Mmmmmm....Breakfast!

Damn! I think I've found the ultimate breakfast recipe here.

Don't forget to follow the final bit of directions at the end. It could save your life.

moar funny pictures

Just another day on transit

I know that when I started this blog, it was meant to be mostly about work, and some about the funny stuff that just always seems to occur in my vicinity. Lately, it seems to be mostly about my adventures in public transit, and today's post is no exception. I just can't seem to get enough.

I learned something today on the bus. If you are so fucked up that you fall down trying to get on the bus and face plant right onto the nasty-ass sidewalk in front of City Hall East and the bus driver tells you not to even think about getting on the bus and it's all before noon, then you may need to reevaluate you life.

Bless his heart.

But he was nothing compared to the guy at the bus stop last Tuesday.

Last Tuesday morning, I was already pissed off because I was running late and knew that I had missed my regular #2 xtown. When I got to my regular stop in front of the library, there was guy lying in the grass. I immediately thought to myself that it's going to be one of those days. I was minding my own business, listening to my music (NOT on an iPod!) and reading a copy of Southern Voice when I hear the guy get up and say something unintelligible to me. I turned around to see this crazy dude shaking his little willie wonka at me. All I could muster was a sarcastic "You've got to be kidding me." before I turned back around. My lack of emotion tells me that I've become WAAAAAY to accustomed to people not wearing pants.

In better news (that some people care about) it appears that the Local One strike on Broadway is over. Cheers to my brothers and sisters for fighting the good fight!

moar funny pictures

Here is a story about the former member of the SS who trained dogs at Buchenwald and Dachau. It's too bad that he was able to leave for Germany and wasn't deported to Israel. I can't believe this monster was living in my backyard..

I don't really have a whole lot of energy to put into the usual madly entertaining post that I usually make, so here's an article from Alternet about the stagehands' strike...

This stuff has got to stop

I know that I wrote a few months back about my car getting broken into and someone possibly sleeping in there. I got lots of responses from friends telling me to lock my car. I'm still not locking my car because I would rather them just rifle through it and not break the window. I keep nothing in there of value, but I do keep the trunk locked.

Now I'm starting to see a pattern. It seems to always happen on Friday nights/early Saturday mornings. This past Saturday I awoke to find my car rifled through again and this time, they stole my damn bicycle! The bicycle that had a lock on it on my patio. That means they were really close to my door and that concerns me. What they didn't know is that the clutch was all jacked up, so they probably had an accident fairly quickly. I hope so. But I'm still looking closely at everyone I see on a bike.

Since these things always seem to occur on Friday nights, I think sometime in the near future, I'm gonna wait up for them. Won't they be surprised.

Lack of blogging and adventures in public transit

I have sort of neglected my blog for the past few months because I was beginning to feel like my underpants were showing out there in teh interwebs. I've really been spending more time writing in my journal and otherwise honing my obviously extraordinary literary skills.

But I have been taking public transit more these days. It's almost impossible to park for free where I work, and I can't afford the 5 to 10 dollars a day it costs to park the shit-mobile. Plus gas is expensive. I mean, REALLY expensive. So the #2 bus it is. The #2 runs east and west down Ponce de Leon Ave. If you know Atlanta, you know what this means. Daily fun and entertainment!

Saturday I had to be at the theatre factory at 2pm, so slogged my sorry ass down to the bus stop in front of the public library. As we all know, public libraries are great places for the non-domiciled to hang out, what with the free internet access and climate control. Hey! I'm all for it! But please don't throw trash (ie: beer bottles, crack pipes, used tampons) around the sidewalk and bus stop there. A girl's gotta draw a line somewhere.

Good 'ole #2 showed up right on time, as always. I swiped my pass, grabbed a seat (I had my pick since it was a Saturday afternoon and not rush hour), and put my earbuds in to listen to some Steely Dan or Jupiter Coyote or Edwin McCain or some other vile music that I'd never admit to listening to. I immediately noticed the din of a crazed ghetto queen SCREAMING (with a capital S) hysterically into her cell phone. She was apparently talking to someone named "Daddy", and judging by her age, I don't think the man was biologically related to her. Something about not meeting her at her bus stop, but she DID have his money, no, she did love him...blah blah blah...all the usual crack whore stuff. Now, no one would have cared who she was talking to, had the population of Chicago not been able to hear her, but she was just incredibly loud. And was making everyone very uncomfortable. So the guy in the seat next to her asked her to "take it down a notch". Just damn. This was obviously the wrong thing to do. She slammed shut her phone, put her finger up in his face (after making some sort of swirly move with it) and exclaimed "Yo ass don't need to be all up in my conversation." To which this gentleman replied with "tha whole damn bus up in yo conversation".

At this point, bad weave started flying everywhere.

I will spare the details of the rest of the argument for the sake of brevity, but know that some truce was apparently reached, because, next thing we know, he had propositioned her.

Turns out she was a ho.

And was very angry that all he had was fifteen dollars and probably didn't have a car "since he was riding the MARTA and shit.."

