July 2006 at Crazy In ... A Train Wreck

"It's like a train wreck..." An old friend who discovered our blog says he doesn't know why we are doing it but he can't get enough of it. "I can't look away. It's like a train wreck."

And here we are a month and a half into this year long commitment and we are still blogging away.

In July we expressed ourselves on the subjects of maggots, movies, HPV vaccine, Mrs. Beasley, fireworks, cold fried chicken, a stolen car, Skye the Min Pin, Christmas decorations up in July, summer heat, school loans, Scientology and the GED test. Goals for August include making use of the audio blog and getting Charlie to blog more.

*About the picture of the train. It's a postcard I (Kathryn) inherited from Grandmother Whitener. She was born Kathryn McClure. She was called Kate.

Making Your Wife Mad

You are pissing me off Mr. Take-the-Fast-Cart.

I do not go to Kroger because the motorized carts are the quickest in town (if I'd known you were gonna jump on one I'd of shopped at Super 1 today). I make groceries at Kroger because their cheap black trash bags are sturdy and their kitty litter is a bargain.

So get outta that scooter and walk... I command theeeeee!


* Why is it everyone else's groceries are more exciting than mine... I see store brand spaghetti sauce, ground turkery and bug spray in there...

RANT.

You know what's kind of funny and maybe a little ironic, even?

There are soooo many people out there who bitch about how anti-depressants are handed out like candy and that they're not needed and such, which may very well be true for some cases of depression. If talk therapy works, then that's peachy. However, it's interesting that these same people who say this will take antibiotics and steroids like it's nothing, and also have no problem with something like Viagra.

These people are ignorant fuckfaces.

I don't get sick all that much, and when I do, I'll rarely take antibiotics unless I will die if I don't, like with strep throat or something. I like my immune system healthy, thank you. I also resent the hell out of steroids. One reason is because I go batshit insane (read: manic as all hell) if I take them, and another is because they have horrible side effects. Some of these go away with time, and some don't. The ones that suck the most include liver tumors, jaundice, fluid retention, and high blood pressure. Also, steroids fuck up hormones. Women get hairy, stop having their periods, and get deeper voices, while men grow breasts and lose their balls. If you're a transsexual, this is great. If you aren't, well, then you're not going to appeal to anyone very much.

Don't get me wrong, both of these types of drugs can be extremely helpful, but people are taking them for stupid reasons. Doctors are pill-happy. This is because the pharmaceutical companies have lots of expensive vacations to give away if their pills are sold. I'm not naive, I know this. Before I switched to private insurance, I had a doctor that was like, in love with steroids. She prescribed steroids for all my ailments. I took my antibiotics for the strep throat; I did not take the steroids. I have problems with arthritis in my wrists and knees. Instead of saying something sensible like, "Go get some glucosamine condtroitine," she prescribed steroids.

WOULD EVERYONE PLEASE STOP PRESCRIBING ME STEROIDS I DON'T LIKE THEM.

I took the glucosamine instead and my joints are certainly less creaky, and I didn't even have to crazy to do it! YAY OMG. I took steroids once when I was prescribed them after I got my wisdom teeth out, and it was probably because I was so hopped up on Lortab that I could've taken speed and not noticed.

Oh! Speaking of Lortab, how come everyone's so goddamn willing to take pain pills? Hmmmmmm? THEY ARE WORSE FOR YOU THAN XANAX.

I get bitched out by idiots who think that I should learn to control my mind and blah blah bullshit, but they won't hesitate to take antibiotics for acne or something. I know what you can do about that acne! You could make yourself believe you don't have acne, and then you won't anymore! Isn't that what you're telling me to do? But because it's physical and you can see it, there's a difference, right, you vain son of a bitch?

That makes me so MAD! We'll make a deal, then. I will stop my medication when you stop being a hypocrite. Sweet. Oh, but here's the best part. Someone will tell me that I'm not crazy, and therefore do not need to be on my medication because I'm not showing symptoms of battiness at the moment. That's like saying, "Well, your don't look like you have diabetes, so I guess you really don't need this insulin." And then everyone gets all pissed off when I get crazy. OH MY GOD THERE IS NO PLEASING PEOPLE.

>.<

Retreat

I've been reading May Sarton's journal The House by the Sea. In it she included a poem from Janwillem van de Wetering:

You meet someone.
The other.
You meet the other.
You are polite. The other is polite.
You eat each other a little.
After his departure you are slightly damaged.
And what do you do then?
Do you repair the damage and do you become again
what you were?
Or do you go on as you are?
Damaged, but lighter.

It's what I think I'm experiencing with Katee. I'm watching the shift in her friendships and they are leaving her damaged. She has yet to learn how to walk away from them lighter. Sarton reminds me -- so I can remind my daughter --- it's okay to be hungry for a retreat to oneself, to be famished for oneself, to crave alone time so one can be replinshed. Katee feeds herself with books, music and movies. A good movie quenches something deep in her.

