Prince Justin

Category: dribblings

My leetle brahther and seester-een-law have moved to the RBC.

Get the board games ready!

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Fashionista Tuesday

Category: dribblings

“Does this look gay?” He asked as he put his hands on his hips and stuck out a hip.

“Um, you mean the pose? or your clothing choice?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I see what you’ve done here. The problem is you’re wearing a black T-shirt under a tan polo.”

“Right.”

“No gay in his right mind would do that. So you’re safe there.”

“So this is okay?”

“No. Do you have a dark gray polo or oxford?”

“Yes.”

“That.”

“Okay.”

“Or?  Just tie an ascot around your neck.”

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Lilly

Category: dribblings

There’s a sweet two-year old I know named Lilly. She comes to the library sometimes, and when she does she ALWAYS gives me a hug.

I saw her come in the door and said, “Hey Jan, our day is about to get better.”

Lilly saw me and yelled, “Jaimie!” and ran as fast as her two-year old legs could go and right into my arms.

Oh my gosh, talk about melting my cold, black, ice heart.

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Febjulybruary?

Category: dribblings

RATED ‘R’ FOR CREATIVE SWEARING.

Excuse me while I whine about my first-world, spoiled American problems.

Our dishwasher broke today.

It was really old, early ’90s maybe? So it wasn’t a surprise or anything. Still, a huge annoyance in that I had just loaded that thing down. I mean, it was an award-winning load job. I freakin’ Tetris-ed that thing.

I turned the dishwasher on and: kaput.

Then I had to unload it and  use a coffee cup to scoop out the gallon or so of water that was standing in the bottom. This took forever because in the bottom of the dishwasher is this big plastic spinny thing, and also the heat element, so it was impossible to get a good scoop of water. It took approximately 43,000 half scoops.

Laura pointed out that at least it didn’t break in such a way that it flooded my kitchen floor. I told her to keep her “half full” bullshit to herself.

No, I didn’t.

So it’s not that big of a deal. I mean, we can live without one for a bit. It’s not like I’m too good for dishes. But there is still a bit of water in the bottom that I can’t get to, and I’ve even used a towel. I want the damn thing out before it starts to stink or something. But I can’t take it out without putting a new one in (it’s a built-in). So we’re in a holding pattern at the moment. I was actually fine with this, just a bit annoyed. I even thought about doing the dishes old school for a month and seeing if there was a difference in the water bill.

Then I asked Mr. Fleegan how much we’re getting back in taxes this year. Sure, it would have been nice to do something fun with the money, but hey, these things happen.

He told me we weren’t getting anything back, and in fact, we owed money. This, this is what broke me.

“We owe?”

“We owe.”

“How? How is that- well how much? It couldn’t be much.”

“It is.”

“No way, I make nothing. They can’t POSSIBLY- how much?”

“The price of a new dishwasher.”

WHAT IN THE COCK-EATING, MOTHER-SLAPPING, PISS-FUCKING SHIT BRICK DO YOU MEAN? NO WAY. NO SHIT-SMEARING WAY. I ONLY MAKE JACK-HUMPING, BITCH SLAP, DONKEY-PUNCHING, TRASH FILTH SCUM BUCKET, MINIMUM GODDAMN WAGE. IT’S BAD ENOUGH WE HAVE TO BUY A NEW COCKING DISHWASHER, BUT YOU’RE TELLING ME WE HAVE TO BUY ONE FOR THE GUBMINT TOO?

Yes.

FUCK.

Also, donkey punching?

DON’T ASK.

***

I have calmed down a bit. I got to hang out with some pals this afternoon. This evening Mr. Fleegan and I went to Lowe’s to look at some ass vapor, bed-wetting, anus-hurting dishwashers. We came home and ate a sensible dinner. Then we washed a shit-ton of dishes, old school. Which led to me maniacally cleaning the kitchen in that whole “Well, at least I can control the 409 bottle.” kind of way.

***

The dishwasher thing wasn’t surprising, it had to happen sometime. But the taxes was a sucker punch. A big booger-flicking, junk-slapping, anal- leaking, frog-gigging, vomit-eating, piece of shit-tossing sucker punch.

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bird blog

Category: dribblings

whitethroatedsparrow03 

This picture is just slightly out of focus. I still like it, but I’m disappointed.
I like that it looks like the tree has an arm, and that the bird looks grouchy.

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Oh, positive.

Category: dribblings

This weekend marks the second time I’ve donated blood. This means that for a couple of days afterwards not only was I REALLY TIRED but I also became completely insufferable.