Can't folks EVER act right?

Moving on to News that (some) People Care About:

It looks like the stagehands union on Broadway staged a walkout on Saturday morning, effectively shutting down most of the Great White Way. Good for you, guys! I think we're all tired of being told that we're unskilled labor, our jobs should be part time, and "any warm body will do". Fight the good fight and know that those of us down here in the Durty South support you.

Peace, love, and hair grease.

I don't really know what to say, other than I am sick and tired of motherfuckers with their wee-wee's out here in my neighborhood. I swear to God and the sweet sainted mother of Alex Chilton, not a week goes by where I don't see some deranged fucker hanging out on Ponce with his wang hanging out. I mean, that shit is so TIRED! It's beginning to look like the Deuce circa 1985 around here, what with the tranny hookers, crackheads, hustlers, bagladies, and fellas with no pants. Hell, I see the little freaks on the bus.

In other news, I've been listening to a lot of Radio Free Texas. You can too, if you check them out at www.radiofreetexas.org . They play some incredible alt-country, plus you should go and request some old friends of mine, The Scott Little Band. In a mere two weeks, their song "Little Bit of Rain" has climbed the request charts to number three. So go help some decent, hard working guys out and request 'em! (Plus, at least one quarter of the band has seen me naked, so they've got something to hold over me...).

There's still an outside chance I may get to the beach this weekend, even though my transmission fell out of the wagon last Friday somewhere on Huff Road...I'll keep you posted..

On a work related note, last Thursday I did the most amazing show. It wasn't amazing because it was so great, but jaw dropping, slobber boning, unpleasant. It was for an international recording artist who brought the most unprofessional, unpleasant, unprepared, and plain mean front of house engineer. I'm always amazed when engineers request the highest end equipment and then don't know how to use it and expect you to babysit them all night. But they usually don't get violent when you refuse and leave them to sink or swim. This fuckstick actually PUT HIS HANDS ON ME. I stood on my tip toes (he was somewhat a midget at 5'7"), put my finger in his face and said "Don't you EVER FUCKING TOUCH ME AGAIN!" then walked out of the venue. Not really sure how I'm gonna deal with this one. I am considering an email to the artist's management company, and copying the email to the local promoter, and I'm also considering posting his name and picture here...not sure what to do. I did debate calling the police and/or backing the truck up and there being no show, but that wouldn't have really accomplished anything and simply would have made my night long..however it would have been really refreshing to see the next morning's headline in the entertainment section of the AJC reading "Bon Jovi's sound engineer arrested for assault at show at Park Tavern"....oh...wait...I think that was my outside voice..there is no excuse for that kind of behavior..

Until next time...

Mystery solved! Ugly Overload has revealed what the squeaking alien fish is!

What I want to understand is the thought process behind the fisherman who thought this weird fish was an alien and decided to eat it because he "wasn't scared of it". The author of Ugly Overload has the same thought. This is NOT the guy you want to take on a camping trip. I'm not really all that scared of the neighbor's dog, but you don't see me over here serving up Bar-B-Qued Benji, now do you? No wonder the Soviet Union fell apart.

"We thought it was an alien, but we weren't scared of it, so we ate it." These Russian fisherman got it right. We gotta stop the invasion of squeaking alien fish-like creatures...

I know I'm going to St. Simon's for my first stop..and I'm not sure how long I'll be gone...I've got some cash and plenty of money in my bank accounts...I'm thinking first stop in St. Simons to get some good family time from my nephew, then either on to Key West or maybe up to Charleston. But perhaps on over to New Orleans..not sure yet..,damn that oil change thing, or I'd be gone now..getting into Glynn county abut 8am...damn not keeping up with that..lesson to you kids..keep up with car maintenance so you can go when you gotta get gone..

Okay, so I think I'm about to pull a rock star freak out of Led Zeppelin proportions. It's almost 3am and I've just decided I'm blowing out of here asap to the beach. Unfortunately, I have to wait until the am so I can get my oil changed..maybe I'll bake some cookies in the interim....Damn! If I didn't have the whole oil change thing hanging over me, I'd be the perfect country song..

Okay, my cell phone is finally shitting the bed. It's a Motorola Razr, and I've never liked it, and am really disappointed because this is the first bad experience I've had with Motorola. I swear by their two way radios (even after one tried to commit suicide by jumping off the eighty foot grid in my theater..), so I'm very sad about it.

I'm now looking at some LG phones (i'm with Verizon, so it has to be a Verizon compatible phone). If you have any suggestions, I'm all ears (pun intended). In fact, after a few more drinks, I'll probably wind up buying a new one online.

I try very hard to not be one of those asshole "drive everywhere" shitheads, so this evening I walked over to the grocery store. It's only 3 blocks from my house, and it took less time to walk there than it probably would have taken had I driven the wagon over there. The little furry crap and vomit machines were out of catfood, so I figured it was paramount that I get over there and back as quickly as possible. I swear to Baby Jesus and Jello Biafra they looked like they were going to eat my eyeballs when I got home. When I die cold and alone, there will be nothing noble about how my cats deal with it. There will be no plaintive meowing to alert the neighbors of my demise. After about 4.7 hours of no feedings, they will simply proceed to eat me, starting with my eyeballs (the juiciest part, you know..).

