters to Jenny

2011-10-04T19:23:00.000-07:00

Dear Jenny,

I was wandering around Hastings the other day with Sarge when I noticed a
> funny looking robot, JUST SITTING THERE.
>
> I immediately went towards it to shove my hands into it's arm openings it
> and then talk in a robot voice.
>
> As I was about to thrust my hands into a machine to make it "talk" he
> yelled, "Rudy don't do that."
>
> Tell me you wouldn't try to do the same.
>
> There's a part of me that thinks it's a mobile air conditioning unit and
> that my hands might get chopped off in the blades if I try to shove my
> arms into it's armholes. Or maybe that's what SKYNET want's me to think.
>
>
> One day, I will talk to the hand chopping robot in Hastings. It will just
> have to be when Sarge isn't around.

Jenny's Response:
I would be all over that robot, chopped hands or not.

DADDY!!!!!!DAAAAADDDDDDDYYYYYYYY!!!!!

2011-09-28T10:50:00.000-07:00

My heart every morning

So Jed.i. has started calling Sarge Daddy. It's an upgrade from Dada. Sarge is now Jed.i's favorite play thing EVER.

Sometimes Sarge will wake up with Jedi in the mornings if he can. It's happened once in a while. It's not a everyday thing, but to Jedi it is now the gold standard.

Take this morning.

I hear Jedi trying to open his door. He's saying....Dada, dada. (Ok, Daddy and Dada go back and forth with Jedi.) I open the door, and he see's me. Suddenly, he turns around.

He runs away from me saying, "NOOOOOOOOOO, NOOOOOOOO, NOOOOOOOO!DADDY, DADDY, DADDY!"
I say, "Daddy has to sleep now, he'll see you later this afternoon."
He turns around and physically pushes me with his hands towards the door. He then says, "AWAY!!! AWAY!!!" So, I'm a big girl, I know when I'm not wanted.

I say ,"I have chocolate milk for you when you want to come out."

He closes the door behind me.

In about ten minutes he starts at the door again. He can open doors so to keep him in his room at night we put on a safety door know. He's spinning it around and now saying, "Mama, Mama, Mama."

I open the door and he walks into the living room asking for chocolate milk. I give it to him. He wont let me hold him on my lap on our rocking chair so he climbs up on the couch and cuddles his baba (his blanket) and drinks his milk. I try to sit next to him and I get a stern, "No, away!" So I'm sitting on the far end of the couch wondering where my wonderful loving baby boy went. Allegiances have changed, and now, Daddy, the same one who gave him chocolate milk instead of regular milk, the one who plays airplane with him, the one who leaves every day for work. HE IS THE KING.

I'm a smidge jealous.

Mama is the one that drops him off at Mothers day out, who gives him his medicine, who dances with him and makes him eat his dinner. We play superman together, but it's just no airplane now is it? We go outside and search for rocks and throw them in the lake, we go swimming, we go next door and get candy from Robert. But, nope, Daddy, is better.

The only time I get hugs or attention is when I drop him off at Mothers day out and he clings to me and cries. Not out of love, but I assume out of fear.

I think I'm being frozen out.

Sigh.

Lets hope he comes back around again and loves both of us.

Malarkey

2011-09-22T09:05:00.000-07:00

Do you really expect me to believe this is a TRUE story when you're name is Malarkey?

Come....On.....

Other inspirational books about heaven and the afterlife also by:

Sebastian ConMan
Leonard Shyster
Harry Stealsfromya
Johnson GivemeyourMoney

ps. I joke not because I don't believe these guy's stories. It's rather that the last name kind've casts doubt on the validity of his claim. Granted, I HAVE NOT READ THIS. I just saw it in a book store surrounded by lots of other spiritual books and self help tomes and it just struck me as feeding off everyone's spirituality. There are true and wonderful things out there, it just sometimes it sucks when people take advantage of others under the guise of spirituality. (NOT THAT THIS GUY IS DOING THAT-like i said, I haven't read the book.) But I have heard that a 'Bunch of Malarkey', is usually a bunch of bunk. So it's kind've hard to take someone seriously when they are pitching something hard to believe (to some) when their last name is synonymous with baloney.

Agreed

2011-09-22T07:26:00.000-07:00

I agree whole-heartedly.

SPIDERS!!!SPIDERS!!!

2011-09-18T19:15:00.000-07:00

I went into my garage to get some sewing done. And plop, right there about three feet from me was an enormous spider.

I named her Pumpkin and we had a little chat. We discussed the weather, how she was doing on her exams....(she's got finals coming up in scare-onomics), you know, the usual.

We made a deal to peacefully co-exist. I told her to eat the mice in the garage, and she could stay and I wouldn't squish her. (I don't own shoes big enough)

I took her picture, and let me tell you, she is camera shy, and just for comparison purposes put my pen next to her.

If you look really close you can see that gleam in her eye. As if she's thinking while looking at me,

"One day, I will climb in her mouth and poop in it. One day."

I sincerely hope that day never comes.

Rudy

Follow Your Nose-Letters to Jenny

2011-09-13T07:13:00.000-07:00

Rudy:

Dear Jenny,

> So, I attend ballet class weekly. I take with high school kids since they
> don't have an adult ballet class. Lately I've noticed a smell. A
> hippie-ish b.o. smell. And I can't figure out who it is? And you know the
> old adage: "if you don't know who the stinky kid in your class was, it was
> YOU."
>
> Am I the B.O. kid? I thought it might be the new girl who mouth is always
> open and eyes glazed over and the acne. Then I thought it might be the
> other girl who doesn't shave her legs.
>
> I keep smelling myself and I smell but not like that! Do you think my old,
> overweight body, mixed with sweat and exertion and desperation...maybe
> some damp vag smell all mixed together have created a super stank?
>
> I can't think of a way to discreetely smell my own crotch in between
> combinations.
>
> Any ideas?
>
> Rudy
>
> Ps. I'm dancing in the Nutcracker and am convinced it will be my most epic
> embarrassment.

Jenny:

Its probably a ghost. A stinky ghost.

Note:
I have found the stinky ghost.

No wonder he's stinky, he's on FIRE.

Leotarded

2011-09-09T07:10:00.000-07:00

Actual footage of me dancing last night.

So, earlier this summer, is it still summer....I went to a ballet reunion. Let me preface this story by telling you I was a ballerina earlier in my life. I spent all my time at ballet. I missed reunions, vacations, football games and all manner of childhood crap so I could be at ballet, at Nutcracker rehearsal etc etc. I went to two high school's one in Corpus Christi where I did most of my ballet training, and in Austin. Well, I didn't go to EITHER High School Reunions. But when a ballet reunion came up, I was gung ho to go. So gung ho that I started dance class again. I hadn't taken a dance class in oh, 6 months or so but I decided to bite the bullet and go to class so I wouldn't be horrible in front of my old ballerina friends or my old ballet teacher.

I haven't performed in 7 years. My last Nutcracker was 11 years ago in 2000. I was 19. But even though I haven't been a "ballerina" I still attended classes. Sometimes a year would go by before I would take a class, then I'd be back in the studio every week sweating and lamenting the state of my ass in tights. Sometimes I'd have to take time off because of some old ankle and foot injuries. You'd think I'd have lots of pain threshold because of all that time on my toes. But alas, due to lingering tendonitis and arthritis due to not taking care of injuries, I have pain all the time. I have trouble wearing high heels or anything really that's not super comfortable. AND I LOVE HIGH HEELS.

What I'm trying to say is that ballet was and still is a pretty big part of my life.

So, after the ballet reunion I stayed on at class. It's a small studio. It's not like the studios in Austin or Dallas where there would be at least a dozen dancers all advanced and all "older" (like out of high school) and we'd all be in layers and layers of clothes hiding our fat asses and bad turnout. It's got like three girls in the class and they are all 15 years younger than me and 40 pounds lighter. They can get their legs above 90 degrees and they can do the splits. (at this time I can do splits one way) There are ways they are way behind me, and ways they are way ahead of me. But even though I stick out, I still feel comfortable enough to go.

The first class I took the first student to see me in all my bag lady cover ups asked, "How OLD are you?" That was the first question.

I replied, "Old enough to have just dropped off my son at daycare." Of course, in Guadelupe county, that could be her age.

A few weeks ago my teacher Esther asked me if I would be interested in helping out with the Nutcracker. In my head I had two reactions: 1.) she's asking me to be a backstage helper or perhaps an older "parent" in the party scene. 2.) She wants me to be Sugar Plum Fairy.
It turns out she wanted something in the middle. To fill out some spaces in the corps de ballet. Specifically in Dance of the Snowflakes and Waltz of the Flowers. I thought about it, thought about my old injuries, thought about the cost of babysitting and new shoes and just the emotional and physical cost and defying all logic, said Yes. I asked my husband of course. He said it was fine.

I tried to figure out what it was that made me want to do it. And I realized it. It's my Marathon. My 10k, my triathalon, my 30 years old I need to accomplish something radical so I can say I'm not old yet.

I got out my old pointe shoes. (I've had at least a hundred through the years but only one pair remains in my bag) I take class and of course, the day I decide to do it I start feeling the old injuries, and some new pains crop up. 7 years of taking class and the old injuries stayed as they were and new ones never happened. And the DAY I say yes I'm all rickety and dying in class. Is it turning 30 or is it just in my mind?

Grishko 2007's, my pointe shoes, not my feet

I got a new pair of pointe shoes. I hadn't been fitted for a pair since high school. I just bought what I knew would work. But since having a baby and since the years have changed me I thought a fitting would be appropriate. Well, I drove all the way up to Austin to 'Moving Easy'. It's a store that was located across the street from Ballet Austin when I went there. They have both since moved. I walked in the very busy store to the fitting room and sat down. 2 year old and pregnant sister in tow. No one helped me. I finally asked someone who seemed of course, to be stocking shelves and at the very least was NOT a dancer.

"Can someone help me?" Thinking I would get one of the fitters, and not her. But she takes it upon herself to help me. Or rather, un-help me. Maybe she had little experience, maybe she was high. Maybe she thought a 160 pound mother of a two year old had no business wearing pointe shoes. Maybe I wanted to punch her in the face. She made me (a dancer with 20 years experience) feel like a child. I left there with a pair of pointe shoes that I decided fit me and much poorer in patience and money. I remembered why I ordered my shoes directly all those years.

I wore my new shoes last night at class. One of the girls asked me after class,
"Is it that your first pair of pointe shoes?"

(Maybe it looked like I had never danced on pointe before, maybe it looked like I was dying on pointe and I took them off half way through class because of my ankle pain, Maybe she wasn't very smart)

The first day of rehearsal is Saturday. It's also the day of my little sister's baby shower. Ah me. It begins again.

Totally NOT how I look.

The Four Little Girls

2011-09-04T16:06:00.000-07:00

I've decided since I can't think of anything funny or interesting to write about...I'll just post something I already wrote a while ago.

I think at least two years ago I wrote a short essay called the Four Little Girls.

Here it is:

She dyed her hair red. Sometimes she’d go blonde, other times black. Maybe an expensive salon job, more often a box color. She usually returned to red. They ranged from strawberry’s, to oranges, to fire engine. Sometimes it looked natural, other times cartoonish. Depending on the length of her naturally curly, unruly and strange halo of hair could change from a light skullcap of waves to a long unmanageable tangle of corkscrews that flew away from her determined head.

She may have had brown roots, but she knew she was red at heart. It seemed appropriate for a pale freckled art student, with finicky curly hair should be a redhead. As much as she was an all American half-breed mutt, she played up her Irish-background. Some thought her hair was a fiery representation of her loud and boisterous personality. Some thought it was to draw attention to her-self among a sea of brunettes.

It was both.

Her loud and obnoxious behavior was a product of being the eighth daughter in a family of ten. There were seven daughters and three sons. She was the only one with curly hair. It came as a shock, when the quiet one’s hair went from mousy and lank to a frizzy mess of curls at puberty.

Saddled with an old fashioned biblical name, only used in conjunction with old Aunts and alcoholic baseball players, she learned how to stand out. She was not pretty; cute at her very best. But she was usually overlooked for the more typical beauty.

Her divorced mother let her dye her hair at 13. Her older sisters bitched that, “the younger one’s get away with everything.”

And they couldn’t, at her age.

What the older sisters had fought for-she was easily given, along with the other babies of the family.

Growing up she was rarely called by her name, but usually addressed as her sisters names before they could find hers. When the four youngest were together, they were simply called, “The Four Little Girls.”

The last four became their own little family.

Nomo and Pishes

2011-08-26T05:44:00.000-07:00

One of the first Pixar/Disney movies we got when Jed.I. was born was Finding Nemo. And we have watched it numerous times with Jed.I. But Jedi was never really interested for more than about 20 seconds. Lately, he's been watching TV, videos and movies and really watching them. Not just playing in front of the
TV and ignoring it.

Yesterday while I hauled my fat ass to ballet class Sarge put on Finding Nemo for Danny. We've done this ton's of times so it's not a crazy idea. But get this....he actually watched it. He called Nemo "Nomo" he called all the fishes "Pishes". And Sarge had to replay Finding Nemo three times. IN. A. ROW.

When I left they were watching it, when I got back two hours later, they were watching it again.

You know that part in UP when the old man thinks that once the little kid falls asleep and wakes up he'll forget all about the bird? But then the kid wakes up and the first thing he does is say "Where's Kevin!?"

Well, this morning when Jedi woke up the first thing he said to me after screaming and crying for no discernable reason (how he wakes up always, not sure why) .....

"Pish?"

We are watching Finding Nemo right now...again.

Look like we're getting to that stage.

Funny stuff

2011-08-25T13:37:00.000-07:00

I was leaving my local Walmart when I saw this....

It makes me happy.

(For those of you having trouble reading it here's what it says:

Stop-"Hammer Time" (written in spray paint)

Late night

2011-08-17T21:45:00.000-07:00

It's probably not a "good" idea to be up right now. Just like it's not a good idea to give into my lustful glutton ways and drive my happy ass to Whataburger and eat about 3000 calories in one sitting. I should be asleep, but I'm not. I should be dieting, or at the very least not eating at 11:45 pm. For some reason I can't sleep. I thought I'd go to my computer and either write and edit some more of the Red Baroness, or redo my design blog's header. But I have done neither and can't find the energy to try. But, I would love to try eating something. I mean, I only go to the beach tomorrow and I only have to wear a swimsuit after I've put on seven pounds stress eating my way through online courses in Web Design. I GUESS one three little cupcake wouldn't hurt much would it?

I still want Popeyes.

New header and new look

2011-08-16T14:47:00.000-07:00

You may have noticed a new look lately. I changed my header. It's much more naked. It's called the Naked Bandit.
Too much you say? Well, yes, it probably is.

Here's some backstory. Oh, yes, that crazy person in the underwear, galoshes , and weilding a samurai sword a blue cowboy hat and attacking a cat is...me. 11 years ago when I was 19 and much much skinnier. It was my sophomore year in college at UNT. Me and my best friend moved into an old house off campus which was closer than either of our apartments/dorms were. Plus we had weird roommates to begin with and wanted a happy place instead of a roommates crazy ex-boyfriend stabby situation. We were both fashion design/art majors who had very very strange personalities and decided a house was a better situation.

My roommate, Nikki, (and partner in crazy) had just been dumped via email by her boyfriend of two years. I hated him for making her cry. She was so sad. And I thought, well, I could help her out. So....I went into my bedroom and stripped down into my underwears. I got a turquoise straw cowboy hat (it was cool at the time in the early 00's), my favorite belt, a plastic samurai sword, my galoshes because I didn't have cowboy boots and wrapped a bandanna around my face. I grabbed our 15 pound orange tabby cat named Dook (short for Dookie he had a diarrhea problem as a kitten) and ran into the dining/sewing/computer room and yelled while laughing uncontrollably...