I think I've forgotten what feeds me. I know that when I work as a dealer in the casino sometimes The Other is not so polite and the chunks The Other pulls off me leaves big holes. I have learned to suit up for battle. When I layer on my work uniform I feel like I'm a knight getting ready for a tournament.

what is this 'relaxation' thing you speak of?

The past week has been a blur of academic shit. I've been preparing for the GED (the real one, not the practice nonsense I've been forced into for the last year), trying to get the state to pay for my schooling, and attempting to fill out loan applications that will inevitably be turned down.

Last week, I had an appointment with Vocational Rehab which assists people who have disabilities or are recovering drug addicts to get jobs, or else go to school to get decent jobs. I tried to apply for it a couple of years ago, but I didn't have enough college credit or something for them to be able to help me. Apparently my caseworker was impressed because my file has been open for all this time and I was called in for a second interview. Being two years older and possibly healthier than the last time I was there, my caseworker seemed even more impressed. I think it was because I actually talked. The point of the appointment, basically, was to keep my case open. It's required that I apply for Pell Grants, even though I'll be turned down. They need proof that I can't get assistance.

This also depends on my family's income, which is rather higher than what the maximum amount in order to qualify, but the amount spent on medication, doctor's appointments, and (I think) insurance is deducted. This is good because it's where half our damn income goes to. Also, if I can get SSI, I'll have my own income and that would mean it doesn't matter what my family makes. It'd be peachy to get SSI so that I could help pay for medicine and maybe buy some new clothes or something, and quite possibly pay my own phone bill, and it'd be certain that I'd get state assistance for schooling because the maximum I'd probably make is $6,000 a year.

We've also been searching for the 2005 tax stuff, which somehow managed to hide itself under a bunch of crap. I need this to apply for loans that will not be granted to me. *sour face* This is all very inconvenient. When we found the loans I did a happy dance, but the people at FAFSA like to make life difficult. I needed a PIN number, which I had but couldn't remember, and if I did remember it wouldn't matter because it was expired. Thus, I was made to apply for a new one and had to wait three days for them to email it to me. I got it today, but it didn't matter because I was busy GED-ing.

Waking up at 7 am is a pain in my ass. Actually, it's the fact that I had to be somewhere an hour later that's the real pain. It's not rare for me to wake up at 7 in the morning, but I usually have a few hours to become fully coherent. Today, however, I woke up at this ungodly time, ate breakfast faster than I thought possible, slipped on some clothes, and was out the door by about 7:40. Fifteen minutes later, I walked into Louisiana Technical College's Adult Education wing and waited for the door to the testing room to open. I'd worn a jacket and real shoes, even though it was hot outside, because the testing room is unbearably frigid. We were made to put our personal belongings in the back of the room and told that if our cell phone went off, we would be escorted to jail. O_O The instructions were issued, and this took an entire hour, so long that the test administrator let us have a break. Everyone ran outside to suck down a cigarette. Apparently taking up smoking is a requirement for dropping out of high school.

I ran into a few people that I'd gone to school with. Some, like myself, just didn't like high school, some had been homeschooled, and one girl was a half a credit short of graduating, but didn't feel like staying another semester to earn it. Understandable, of course. Since the instructions had taken so long, I wondered aloud whether or not the test administrator thought we were unable to read. The group I'd wandered into laughed, because it was ridiculously true. It's in the form of a standardized test, so there are those stupid fucking bubbles that have to be filled out, along with actually writing down the letters to one's name. She insisted we use something with a straight edge, like our ID cards, to keep everything in line. Lady, we're high school drop-outs, not preschoolers. Apparently it was important to spell our names correctly. Really? Man, I thought it was cool to spell my name K-A-Y-T-I-E or something. There were codes we had to put on the forms, and we were made to put our fingers on the codes to make sure we remembered them.

This was amusing. The first test was writing, including the essay and grammar and such. We were given two hours, and I finished 45 minutes early. I went outside and talked more. Social Studies ended our day, and we all left the confines of the Arctic classroom as soon as we were finished. Tomorrow is science, reading, and math. And then I wait a month for my results. And then I take a national ACT so I can get the fuck out of BPCC.

I went to therapy today for the first time in a month or so because I wanted to. I was also extremely snippy. Hormones rock, don't they? I have a doctor's appointment with my GP on August 3rd, who will probably refer me to an OB/GYN. Oy.

My warm comfy bed is calling. I'm out.

Lucky (un) Bamboo

Some planty thumb I have. My lawn is the greenest on the block (that's the front yard because I have no grass in my postage stamp sized rear lot). It's been a bit of an effort with temps in the last week dancing around 105.