Today was rather low key at the Sound Factory. I put together one round-base microphone stand to loan to another company, ate pizza with the two other employees who had decided to bless the company with their presence, and generally surfed the internet all day. I didn't even find anything new out there. I'm fairly sure that I've finished the internet. Done. Reached the end of it, seen everything there is to see out there. And oh yeah, we got a block of pre-sale tickets to the Police. Yeah, we're awesome. Sometimes this crappy, thankless industry pays off in really serious cool points.

Today was such a jack-off day, that I was reminded of when I was just out of college and worked in the local used record store. This was in 1994, and when I say "record" store, I mean we sold old, vintage, used and hard to find vinyl. Needless to say, in Macon, GA, this place didn't last very long. Most of my shifts consisted of me showing up for work looking like the self appointed rock snob goddess that I thought I was, sitting around smoking cigarettes (in the store, mind you), looking cool, sneering at the few customers we had (who were usually looking for Eagles vinyl..blech! How uncool..), listening to Blondie, Jim Carroll Band,The Clash, and Weather Report (?) on the turntable, fixing my make-up and hanging out with my musician boyfriend who would usually stop by to help me out in the sneering at customers department (hey...that took alot of energy). I made about five dollars an hour and was worth every penny if you count music snob as a qualification. And I'm pretty sure that, instead of clothes, I wore costumes. Purple and orange plaid hotpants. Magenta babydoll dresses with floral tights and Doc Martin mary-janes. Glitter eyeshadow. Black crocheted tight-ass bellbottoms that were see-thru with 4 inch platforms and tube tops. I think my "look" was a feminine David Bowie with an Athens and Seattle edge. I'm sure I was a freak. My roommate at the time worked for a department store, so she was always having to wear these demure little dresses and pants. I'm sure we were a pair. I wish I could get away with dressing like I don't give a shit what anyone thinks, but these days, I'm more concerned with the sturdiness of my work apparel. Also, I don't weigh a buck 'o five anymore. Not by any stretch...

Anyone out there have a job in the past where you got "carte blanc" on your dress and/or behavior at work?

Today was okay as work days go for the most part. Myself and the other guy in shop finished putting together the rig for the international broadcast most of the morning, and it felt like we were in a huge game of three dimensional Tetris. Move one road box over here, just move another road box over there so that you can finally move the intended road box over to the loading dock area. Thank Baby Jesus and Henry Rollins for all those days I skipped class to engage in Tetris tournaments with Tara. I knew that shit would come in handy some day...I did, however, realize that most of what I do for a living is move big, heavy things from one location to another.. At this rate, I'd probably rock the casbah working for a moving company..

All was fantabulous up until about 5.45 when I decided it was time to close up the loading dock door so we could all say goodnight. The chain on the roll up door had jumped the track...for the 3rd time in less than a week. Now, I can't leave the warehouse with a wide open loading dock door for the night (especially since there's been a huge increase in crime in the area..be still my beating heart..), so all we could do was get one of the guys to ride up on the forklift (I know, please keep OSHA away from my shop) and try to repair it after we determined that an emergency visit from the Overhead Door Company would set us back somewhere around $770. Not good...Overhead Door Company will be called first thing in the morning. I'm tired of worrying about whether or not the loading dock door is going to be an open beacon for criminals every day just about closing time (plus fixing that damn door cuts into my drinking and watching Miami Ink time..).

Peace out and closed doors to you all...Im gonna go eat some ice cream..

So some assclown took it upon themself to break into my car last night. It looks like I forgot to lock one of the doors, so they just let themselves in. They emptied my glove box, making a huge mess all over the passenger side floor. Then they obviously got in the trunk and stole a bunch of clothes that were already destined for Goodwill. Now, these clothes were already on their way out of my life, but it pisses me off because THEY TOOK SOMETHING THAT DIDN'T BELONG TO THEM! They obviously went through my building's trashcans, dumping trash all over the driveway, so I had to clean that up as well. The weird thing is that there was probably five dollars in change in the ashtray and some tools in my trunk and glove box, and they didn't take any of that. Maybe they slept in there last night. Who knows? I'm just glad that I didn't walk outside to take a smoke late night and stumble on them, or maybe I wish I had. I would have yelled really loud. And anyone who knows me, knows I can be really loud. I'm also glad they didn't break a window. That shit's expensive.

So the heat of the summer is upon us here in the Deep South. I'm having to water my tomatoes twice a day just to keep them from wilting away. I planted some watermelon today, and I'm just hoping that I didn't start too late on them. But we get pretty long summers here (duh!) so I'll probably be okay. I've also never tried to grow them in a container before, so we'll see how it goes.