"GIVE ME ALL YOUR, HE HE HE HAHAHAH, MONEY OR THE CAT.........(here I paused cause I was cackling).....GET'S IT."

I watched as shock, awe, horror then laughter floated on her face. She laughed. I laughed. The cat bit me and ran off to hide somewhere and possibly shit a brick in his litter box the size of a baseball just to piss me off.

We laughed some more, and then some more. We took some pictures after we found the cat who was really scratching me at this point.

We name it, "The Naked Bandit."

Story got around, probably because she told some dude named Bill and he posted the picture on Hot or Not.com and then I knew I would never never win Miss America. Because I was sooo fucking close and they were just going to "Vanessa William's" me over this I was sure.

Note: I have never nor will I ever be a contestant in a pageant, I'm not pretty enough and not committed enough also I don't care.

So, it's one of my favorite pictures. Now it's my header. I suppose you could hate it, but it's better the old one in my opinion.

Rudy

wristbands and wrist marks.

2011-08-15T11:46:00.000-07:00

So, I have been working on this project. It was about 300 or so illustrations for a book. I have been furiously sketching on the computer trying to get this done for the last week. Well, my computer desk is a bit too high, or low or whatever and after awhile my wrists start to hurt from rubbing over the edge of the desk and it's been leaving a little desk edge mark. (ps. it's also because it left a red mark that looked like a scar and I really didn't want people to get 'that' impression from me.)I don't have a wrist rest for my computer because i've never needed one. Since I never spend too much time in front of my computer (lie) well since I don't spend enough time to get a wrist rest. But, now I need one.

(no I don't use the pull out keyboard and mouse thingy that would make my forearms rest at a ninety degreee angle therefore removing the need for wrist rest and all wrist strain because I don't like it and it's more uncomfortable than the other way)

This project is going to end. So, I don't really want to buy one so I do what I do best...I improvised. I used two pairs of my husbands socks to use under my wrists. It was too bulky. Then I thought about wrapping some fabric or a towel around my wrist. Then, well it would fall off. Then as usual, the light bulb went off in my head, the lightening struck and I loudly screamed "Eureka"!! Like old Richie Tenenbaum himself, I figured thick wristbands would do the trick. I went into my closet and found the perfect socks. They were striped tube socks from the Puma Store that were pink and blue. I cut off the very tight tube part and folded them over twice to make these........

I am officially the coolest person I know.

I was walking around the house with them on for a few days before Sarge inquired about them.

"What...do you sweat a lot when you sketch or something?"

"Nope, well, not in my wrists, there's no wrist rest on our computer and my wrists are getting rubbed raw from moving over the edge of it. I rubbed off all the varnish."

"Oh, you can just get a wrist rest you know."

"Why when I have these awesome wristbands?"

The conversation thus ended.

I'm a flasher

2011-08-13T20:30:00.000-07:00

Flash.
I hate the term. But only since I've been taking this class called: "Introduction to Flash CS4". I have taken other online courses, and it's tough if you're a visual learner and the thing you are supposed to learn is a visual medium. It's like taking a painting class from a robot. A half melted robot that only speaks binary code and is only formatted to make shoelaces.

There are some things you MUST SEE. I've done these assignments over and over and over. I keep looking at online videos and am still having trouble. That time-line is killer. As in I want to KILL it.

Here are some of the files. I've done assignment 2 through 5 over many times. And each time have failed to achieve what the instructor seems to think is "fun". I also never accomplished anything even remotely like the instructors horrible horrible flash info graphic. By the way, I abhor flash in web design. If I know it's flash (and you can tell with bad design) I click away because it wastes my time, it takes forever to load and for Christ's sake if I wanted a god damn video I would go to youtube. Thank God, or Steve Jobs that it's not supported in the iphone or ipad format.

But here I am learning it. Or trying to learn it. I have to hand it to myself. I keep trying.

Here are some of the various names I have saved these projects as so as to have a nice little museum to my failed flash projects.

MyFirstFlash02.fla
MyFirstFlash02redo.fla
firstflash2CS5.fla

MyFirstFlash03.fla
MyFirstFlash03redo.fla
FirstFlash3CS5.fla

MyFirstFlash04.fla
MyFirstFlash04rdo.fla
MyFirstFlash04redux.fla
MyFirstFlash04rdoneit.fla
firstflash4CS5.fla

MyFirstFlash05.fla
MyFirstFlash05.redux.fla

And those are just the ones I saved. I tried it many more times, undid my work, started over and here I am, on Lesson 8 only having finished lesson two completely and successfully.

Each time something goes wrong and I cannot for the life of me fix it. My professor asks me to send him the document on google docs but google docs does not support .fla or .swf. I cannot contact him directly because it's against the rules. So, he cannot see my work. I cannot figure it out. And I'm lost. He says "it should work" and I'm not sure if he's real, or if he's a poltergeist coming out of my computer to just fuck with me. In any case, I have Flash CS3 and Flash CS5 and neither of them can keep certain elements on my design from just "disappearing" from the file at certain frames. So then, I either start over or try to fix the problem. Sometimes fixing the problem makes it much much worse. So here I am at 10:21 pm, starting over again and failing again. I do not understand how anyone can use this program. They are most certainly evil cyborgs.

I hope Flash burns and fails and is replaced with something less ~~idiotic insipid stupid clunky microscopic layer overload sad ass piece of shit twat waffle~~ ~~timeline is a hemmeroid~~ crappy.

Oh, how I miss real human being teachers. You could raise your hand and ask a question and get an answer. Even if they smelled bad, it would be preferable to this. I once had a professor named Dr. Blow and he had an awful mullet, nasty teeth and the most frightening mustache I had ever seen. And he was AWESOME.

Here are some of my future flash projects:

Fuck-you-and-the-horse-you-rode-in-on.fla

I-hope-you-get-a-genital-virus-you-cpu-twatwaffle.swf

Steve-Jobs-and-I-hate-you.swf

I-wouldnt-piss-on-you-if-you-were-on-fire.swf

Toodles Flash. I hope HTML5 grinds you into dust.

Strawberry Botulism is jammy goodness

2011-08-07T10:18:00.000-07:00

So, somehow I came to have a deep freezer full of strawberries. Maybe they appeared there by magic, maybe I found them on the side of the road. How I got them is irrelevant, the fact is, I have them and now what do I do them them?

Mysterious strawberries.

For a week or so I was giving them away, eating a shit load of them, and freezing the rest. Well, after we ate our fill we started to think. What do we do with all these strawberries. And the answer came in a zephr.

Jam.

Sarge LOVES STRAWBERRY JAM. He loves it. He will eat spoonfulls out of the jar. He had been given a jar of home-made strawberry jam years ago from a friend. He became obsessed....with Jam.

I've never made jam, and that jam was eaten within a week of receiving it. So, the only thing to do with all my strawberries....jam.

I got a recipe. I got Pectin. I got 10 pounds of sugar and I got 10 jars.

This is how it went.

Here's my recipe from Cooks.com


STRAWBERRY JAM
4 c. sugar 2 c. crushed ripe strawberries (about 2 pts.) 3/4 c. water 1 box powdered fruit pectin Add sugar to crushed strawberries in a large bowl; mix well and set aside. Combine the water and pectin in a small saucepan; blend well. Bring to boiling and boil 1 minute, stirring constantly. Stir into sweetened strawberries. Continue stirring about 3 minutes. (There will be some sugar crystals remaining.)Quickly ladle jam into jars and cover with tight-fitting lids. Let stand until "set". If used within 2-3 weeks store in refrigerator; if kept longer store in freezer. Five (1/2 pint) jars of jam.

I had considerably more than 2 cups of strawberries. I had about 3 gallons. But I decided to start small. And just defrost about 8 of those little clamshells filled with strawberry goodness.

Well, back up, first I had to sterilize the jars. I had no sterilizer, or canner. So out came the big pot, which seems huge to me, and in came water.

I keep asking Sarge, "Would this be a simmer or a rolling boil.?"

Sarge: "Does it look like it's rolling?"

"Maybe, not, I'm not sure."

I put two jars in because that's all that will fit.

I leave them in there for a minute. That seems about right. Sarge look it up on his i-phone, "Sterilize them for 10 minutes."

"Seriously...well 1 minute will have to do I don't have all the time in the world to freaking sterilize shit."

I look online, turns out most people use their dishwasher on the sanitize setting. I don't have a God Damn dishwasher so fuck it. I'm sure 1 minute will do.

Then I slowly pull out my jars. They're not 1/2 pint jars like in the recipe, and they aren't full pin jars either. They're 12 oz jars. So, the math here got me a bit sticky.

I'm trying to figure out how many cups of sugar and pectin I need, especially since I have a jar of pectin and not a box, and it says a regular box has 6 tablespoons. So I estimate. I'm not really great at cooking y'all. So my estimations are wildly inaccurate on a good day. On a bad day, I'm pretty sure I have created tar and or asphalt.

I am defrosting the strawberries in the sink. Because they are frozen. When they thaw they become little strawberries squirt bombs that dissolve into slush when you touch them. Cutting off the stems gets weird. My hand get covered in strawberry slime and I notice how acidic strawberries are when the slime gets into a hangnail. And it stings like nothing should ever sting.

After thawing the strawberries and cutting off their leaves I have a big bowl of strawberry sludge. I have nothing to mash them with, so I use the back of a big spoon. They mostly just swim away into the strawberry goo/sludge. I figure. Well, they exploded when I touched them, I will just use my hands. I try to squish them with my hands. They explode, but it's fucking cold in the sludge so I give up and decide that my jam will have large pieces of slimy strawberries in it because I'm GOURMET.

I measure out how many cups of strawberries I have. 10 cups of strawberries. I'm going to double the recipe. Why? Because I haven't read online yet that doubling strawberry jams is never a good idea and it turns out syrupy. I figure, if for 2 cups of strawberries I need four cups of sugar, than for 10 cups of strawberries I'll need 40 cups of sugar. My math is wrong you're thinking . And you'd be right. I would only need 20 cups of sugar.

I'm supposed to mix the sugar and the water and the pectin and put it into a boil. But I figure that's too hard, so I'll just combine everything in my pot at once and boil. And the same shit will happen. Just so you know I dropped out of chemistry in high school so I'm a little slapdash on theory.

I drop in all of my strawberries, and about 10 cups of sugar. The pot is 3/4" from overflowing. So, I figure, lets give it a taste and maybe I''ll forgo to other 30 cups of sugar. It's super sweet already so I say. 10 cups of sugar is good, my strawberries are sweet enough. I look for the pectin. I'm supposed to add 1 box of pectin per 2 cups of strawberries. I look on my jar of pectin. It says 6 tablespoons would be one box. So, I put 6 table spoons in. And stir.If I'm supposed to have 6 tablespoons of pectin per 2 cups of strawberries then I need 12 tablespoons per 10 cups. Do you see my other mathematic error? Because I do....now. Because I think, and correct me if I'm wrong because I usually am that I was supposed to use.....30 tablespoons of pectin. Well, it's fine I figure. Because I'm out of pectin anyway.

So I boil and boil and boil. And stir and stir and stir. And when I walk away the jam overflows and covers the stove top, the floor and the counter in strawberry syrupy goo.

I freak out and pull it off the heat and figure. Well, it's done now. Well I was wrong because I was supposed to let it boil for another 10 minutes or an hour or something. I just start ladling the jam into the jars. And burn my hand before I figure out to use a pot holder. I figure I'd let the slimy strawberries hang out in the jam for about 5 jars, and then I'd skim them out for the kind of jam I like. Just JAM. There's all this foam everywhere but I haven't read online yet that you are supposed to skim it off. And I also haven't learned yet that too little sugar and too little cooking will make the strawberries float. So my strawberries are freaking floating everywhere. I put them into jars, twist on the lids and figure I'm done. Oh wait. Then I have to boil the jars again. So I boil the jars for about a minute and figure. Now I'm done.

Then I have to clean the entire kitchen and my feet and my shoes and every towel I own. Because it's covered in jam. I notice a couple hours later that my jam isn't setting. It's just all, syrupy.

So I research some more and find out I did everything wrong and my jam needs to be remade. So to remake my jam I will have to, essentially, add more sugar more pectin and boil it some more. And then boil the jars....again.

Super.

Just what I wanted to do.

This is why I will never have my own cooking show.

Slimy strawberries in foam on the left, and syrup on the right.

I still have about 20 more pounds of strawberries left. Is anyone willing to make jam for me?

Oh the terror

2011-08-02T09:37:00.000-07:00

I am going back to school. Yes, I gave in to the peer pressure that was unrelenting from daytime television and went back to school. Not a real school, online school. Because I'm already over-educated and would rather have the skills but no extra letter after my name for fear they would hold it against me.

It's been a struggle. And I pray to God it actually benefits me in the end.

But yesterday, after a particularly dark moment where I was cursing the developers that created XHTML code and wished all their feet would fall off, a nice moment of Grace came to me.

This bloomed in my 'rock garden'.

Those of you from Texas are unimpressed. Because Prickly Pear blooms a lot and it's not a national event. But what's amazing about this prickly pear is that I planted it. And I have a black thumb. I can't make anything grow except for my ass. I love prickly pear, I love their flowers. I love the papery petals, the ruggedness of the plant. I love that I could make this grow. Well, I didn't make it grow. I dug it up, ripped off a couple pears, and then placed it on some dirt. The prickly pear did the rest. Thank God for prickly pears.

Anyway, it made me happy. There are times in my life when I feel fraught with failure and little sights can make me feel a little better. I have to remember that being a failure isn't so bad. I mean, I am very very good at it. I guess I can take some pride in that.

Love you all,

Rudy

Oh, I am a total flasher

2011-07-31T09:29:00.000-07:00

I am taking an online class to learn Flash. Not how to flash, because we all know about that time I scared those old ladies taking tai chi with my nude body.

No, I am taking a class on how to animate shit. Stupid shit mostly. But here we are. This class has eaten my brain. Seriously, I feel like I was just attacked by a zombie. It has destroyed me. But it did not break me completely, I have like a few brain cells left and after 4 or 5 tried, i finished the lesson and made my own flash movie. I cried, so fucking hard after each failed attempt. But now, I am finished. The proffessor never fucking helped. Whatever.

Here is the flash movie I made in the lesson. I have newfound respect for those asshole pop up ads that irrirate you. So hard to make. So ugly to look at. So irritating.

So this is lesson 4 finished. I hate it but it works.

This is my homework assignemnt. Must simpler.

This is the fuck ass broken one that made me cry.

So this is what I've been doing this week/weekend/evening/coma. I haven't been blogging since I have been working.

Salut. I would drink an entire bottle of champagne in celebration, but I have three more assignemtns to finish. CSS is leaving me in tears too.

SEE ya

Oh, yeah,, the blog wont let me post swf files. So you dont' get to see them. Too bad so sad.
Look at his animation and pretend I did it.

Things I just said

2011-07-21T06:49:00.000-07:00

I just heard myself say this....

"O, sooooo sexy."

I was looking at this.

Joel Penkman

Can you tell that I'm dieting?

The Red Baroness-Chapter 10-11

2011-07-16T18:51:00.000-07:00

I don't know what this is for but it seemed appropriate to this post.

Chapter 10

Later on in the evening I got to wonder about Uncle Burke had scurried off to. I wanted to know where he was and why Tommy was being so shady about it at the hangar earlier. I turned to Dad and asked, "Do you know where Uncle Burke is?"

"I think he went down to the coast to work. But I’m not sure, you should ask your Mom.”

“Where is Mom?”

“Last I saw she was heading down to the health food store for more herbs.”

The coast, I thought about it in my head. The coast, means the BEACH.

Suddenly it occurred to me why Tommy had been acting so cagey. He always tried to push me out of projects with Burke. He knew I was Burke’s favorite gear-head and he hated it. Well right then and there I decided to take a much-needed Beach Vacation.