Things that may or may not have been said by me (to Mr. Fleegan or Fellykish) this weekend:

“You have to be nice to me today. AND tomorrow. I gave blood today.”

“Can you get me a snack? I’m still so weak from being a hero.”

“I saved three lives today. What did you do?”

“I can’t give blood again until April. Because I gave it today.”

Okay, I didn’t say any of those things this weekend, but Kelly will say I did my fair share of whining. But she’s mean, and? She never donates blood, because she’s stingy. Oh, she’ll blame it on her lack of spleen, but whatever.

I’ve wanted to donate blood again, since I first did it in September of last year, but I have to admit I was scared. It’s weird because I wasn’t as nervous about it the first time, and that time I had no idea what to expect. And it was easy, right? Well, maybe not easy, but it’s really not that bad. I’d rather give blood than go to the dentist. Or the Lady Doctor.

But for some reason, I was really nervous about it. Earlier in the week I had read in the newspaper that the blood supply was very low. The winter storm weater we’d had had really depleted the supply, and a lot of blood drives had to be canceled so, they needed some blood donations. Also that week, one of my favorite people in the whole world had to have surgery, and I thought what if she needs blood and there’s not enough blood? That would suck eggs.

Now obviously the blood I donated wouldn’t get to my friend because friend’s surgery was Thursday and the blood drive was Friday. Plus however many days it takes them to test the blood for whatall. But it made me feel like I was doing something.

The first thing I had to do was tell a couple of people I was going to do it. NOT because of any accolades, nay, because I knew if I didn’t tell some people about it, I could chicken out and no one would be the wiser.

Then I asked Mr. Fleegan if he’d take me to the blood drive. I found out last time that sometimes, when I have a pint of blood removed from my body, I get a bit wonky and should probably not drive right away. but also, after I give, I don’t really feel like hanging out with a bunch of strangers while I wait for my body to get back to normal. He agreed to take me even though I could totally tell he was kinda grossed out about it.

Like I said, I was even more nervous this time, but I don’t know why. This time the whole process went much quicker. I didn’t have to wait in line. As soon as I got there the volunteers were all, “Look! Another hero is here!” At this point I could hear Mr. Fleegan groan because he knew my blood-donating ego did not need any more stroking. I wanted to turn to him and say, “BOOSH! They already called me a HERO and I haven’t even done anything yet!” But of course I didn’t say that.

Do you know who doesn’t gloat about being a hero?

Heroes.

Anyway, he dropped me off and since it took place at the local mall he went for a walk.

I had to read the book again, answer questions, I passed the mini-physical and only flinched a little bit when they pricked my finger. I was barely not anemic, which kinda makes me wonder about this multivitamin I take erreday. What the hell, Vitamin, get that shit up.

Then came the vampire part. That part only takes about 10 minutes. I try not to look at the bag, they kind of keep it out of your line of sight anyway. But come on, you know I peeked. That’s a big mistake, and I should not do that. Do you know what’s gross? Watching your blood fill up a bag. Don’t look at that. C’mon Jaimie, that’s bush league.

Then the guy couldn’t disconnect me, something malfunctioned on the bag tube cap thing. I was all, “Really? Are you serious? I can’t hang out here and just bleed because y’all can’t get your shit together. Someone get some damn duct tape or something.” In my mind.

What I really said was, “Hey, I feel funny.”

So another guy came over while first guy and some chick fooled around with the bag tube cap. Guy was all, “What’s wrong?”

“Um. My stomach feels hot?”

“Do you need some juice? I NEED AN APPLE JUICE OVER HERE!”

“Maybe just water?”

“No, you need juice. Are you dizzy?”

“Oh sure.”

Then the lady was all, “Mrs. Jones, WAH WAH WAH WAH WAH.” like the grown ups in Peanuts cartoons.

“You sound so far away.”

“Are you going to faint?”

“Pretty soon.”

So they laid the table back and I gotta say, that helped a great deal. I never passed out. But when my hearing went it was a really crazy sensation! They also put an ice pack on my stomach and that helped too. For some reason my stomach got all burny. Not in a heartburn kind of way. After a minute they had finally figured out the bag tube cap malfunction and I was up and on my way to the snacks. I had some pretzels.

They gave me a coupon for a free waffle at the Waffle House.

They also gave me a free movie pass to the cinemas at the mall. Oh and guess what, the movie pass? expired THAT DAY. and? your movie choices were limited.

Dear Premier Cinemas,

If you’re going to reward someone with a prize for donating his or her blood, then give them a prize. Don’t put ridiculous time restrictions on it, because then it ceases to be a prize and instead becomes bullshit.