You gotta love Atlanta in the summer. You're nowhere near open water, other than the Chattahoochee River, but I'm not swimming in that. The air just kind of hangs over the city, all smoggy and nasty, and the trash really starts to stink. And the wildfires in south Georgia haven't helped the air quality at all (although I think most of those have been put out now. I was beginning to think Sherman was returning. I was hoping he'd burn Buckhead.). Why the hell would I go to New York with all of this right at my fingertips! So I was contemplating heading up to Moonshine Country for the weekend to visit Uncle Redneck and Aunt Goodtimes. They live way up in the northwest Georgia mountains and it's always a good ten degrees cooler up there, plus they're right on the Little River just upstream from DeSoto Falls. It's truly beautiful up there, especially right now when all the rhododendrons are blooming and you can sit on top of the boat house having a drink at sunset with the river breeze washing over you. But the trade off is that you have spend the weekend with Uncle Redneck and Aunt Goodtimes. Saturday would have gone something like this:

2pm: Arrive at the riverhouse.
2.05pm: After many hugs, unload car.
2.10pm: Begin drinking beer.
2.20pm: Begin drinking second beer and smoking fifth cigarette.
3.30pm: Put on bathing suit and pack cooler to walk down to the roof of the boathouse.
3.45pm: After navigating down 72 steps at a 45 degree angle downward, arrive at boathouse.
3.46pm: Climb up 17 rungs of ladder to top of boathouse, trying not to drop the cooler in the river.
3.50pm: Aunt Goodtimes begins drinking vodka and Co-cola. Uncle Redneck has been drinking since 11am, so nothing really changes for him.
4.07pm: Get bitten by the world's largest mosquito. Realize I'm not in possession of any bug repellent. Neither are Aunt and Uncle. Decide to tough it out since the sunset will be really nice.
4.23pm: Move on over to drinking bourbon. What the hell, it's the weekend, right?
4.24pm: Get bitten by even larger mosquito.
4.26pm: Uncle Redneck decides that he's had enough of the mosquitoes and the only way to deal with it is to jump off the boathouse into the river.
5pm: Uncle Redneck is still flopping around in the river like The Great Georgia Manatee. Due to his distance, Aunt Goodtimes and I are finally able to chat and have a reasonably good time. She's not drunk yet, nor am I. The Great Georgia Manatee is another story.
5.15pm: A pair of canoes appear on the river. Uncle Redneck tells them that his name is Zeke Woodall (a famous nudist from around those parts) and to "get the hell away from his property".
5.46pm: Georgia Fish and Game rangers show up. Uncle Redneck is still flomping around in the water (which fortunately has sobered him up just a little bit). They tell us that they've gotten a report of "a nekkid man" and that The Great Georgia Manatee can't be in the river without a floatation device. Uncle Redneck asks them if they'll give him a boat ride 7 1/2 feet to the dock since he'd be breaking the law to swim over there. They make him swim.

(editor's note: Never once has Uncle Redneck been actually "nekkid". He just wants strangers to think that he is.)


7pm: Everyone has stumbled up the 72 steps at a 45 degree angle up to the house. Aunt Goodtimes and I change our clothes while Uncle Redneck decides to start the grill. One should always let the drunkest member of the party start the grill.

8.30pm: Unbelievably, the steaks are cooked without a hitch, and we eat heartily. Then move on to more liquor drinks.

9.45pm: The party had degenerated into everyone talking over each other, fighting for headroom in the conversation.

9.57pm: Aunt Goodtimes realizes that she's out of cigarettes. Since everyone is too drunk to drive to the "corner store" (that is at least 7 miles away), she proceeds to smoke all of mine. Thank God I've hidden two packs in my bag.

9.59 pm: Uncle Redneck asks me if I have any weed. I don't.

10.15pm: Aunt Goodtimes gets all nostalgic talking about my late father, her late brother. Decides she needs to call my sister on her cell phone. Fortunately, my sister doesn't answer. She and I spend the next half an hour reminiscing about my dad while Uncle Redneck wanders off in the woods.

10.45pm: Uncle Redneck returns from his "walkabout", announcing that he just needed to "get up and walk and let the womenfolk talk".

11pm: Uncle Redneck decides that we all need to listen to the entire catalog of Atlanta Rhythm Section at 120 decibels.

11.23pm: Sometime during the second verse of "Champagne Jam" Uncle Redneck proceeds to tell the story of how he was at the "Champagne Jam" in Piedmont Park the year my sister was born and how my Daddy named her after an Allman Brothers song. We've all head this story about one hundred and thirteen times.

11.37: During the opening organ chords of "So Into You", Uncle Redneck asks me if I have any "co-caine". I don't. He proceeds to question me closely, "don't everybody down there in At-lanta sniff that stuff?"

I won't bore you any more with how my Saturday night would have turned out. You get the picture. Uncle Redneck would have passed out sometime around 1, and my Aunt and I would have stayed up til sometime around 2.30, just getting drunk.