I called up my compatriot in all things evil and soon heard Britt's voice.

"What’s up buttercup?”

“Why do you sound so cheery? Shouldn’t you be in a lot of pain right now?

“Nah, I never get hung-over anymore, must be all that high altitude drinking I do.”

“Weird, I swear, you will be the driving force of inebriation research. I have a favor to ask.”

“Name it.”

“Well, I need the flight information for a certain Tommy.”

“Oh, that’s why he left so early this morning.”

“Ugh Britt, couldn’t you have left that part out.”

“Never darling, I speak a true and unbalanced story.”

“Don’t you mean balanced?”

“Nope, I’m never a balanced person.”

“Whatever, just get me that info, I need to know where he’s going in Corpus?.”

“Aye Aye, Captain, I’m so excited about going to the beach, I’m gonna get the best tan.”

“Hey, I didn’t invite you.”

“I’m always invited Gill, you need me there.”

Well, at least I thought to myself, she’d keep Tommy busy so I could figure out this mess.

Not too long after I hung up with Britt I heard back from her.

“Port Aransas.”

“They’re in Port Aransas? Those bastards. I love Port Aransas!”

I’d never really cared one way or another for Port A, but hey, I was sure I’d love it as soon as I got there.

“Alright, I’ll borrow my dad’s truck and we can go down there as soon as I get a map and an address.”

“Eew, we’re driving?”

“Yes, I can’t afford a plane ticket and I can’t afford a plane ticket for Fitz, and he needs to come with me. He’s my bodyguard.”

“Little Fitzy, well he’s just a pushover.”

“Only to you Britt, he’s a mean beast to anyone else.”

“How are you going to find their address?”

“I think I know someone who knows more than he’s telling.”

A couple minutes later I was in my old truck heading over to Burke’s hangar. We’ll see what he remembers now.

Fitz and I piled out of the truck and headed upstairs to McGuire. I rapped on the door and opened it without an invitation. I found McGuire asleep face down on the old futon that Burke keeps in his apartment. He was fully dressed and fully rumpled and not at all happy to have a surprise guest wake him up out of a prescription med coma.

“Where the hell is Tommy?!” I yelled into his ear abruptly ending his sleep.

He flinched and rolled over to take a look at whatever was yelling at him. When he realized it was me, he slowly removed his hand from under his pillow. I assumed he was probably clutching some sort of weapon in his sleep.

I yelped, “Oh my God, you sleep with a gun!! Are you kidding me? You could have killed me, what the hell were you thinking.”

He glanced at me, glanced back at the pillow and then threw the pillow at me. It hit me square in the face and when I threw it down on the floor I saw that what he was clutching in his sleep under his pillow wasn’t a weapon, but the old issue of playboy he had shown me the other day….with my doppelganger.

My face flushed with embarrassment, I’m not sure whether it was for him or for me.

“Good morning to you too, Gill. Do you mind if I get up before you yell at me?”

“Harumph.”, I growled thru clenched teeth.

McGuire pushed himself off the bed and got up, rubbing his face in his hand while sitting on the edge of the bed. He was rubbing his neck when he took a deep breath and looked up at me.

“Why are you here?”

I felt a little bit badly about waking him up, but it was around 10 am and I was already revving to go so I spit it out.

“I need some information from you.”

“Do I look like I know a lot?”

“I don’t care if you look like you’ve got nothing but a hamster scratching around in your skull, I know you know where Tommy and Burke are.”

“Port A, is that all you wanted?”

Hmn, I thought to myself, that was easy.

“Nope, I need an actual address. Something more substantial to go on my friend.”

“Oh, I’m you’re friend again, you tend to change your mind pretty quickly.”

“Quit stalling, what do you know?!”

“You know, this would be a lot more effective if you were grilling me under hot lights and no sleep; maybe with good cop bad cop. I mean, a 5’7” red-headed girl who just blushed when she saw me with a playboy doesn’t inspire a lot of fear in a guy who wants to keep a secret.”

I just raised my eyebrows in what I thought was a look of complete irritation.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” He said.

“Like what?” I retorted.

“Like you just had a stroke.”
“Ugh, I am trying to show you that I am irritated and in a hurry and I need your help.”

McGuire grinned to himself, “Jesus, just ask nicely, I’m not some CIA spook, you don’t have to torture me with your special brand of crazy face.”

Impatiently I asked again, “Where did they go?”

“Look, all I remember is that they went to Port Aransas to some rich guy’s mansion to fix up his old plane. That’s all I know, they didn’t even say the name of the client.”

“Are you telling the truth?”

“Yes, I mean, why the hell is this so important? Jesus, you get all freaky and it’s just a plane? Why are you so interested? You’ll restore more planes, and this would just be one you haven’t.”

It didn’t make a lot of sense, now that he put it that way. But I was so pissed off that Tommy would try to muscle me out of a restoration job. I mean, I love restoring planes, and I’m damn good at it. I didn’t like being in my parent’s house as an unemployed college graduate who couldn’t get a job. This was the only fun I have now that I’d become an adult.

“Look McGuire,” I said tartly, “I am bored as hell here, and I want to get back to doing the one thing that makes me happy.”

McGuire looked up at me with what I assumed was a was a come hither smile and said, “There are other ways of getting over boredom. Other things that make people happy.”

“Yeah, but I’d like one that lasts longer than fifteen minutes.” I smartly retorted.

He smiled and said, “So what do you want to do Gill?”

“ I want to get on a highway and head south, maybe go swimming in the ocean. What are you going to do McGuire?”

“I could use some coffee.”

We settled into the truck just as before: in the cab of my old truck steadily making our way to get coffee at the nearest convenience store. The silence started to get to me so I let my mind wander and finally became curious about McGuire.

“Is McGuire your first name?”

“Nope.”

“Then what is it?”

“Guess.”

“Is it…..Aaron?

“Nope.”

“Sean?”

“Nope.”

“Sue?”

He smiled, “Nope. I’ll give you a hint, it starts with an S though.”

My next three guesses of Steven, Sam, Sheila, Sarah, and Solomon were all incorrect as well.

“You give up?”

I said, “Fine, yeah, I give up, what’s your first name?”

“Shannon.”

“Shannon? You gave me shit about having a man’s name and you’re named Shannon!!!”

“Shannon is not a girls name! It’s unisex.”

“Ugh, like Kelly and Ashley is unisex. It might have been perfect when you lived in the 18^th century, but it’s a bit girly now.”

“Hey, like you can talk, Gilligan is hardly feminine.”

“So, you’re parents were cruel too?” I said after a few moments of heated silence.

“It’s a family name. My grandfather was Shannon.”

“Well, at least you can tell people that, I was named after the main ass-hat in Gilligan’s Island.”

McGuire looked at me and laughed, “Well, Ginger would have been more appropriate with your red hair and all, but Gilligan works as well. You seem more of a Gill to me.”

I replied, “Well, you seem more of a McGuire to me.”

“So, we’re just going with those now?” He asked.

“Yeah, let’s not rock the boat with more names to remember. I have trouble remembering my own sometimes.”

McGuire looked at me with a grin, “You really do have problems Gilly.”

“No, you will have the problem if you call me Gilly again.”

“Understood.”

We reached the gas station and McGuire got out and within a couple minutes came out with a steaming cup of coffee in a travel cup and a bag of what I hoped were donuts. I was right, they were doughnuts, but they were three-day-old doughnuts. I didn’t think I wanted petrified pastry so I didn’t steal any from him.

I started driving back to my house. McGuire asked where we were going.

“Well, I think I know someone who could tell me more about where Burke’s next project is. We’re going to my parent’s house.”

“Oh, so I get to meet your mom, awesome.”

“Why do you want to meet my Mom?”

“You can’t figure it out?” He said.

“Not really.”

“Then don’t worry about it.”

I let the subject drop and concentrated on changing the radio station 45 times. I never liked the radio in Amarillo. Too bad my dad’s old truck didn’t have a cd player, and I lost my I-pod to the treacherous Jorge. That damn thief.

We got out of dad's old truck and headed up walk to my parent's home. Before we got three steps Fitz jumped the back fence and ran up to McGuire panting like a puppy. McGuire immediately started scratching his head and calling him a ‘good dog’. It was curious since Fitz never liked anyone except Britt and me.

“Um,” I broke the silence, “Do you have something in your pants? Like a shank of bacon or a sausage?”

“Is that your weirdo way of asking me if I’m happy to see you or are you really used to people carrying sausage in their pants?” McGuire asked.

“I just mean that Fitz is really being friendly, and he NEVER does that.”

“Or maybe he likes me.” McGuire replied.

“Did you spill bar-b-que sauce on your pants?”

“No….ugh. Whatever.” McGuire walked past me with Fitz happily in his wake.

As we walked the front door my Mom was in the living room in spread-legged downward dog pose. She looked at us upside down, through her legs. “Hi baby, who's your new friend?”

I turned to McGuire, and wasn’t terribly surprised at his reaction. Most of my guy friends looked the same way when I introduced them to my very attractive Mother. Sometimes people mistook her for my sister.

“You look ….” I took time to draw out the next word, “flushed.”

Satisfied I responded to momma. “This is McGuire. Do you remember him from Uncle Burke's bbq?”

She remembered. Momma stood to face us in all her glory of little yoga pants and tight, hot-pink sports bra. “I’m sorry about you getting hurt at the party. Tommy’s house is a disaster. I don’t understand how someone lives like that. Oh, are you the one who called and left a message for Gill? I couldn’t remember your name at the time.”

McGuire was still blushing and silent so I went ahead and let him stare while I got down to business.

“Momma, do you know how to get in touch with Uncle Burke?”

“I faxed some things to him earlier this week at the Siesta Motel in Port Aransas, but I don't know if he is staying there of just doing business.”

“I think I’ll head down there, Burke could need the help. Plus McGuire is getting bored without Tommy and he needed a ride down too. I was figuring we could carpool.”

“I’m not the one who’s bored.” McGuire muttered.

“Yes you are.” I replied as thought he had said it out loud.

I turned to look at McGuire, “Wouldn’t you rather take a road trip to Port Aransas and then hang out on the beach than stay around in the desert?”

Mcguire thought about it for a nanosecond and replied, “yep, I would.”

“Well then it’s settled, we head South.”

I turned to look at my Mom, “Will that be ok with you and Dad?”

“Sweetie, you’re 26, don’t ask me for permission.” She grinned at McGuire and me with a knowing look. “Just be careful down there.”

“Oh Mom, nothing can happen down there, I’ll have Britt and Burke and really what could go wrong, it’s Texas?”

I came to regret those words.

Chapter 11

“Fitz, we're going to the Beach!” I went into my room and started packing. Momma came in and said “I expected that you had already started packing so I dug through some of daddy's stuff and found some coveralls of his. And here is a roll of $100 in ones, I figure you can eat your weight in Whataburger’s with that.”

“And Shakes!!! Thanks Momma! I'm going to run back to the hangar to get McGuire’s stuff. Come on Fitz.”

While I went upstairs to pack I had left McGuire was sitting in the kitchen eating a lovingly handmade Belgian waffle, mostly likely cooked by my Mom. She may be vegan, but damned if she’d make anyone else go on a diet.

I was picking up a 25 pound bag of dog chow when I got a text from Britt on my phone.

“Sorry Luv, got to fly…tell me later ‘bout ‘Port A!”

That was Britt’s way of telling me she had something better to do. Probably serve flat champagne to bored businessmen. I was kind’ve down that I wouldn’t have Britt with me in Port Aransas, but really, all she’d do is lay out on the beach and tan, and I’d be working on a plane getting all greasy.

McGuire got his stuff in record time, it’s was a green duffel bag and he was in the truck in about five minutes.

“Pack light eh?”

McGuire just smiled and asked if I knew how to get there.

“Yep, It’s just down the interstate for about a day or two.”

“Good.” And he pulled his baseball cap down on his head and began to sleep.

Fitz dropped his head in McGuire’s lap and started to drift off to. It looked like I was the only driver on this trip.

The drive was boring and took forever, but after driving all day and stopping at a truck stop off the highway I got up the next morning and started off again. McGuire was no help since he only woke up to eat or to make a pit stop.

I was nearing San Antonio and was stopped by a wreck stopping up all the traffic on both sides of the interstate. Looks like a huge eighteen wheeler jackknifed and hit the barrier. I turned my truck and started driving (illegally) over the grassy knoll separating the highway from the access- just following the rest of the traffic. But instead of avoiding all the clogged traffic on the highway I got pulled over by a state trooper. Fitz was asleep on the truck floor covered with the usual flotsam and jetsum that comes with a road trip. You couldn’t see him if you weren’t looking, so I didn’t bring up his presence for fear that Fitz would attack. McGuire stirred momentarily and went back to sleep in a different position.

The trooper walked up with a swagger to do John Wayne proud and spoke to me under the shade of his cowboy hat. “Afternoon m’am. I’ve pulled you over for an illegal exit off the highway and disregard of traffic control devices.”

I was guessing he was speaking about the thick white stripe on the side of the road that I drove straight over, and those little knobby things that make an awful lot of noise under your tires when you drive over them.

“Oh……….Sorry Trooper….uh Hamby.” I said after glancing at his shiny name tag.

He asked for my license and registration and I gave it to him, he them walked back to his black and white cop car(with lights ablaze) and proceeded to write me a ticket. I was fuming about my bad luck when Trooper Hamby came back and handed me a WARNING!!!! Then he stared at me for a couple seconds,

“You haven’t aged a bit, darling. You were my favorite centerfold.”

And with a wink waved me forward. I was pretty curious what on Earth he was talking about, but decided to chalk it up to the high temperatures and long hours in the sun.

Life in pictures repost

2011-07-14T15:26:00.000-07:00

I tried to post all these awesome pictures for my life in pictures post but somehow managed to delete them all.

I'm trying again but this if I fuck up again I will set fire to my lawn. I don't know why my lawn. Because it's mostly dirt and dead weeds anyway? But then again, we're in a drought and the whole city of Mcqueeney will go aflame.

So, hey,I set up a hummingbird feeder and it actually attracted a real LIVE hummingbird. I tried to use food dye to get the water a lovely red/nectary color, but only managed a tea brown. So far it doesn't seem to 'repel' the hummingbirds so I'm keeping it up until I have to change out the sugar water. I'd just pour some crystal lite into it but the instructions on my bird feeder demanded real sugar, because fake sugar could give them diabetes or something. Maybe it was brain clots or feather fungus, I just know I don't want to hurt a hummingbird. There are birds I would lovingly dismember with my bare hands....I'm talking about nasty fucking SWANS...and chicken of course; and then there are birds I desperately want to live and those are hummingbirds.

Tea colored nectar water. Drink it up hummingbirds.

What I found on my dry erase board one day.

My husband sure has a lot of fun when I'm away.

It turns out, I don't look better when carved out of stone.

My son finds my touch repugnant. I guess he's part of 'that' group now.

I went to a family reunion for some friends of mine and this is the party table. It's a glass rifle full of tequila. Yeah. I Have fun friends.

I grew a mustache along with my three sisters.

I went to Central Market and they had my favorite candies marked with my name. It's eerie that they are so spot on. Like they've read my mind. I don't appreciate the Fat Bastard photo though, it's a bit on the nose don't you think?

This was in the "aquatic themed" room at the Pediatricians office. It's creepy eh? I sent a picture of it to my friend Jenny who is terrified of giant squids. She never responded. This could be why I have so few friends.

It's summer in texas and that means that we're all melting from the heat. On the plus side though, I got some cool ice cube trays.

My son is adorable. Oh, those big white shoes.

Barba-Blanco. He's not even two and he can grow a beard. Take that Chuck Norris.

I made friends with a robot bouncer. He was a tad stiff, to begin with but in the end we worked it out.