Suck it, Douchebags,

Jaimie

I gave the movie pass back to the lady in charge of the snacks and prizes. “Oh,” she said, “You can’t go to a movie today?”

“No, lady, I’m a hero. I’ve got shit to do today.” In my mind.

“No, ma’am.” I said.

Then Mr. Fleegan came back for me and we went home.

And I think the most important lesson I learned from that day is that probably just over one pint of blood loss is my threshold of consciousness.

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crash

Category: dribblings

My hard drive crashed. I didn’t panic because my husband, he is the Computer Whisperer. He can fix anything. He can save anything. I’ve seen him do it a million times.

But my hard drive? My hard drive crashed hard. I’ve lost everything. All of my music, my God, the music. I had a month’s worth of music. The iTunes. The podcasts.

All of my web favorites. All that shit I check on a regular basis? Gone. I mean, the web is still there, sure, but I don’t know where any of it is.

And the pictures. Over 13,000 photographs of dragonflies, birds, and Roxy (and some people). All of those fucking pictures.

Essays, stories, written things. All the Goddamn software. Gone, the lot of it.

It’s so weird because I’ve lost a billion things on that hard drive. But they’re all intangibles. When I think about all those files, I tear up, and I feel weird about that, because it seems like they should be meaningless, they only exist in this really small box inside a slightly larger box. They are things that no one else cares about. But they were my things. I made those things. And my nature photos? How many miles have I walked to get those? How many hours did I sit on the bank of the creek during the blazing hot summer to take all those pictures of the dragonflies?

I know it’s not even close to having your house burn down. But maybe it’s like if you had one room in your house, the room with all your pictures and what all else you have in your digital life, if that room burned down. Thankfully no one was hurt, you still have your clothes, guitar, camera. But there it is, one room, the room that probably best defined you, completely gone.

Yeah, it’s a postmodern problem, and it fucking sucks.

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5. Crooked Letter, Crooked Letter by Tom Franklin

Category: 50 Books

A great book. It’s about a black guy named Silas and a white guy named Larry. They grew up in a small Mississippi town in the late seventies/early eighties, each of them with their share of problems. Larry is accused of murder and Silas moves on to a different town/school to concentrate on his baseball career and college. Twenty-five years later Silas is the constable of the town and there’s another murder and Larry is once again suspect.

The book has a great flow to it, weaving in and out of the present to flashbacks. The exposition was never rambly or redundant, and the book seemed to have the perfect length. The author does a great job of describing a small sounthern town, and the people in it. You can tell he is writing about what he knows.

The mystery story was fine, you’re not sure at first of Larry’s guilt. The way it plays out is great and it keeps you turning the pages.  I wouldn’t really call this book a murder-mystery though. It’s more like a slice of small-town, southern life kind of thing, for both guys, and the mystery is what gels the two slices together.

So good. Read this.

Four Roxy heads up!

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Monkey hate paint.

Category: dribblings

But Paint Monkey is so good at it.

Measure it, tape it, paint it, love it.

brownroom01 

But wait, it gets betta. Cos I busted out the tape.

brownroom02 

Oh no, Paint Monkey di’int.

Oh yes, Paint Monkey did.

brownroom04 

file that one under B, for BOOSH.

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4. The People’s History of the United States by Howard Zinn

Category: 50 Books

This was the 20th anniversary edition. It covers from 1492 to the Clinton Administration.

If you’re looking for a socialist view of  U.S. history, but not anything too in-depth, just a nice overview of how the United States has managed to keep it’s people down, then this is the book for you.

It was not a light-hearted read, and was in fact, depressing. I do think our country is awesome and great and the best one ever!  But I also know that it is flawed and run by the very wealthy.  This book was a reminder to me that it has always been that way. Which make me feel like it will never change. And that’s sad.

I found it best to read a bit at a time so as not to overwhelm myself with too many negative thoughts at a time.

A lot of this book may seem to read like Bad Stuff We Already Know especilly stuff like, “Yes, we came over on ships and killed all the indigenous peoples.” and “Yes, slavery was bad.” And of course the old arguement about slavery is that “My family wasn’t wealthy. It’s not like we owned slaves.” and while that is probably true, most of us would have been servants or something, and not wealthy landowners. But Zinn makes an excellent point of what happened to the black people after slavery and before the civil rights movement? I think the word he used was they were invisible. I’d never thought if it that way. Invisible? Who let that happen? Everyone.

This book has reminded me to be kinder to people, because we’re all humans and we deserve that from one another.

I was hoping that Zinn would talk more about HUAC in more detail, but he did not.

I probably won’t read this one again, but I do see me consulting it from time to time.

I give it three Roxy thumbs up.

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