I'm glad I decided to stay here in Atlanta. There may be people breaking into my car, and the rockstars are pretentious, but at least I won't have a run in with the Fish and Game Commission.

Athfest

Just in case you need a dose of a disaffected hipster giving you guidelines on a pretentious music festival called Athfest..

Look here..

I'm sure that we're all in awe of a psuedo-rock star telling us how mass transit between Atlanta and Athens needs to be.

And, Hey Patterson, I'm sure you were an AWESOME monitor engineer at the 40 Watt..wait, you mean the place where they pay engineers $40 a night and all the Pabst they can drink? Damn! I bet that's attracting some production talent.

Sorry honey, I stopped liking you guys sometime around the time you guys started sucking...oh maybe about the time Rob and Earl left...

Ohhh Blog...

Ohhh blog, how I've neglected you...Apologies to my one reader..I've just been busy doing, well, nothing..working and maintaining the status quo..

Today I spent most of the day fretting about buying new catfood. It seems that the catfood I've been purchasing has been causing my precious little kitties to turn into nuclear bio-warfare shit bombs. Not really sure what the problem is, however at every turn here in the squat there seems to be a pile of kitty diarheah...yuk! Those of you who think that cats are clean pets are grossly mistaken. Liquid shit arsenals are not my ideal pets. So today we've gone back to the nasty, albeit non-diarrhea causing, catfood. Dinky and Lulu seem happy about it.

I'm currently baking cookies. Not sure why, it just seemed like a judicious way to spend my time. And really, who doesn't love Toll-House Cookies?

Peace out and cookie goodness..

-H

Just Damn...

I think someone has stolen my identity. As of midnight last night, both of my bank accounts, checking and saving, were cleaned out. To the tune of over $1200. I know, not an enormous amount of money, but all I had. Money I worked for. Money I was going to use to pay June's rent (since I'm laid off for most of the month of June). The ironic thing is I just read an article in the AJC about how high identity theft is in Georgia...I had to jump through hoops today on the phone with my bank, but apparently someone found it incredibly easy to just log in and take all my money..Bank of America doesn't seem to trust the actual account holder, but by God, anybody else can seem to just jump in there and withdraw at will....Not to mention the fact that the Fraud Department really didn't care since it wasn't my credit card or forged checks. I was PROMPTLY told that that was all they dealt with. If anyone has any ideas on how to even begin on how to deal with this, let me know...HUGH SIGH...No round food for me today, I can't afford it...Maybe I should put up a Paypal button on the blog to accept donations to fight BOA...and, I swear to God!..I DID NOT reply to that Nigerian email...

Why I will never leave the Deep South

I'm fairly sure that I will never take up residence anywhere other than the Deep South because of nights like tonight. I gotta, say it's one of those perfect nights here in the ATL. The temperature is around 76 degrees with humidity around 65%. The air is a little thick, but there is a heavy scent of honeysuckle, wisteria, and the new, blooming gardenia I just potted. It reminds me of those nights when I was a little kid in coastal Alabama (well, more the swamp than the coast, but very close) when I would sneak outside on these perfect nights in my nightgown and twirl around and around and around in my nightgown, with the grassflies swirling up around my feet and the fireflies were my very own pyrotechnics. Sometimes there would be heat lightning in the sky. A yankee once told me that there was no such thing as heat lightning, but he's a liar. I've seen it, felt the ions in the perfectly still southern air.

I hope there is heat lightning tonight.

Been long gone for awhile..

I haven't posted in awhile because I've been busier than a possum tripping on mushrooms on the shoulder of I-75...This past Sunday wrapped up Georgia Shakespeare Festival's "Shake at the Lake". If you've never been, go ahead and block out the first week of May on next year's calander. It's a blast. It's free, you can bring in a picnic basket, the cast and company are amazing, and this year, it didn't even rain. Not at all. Not one night. Not a drop. Meaning that this year, my mix console didn't get soaked like it'd been sitting under Old Faithful. Everyone had a great run, and as Tim says "You all kick grass!". But I have to say that this year was by far and away my easiest year ever. And that means mucho gratitude to many people..so...on with the Tony award speech of many thanks...Big hugs, mad props, and uber gratitude to Richard, without you there would be no "GA Shakes"...Tim, it's amazing how you bring the whole thing together each year and inspire everyone around you to succeed in ways we never thought we could...Megan rocks, nuff said...Patrick Micheal Murphy, you are the dream RF tech and made me look good every day. I hope I told that enough. The cast of "Twelth Night" was amazing, even Enstwiler, who made me giggle all day long. The sound designer, Clay is incredible in the way he trusts me to "just do what ya gotta do, and I'm sure it will be great". No one has ever given me that kind of trust and accountability. Walter stepped up to the plate and made my tech so much easier than it could have been. And very importantly, we gotta thank Sound Associates, Inc, and especially Amy for giving me free reign in the shop to pull and build at will. Usually my load in day ends at 2am. This year I was home having dinner at 7.30pm. That's also a testament to the shop guys there, Colin, Leon, and Matthew. You guys rocked my world. End of Tony acceptance speech.