My son got a black eye from falling off a booth in Marie Callenders and then hitting his head on the edge of the table. That's what you get for NOT SITTING DOWN WHEN I SAID SO. He also got a balloon because the manager was scared we were going to sue.

I floated the river for my 30th birthday. Also, I wore a cowboy hat.

I took this picture of myself while I was laying out under the Eiffel Tower in Vegas (the not real one guys). I just had to post it because my boobs......... yeah, my girls are awesome.

The ugliest house in Lake Jackson, stays ugly.

it's not like HE CAN READ guys. Give him some slack.

That's if for life in pictures.

Rudy

Life in pictures

2011-07-10T12:03:00.000-07:00

My kid has grown a beard. He's so hip.

So that's my life in pictures since I have nothing much to say.

Rudy

ps. These new shorts I got are really climbing up my rear. And now it's giving me serious camel-toe, What the hell Walmart? When did you stop making quality goods? Due to the fact that I never ever want a picture of me showing off the camel-toe phenomenon I will not post a picture even though this is 'life in pictures'. I just hope that this description is graphic enough for you to form one in your mind.

Enjoy!!!

Netipot in the urban dictionary pending

2011-07-05T12:43:00.000-07:00

SO, I just added Netipot to the Urban Dictionary having a synonymous meaning to Douche bag. Let's hope it starts to catch on.

R

By the way, Mom, do not search on Urban Dictionary for Netipot. It hasn't been confirmed as a real word yet. They are still reviewing it. Also, there are alternate Netipot slang that is so vile even I want to barf. I can't and wont describe it to you, it is just disgusting, just like the Netipot itself.

The Red Baroness-abandoned project-new chapters

2011-06-19T20:06:00.000-07:00

More Gill's adventures. Chapter 7 continued....

The conversation stopped when we pulled up into Talullah’s diner and Fitz hopped out. Talullah was cool, she let me bring in Fitz. McGuire came in after us into a booth. We both ordered root beer in the bottle and huge piles of eggs, bacon and pancakes. I love breakfast outside of the morning. How more decadent can you be? After eating almost everything on our plates, and slowly letting our bodies slip into digestion we started up an easy conversation of small talk.

“How bout those horns?” he mused.

“You know, I have no idea, I didn’t go to UT for the football.”

“Yeah, what did you do in Austin? I thought all of Austin is crazy about games.”

“Well, not me, I just liked the town. I did a lot of hiking, and biking and you know outdoors stuff. They have a good lot of rock-climbing down there. Plus, the live music. And they had great food. I live for food. They have this place on the drag called Dirty’s. And the food is excellent.”

“Well, it’s practically written in the title.”

“I agree,” throwing back his sarcastic comment.

“What do you do for fun?”

“I can’t remember.”

“Um, what?”

“It’s been awhile since I’ve done anything fun.”

“I know the feeling.”

“Why did you come down to visit with Tommy?”

“He promised me it would be a lot of fun.”

“You having fun yet?”

“ I was until you showed up and put me in the hospital.”

“Hey, what’s a little assault among friends?”

“We’re friends?”

“Well, if Fitz likes you we must be friends. He has infallible taste.”

Fitz was sitting next to McGuire, looking comfortable with McGuire petting him.

“You know, he never lets anyone but my best friend Britt pet him. He’s not a very physically affectionate guy.”

“Well, I like dogs.”

“Good to know”

We paid our bill, split down the middle, and walked out back to the truck.

In the car going back to the Airstrip we were silent. By the time we got back Tommy was there waiting for us.

“Hey, guys. I was worried, I saw your car Gill and thought you came by to finish the job on McGuire.”

“She almost did. Knocked me on my ass when she blew in the door.”

“Yeah, turns out Popeye doesn’t have his sea legs yet.” I turned to Tommy, “Where’s Uncle Burke?”

“Oh I don’t know,” Tommy said while staring at his feet and shuffling. “You know how he goes off for awhile sometimes.”

I stood there looking at my cousin lie very badly to me.

“He never just goes off for awhile, he always tells us where he’s going, and he never goes anywhere except to work on planes.”

“I don’t know, maybe he has a girlfriend or something.”

“Tommy, why are you lying to me, where did he go?”

“He told me not to tell you. He’s gonna be back soon anyway.”

At this point I was starting to steam, Burke had always been honest with me. About many things I wish he would lie about.

“He wouldn’t tell you to do that.”

“Look Gill, leave me alone, you’re bugging me. I just came here to check on McGuire. I can see ya’ll are busy so I’ll just leave.”

He spun around before I could respond and slammed his car door shut. He spun out and drove away. Leaving me and McGuire standing there looking surprised.

“What crawled up his butt,” I wondered out loud.

McGuire just shrugged, seemingly as unsure as I.

Fitz started to walk away, apparently bored with our conversation and we followed after. He settled under a workbench and started to take a nap.

“So, Tommy tells me that you liked my plane.”

McGuire turned to me looking excited.
“Oh yeah, it’s beautiful. I mean, I’ve always liked those old planes and stuff. My dad was kinda a WW11 buff. It’s so awesome to see them up close. Can you fly it?”

“Can I fly it?! Of course I can fly it, I’m an excellent pilot.”

“Man, I’ve always wanted to go up in one.”

I looked at him and could tell he was sincere.

“Well, McGuire, today’s your lucky day.”

We opened the hangar door and I showed him how to help me pull it out to the airstrip. After helping him into the plane (not an easy fit even when very flexible and healthy) and handing him some old goggles I mentioned he needed to keep his mouth closed, for bugs and all. I started the propeller and cranked the engine. We taxied out to the empty strip, and started to accelerate. I kept going faster and faster until that glorious moment, lift-off. McGuire was sitting in front of me in the two-seater. It was possible to fly in either seat so I figured I’d give him the front seat and let him really get the feel of it. There’s not much to say when flying the Stearman, it’s an open cockpit. You put on goggles, and try to keep your mouth shut. There’s no headphone system and I’m not one to converse when I fly so it suited me. I just enjoy it. I could see from the back of his head that he wasn’t flinching, or shivering. So I took it as a good sign that he wasn’t going to wet his pants. I couldn’t keep myself from pushing the nose down and waiting until that moment of weightlessness and falling collides into fear. Like the feeling you get when on a rollercoaster and the cab just hits the highest point and you tip over, falling. It’s one of my favorite moments in flying and I enjoy screwing with a passenger. He didn’t scream, or look behind him to beg me with weeping eyes to stop so I figured he wasn’t a complete wuss. We flew over the barren countryside, an occasional field of cotton, and sparse herds of cattle grazing. I always felt better when I was flying. After about 20 minutes up in the air I turned around the plane to land. We started to descend and finally touched down. I pulled the brake and idled the engine. I shut off the propeller, and when it slowed enough, climbed out. I looked at McGuire, and he looked peaceful, with just a hint of a smile. He was handsome, not so much because of his features, but striking, genuine. I was sweating and cursing trying to help him get out and we slowly pulled the Stearman back into the hangar and closed the door. He turned to me and grinned,

“Thank you. That was awesome. I…I’ve always wanted to do that. You’ll have to show me how to fly. I ….just, it was great.” He then unexpectedly grabbed me and pulled me into a bear hug.

He seemed so excited, like a little kid. I was smiling just as he was. Maybe be wasn’t such a bad-ass. Or maybe he was just trying to feel me up, you never know, there’s always that one guy who likes hugging way too much.

I was getting tired a that point and was planning on resting a bit in the apartment before I left. Fitz was waiting for us in the hangar and led us up the stairs to the small apartment. McGuire plopped down on the lay-z-boy and I settled on the old couch. There was a pile of old Playboys, and since I only read them for the articles; I figured it was a good idea to catch up on my reading. It seemed McGuire was thinking the same thing. The radio was on, but mostly it was a low hum in the background. I was thinking that it was strange to feel comfortable being silent with this perfect stranger that I still wasn’t sure about. (I was sure I liked him, but not quite sure if I should like him.) But, Burkes apartment was my sanctuary, and even McGuire couldn’t disturb me. After awhile I noticed that McGuire was staring at me. When I looked up he started grinning.

“What are you staring at?” I demanded, feeling for something on my face and smoothing my hair.

He looked me over and said, “ Have you ever posed for playboy?”

I stared at him like he was speaking to me in Latin.

“Excuse me?”

“You can tell me I wont think any worse of you.”

“No, I’ve never posed for playboy.”

“I think you’re lying.”

“Why the hell would you think that? I mean, have you seen me in Playboy?!”

He grinned wider and unfolded the centerfold of issue of playboy he was reading. As it unfurled I saw a beautiful, naked red-head, with huge tata’s, and an alluring smile. She looked remarkably familiar. Maybe I went to high school with her or something.

“What, you think that’s me? Ha, as if.”

“You’re kidding me Gill, this looks just like you, I swear it is you. You posed for playboy, you’re miss December 19…….87.” He trailed off. At this point I’m sure he noticed that there was no way I could have posed for playboy in 1987. I wasn’t quite old enough for Hef at the time. “Well, I think we can rule me out for Miss December don’t you.”

“I still think you look a lot like her.”

“I’m sure you probably haven’t even looked at her face. Your glance didn’t go past her neck.

He looked closer and appeared to study the picture.

“Why don’t you give her a pap smear, Jesus.” Leave it to me to say something nasty. I got up and made my way to the little kitchen and looked in the fridge. I found a bunch of nothing and stomped back to my place on the couch and plopped down.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I replied.

“Well, don’t be all surly. You’re not that cute when you scrunch up your face like that.”

“Why should I care if I look cute to you or not.”

“Just thought you should know.” We looked at each other and I mentally told myself to stop making that face I make when I’m pissed off. It’s not that I cared that he thought I was cute. But just to be sure, maybe I should hold back some of the emotions. In the off chance someone that I wanted to make out with later should be spying in the window. I started to get restless, but going home to my old room, and feeling depressed and aimless didn’t hold much appeal. So I wandered thru all of Burkes old VHS and put one in. McGuire seemed content to sit and watch the TV with me and Fitz.

Leave it to “Clash of the Titans,” to lighten things up. Don’t you just love seventies movies. I especially love the part that Harry Hamlin is fighting all those clay-mation monsters. Ah, movie magic. I’d noticed that McGuire and I were laughing at the same parts, it seemed he had a decent sense of humor after all. Sometime during the movie I must have fallen asleep. Next think I woke up in was 8am and I was in Burke’s living room, all warm and snuggly. McGuire was asleep on the lay-z-boy. He was snoring loudly, and covered with a ratty old blanket. I padded up softly and peered over his covers. He was out, and I figured pretty doped up on those painkillers. So, I chickened out and left without saying adios. I could call later.

After letting Fitz out for a while we jumped in the truck and headed home. I was a little weirded out by McGuire. He was so strange. First he was an ass, then he’s all squishy and nice. I didn’t know what to think so I chalked up the hug and the nice to the super drugs. I’d probably hug someone I hated too if I had a couple pills of oxycontin floating around in my bloodstream.

Chapter 8

I snuck in the back door at home and tried to look like hadn’t been slept somewhere else without calling. I’d gotten out of the habit living on my own. I still felt guilty though, sometimes no matter how old you get, you’re still a kid when you’re in you parents house. I opened a box of count-chocula and settled in front of the tv. Nothing better that a couple hours of morning cartoons. I was halfway thru a ‘tom and jerry’ retrospective when Britt walked in. Fitz jumped to greet her and after sloppy hello’s from both of them she sat beside me. She looked at me expectedly.

“What?”

“So, where were you last nite.? I called and you never answered. You weren’t making nice with a wounded jarhead were you?”

“Not the making nice you tend to do Britt. I went out to Burke's to check on my plane and he was there. He surprised me and I knocked him down.”
“Again?! Damn Gill, you really like him horizontal. I bet he’s a fox undressed. How was he naked? Tommy told me he’s…”

I stopped her right there.

“Ugh, Geez Britt I didn’t peek alright. Why are you so interested? And why does Tommy keep telling people that. You’d think he was obsessed with other guys' totem poles.”

Britt started to giggle, “You called it a totem pole.”

We both started laughing and finally were hunched over crying and snorting.

Britt was great for making me laugh. It was the second time in 24 hours that I laughed hard like that. Sometimes it was good to be home. I was bored and Britt was buying so we went to get some lunch at the mall.

The Amarillo mall isn’t all that spectacular. I mean, it has a Victoria's Secret so it’s not totally hopeless. We were sorting thru the clearance section of DSW after a particularly big lunch at Chick-fil-A. Britt picked up a pair of beautiful Marc Jacobs round toe pumps with a distinct 40’s feel. I was in love. I don’t know why but I had a thing for shoes. I hardly every wore the pairs that I had. Mostly it was sneakers of flip-flops. But I loved them. Maybe it was an obsession thing. Like those Shop-a-holics that buy closets full of stuff that they never use. But they have to buy it, just to own it. I rarely bought shoes, but I thought about them often. I don’t know why I had a particular fascination. Maybe I was a closet shoe fetishist. I was squinting and making a face contemplating my theory when Britt snapped her fingers to get my attention.

“Where are you Gill, Pluto?”

“Nah, I was just wondering if I was a shoe fetishist.”

“Do you like having sex with shoes on? Do you like it when guys lick your shoes as foreplay? Do you ever walk on a guys naked back in heels and make marks?”

I stared at Britt horrified. I quickly glanced around to see if any passersby were listening. There was a small little gray-haired lady staring at me and Britt with what I could only assume was hellfire and damnation. It seemed the day could only get better. She walked away quickly mumbling what I thought sounded like a prayer. At least someone wanted to save my soul.

“ I didn’t think so, you’re not a shoe fetishist, you just like the way they make you feel. Height and sexiness is power.”

Sometimes Britt was very perceptive, but I was having a hard time not picturing shoe fetishists doing those things that Britt described.

“How the hell do you know all that?!”

“What don’t you ever watch Real Sex on HBO?”

Somehow I doubted that Britt didn’t know from firsthand.

Chapter 9

Groggily , I stumbled in to the kitchen where my Mom was preparing buttermilk and banana pancakes . I looked at her in her silk robe and wondered for a second. Momma caught my drowsy stare and giggled, “Baby it's too early for long glances, what 's on your mind?”

“Momma, weren't you doing part time aerobics instruction in the late 80's?”

“I was and I was in the best shape of my life. Why do you ask Baby girl? ” “Oh, it 's nothing momma, just still asleep I think . ” “Your Dad and me are going to go out to Burke's hangar this evening to grab some things he needs from his apartment. Why don 't you join us, that is unless you have a date.” “What are you talking about, why would I have a date?”

“Well, because you' re my little girl to begin with, and because some boy called the house phone and asked for you to call him back. He said his name was McCord or something.”

“It’s funny he didn’t call my cell.”

Then I remembered there wasn’t anyway he could have had my cell number. I just assumed he called one of the speed dials on Burkes phone and tried not to get too excited that a boy had called me.

My mind wandered back to the Playboy I saw last night. That girl did look a bit like me, but it was before I was even close to being Hef’s target teen model age. I thought again at the photo, and turned to my Mom.

“Hey Mom, did you ever do any modeling when I was little?

“Oh I had some pictures taken, nothing fancy, why do you ask Gilligan?”
“No reason I guess. ” Reminding myself that I really didn’t want to know the answer.

I let the rest of the day pass me by while sitting at my desk watching funny videos of cats. There are some day’s being unemployed is it’s own reward.

It was about noon when I got bored with cats wearing mustaches or getting caught in boxes, so I wandered downstairs to get a bite to eat. It might have had something to do with Fitz’s serious whining. But, I supposed it was time for me to eat as well. It wasn’t a particularly fulfilling morning and I was hoping for lunch to make the rest of the day better.

This may make me implode

2011-06-15T14:05:00.000-07:00

I'm trying to go back to school. Online school for web design. I already have a design degree, just not so much web training.