Unfortunately, I didn't think to take any photographs this year. That's too bad, because it was a very pretty event. And when I say "pretty", I don't mean in a precious sense, but in the sense that there is really no other way to say it. Maybe I can pirate some from someone else who was there. If so, I'll post them here.

Well, it's back to my job at the theater factory for now. A week in the sun was nice, but I'm so beat, I feel like Tina Turner after an ass whoopin by Ike...

Satan's kittens from Hell

Who knew that my cats were little instruments of Satan? This guy asks the all important question: Is it okay for a Christian to own a cat?

Let's hear it for the Yalies..

In response to the violence at VT, yale has done this.

Yeah, makes sense.

The best song in the world

I just had a bologna sandwich. It was probably the best bologna sandwich in the world..you know the kind..the bread is white bread and just squishy enough to be almost sweet, Miracle Whip, Sauer's mustard, Kraft cheese and Oscar Meyer bologna. So I'm gonna write the perfect country song called, are you ready? "A Baloney Sandwich and a Bottle of Bourbon". It will win a Grammy for sure...

Aggravation in the grocery store

I went to the grocery store after work tonight for two reasons. One, I had no food, and two, it was payday so I could afford some new food. In fact, my kitchen was so empty that it was beginning to look like a third world nation around here (minus the flies).

So I spent about 30 minutes perusing the aisles, carefully selecting my boxes of macaroni and cheese, bananas, and various sandwich meats. But the bulk of my time was spent searching for the Holy Grail that is Pralines and Cream ice cream. I swear to Sweet Baby Jesus and Andrew W.K., almost NO ONE makes it anymore, only Mayfield, and that's fine, as long as I can get it when the mood strikes. Now, there was no shortage of liberal, hippie, gourmet ice cream made by guys who look like the long lost brothers of Jerry Garcia and live in weird, foreign places like Vermont and probably listen to too much Phish. But what I'm talking about here is good, summertime-eatin' ice cream. This is not the kind of ice cream one puts chunks of Godiva chocolate in (while I will allow that there is certainly a time and place for that) or tops with wheat germ or what have you. I was THIS close to just buying the Blue Belle vanilla and making pralines to crumble over the top if it (not a bad idea..note to self...make pralines and crumble over Blue Belle vanilla...). But I found it and all was right with the world.

Almost.


I had to check out. Now, the Murder Kroger on a weeknight is iffy at best, so you can only imagine what it's like on a Friday night at 11.30. But I was overjoyed when I found a short line that had both a checkout operator AND a bagger. " WHOO HOOO! I won't have to bag my own groceries" I thought to myself. Boy, was I wrong..sort of..The girl who was "bagging" my groceries (and I use this term loosely) was getting off work at 12.30, had only recently broken up with her boyfriend, had broken up with said boyfriend because it turned out that he was the baby-daddy of her cousin, earlier had a ride home from work but didn't anymore because he was up in the club and didn't want to leave just when it was getting good to come pick her up, and still wasn't sure how she was getting home. I know all of this, because she was telling the cashier all of this as she was sort of throwing my milk, eggs, Crisco, Bisquick, and cheese into random bags, letting some items fall to the side. All of this was getting accomplished at glacial speed. The best part was when the cashier had moved onto the customer behind me and was sending her items down the little conveyor belt and Ms. Recently Dumped started bagging her groceries in my bags. As I was trying to sort out the mess and not show my ass, she picked up one of my yogurt cups and said "Where did this come from?" I said "it's mine". She then uttered the statement that will probably cause my aneurysm later tonight..."What is it?"....

All of this made me remember about when I was eighteen and worked at Woodham's IGA in Eufaula, Alabama. Of all the grocery stores in Eufaula, Woodham's was the bottom of the barrel. It wasn't the brand new Food Fair, nor was it the uber-middle class Winn Dixie or Piggly Wiggly. It was on the west side of Highway 431, across the road from one of the many housing projects that populated post New Deal rural Alabama. Believe it or not, people could actually smoke in public places at the time, the IGA being no exception. So it was not uncommon to see a woman pushing a grocery cart, one barefoot kid running along side poking things with the stick he'd brought in, a baby in the seat, and she'd be smoking a cigarette while leaning over the fresh produce. I'm pretty sure that this was about the time I coined the term "grocery store feet", but I digress...

But my career at the IGA wasn't all bad. It did have it's benefits. Like a regular paycheck. So my mom wouldn't kick me out again. And they sold beer. And I had a 19 year old boyfriend, who like most boys from Eufaula, Alabama, enjoyed drinking Budweiser. So he would come into the IGA, select his beer, and check out in my line. Easy enough, we always had beer for that night when I got off work.

Was I as bad at eighteen as Ms. Recently Been Dumped? I don't know. I'd like to think not, but the reality is, is that I probably was. Perhaps worse. I seem to remember many conversations with Kate, one of the other cashiers, about who would be down at Old Creek Towne and should we go...And I'm sure some thirty-ish woman looked at me with disdain and just wish that I'd bag her groceries...