And the one class I thought would be an absolute easy A, has turned into a Leviathan that is going to eat me. Or just give me heartburn and nightmares.

I know photoshop. Or at least I told myself I did because I have used it for 7 years and took classes in it and so forth. Apparently I know jack-shit about photoshop because the first lesson in layer gradients just left me in 'figurative' tears. I can't produce real ones because we're in a drought in texas and that would be wasting water.

I want to throw something. I want to go office space on something. (that means taking a bat and beating the shit out of offending machine that won't work) Problem is, that offending machine is my brain and I don't think it's a good idea to beat oneself in the head.

Can you tell that I'm a bit stressed out? I have three online courses, that overlap for about 2 weeks. And the one that was supposed to be super easy is punching me in my ~~twat face stomach balls~~ ego. This shouldn't be hard you say. And you'd be right. But, I've got this anxiety over my head that stems from being behind in math in the 3rd grade. I still have nightmares I they will take away my degree because I didn't take algebra in high school. Which, I TOTALLY DID.

I got lots of projects that are completely self imposed but I hate leaving around unfinished projects for years and years. Dishes, meh roaches will eat off the old food. Laundry, well, isn't that what husbands are for? Changing the sheets? Pshaw. I love lying in my own filth. But an unfinished quilt that is not due to go to it's recipient until the end of the summer? Well, better finish it up three months early or I WILL FAIL!!!

Stupid isn't it?

Yep. It is.

Among the baby quilts, and blankets and stuff, I also have a lullaby book, and my real book. That I have this stinking suspicion that I will never finish after seeing this first class on creating web images in photoshop. You know last year I was doing the Books I will never Write edition and that was completely stopped by my "create a new website" issue. Well, after that was done the ambition to doing more Books I will Never Write illustrations and it never came back. Perhaps we should sing our swan song for all the projects I have given myself that will die today.

Goodbye Lullabye book. Jedi hates for me to sing to him anyway, He physically covers my mouth to stop me.

So long unfinished Novel. You've waited six years, here's to another sixty.

Adios Piano Class-yeah that was totally never going to last, if you remember the two guitar lessons that stopped abruptly, you should have seen this coming.

Adieu ballet classes, just give up now they don't make XXXL leotards for a reason.

Vio Con Dios Elliptical machine at the gym, you're boring and I hate Fox news, which is always on the tv's.

Bon Voyage reorganizing the ~~garage~~ sewing room, just let it all turn into roach nests and dust. Then I'll can throw it away and never worry about organizing according to color and fiber content.

The only thing I can finish right now is this post.

Because if I stop and think about how mad I am at my inability to do a gradient layer in photoshop that doesn't look like shit, then I might go completely insane and take a nap until the feeling passes.

Rudy

Oh yes, laughter ensues

2011-06-15T07:57:00.000-07:00

I am really enjoying this video. Thanks cute overload.com

Oh, how I enjoy cat videos. I so love them!!!!

Hotel for Cats....LA

OH, how wonderfully funny and I'm pretty sure, this is completely real. It's a pair of guys who make commercials for local businesses. They have their own show on IFC, and now I need to get IFC.

Rudy

Neti pot is the new douche

2011-06-14T11:12:00.000-07:00

Do you know what a Neti Pot is? It's this:

Watch out the next one looks obscene.

At this angle, it looks as if she's sticking something very obscene up her nose. In a way, she is.

Let me explain this to you with a little context.

The other day I was in the minivan with my Mom and her friend Debra. We were taking the 15 mile trek to Red Lobster in San Marcos so I could eat butter biscuits. On the way I informed them that I was very snotty, in the mucous sense, I was in the middle of a sinus infection. I was sneezing and snorting and blowing my nose. It was gross but they have all come to expect this from me. It's how they can locate me in a crowded room. Just listen for the snorting. The subject got on the Neti Pot. Something about how everyone is using them and it's the 'cool' thing to do.

Mom: "I don't understand, why would someone want to shove water "up" their nose. It's horrible."

Me: "My Dr. recommended it for me, I don't really like it though. You have to use it very often to get relief and when I was pregnant it always made me throw up. So I stopped. I don't use the weird teapot one. It looks like you're trying to rub out the Genie in Alladin's lamp with your nostril. I have this one that shoots the water up your nose. It's called the sryinge."

Mom: "You know, Doctors keep changing their minds about how to treat us. I can't tell you how many times things that you were supposed to do have changed to things you are "NEVER" supposed to do."

Me: "I know."

Mom: "Really, it's just like douching, but for your nose. I remember when Doctors used to tell you to do that, and now they say it's horrible for you. But apparently you can douche your nose, not your lady parts."

Me:"It IS exactly like douching for your nose. It's water, saline, to cleanse out a mucous-y orifice. Just minus the vinegar."

Mom:"It's weird."

Me: "It is weird."

So, Neti pots, and Nasal Rinses are just Douches for your nose. You're welcome.

This brings me to my other point. Why is douche-bag a insult? Not many women douche in the USA anymore, and why is it so horrible to call someone one? It's always men who are douche bags, as if calling them something female is bad. Why is the stuff that comes out of a vagina so nasty? Really? Come one now. If that were the case shouldn't tampons be much more disgusting? Why can't we call people used condoms, nasty old underwear with skid marks, or maybe used toilet paper? In my opinion those are much worse. I don't get why women's parts get a bad rap while I am pretty sure those of you who are married know that anyone's private parts cant get gross. Men especially since they don't always take care of matters if you know what I mean. I think we should boycott "douchebag" as an insult. It's not terribly appropriate since it's kind've a bygone thing, plus, it's like saying vaginas are bad. Hey guys, Vagina's aren't any worse than any other kind've genital, so stop ragging on it. (pun intended).

From now on, I'm calling assholes, turd-burgers, snooty-butts, jackasses and dumbheads Neti Pots. No more douche-bags. I'm still ok with other gender specific insults like: Dick, Pecker-head, Pussy, and the dreaded C-#-&-T word. Maybe we should do what Laverne Hooks did in Police Academy, she called everyone dirt bag.

I mean, I don't particularly LIKE bags of dirt, but it seems more appropriate, because really people, Aren't we all just DUST in the wind?

Rudy

I love this

2011-06-13T06:12:00.000-07:00

I adore this man, and I also adore the man who draws these lunch-bags every day for his children.

Brock Samson.

He's one of the most lovable characters in the universe. I love cartoons, especially cartoons for adults. Which is why I watch a lot of adult swim. Well, I used to before having a kid. Now I go to bed at 9 pm. I haven't mentioned my adoring love for this show before. I don't know why, I just assumed you all knew.

If you haven't seen it...(the Venture Brothers)....well then you have missed out.

Rudy

Books I will never finish-The Red Baroness

2011-06-09T20:02:00.000-07:00

Here's the next installment of the crazy red-headed adventurer. Gill. And her mishaps.
Starting at Chapter 6.

Chapter 6

It was a couple days later that Britt made a flight into Amarillo. I picked her up and we went back to her apartment with some scotch that she just bought on a layover in Glasgow. We opened up the scotch and Britt started to tell me about the night she spent drinking with a bunch of soccer hooligans.

“So, here I was with this guy named, Erin, Aaron, Ervin. I don’t know it was hard to understand his accent. He was so hot. You know the type, tall, and wiry. Wearing a pair of scuffed combat boots. Shaved head and scruffy face. Total trainspotting skinhead punk. I love those guys. I was just trying to wobble back to my room and he just grabbed me and started pulling me towards the bathroom. Ugh, that bathroom was so gross. But he was so hot, he pushed me up against the wall and started kissing me. Oh, Gill honey, it was crazy.”

Britt was very adventurous. I lived thru her vicariously since I had not much adventure lately. She went on to describe it, and only would I listen to this kind of kinky stuff from Britt. Everyone else, well, they got the blank stare I give everyone I stop listening to. I have very selective hearing. It makes it easier when I simply can't avoid hitting someone if they piss me off. So If I can't hear them, well then I can't get charged with assault.

“So,” Britt started fishing, "How was that Jorge guy?”

“What, like in bed?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, we didn’t get that far really. It was mostly talking and kissing.”

“Gill, you are so repressed.”

“Whatever.”

The next morning Britt and I went to my parent’s house and sat down for breakfast. My mom turned and said,

“You guys look just like you did when you were kids and I caught you stealing cookies. The twin volcanoes. Ya’ll never stopped raising hell.”

“Isn’t that what kids do Momsa?” Britt replied.

My mom snorted back a laugh, no doubt reliving some vivid memory of us when we were kids.

Later after breakfast Britt started to regale me with another story, unfortunately for me, his one was about my cousin Tommy.

“So, we were out at Joe’s Bar and he was just out of boot camp at this time. I was like, wow, Tommy’s gotten so hot and buff.”

I stopped her right there, “ I don’t want to hear this story.”

“Wait, nothing happened, all he did was talk about Bitch-face and how she mistakenly got pregnant….to trap him.”

“Then I was staring at his biceps, they were pretty rocked at the time, and he said ‘girl, you looking at my Tommy-guns?’ And I laughed and we made fun of each other for an hour.”

“He referred to himself as ‘Tommy-guns’?!” I asked incredulously.

“Yep, it was hilarious. You know I got a text from him the other day. I hear that you, yesterday, beat the crap out his friend, McGee. Knocked him in the head with a dumbbell and them stomped on his ass with dog-shit on your boots.”

“That’s a complete lie. I didn’t hit him. He walked in on my changing in Tommy’s room after he spilled his whole plate of bar-b-que on me and tripped and hit his head on Tommy’s Dresser. The stupid top drawer had Tommy’s old weights in it and it fell on him. I never even touched the guy. I had no intention of hurting Tommy’s hot friend.”

“Ah, so you think he’s hot?”

“Only until he spoke. Then he totally lost any attractive qualities.”

“Yeah, why do guys have to open their mouths.”

“It’s a conundrum.”

Later that day, after Britt was back at her apartment I gave Tommy a call.

I was feeling pretty pissed that he was telling people I had caused the accident with his buddy; when everyone could tell, it wasn’t my fault.

“Hey Gill, what’s up?”

“Hey, Is your friend ok?”

“Yeah, he’s ok, just a little sore, he just needs to rest for a few days or so.

“ Well, I don’t know why you’re calling people and telling them I assaulted this guy. I never even got near him. He tripped and Fell on his own damn unlaced shoes!”

“Geez Gill, I was just joking. I get it, you threw a dumbbell at him when he tried to see your titties. It’s ok, I understand.”

“I never threw anything….what the hell were you doing with weights in your drawers?”

“Fucked if I know Gill, I don’t remember where I put them. I haven’t seen them in years.”

“Who is this guy anyway? Why did you bring him here?”

“He’s a friend from the Marines, he’s on Combat leave for awhile and wanted to see Texas.”

“Why the hell did he come to Amarillo then? There’s much nicer places, Tommy.”

“Well, you’re here.”

“What does that mean?”

“I heard you got fired from NASA and your boyfriend dumped you. McGuire just got back from Baghdad. I thought I’d do you both a favor and set you up. You know, help him decompress, help you get …….un-depressed.”

It took me a few seconds but I figured out what Tommy was saying.

“What,you brought him here to…..sleep with me?! What are you my pimp? Did you tell him I would……do things to him? Tommy, where the hell do you get off?? You bastard, I hate you.”

“Hey, calm down. I was just telling him about my cousin Gill and how cool you were and he sounded really excited to meet you. He’s got a thing for red-heads. I thought you would hit it off. I didn’t know you would HIT it off in that particular way.”

“Well, you thought wrong. He insulted me, a lot. He called me a clumsy ass, and he said I had a boys name.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know you were still 7 years old Gill-I-gan.” He enunciated every syllable in Gilligan to irritate me.”

“Why did you bring him around really? I’m sure he can get whatever kind of girl he needs on base.”

“First of all, no there are not attractive women on base and second he wanted to see all of Burke’s planes. He’s a gear-head that’s how we became friends. Putting machinery back together when it broke.”

“You didn’t, you didn’t let him touch my Stearman. I swear if that little jerk even looked at my plane I will castrate you.”

“Hey, I thought you wouldn’t mind. I mean, hey I helped build that thing too. It’s not just yours.”

“Dude, you suck. And don’t bring your gnarly ass friend near my Stearman again.”

I then promptly hung up.

“Asshole,” I muttered to myself.

Chapter 7

My Dad and Uncle Burke grew up flying crop-dusters around my grand-parents farm. The farm went bust but he always loved to fly. My Dad went into Mechanical Engineering and worked for a couple airlines desiging new parts. Burke liked to tinker but mostly he couldn’t sit still enough for college. He joined the Marines and stayed for 20 years. Eventually he flew the bi-planes that trailed those banners in the sky during the State Fair and other events. After he retired from the Marine Corps he made a living restoring and fixing planes for millionaires and other flying enthusiasts. My Dad helped out a lot and he did pretty good business. During my childhood I would spend a lot of time around Uncle Burke and his planes. I eventually learned how to restore and fix them and helped around as much as I could. He also taught me to fly. I loved flying. I loved everything about his hangar; his constant influx of old worn down planes that he restored; all the old parts and smells. I loved his Spartan little apartment above the hangar. And mostly I loved the Stearman. The Stearman was a two-seater training plane that all the WW11 pilots trained with. It was the trainer plane that I learned to fly on. Tommy and I were always at my Uncle Burkes hangar, bugging him mostly, and when we got older learned from him. Restoring planes was a dying art. Barely anyone in the world knew what my uncle Burke knew. I sure as hell cant remember a single class at engineering school that had anything to do with those ole flying beauties. Private planes were popular among the wealthy, and some really enjoyed their propeller planes. There weren’t too many people left who could fix up a half century old bi-plane, but Uncle Burke could, and now, so could I. Uncle Burke worked out of a tiny town south of Amarillo called Marigold City. There’s not much there; just more and more of the surburban sprawl that seems to overwhelm small towns close to big cities. It had an outlet mall, a starbucks, and an old downtown that was being “gentrified”.

That means the yuppies were starting to move in and open shops that sell crap and stationary, and rent out loft space above 100 year old main street buildings. And, Marigold City had a private airport/landing strip. Mostly it was retired folks, really really rich people, and the occasional crop duster that used it. Everyone had their private little metal hangars, with their varying aircraft. Some were all about the planes, lived in tiny apartments above their hangars, breathed flight. Others were the multimillionaires, stuffing their hangars with their “collections.” To them it was like owning art, or antiques, or jewels. Just more wealth, more investments. One guy had his hangar filled with priceless machines. And original Model T ford, a lamborghini, a jaguar XKE, the batmobile, a Shelby cobra, and other beautiful classic and not so classic cars. I think he even had a Delorean. Of course, not as expensive or classic, but a collectors item among a select few. And to top it off he had a couple beautifully restored aircraft I even saw something that looked like the Wright brothers original flying creation. He kept Uncle Burke in business, restoring, flying, and maintaining most of his planes and a couple of his vehicles.

Uncle Burke was a character, for lack of a better word. He was never married, at least not officially. There was talk that he had a lovechild somewhere, but then again, what veteran doesn’t these days? Mostly, women were distraction for Uncle Burke, with the exception of his favorite niece, me. We were a lot alike. With the exception of him being crazy and me not so much. We both struck out on our own path, and became “black sheep” so to speak. He left home early, at barely 18 and joined the corps. Me, I left for college at barely 18 and lived in Austin. Which is where the weird outcasts of Texas and the surrounding states go to be normal. Me and Uncle Burke; the odd ducks.

He taught me and Tommy the business, and we worked there with him each summer when our parents were tired of us. Generally it worked out pretty well. We got to fly and listen to old war stories from Burke, and Burke got free labor. That Stearman I had worked on restoring for years with Burke was my baby. It came in, mostly destroyed; nothing more a metal frame that was still together, and parts of an engine. We lovingly put it back together and it held a lot of sentimental value for me. Tommy knew how I felt about it, so I was very pissed he’d bring that ass over to look at my handiwork. Mostly me and Burke worked on it. He just fooled around with whatever Tommy did by himself. Probably enjoying the privacy of Burkes tiny apartment, and the complete series of playboy that Burke had. All that self-love must have actually made him blind. Why else would he do half the things he did.

I hadn’t made it back to the hangar since I’d been back. I’d been to busy licking my Jorge inflicted wounds. Knowing that Tommy had been back to see it made me a little wistful. So I loaded up the truck with Fitz and we made the 30 minute trip down to Marigold City. I could drive there on autopilot (pilots humor). When I got there Fitz and I unloaded to see a very familiar sight. The old hangar. Nothing special about this hangar, except for the certain feeling of ownership I had. I walked in the side door, the hangar door was closed and saw my Stearman. I liked to look at it. It was a very simple machine, but beautiful for it. NO bells and whistles, just me in the air in a scrap of metal and fabric. I walked up the stairs and let myself into Burke's apartment. I expected to find Burke, eating ramen noodle or reading some ancient almanac about engines. Instead I found a big stranger, watching some history channel show about well, history. He turned around on the lay! -z-boy and it was him. That damn hot asshole who claimed I maimed him….McGuire.

“What in the hell are you doing here!”

He jumped a little in his seat. I can have a really loud and scary voice when I scream. I’ve been called a Banshee once, it seemed appropriate.

“What, you back to break something else on me?” He said as he woozily staggered up. I could see he was a little dizzy, probably because of the heavy painkillers.”

“Answer my question, what are you doing here, in my Hangar!”

“Hey, your Uncle let me stay here, and so far as I can remember, it’s not your hangar!”

He tried to move past me, stumbled and stepped on my foot.

“Ouch, what you trying to hurt me now? Jesus, I’m sorry about your damn head.”

He lost his balance grabbed the first thing he could hold, me, and we both went down in a thump.

“Oof,” all the breath was pushed out of my lungs when we fell. HE was a big guy, and I wasn’t exactly huge.

We were trying to scramble back up and with his stupid head weren’t doing too well. I resolved to help him up but well, like I said he was heavy. We ended up sitting on the floor breathing heavily. At least we were upright.

All of the sudden McGuire started to laugh. First it was just a little, then somehow it got louder and funnier. He had, the goofiest, most terrifyingly contagious laugh I’d ever heard. I couldn’t explain it, coming from this big strong Marine, was this high-pitched cackle. I couldn’t help but be amused. Next thing I know I was laughing too. Then, it just spread between us, and we were doing the hunched over silent laughter thing, and crying.

I was panting in between shrill laughter, “ oh my god, shut up, II’m gonna…..wet…..myself.” Finally, Fitz walked into the open door and went to sit by McGuire. We started quieting down and stared at each other.

I broke the silence, “ I am so hungry.” Nothing makes a girl ravenous like a good laughing fit.

“Me too.” He replied.

“Wanna go get some lunch?” I asked.

“Maybe, where you going?” he inquired.

“ I don’t know, somewhere close, probably Talullah’s. It’s got great breakfast.”

“Alright, can you help me down? I think I might be done with this medication, I get so dizzy.”

“Yeah, if you promise not to fall on me again.”

“I make no promises.”

I smirked as he followed me to the door.

After slowing making our way down the stairs we got in the truck and started driving. Fitz, sitting in the middle of the truck’s bench seat.

“Why were you laughing?” I asked.

“When you went down you had the funniest, look on your face. It is undescribable. It was like, you were possessed. I thought maybe you were having a stroke and then when you wern’t, I couldn’t help it.”

I was silent for a minute. I was known for making strange faces in times of stress. I never could keep my emotions from swimming across my face.

“Well, you have the stupidest, goofiest laugh I have ever heard.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Why did you offer to take me to lunch?”

“Well, I forgave you after you made me laugh. I haven’t laughed like that in a long time.”

“You forgave me? You should be asking for my forgiveness.”

“Um, yeah, how many times have I said I’m sorry that you tripped and fell on your head. I didn’t fucking do anything to you”

“You flashed me!”

“I did not. I was trying to get dressed and YOU PEEPING TOM, you didn’t even knock on the door.”

“There was no door. Tommy had taken it off the hinges to use it as a table on some cinder blocks for the party.”

I sighed. “Oh sweet Jesus. This is so fucked up.”

“Well, I’m sorry I called you a clumsy ass. I have head trauma, sometimes traumatic brain injuries cause strange things.”

“You got a mild concussion. I don’t think traumatic brain injury really compares.”

Tune in later for more of Gill's adventures.

Rudy

Fathers day for Sarge

2011-06-09T07:37:00.000-07:00

Right after my birthday (my 30th birthday-Woot I'm not dead or in jail!) is Father's day. And Sarge is of course, a father. Our anniversary (our 6th) is on Saturday. So there's a lot of holidays/celebrations/reasons to buy shit, that are within about 6 days of each other. Now, I got my birthday gift early, a cover for my i-phone which I also got early since Jedi had babtized my last phone in a cup of water. News-flash, it no longer worked. (The i-phone was a gift from my Mom, who is awesome and my bestest friend next to Sarge and Count Chocula and Nikki, and Gracie, and Hannah and Kathlynn, and Sully and Julie and Laura. And Loren, and Brooke did I leave anybody out? Post in the comments and you will also be put in for bestest friend status.) Then I looked at our bank statement. It seems that the gifts will keep on coming. So, after noticing a receipt at Zales, and at Hammacher Schlemmer I wonder which gift will be for our 6th anniversary, and which will be for my birthday. And I also wonder, how the hell to get him a gift that will be equivalent.

He always does this. He out gifts me. I wont make you all scream with envy and syrupy happiness to recall the gifts I have received. They were all well thought out, sweet, lovely and usually exactly what I wanted without even telling him. I manage to give him things he never uses, never wants, and in the end hides in his closet. I asked him what I could possibly get him for Father's day and our Anniversary and he said as per usual, "I don't need anything, don't worry about getting me a gift." Which if he was a woman would mean, "I'm not telling you but it better be fucking awesome." But he's a man and the translation may or may not be the same. Then he said if he wanted anything it would be some more of his favorite $10 walmart cologne, or a brown belt. Great.

I was thinking I would make him a collage of Jedi's, Sarges and My hands and the date. Because it seems cute and appropriate for Fathers day. I could give him, well, then I run out of ideas. The belt and the cologne, well I can do that.

I've been looking online for Fathers day gifts, and anniversary gifts and they area all completely inappropriate for Sarge. Golf balls? He doesn't play golf. Baseball cufflinks? Nope, he has no french cuff shirts and doesn't care about sports. A docking station? Maybe, but no, he wouldn't use it I don't think. What does he like? Hmn.

In the order of importance I would have to say thus:
1. Boobies
2. Guns
3. The outdoors (rock climbing, hiking, biking, fishing and being a bad ass outdoors man.)
4. Rambo
5. I'm drawing a blank

Here are some ideas for gifts for our Anniversary and for Father's day that I think might be appropriate.
He might even like them, although, knowing me, he wont and he'll wonder how I could know him so little after six years of marriage and 8 years of being together.

Ammunition. I would have to buy a gift card because

1. You cannot buy ammunition online at Academy, and also,

2. I don't know what kind of bullets to buy.

Keens. He really likes these and has been wanting a pair, but as per usual, a gift card at REI because

1. I don't know his shoes size

2. I would pick out the wrong color or style.

Here is something I might be able to get for him that encompasses his love of boobies and the marine corps. Caution, it's NSFW. No nudity, but it's so darn close don't try it.

1.Boobies

2.Marine Corps

3.Rambo (I'll wear a headband)

4.This could also work for outdoors if I carry a gun

5. also marks off guns

This might be it guys.

What do you think?

Rudy

Things I have said today--without thinking

2011-06-07T11:46:00.000-07:00

1. Let Mommy hit you with your shoe.

2. Are you going to bring them a 3 pound cinnamon roll?

Yeppers, I have noticed, Sarge, that I say dumb things. You do too, I just don't point them out to you.

Because I'm a good wife.

Context from the stupid sayings:

1. We went to the Natural Bridge Wildlife Safari Ranch today. It involves driving through the country and feeding pellets of food to various animals that wont generally gore or hurt you. There were lots of deer and goats, some zebra's and wildebeests and of course, Emu's. There are always Emu's at drive through safari's. I imagine they were left over from all those Emu farms that went bust in the nineties.

While the window was open and Jed.I and I were throwing out pellets of food a whole bunch of flies flew in. And after driving on the highway away from the Safari, with the window's down, they still lingered. Mostly around Jed.I's car seat, right near the buckle. Which unsurprising has an enormous amount of spilled food, smeared Oreo and various toddler flotsam and jetsam. I kept trying to kill the flies with a piece of paper and it wouldn't work. So I tried Jed.I's shoes which were on the car floor. I kept slapping it against the buckle while Jed.I was sitting there. It never killed the fly and Jedi just laughed and begged for his shoes so he could smack himself.
That's when the little gem, "Let Mommy hit you with your shoe." came out.

Then, Sarge said he needed to go to the office to sign some papers. Last time he had taken me and Jed.I there to 1)show off Jedi, and 2) give them a huge four pound cinnamon roll we had gotten from a diner in San Antonio. This time I asked (jokingly) if he was going to give them a four pound cinnamon roll. And he replied "Yes, I am going to drive 30 miles down to san Antonio, buy a cinnamon roll and drive back just to give it to the secretary's. I'll be back in 3 hours." And then walked out of the room. We have been married for six years and still, never understand each other's humor.

Rudy

Things I wish I had

2011-06-06T12:43:00.000-07:00

I live in Texas and it's hot here. So hot that the water that comes out of the faucet is lukewarm, while on the cold setting. Even after waiting awhile for the water to get cooler, tepid is what I get. Now, tepid isn't great when you're hotter than hell, sunburned, dirty and well, just looking for something cool. Lately we've been using water we've cooled in the fridge in an old milk jug. This means we don't have a water spout on the fridge, we also don't have an ice-maker. In an attempt to get my water cool, when I am out of pre-chilled water I've been thinking about ice trays. I was looking for some ice cube trays this morning. And look what I found.

Click here to go get these handgun ice cube trays.

Click her go get bombed.

I would love these.

These would be perfect for my mom, the lover of Gin and Tonics.

I think this would make me very happy.

Perpetual Kid is an awesome website devoted to silly things. If you loved ToyJoy in Austin, you will love this site. I bought a pair of USB powered electric fingerless mittens one year when at work I was always cold. When the box was opened they also included a little finger/pencil monster. Just for funsies. Sarge went to this website to get some birthday gifts for a cute little girl, and I couldn't help but lurk much longer than I needed to, just to take a gander of these lovelies.

Here's to cold drinks.

Rudy

The Red Baroness-abandoned project-

2011-06-03T20:36:00.000-07:00

Here's the next few chapters for the Red Baroness.

Chapter 3

So with my pride thoroughly blasted I drove away from Houston and took the very long two day drive back to Amarillo. Destined to stay with my absurd parents until I had a better idea.

After a week of moping around the house my mom finally made me take a shower and get dressed.

“We’re going out for brunch.” she said.

If there was one thing I loved it was brunch. It’s all the glorious wonder of breakfast, but without the early morning part and with a lot more Mimosa’s.

My mom was practically my twin. She was 5’6”, long auburn hair, porcelain skin, and grey eyes. I was only an inch taller, but we could still wear the same clothes. We looked like twins, but I was more like my Dad as far as my personality. I loved my mom, but she was kooky. Having a conversation about anything with her inevitably brought her back to her New Age healing, and how to fix all my problems with tiger balm and tantric massage, or chanting or something.

After two mimosas and a Belgian waffle, an eggs benedict, and some hash-browns I was eyeing an after brunch mint and my mom asked me the question.

“What’s wrong Gill?”

I sighed, and just said….

“I don’t know, its just, well everything. I gave up. I left the job I’ve been trying to get forever.”

“If I recall correctly you wanted to be a space pirate ninja.”

“Yeah well, since I couldn’t do that I was at least hoping to be a spaceman.”

“Well, honey. It sounds like you weren’t very happy at NASA, it truly wasn’t what you wanted. It could never give you that. I mean, Gill, it’s a government establishment. You can never do what you want in such an institution of Chakra sucking death, you are so free spirited and that nine to five business doesn’t fit you for the long run.” My mom, ever the hippie.

“Is there anything else?”

“Yeah,” my eyes got watery and I stared into my empty plate, “there was a guy that totally used me and I fell for it like an idiot.” The mimosas were starting to make me talk.

“How could I have been so friggin stupid over him?! It never could have worked anyhow, what was I going to do bring home some Hispanic guy who speaks better Spanish than English and is 3 years younger than me?!” “Ug, it makes me so crazy that I let this asshole get to me…all over an amazing smile."

“Honey, you’re just feeling your path. You’ll wander a bit away from it; it’s just part of the journey. You should read this new book by the Dalai Llama, it’s so enlightening.” She said, or more likely sang.

I ignored the book and let it all out.

“Momma, I was just so bored at NASA and Whore-hay offered me a totally different dynamic to that life. I just should have…I should have just known. I’m not some kid anymore. I’m 26. I should have it figured out by now. I should have known better than to get blindsided by this, lothario. And now I’m back home, living with my parents, no job, no life, and I live in AMARILLO!!!”

“Gill, I know you don’t plan to stay here forever, and I can’t blame you. I can think of a handful of other places I would have liked for you to grow up, but this is home now. I have found a certain peace here in the desert, the desolation really makes for a solid inner eye. Just try to enjoy yourself while you are here and don’t be so hard on yourself! Now, are you planning on going to Yoga with me today? It’ll help you get balanced. And wear your crystal, you know how that gives you peace.”

“I know momma, I just get so neurotic! I thought life was going to be such a breeze after college. I thought it was going to be all dinner parties and lingiere, and great shoes to get me to those incredibly entertaining dinner parties while I jet-setted around the world being a fantastic scientist/Astronaut. But life’s only getting more ambiguous and I’m as confused as ever and now I’m totally regretting not getting more involved in high school, and being a cheerleader or I don’t know going to prom in a dress or whatever!”

“Baby, you’ll figure it out, you just need to meditate on why you’re where you are, and just let yourself float on this current. Why don’t you meet us over at your cousin Tommy’s bar-b-que after work this evening, he has custody of his little boy this weekend, and your favorite person in the world is coming in town too!”

No way I was thinking; my crazy marine veteran uncle is in town. Burke was only my favorite person in the world next to Fitz. My mom, for all her strangeness, knew how to cheer me up.

“Crazy Uncle Burke is in town, hell yeah! How long is he here? Should I bring anything to Tommy’s?”

“Your daddy and I will bring stuff for everyone, just get yourself over there. Oh, did I tell you about the new raw vegan diet I’m on?”

“Raw…what?”

My mom went on for a while after that about root plants, and tofu and not cooking your food. I hadn’t noticed her shying away from the eggs and bacon so I figured brunch never counted when you’re dieting.

Chapter 4

AT B-B-Q

“Hey Gill, I can’t believe you’ve been here for three weeks and you still haven’t been by to drink a whiskey with me. Anywho-ha everyone is in the backyard and otherwise mi casi is su casa” Tommy looked nothing like my family. Strange, he was related to my Dad somehow, but no one ever wanted to claim him. He was 5’10”, covered in tattoos, blond, blue eyed, and a bit like trailer trash, but without the mullet and the confederate flag. He looked behind me and began cat-calling some woman who was trying to walk up her driveway loaded with grocery bags.

“Hey there pretty lady, you want to carry my balls later!??”