Did I mention that I heard Whitney Houston's "I believe the children are the future" on the Muzak at Murder Kroger just before I got in line to check out? God, I hope Whitney's wrong.

They're too cute to stay mad at...

Just to prove that I won't hold a grudge...

Flaming Easter Candy of Death

I didn't elect to go to any of the opening night parties last night. Instead, I was more interested in just going home, watching a little TV, and cracking out a little on the internet reading mindless drivel. All, in all, my night was everything I'd hoped for.

Until I got a sweet tooth.

At some point in the evening, I grew bored with the overload of information I'd garnered from various newssites, blogs, RSS feeds, and various and sundry porn and decided that I needed a little sugar to make my evening complete. Not a huge amount of sugar, mind you, just enough to make me smile. Luckily, last week I cleaned Kroger out of their on sale Easter candy. I have a fridge full of the stuff. Everything from Cadbury Eggs to vanilla creme Hershey's Kisses to Marshmallow Peeps. And that's where the "fire problem" began.

Now we all know that one can manipulate Peeps in sadistic and inhumane ways to make them a little tastier. Put them in the microwave for just a few seconds, they get nice and squishey. Keep them in the freezer to make them a little more solid. My favorite way to torture the little candy colored birdies is to skewer them on a stick and hold them over the flame on my gas stove for a few seconds. This results in a caramelized sugar outside that is crunchy, and an interior that is gooey like the marshmallow part of a smore. So I did this, rendering unto me caramelizes little pieces of heaven. The part I forgot about, the MOST IMPORTANT part, I might add, is that this makes the marshmallow inside VERY HOT. I mean hot like a firebombed Al-Quida hideouot cave. And sticky. Sticky like napalm. I forgot about all of this, and bit right into said burned up Peep. It was delicious. And sticky. And VERY HOT. It burned the top of my lip, causing a second degree blister, due to the fact that this little benign candy had turned into a molotov cocktail of carbohydrates. I couldn't get it off my face or my fingers. It dripped down onto the burner of my stove, re-igniting the burner with one foot flames. It stuck to the counter. And now I have a huge blister on my top lip that probably has the appearance of some sort of bizarre sexually transmitted disease. But that's not what it is. What it is is the Revenge of the Peep. That'll teach me.

Sad events

I just can't be funny tonight (not that I really ever am). My thoughts and prayers go out to the students, faculty, and staff of Virginia Tech University tonight. I really couldn't process all the information yesterday, and simply chose not to even think about it. It's such an amazing tragedy, and certainly not the time for partisan commentary. So I really don't want to hear about how stricter or looser gun laws would have prevented it. The whole thing is terrible, and it's terrible for the friends and families of the victims and Cho Seung-Hui. If you have prayers for the affected people of this awful event, don't forget to include his family as well.

Peace out and remember to be good to each other.

New glasses

I got new glasses yesterday. Here is a picture of them.
















It's a good thing I did it, because this is what my old glasses looked like.


I'm guessing that the new glasses are made of glass from ground diamonds, only obtainable in the magical land of Oz, due to their cost. I can't afford to eat this week, but by God, I'll be able to see.

Speaking of eating, I did eat a cheeseburger for lunch. It was terrible, but it was round.

Crap

Crapola...I know that I should be attempting the Holy Grail that is sleep right now, but I'm really wound up. Maybe it's the Co-cola I had with all my bourbon earlier at the Mass of the Little Sisters of our Lady of Perpetual Excess...but I just can't seem to muster the will to go to bed. It's sort of like a throw back to when I was a little kid and felt like if I went to bed, I might miss something. I'm fairly sure that I won't miss anything here in Poncey-Highlands..well, it is an early Monday morning..not many hookers out here right now... It's funny, the Significant Other has a truck call in about an hour and a half and I haven't even gone to bed yet. How many times have I been on the other end of the deal, where someone I know just got off work, is all wound up, yet I've got an early set call or an uber-early work call? I keep thinking of this time when I was working in Master Control at a Fox affiliate (it sounds soooo Star Trek) and it was Easter...I was presented with an Easter basket complete with MANY Cadbury eggs..it was 2.30 in the morning..he was rushing home from work and I was rushing out the door late for work...How can one be late for work at 2.30 in the morning? ACCKKK!!! But I was late, and got reamed out that day by the other engineer for being late..my shift was supposed to start at 2 AM.....that shit sucked....that's why I try not to work in broadcast television...that shit sucks..

Thank God and Baby Jesus I no longer work in broadcast TV,
H

How to enter the "Douchebag of the Week" contest..

Here's a repost of Douchebag posting from Crackspace..just in case you were wondering..