Tommy was known as the “Pinball Wizard” all through High School. We didn’t call Tommy Pinball wizard cause he had any sort of hand-eye coordination. It was mostly because he was deaf dumb and blind when it came to women. How else could you explain his choice of former girlfriends. They always went crazy, and did something to his car, or his house or worse. The last one did something to his checking account. She got pregnant. Apparently, (according to Tommy) she poked holes in his condoms to keep him around. Didn’t work out too well, he vamoosed after he heard and joined the USMC.

“Good to see you Tommy I hear you have baby Tomtom this weekend…how’s bitch face?”

“Woman’s crazy as a Jerry Springer reject, but she’s living with Alma, her grandmother…if it wasn’t for Alma I’d be battling for his custody, not that I’m a prime example of parenting what with my signing up for the military when I found out bitch face was pregnant. But it is what it is and that kid’s gonna be okay as long as he’s got his pop around to drink beer with, and for everything else he’s got Alma. Anyway, Uncle Burke’s out back and as soon as he heard you were back living here again he’s been telling stories about you non-stop.”

“Sweet baby Jesus! I better get back there before he embarrasses me…”

I snuck through the side gate so I could get the upper hand on Uncle Burke and whatever very true and ridiculous story pertaining to my childhood that he was undoubtedly telling to a crowd of strangers. I stood there peeking around the corner, witnessing either an extremely inebriated uncle or one that was smack in the middle of telling a slightly altered version of the Halloween that I made an air-tight astronaut suit with a fish bowl, fiberglass insulation and duct tape.

“Oh god I’m gonna need a drink for this” I muttered.

I spun around and smacked straight into the hard chest of a stranger and I screamed.

“Aaaack.”

He immediately apologized.

“Sorry I just didn’t see you coming around the corner….” He growled. He had a deep gravelly voice and a half empty plate of bar-b-que.

“Sorry, o, crap.” I said looking down at my favorite white button down shirt and it’s new accessory, a large red stain from the brisket and the yellowish smudge of potato salad. The rest of the brisket fell at our feet. All of the sudden Fitz wandered up and started feasting on his shoes.

The tall stranger was looking a bit overwhelmed after just loading up my shirt with what would have been a very tasty meal.

I looked up at him. He managed a small smirk with what I thought was a apologetic grin.

I gathered my wits and said, “ Fitz, please stop licking his shoes.”

“It’s ok,” he interjected, “they’re were old anyway.”

I glanced down at my shirt and noticed a small piece of juicy brisket still attached near my nipple. I pulled it off my shirt and handed it over to Fitz.

“I’m sorry about your shirt.” He sheepishly mumbled.

“It’s ok, I’ll borrow something from Tommy.”

Before I could introduce myself to the very tall, and what I had spied when I glanced up, pretty sexy stranger Uncle Burke called to me.

“Fish gills is that you?!!! Git over here!” called Uncle Burke in his 57 year smoker voice. “What are you doin’ snooping around over there anyway? Up to your old tricks? I was just telling everyone ‘bout that Halloween you were visitin’ the moon.”

“Christ.” I mumbled, as I turned away from the stranger and faced my Uncle.

Burke was probably myself in another life before he sold his soul to Marlboro. I’ve been his favorite (only) niece since I was born, so we got along well. He was a retired Marine Corp. Vet, and a little wild. Or a lot wild. Burke was 5’11”, built solid, like someone opened up his skull and poured in concrete. He had a high and tight haircut, with salt and pepper around the temples. He was the one who taught me how to fly and restore planes. He also was a confirmed bachelor. He was covered in what could have been scars, or tattoos or hair, maybe it was an old ratty sweater I tried not to look to closely. Even though his looks were somewhat unusual he was never without ladies looking at him. There was a certain charm and charisma that he exuded. Even the crazy just made him more exciting to women. Go figure, the same cant be said of men.

“Your pal Fitz, precedes you, he’s already had some ribs.” My uncle reached down to pat Fitz’s head and Fitz ducked out of his reach.

“I’d better give some water, you know those ribs make him barf, hey Tommy, you gotta bowl I can use for Fitz?”

“Anything you can find Gill.” Tommy yelled back.

I had no idea that the guy who that had ambushed me with his plate was standing about one foot behind me. I backed up and managed to step on his foot while looking around the backyard for a bowl.

“Ow.”

“O, sorry.” I turned around and noticed the tall guy again. This time he was staring at his foot as if it really hurt.

“Did I hurt you?”

“Uh, no, maybe, a little.”

“I’m really sorry we keep running into each other.”

“You mean you keep running into me.”

“Semantics. I’m Gill.”

“McGuire.”

“Oh, Are you friends with Tommy?

“Yeah, are you his cousin?”

“Yeah.”

He was standing there unmoving where I had trampled on his foot. He didn’t seem to make much effort at conversation so I offered my hand for him to shake. As he crushed my fist I tried to study him. He was a 6’2” statue with forearms and calves like a real life Popeye. Oh cripes. He was beautiful with short brown hair, tan like he lived on the sun, and hazel eyes. He had that square jaw that flexed when he chewed. And a bit of a crooked nose, and a look like he could chew glass. The smoldering was keeping me a little lightheaded, so I thought it would be good to use my big girl voice when I talked to him. The way he was looking at me I wasn’t sure if he wanted to hit me or bend me over a table and spank me. Not that I would’ve minded the spanking part, not the hitting one.

“Hey there, well, now that we’ve been introduced I really need to get changed.”

He nodded as if to let me leave.

I turned away and made for the door of Tommy’s little rundown house. It was pretty much destroyed with pizza boxes, beer bottles, trash, clothes, and a very used and broken couch. The bedroom was slightly better so I looked through the rickety chest of drawers I found. Tommy had an old t-shirt that might have been cool at one time, but at that time, Tommy was probably 13. It featured what seemed to be a Pin-up girl riding a large beer bottle. Underneath her the slogan said, “Donnegan’s Pub and Grub.” I smelled it. It was musty but clean, which was better than the rest of the clothes in the drawers. I un-buttoned my ruined shirt and was pulling the shirt over my head when I heard someone coming in. Since the shirt was a bit old, and a bit small, I found my head was very stuck in the neck-hole. I had my eyes peering out over the old shit while my mouth and nose was still stuck inside. My arms were trying to find the armholes but with the surprise of a person walking into the bedroom I was less than coordinated and managed a muffled curse.

It sounded something like, “What the mmpfuc….” I turned around and noticed my new best friend McGuire trying to unlace his ruined shoes when he looked up and noticed me half stuck in an old t-shirt, lacey bra showing, and breasts bouncing.

He looked embarrassed while he said, “Oh shit…..sorr….”

The next part I didn’t get to hear since in the process of unlacing his shoes he stumbled, fell and hit his head on the corner of the chest of drawers. The flimsy piece of crap wobbled, fell over and on his head with a defeated crash. I was frozen while I tried to figure out how to get dressed, and help him.

I howled for someone to help and my Mom wandered in to see me half dressed and a tall stranger lying on the floor under a piece of furniture. I lamely begged her, “Help me.” She snorted out a laugh and came to me and helped me pull the shirt over myself, and then we both grabbed the chest of drawers and tried to lift it off of McGuire’s prone body. He seemed ok after a couple moments and sat up but seemed a bit woozy.

“What the hell was in there?”

I curiously looked at the spilled contents of the drawers. It seemed that right under all the old t-shirts and ratty socks, Tommy stored his old dumbbells. It had fallen straight onto McGuire’s head and left a large and I imagined, sore spot just on the back of his skull.

Tommy and Burke wandered in to see what all the shouting was about and tried to help out McGuire while I told him over and over, “I am sooo sorry, I cannot believe this is happening, are you ok? I am soo sorry.”

My Mom had gone to the kitchen to find some ice and Burke took a look at McGuire’s head. McGuire winced in pain as he was helped onto Tommy’s bed and somehow in-between wincing managed to give me a hateful look.

I was standing there, trying to look very sorry when he focused on me and in his very deep voice said, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

I took that as my cue to leave the room.

Chapter 5

Later as I was trying really hard to believe that I hadn’t caused that much damage in the space of 15 minutes my uncle came up to me and said, “Well, I think this is your fault, so you should take him to the hospital.”

I tried to protest but he was mostly right so I let my mom take Fitz and prepared for a run to the emergency room. Tommy and my Dad were talking and laughing, at what I supposed was my ability to cause enormous mayhem.

As Burke was loading him into my truck he protested that he didn’t want to be near "that weirdo", but my uncle just gave him a look of irritation that make him go silent. My uncle Burke may be crazy, but he was a very decorated marine that served in Desert storm and Somalia. Everyone respected him. You had to; he killed to many people to be scoffed at.

Tommy helped him hobble to my old truck gave me a warning glance.

“I don’t think he’ll press charges but I was really hoping y’all would like each other. You’re so much alike. Anyway, fix him up, he’s a really good guy and he doesn’t deserve permanent skull damage. Hey, you should give him head to make it up to him.”

I then grabbed and twisted Tommy’s ear and he backed off. It’s amazing how useful those tricks I learned when I was 8 are still applicable today.

Once we got McGuire sitting in the front seat I tried to make peace with him.

“Look, I am so sorry about all that. I can’t believe it happened. It’s, I have had the worse luck lately and it sucks that it spilled over on you.”

He said quietly, “What is that smell?”

“What did you say?” I was worried that he had a concussion, that he was smelling strange phantoms scents.

“Something smells like shit.”

I inhaled a deep breath and almost gagged. “Oh Jesus. What in the…” I looked at the bottoms of my shoes….nothing. I looked all over the cab of the truck. Nothing. I looked at McGuire. The smell seemed to be coming from his direction. “Um, did you step in something?”

McGuire looked pained, like he just remembered something. “I stepped in dog shit earlier, that’s why I was taking off my shoes.” I looked down at his feet. They were still clad in the offending shoes he never managed to take off due to the free titty show that frightened him into a concussion.

“So, you walked in to the house with dog shit on your shoes?”

He looked at me and said, “I didn’t think it would really hurt it any worse.” I remained quiet since he had made a point.

At this point the ice was melting in the dishtowel he was holding against his head. His mouth was set in a hard line, and he was looking straight ahead. I imagined that’s what he looked like during when he and Tommy were stationed in Baghdad. That’s how they met I gathered. Tommy became a marine just like his favorite uncle Burke, I would have too but I just didn’t do olive drab. I needed a shiny spacesuit. It was more my style.

I was starting to feel very sheepish with this perfect stranger in so much pain that I had inflicted so I awkwardly started to talk to him. Also, too much silence made me uncomfortable.

“Look McGuire, I really wish I could make this up to you. I….” I trailed off thinking of the absolute mess the ‘fun family party’ turned out to be.

“I’ve been thru worse.”

And at that moment, after looking at him, I believed it.

We got thru the emergency room pretty quickly and the nurse took a look at his huge softball sized bumb and decided he needed to get x-rays and a Cat Scan. I was very very glad that the Marine corps was picking up the bill. The nurse put him in a wheelchair and asked me to help him into a hospital gown before the scans. McGuire looked pretty dazed so when the nurse got him the gown she asked if I would help her undress him and put them on. I looked at her like she was crazy. McGuire was a bit out of it so I figured, it would have to be me to take the poopy shoes off this guy. Again, my day was getting so much better. I was helping McGuire off with his shoes and the nurse was helping him get his pants off. I was a little unnerved to see that McGuire had on shamrock printed boxer briefs. He struck me as a commando guy, not that I wanted to see anything. The nurse didn’t seem terribly unhappy about helping McGuire undress and as I looked up I saw her give him a long look over.

McGuire was sitting there mostly naked and trying to get on a backwards paper-like hospital gown and struggling with the ties in the back. It took awhile for him and the nurse to figure it out so I had the opportunity to notice he was very well built, sporting that amazing V-muscle that all the girls slobber at in the Abercrombie & Fitch posters. He had a pretty good set of legs too. He had an eagle globe and anchor tattoo on one of his pectorals, and above it said Semper Fidelus in big black letters. The nurse took much too long helping him get dressed but after she finished she told me that they were going to take him to radiology and to get an MRI. After three hours of watching bad television he was wheeled back into the room. He looked up at me and I could tell he was feeling no pain. He grinned and the nurse handed me a little bag with what I assumed were his pain pills. She gave me directions that he had a mild concussion and needed rest.

I looked at this very handsome, possibly nice guy who for all intents and purposes hated me because I was a stupid ass. I felt like the shit that McGuire had stepped in.

I didn’t know where this guy lived so I called Tommy and asked for help, he agreed to come and pick up McGuire and bring him back to his place. Then he asked, “Have you been properly punished?”

“Yes, I had to wait here for three hours while he got x-rayed and there was nothing but TV-land on. I saw 6 episodes of Bonanza”

“Oh, that’s not what I meant. I thought y’all would have done it by now. I mean, McGuire is a show-er and a grow-er if you know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t know what you mean!” I screamed into my cell phone. "What the hell does shower and grower mean?!”

“Well, we call McGuire the punisher, because well, his girlfriends always come out a little sore.”

I had no reply that could have described my absolute disgust with my cousin Tommy so I hung up.

I mentally thanked God that McGuire was wearing a garish pair of underwear and not his birthday suit. I didn’t want to see the monster that apparently lived in his pants. Tommy drove around to pick up McGuire and we handed off pals: Fitz for McGuire. I was thrilled to see them go. There was just too much drama for such a short amount of time.

Fitz and I went home and called Britt and left a message. I was hungry since I hasn't eaten anything since Brunch due to the fiasco at the bar-b-que so I found a tub of cookie dough and dug in. Then Fitz and I curled up on the couch and watched a couple reruns of I dream of Jeannie.

Man, I dig major nelson.

Awww Sweet

2011-05-30T09:38:00.000-07:00

Awwwww…… Sweet

My inevitable decline into the junk abyss.

Sorry Manske, I promise you wont feel a thing

Growing up-and presently-growing out-I have had a sweet tooth. That tooth rotted at around 5 years old and then turned into an abscess. That experience thrust me into the latex world of dentistry and of course, the first of many root canals. After said tooth was drilled and filled with metal/porcelain/asbestos it retained the tiniest memory of being a tooth- and like the cult leaders of lore-charismatically recruited all my other teeth and the entirety of my tongue to it’s cause. None of the rest of my mouth thought for one moment that this little shell of brittle enamel was anything less than the prophet sent to save my body from blandness and generic Sathers candy. It has since commandeered my brain-most of my salivary glands and my vision. I now live for candy……I see candy, I have radar specifically for the search and recovery of candy.

My brother-in-law penned a name for my kind when I was still a child……..”sugar mutant”. Which pretty much nails it in the head. When I consumed candy I turned into a perpetual motion machine hell-bent on eating more candy, or cake, or donuts, or anything covered with confectioner’s sugar. The course of my life is as such: when I wake up, I think of bacon and waffles and hot chocolate covered with whipped cream. When I get to work I dream of Twix’s. When I eat lunch I salivate over nestle crunch ice cream bars. When I get home I eat a pint of Ben and Jerry’s coffee toffee crunch. When I sit on the couch watching cartoon network at the wee hours, I eat cases of honey-buns; or at least half the box until I can get to sleep. I have single handedly put at least two of my dentists children thru college and possibly paid for their first cars. Or rather, my mouth has done that. I have 28 teeth, and 30 fillings. I floss, brush, and hope for the fluoride content of my water to be high enough to keep me from paying for another filling, while not quite killing me. I drink water like I’m dying from thirst. Which in a way I am, I constantly have dry-mouth from the prescriptions I take. I pee like a racehorse, or perhaps a pregnant woman. My intestines are dead and possibly rotting according to what comes out of them. All this, I endure so I can keep snorting fun-dip and pixie sticks.

My father was this way, his mother was this way, and some of my sisters are this way. I can only hope, that my son will take after their father, who has never had a cavity and has chompers that most Hollywood elite pay out the wazoo for.

Even my life has taken on the singular purpose of catering to my wanton junk food needs. I no longer read literature; I find it too demanding and filling. I’d rather read junk fiction that doesn’t require me to emote much. Crying releases too much water; lets not think of pain or suffering, give me some gratuitous sex scenes My movie and television habits are the same; all fluff and sugar, no substance. Give me a romantic comedy, or screwball zany antics and relieve me of having to see anything nutritional; my body is so highly tuned to sugar and salt and fat overload, any actual food for thought would give me indigestion, gas and probably horrible stomach cramps.

I have tried to stop eating junk food. But mostly I have just failed.

I hear some have taken the Sugar Anonymous pledge ;or Sugar Busters. Sugar is the devil they say and they abhor it. It causes allergies, sickness, fatness, depression, anger and genocide and possibly created the Atom Bomb and the Chupacabra.

Right now I want a cinnamon bun. Or, even better and more sugary, a Manske roll. I’d have to drive to San Marcos for it, but I’ve done worse people. Much worse. I once drove three hours all around Dallas; got lost; and all in the vain search of a phantom Krispy-Kreme. I used to bring a dozen donuts to work, not because I liked my coworkers, but because I wanted to eat half a dozen and didn’t want to eat alone like a little piggy. I had a junk food drawer in my desk where I would buy pound bags of mixed chocolate and candy and eat it ALL day. My co-workers and friends would come by and eat some too. Because, like a drug addict; I didn’t want to do it alone. Once, a guy who was really stressed out would clean me out when he worked late at night. This was after I was spending $20 on candy every two weeks. I put in a little card that read, “donations accepted, if you eat the candy please donate, because you make more than me.”

He stopped after that. I probably made an enemy that day, but I gained mini-milky way bars, and that is truly a victory.

Abandoned Project-The Red Baroness

2011-05-25T13:53:00.000-07:00

Here's another post with more of Gill's efforts to be a ridiculous heroine.

By the way, I designed a book cover to this book.

Here it is:

Here is the next Chapter:

Chapter 2

Next thing I remember I was lying in my neighbor’s hammock. Now, I think a hammock is a perfectly fine place to sleep off the mean drunks, but my neighbor, being a bit off might have tried to light my feet on fire for trespassing. So miracle of all miracles, I looked down and who was it but my best friend of all friends....Fitz…my mutt dog…looking at me like I was the saddest thing to ever stumble into his little furry life. He promptly chomped down on the back of my jacket and dragged me (somewhat conscious) off the hammock and halfway in my house. Well, what half of me could fit thru the doggie door. And when I woke up, I noticed he was lying on my mangled little legs that were still sticking out the doggie door to keep them warm in the cooling Houston night. I don’t quite know how I made it thru the rest of the doggie door and onto my couch, but next thing I remember, my roommate was laying a cold washcloth on my head and had trashcan in his other hand. Right then I figured out what the trash can was for and promptly used it. Around 2 o’clock I got off the couch and fixed myself a bloody mary. There is nothing better to get rid of a hangover and a bad memory of a lying, stupid, sphincter ball of sludge named Jorge than a Bloody Mary. After slowly and carefully drinking my cure I prepared myself for about 48 hours of semi-consciousness. I made sure Fitz had fresh food and water and picked up every girly magazine in the vicinity along with the rest of the leftover pizza and doggy bones for Fitz. I proceeded to bed.

About 2 days later, after many tentative knocks on my door from my concerned roommate. I was feeling good enough to call Britt and unload the whole story. After I had spit out as much as I could bear to relay she told me she would hop on the first plane to Houston and we would teach this guy not to screw with Gill and her dangerous friend Britt. I love my Britt. I finally took a shower and shaved parts that were in need grooming and prepared to pick up Britt from the airport. My roommate Ross let me take his ole pickup and Fitz jumped in as co-pilot. We made our way on down to pick up my cohort in exacting my very painful revenge on Whore-hay.........

There was one thing I could say about Britt. She understood revenge.

“Alright,” she said as she was unloading her bags into the pick-up. “I’ve gotta stop over at the liquor store.”

“What do you need there,” I asked.

“Vodka.”

“Um, Britt, I’m kind of done with drinking for awhile. I just want to get even with him without puking.”

“This isn’t for drinking.”

She pulled out her trusty zippo lighter.

“How did you get that thru the security?”

“Come on, I’m a freaking flight attendant!!”

I didn’t even ask.

“Alright, here’s the plan we need this bottle of vodka, a dozen eggs some Gouda cheese, and a couple pairs of little girls panties.”

I was speechless, I knew Britt was a little crazy, but little girls panties?

I stared dumbstruck at her for a good moment.
“What the hell…..”

“Well, the vodka is for the Molotov cocktail we’ll throw thru his window, the eggs are self explanatory, and the cheese is for the little girls panties. Were gonna take the gouda; melt on all the panties and throw them all over the floorboard of his car and then call the cops.”

“My god, that is the most horrific, most disgusting and most genius idea I’ve ever heard.” We silently considered the fall-out from our revenge and the whole plan blossomed in my mind.

Within an hour or so we were back at my house getting prepared for our attack on Jorge. My roommate Ross came wandering in. We met while working for Nasa and had struck up a friendship. There wasn’t any interest coming from either of us, and somehow it was just easy being around him. Mostly we just watched arthouse films and drank scotch. Since I’d been there he’d never had a girl over, or even expressed interest in one. I thought he was asexual. Not gay, but not really sexual at all. Not that I minded. He was mostly clean, never bothered Fitz and helped find this great old house we were living in. And he had good scotch. He silently assessed the weapons of Jorge destruction and looked up at me questioningly. I just looked away. He was cool, but I didn’t think he’d understand.

Meanwhile, Britt was playing with Fitz. Britt is the only person on the planet Fitz actually lets treat him like a dog. If anyone throws something at Fitz expecting him to catch it he’ll just look at you questioningly as if to say “What on Earth are you doing?”

Britt was rolling around with him on the carpet cooing “ahh fitzy, you missed me didn’t you?”

After Britt and Fitz had reacquainted themselves Britt and I became battle ready. I wore my favorite jeans with the crotch mostly worn thru and a t-shirt featuring the x-men and Britt wore a black cat-suit that I had from last Halloween when I was a Ninja. She looked a lot more sinister and sexy than I had when I’d worn it. Of course I hadn’t worn it to be sexy. Somehow Britt made everything look sexy. It was only 8:00 on a hot July night. It wouldn’t get dark for another hour or so. So, really, it wasn’t all that discreet. So much for ninja invisibility.

I drove to where Jorge lived. I had never been there but found out the address from a girl in human resources that had a Jorge run-in as well. She told me she would totally be my alibi for that night. Apparently Jorge owed her over $2500.

It wasn’t what I thought. He lived in what appeared to be a crack-house that was subdivided into apartments. It was shabby two-story clapboard with people wandering outside, kids laughing and playing taunting each other in Spanglish, and generally looked pretty full. I could only imagine what it would be like living in an efficiency apartment with only two bathrooms to 14 people. Some old lady who was sitting and singing seemed to be glued to the porch.

Britt and I looked at each other.

“It might not be a good idea to go thru with this as we thought.”

Britt cooed, “But Gill, we have to send him a message.”

“It doesn’t seem like good karma to throw a Molotov cocktail into a house filled with innocent people and children.”

“Fine.” Britt looked irritated.

As far as the underwear thing, well, we couldn’t find Gouda. So all we were left with were eggs. It seems that eggs couldn’t do much worse to this house that the neighborhood didn’t do to it already. I glanced at Britt, and she looked back. We’d lost steam over the drive there. Mostly it was just too depressing to even think about sabotaging Jorge’s house. But, since we went to all the trouble to get battle ready and stockpile weapons (eggs, vodka, a lighter) we went anyway.

I looked at Britt, all crestfallen about the lack of revenge we could exact.

“Why don’t we set something on fire in protest of Jorge?”

Britt brightened, “That’s a fabulous idea!!”

We both looked around for something flammable. All we could find in the dirt front yard was a bush that had died a long time ago and was about to become a tumbleweed. Britt dripped some vodka on it.

“Don’t you think we need more than that to start a bonfire to the ass that is Jorge?” I asked.

“No sense in wasting good vodka.” Britt replied with a healthy sized swig.

She flipped the lid on her Zippo and lit it up. She tried to set the sad little bush on fire, but the few drops of vodka didn’t even help the little fire hazard ignite. She only ended up burning her acrylic nails.

“Damn, fucking, stupid, piece of shit!!! Not even Moses could light this bush!!!”

We gave up after her index finger starting smoking and decided to cut our losses and just put a hex on Jorge.

“Well, I know this lady in Morocco that’ll put a hex on someone for only fifty bucks. It’ll shrink up his dick and give him Halitosis.”

“Too late.” I replied.

We piled in the truck and headed back to my shared house. Some how I just knew I was done. I was done with Nasa, I was done with Houston and I was very done with the opposite sex. When we got home Ross was watching my all-time favorite channel, Animal Planet and we watched until the gentle nature of Sloths lulled me to sleep. The next day I drove Britt back to the airport, she and Fitz gave each other sloppy goodbyes. I watched my best friend and supporter (except for Fitz) walk thru the doors and then I headed back to my house. It wasn’t my home anymore, I was sure of it. I needed a break.

The next day I quit Nasa, bought some contraband Ambien from my boss, and decided to go to Mexico. I was going to drink Margaritas, and lie in the sun until I figured out a better idea. Then I checked my bank account, which was not quite large enough for an extended Mexican vacation or any sort of Mexican vacation. So, I backtracked and tried to figure out what I was going to do. Ross wouldn’t let me stay there indefinitely, because he wasn’t an idiot. I had no friends in the area who I could mooch on. I had made the brash decision of leaving a job, when I had no other to go to. That was a bit of a stickler. I needed time to re-evaluate what I wanted to do. And the only people I could think of that could put up with me for a possibly extended amount of time were….my parents. If I was a different kind of person and my parents were sane I could have imagined my homecoming being something like out of a Lifetime movie.

The girl walks up to her parent’s door after being gone for 4 years. She was a hooker in the big city after failing to become an actress. She walked tentatively put her hand up to the door and hesitated. She looked behind her at the dusty road and mustered up the courage to knock on the door. Her Mom opens the door and with an expression like that of a child that has just found her lost puppy, simultaneously smiles and cries and she pulls her long lost daughter into her arms and weeps. They embrace and the credits roll on what the audience sees as a picture of forgiveness.

It’s a nice story. But I wasn’t a failed actress and recovering hooker. I was a failed low-level federal employee at a dying federal bureau. Who was a quitter. My parents didn’t live on a dusty lane in the country. They lived in an old Victorian house; that was always in stages of disrepair in old Amarillo. My father was a grown up nerd and my mother was a late in life hippie. I was desperate to get away from them when I went to college. My mom spent her time teaching Yoga and regressing into past lives. There was an inordinate amount of incense in my parent’s house, it made me sneeze. And then there was my Dad.

My Dad was a real-life Goofy. At 6’3” and only 175 pounds sopping wet he was all gangly arms and legs. He did have the silly laugh and a sweet giving nature. But was incredibly smart all the same. He’d spent his life as the geeky little brother of my super athletic crazy Uncle Burke. More on him later. He was a whiz on machines, had grown up fixing them on my grandparents farm. He’s been the brains in that family. He was never anything but a really tall, really sweet sci fi, D and D, wannabe Luke Skywalker. And I loved him more than anything. How can you not love a man that bought you every action figure ever. I never needed dolls, mine had Kung Fu action grips.

“Daddy?”

“Gilligan, what is it…are you hurt?”

“No…it’s just,” I choked on the words “I hate it here… I just, well, it sucks. It’s not like I thought at all…I quit today. “

“Wow, What are you doing to do sweetheart?”

“I was thinking I would come back to visit you two for awhile.”

“Well, we still have your room but your Mom has ..er…redecorated it. She’s been using it as a meditation room lately, but I think she just takes naps while she listens to Pan Flute.”

“Is my bed still there?”

“Well, it’s a bed of sorts.”

“Can I sleep on it?”

“Uh, yeah I think you can.”

“I’ll figure it out when I get there.”

“When are you coming in?”

“I’ll call you Dad, just tell Mom ok.”

“Sure will Gilly.”

I hung up and wondered if I had lost my mind. It seemed so. At 26 I left a job voluntarily, with no other job to jump into. Well, crazy ran in the blood it seemed. I packed up my bags. It wasn’t much. I was a government employee, I was still years away from having the suburban tract home and the three bedrooms overflowing with stuff.

I started up the old Chevy truck that I had permanently borrowed from my Uncle when I was 18. It was much too old to be working still, yet it never died. Unless I forgot to gas it up. Which only happened ONCE. I’m not that stupid. (Yes, I am) Fitz jumped in beside me and I said goodbye to Ross. He wasn’t too angry to see me go. I had given him that month’s rent and he had the whole place to himself for a month. No more drunken roommates falling down on neighbor’s property. No more dog hair on the couch. I doubt he really missed me much.

Ruth

All day I dream about cheeseburgers

2011-05-22T09:09:00.000-07:00

I am a junk food addict. I love it. I don't drink much. (alcohol you dimwits) I don't do drugs (the illegal kind dummies) and I don't drive fast cars and have sex with fast women either. I have my vices, and for the most part they are legal and cheap. I've had them since I could climb a jungle gym and most likely will have them when I am floating in my hover-chair at the ripe old ate of 98.

Don't get me wrong, junk food will most likely kill me. Maybe not as fast as black tar heroin, but then again the Baconater at Wendy's could be the meat equivalent of shooting up the pure opiate. (by the way, what the hell does Wendy's think they are doing with their 'sea salt natural' fries. I haven't been there since they destroyed their reputation with changing their fries. It's gross is what it is. I'm disappointed in you Wendy's, if I wanted healthier food, I wouldn't eat french fries. Assholes.)

I just can't stop thinking about burgers. I had a burger on Friday that made me ill. Ill. My mom had to drive me home I was so icky feeling. I didn't .........vomit.......because vomiting is something you reserve for when you've been sick for 5 days and can no longer hold it in. I cannot make myself vomit. But I can try to stop myself. So much that I would rather be sick for a week than puke. But, I did sit in my chair and moan about how my stomach was LEAD and I would never eat again.

Well, that's certainly not true because I ate donuts on the way to the gym the next morning. And then forgot to go to the gym. Because I was tired......from eating all those donuts.

Right now, I have half of the sick burger in my fridge. And I do not want to eat it. But I still do want to eat a burger. Just not the sicky icky one. I wonder if Sarge will eat it. He usually eats my leftovers, but recently, in a move to be ~~superior~~ healthier he's stopped eating junk food. It's not really his thing really. Eating is just fuel for him, unless it's a Chipotle burrito, then it's a religious experience.

Anyway, here's some pictures of delicious burgers. May you all eat one and not feel sick afterward. Or guilty.

This is an actual picture of me eating a burger. I needed a helmet, because I was afraid the burger might try to eat me back.

Yeah, I'd totally sleep inside a huge burger.

The Heart Attack Grill waitresses or porn stars. Not sure which.

Oh, I'd totally make this burger my bitch.

This was on the first page when I googled burger pictures. Go figure.

I said no lettuce or pickles, you fuckers.

So, Sarge was telling me the other day about this restaurant in Dallas called the Heart Attack Grill.

They have burgers named after bypass surgeries, they have waitresses in nurses uniforms, they sell unfiltered cigarettes, and ButterFAT shakes. If you weigh over 350 pounds you eat free. And if you finish a certain burger in 30 minutes you get a free wheelchair ride out to your car.

It's the taste worth dying for

Rudy