Douchebags and Batteries
Current mood: aggravated

So I did a really asshole thing tonight. But I am nothing, if not an asshole somedays. Who could blame me? I was tired, cold, and wet and just trying to make my way home along the corridor of sin that is Ponce de Leon Avenue. Out of the blue I see this guy crossing the street. Now I know that it is not unusual to see someone crossing the street at ten thirty at night, but it was pouring rain and he wasn't crossing at the crosswalk. Some of you know that this is a pet peeve of mine. And he was crossing diagonally. Dressed head to toe in solid black. And he was doing THE ASSHOLE STROLL. You know what I'm talking about. The slow meandering across a busy roadway, paying no attention to oncoming traffic, that entitled walk that says "Hey motherfuckers! Your ass BETTER stop for me." Well, it was pouring rain (as it often does in Atlanta this time of year, or any time of year for that matter...), and just as he got to the south side of the street, I managed to hit a HUGE puddle of filth infested rainwater at about 45 miles an hour (about 15 miles an hour faster than I should have been going, but I did it on purpose, cause like I said, I was tired, cold and wet and those things make me cranky), thus splashing a wall of serious wetness on said pedestrian. If he thought he was wet before, he was definitely wet then. He stopped in his tracks to shout some obscenities to me, something along the lines of "dumbass white bitch..." but I just turned up "Catapult" by R.E.M. like a good little aging rock snob and made my way on to the liquor store, because, after all, tomorrow IS Sunday and we wouldn't want to get caught with our pants down, now would we? I feel better already....

At first, I thought Slow-ass Ponce crosser would win this week's Douchebag Of The Week award, but since he's now all wet and I've had some time to ponder, I realize that the coveted Golden Douchebag should go to Mr. Burgundy Nissan Altima In The Three Dollar Lot At 15th and West Peachtree. This fuckstick came about six inches from crushing me to a pulp trying to park his Japanese piece of crap in the pouring rain, thus backing me into a corner between him, an avocado green BMW, and a brick wall, all in the pouring rain. So concrapulations, Mr. Burgandy Nissan. You win the Golden Douchebag. Hopefully, next week, some equally dumbass ATLien will outdo you...

In light of Mr. Leisure Stroller and Mr. Burgandy Nissan, I'm starting a contest here at Holly's World O' Blogorama. Douchebag of the Week. Send me your nominations for said award, I'll see if they beat the idiotic encounters I have in my day to day life, and I shall confer upon the winner a shining Massingill Moment. Hell, nominate yourself if you feel like you deserve it! I'm sure that I've had that effect on people before. There really are no prizes, just the satisfaction of knowing that you've blown the whistle on a complete idiot and had it posted to Teh Interwebs (which is really just a big system of tubes...).

So after putting up with all of that, making my usual Saturday night visit to Greene's Liquor Store on Ponce (complete with its full company of weirdos and freaks..) I finally made it home to the squat, determined to make up a decent drink, listen to a little Wilco (cause that's just how I'm rollin') and mop my filthy kitchen floor with my new Swiffer WetJet. I bought it last night on a whim in Kroger, but didn't feel like putting it together since I'd spent the previous 12 hours listening to the Little Prince shout "Hold, Please!" into the God mic that it is my job to provide for him everyday. Upon opening the box of my new floor cleaning device and assembling it without reading the owner's manual (owner's manuals are for pussies, and I'm CERTAINLY not a pussy, plus it's really just a glorified mop...) I discovered that it needed four AA batteries to "squirt". Now usually AA batteries are not a problem for me. In fact, at work I'm known as the battery pimp, shouting from the rafters "For the love of the Baby Jesus and all that is Holy and Sacred, will SOMEBODY take these damn AA batteries!" It's illegal to throw them in the trash, you know. Plus it's wasteful. Well, I guess I'm simply a victim of my own success, because I realized that I could not lay hands on four AA batteries. I thought "Surely I have SOMETHING that takes batteries around here? I realized I did, so I went to an undisclosed location (and no, Dick Cheney was NOT there) and retrieved said batteries. I'm not sure how much voltage is left in them. Probably not much. Now that I've got a sparkling clean kitchen floor, had a few drinks, and can't seem to connect to Teh Interwebs (that series of big tubes) due to the fact that I steal my internet connection, I'm gonna want those batteries back.

My contest

Like I mentioned on my crackspace blog, go ahead and send me your "Douchebag of the Week" nominations...send pictures if you think they're applicable..and maybe you or your nominee could win your very own Massingill Moment..because who doesn't want to be the recipient of the coveted Golden Douchebag...

Peace Out,
H

Round Food

We seem to eat alot of round food in the entertainment production industry. Donuts (obviously), bagels, pizza, deli trays, hamburgers, and I guess tater tots are sort of round. So I was not surprised this morning to find the ubiquitous Krispy Kremes by the coffee station. I ate one. It was good. It was also round.

However, this evening we had a change of pace. One of our cast members and his wife prepared a company meal, and I mean a MEAL! A turkey dinner complete with cornbread dressing, cranberry sauce, homemade potato salad, yeast rolls, and sweet tea. So I'm imagining a VERY slow show this evening. We'll see....

Thank you for visiting Holly's Donutorama.