But in the shady interior of my bungalow I can't keep stalks of lucky bamboo alive. A couple of years ago I had five and then one turned yellow and died. Last year another lost its juicy emerald shade and I tossed it away with the used kitty litter. This week I wiped out three at one time. I don't even want to know what this reveals about my Feng Shui.

*Another footnote to the stolen car

$900 and climbing is now the cost of the Blazer being stolen.

It's 9am Monday and Skye and Charlie (if you really wanna know I call him Daddy or Paw Paw. This started when I got pregnant with Katee 19 years ago... I digress.. anyway) and I are zipping across I-20 to Waskom, Texas to get Skye fixed.

That early Thursday morning we discovered the Blazer had vanished Skye and the only unfixed boy dog in our house discovered each other. He's a Maltese and she's a Min Pin so the babies would be cute but of course in true F-U (this joke works on many levels but is true because of our different last names...) household fashion Skye has medical complications so we thought it best to terminate the pregnancy and rip out her works.

We're supposed to pick her up Wednesday or Thursday. In the meantime Paw Paw has 3 dogs and 4 cats to try and coax onto his pillow.

*sigh*

When I first heard the word "Scientologist", I thought it would be some cool religion based on science because. . .well, look at the damn name. Anyway, I didn't read much into it until I watched that famous interview that between Tom Cruise and Matt Lauer. During the course of this interview, we discovered that Tommy Boy may or may not have a degree in psychiatry, that he actually uses the word "glib" in an attempt to sound intelligent, and that Matt Lauer is the Supreme Awesome Reporter Dude of the Universe. We also learned that Tom Cruise is a) an asshole and b) an idiot. This made me sad because he happens to star in Interview With the Vampire and is actually a very talented actor, but everyone has stopped seeing his movies because he's annoying.

After the viewing of this interview, I decided I'd learn what the big deal was about Scientology. I distinctly remember my mom saying that when she and my dad moved to Los Angeles, she was absolutely sure that Unitarian Universalism would be prominent there because it's California. When she got there and discovered that Scientology was the "It" religion, she was, and I quote, "What the hell is this?" Sometimes I'm happy that I was raised in Louisiana rather than California. There are a lot of rich, spoiled freaks there and I'm glad I'm not one of them.

Anyway. I won't go into detail about Scientology beliefs because, while fascinating, they take a long time to type out. Go to Wikipedia and look it up if you're really that interested. I will say, though, that I have never read a more ridiculous set of beliefs in my entire life. I mean, if you place the Scientology doctrine and The Old Testament next to each other and take them both literally, The Old Testament looks far more believable and really quite sensible when compared to that nonsense. If you ask me, old L. Ron was a little batty himself, so I don't know what his fuss about psychiatry was.

It's not just psychiatry, either. As far as I know, having any kind of illness is generally frowned upon by a Scientologist. For instance, Jenna Elfman, whom I rather liked despite her Scientology beliefs because she was so cute on Dharma & Greg, was once quoted as saying, "AIDS is a state of mind, not a disease." She was apparently asked to donate something autographed for an AIDS charity, but refused because it interfered with her religious beliefs. And so thus ends any respect I ever had for her. I was skeptical about this at first, so I double- and triple-checked a few different sources (various anti-Scientology sites) and I looked it up on Snopes to make sure it wasn't an urban legend, and since Snopes has every urban legend or hoax or myth ever invented, and usually adds new ones within, like, an hour of their creation, I'm going to have to believe she was serious.

Okay, look, that's a really fucked up thing to say, you dumb bitch. So let's go tell all the people with AIDS that they should change their minds about themselves having AIDS (O_O) and then they won't have it anymore? Riiiight. Whatever. She also freaked out on some guy who was wearing a shirt that was derogatory towards Scientology, asking him if he'd raped a baby or something. I think my reaction would've gone something like this: *blank stare followed by hysterical laughter* No, have you? *more hysterical laughter* Get a sense of humor please, thank you.

Then, of course, there are the various celebrities who protest psychiatry conventions for no reason other than that they have too much money and there's nothing else to do. Lisa Marie Presley doesn't like Ritalin and sucks at music and inherited a lot of money, so I guess she has to fill her time somehow. She's makin' her daddy proud, that one is. Nicole Kidman is all kinds of ashamed that she was with Tom Cruise. Katie Holmes had a fake and/or ugly baby and won't show it in public.

So, my point is this: Scientology states that people who call bullshit on their religion are to be ruthlessly attacked, digging up files of the horrible things we've done. Bring it on, y'all. I've been hospitalized seven times for bipolar disorder, I got kicked out of Catholic school for being a general pain in the ass, I can be a real bitch sometimes, and I am about as afraid of your pretend religion made up by a science-fiction writer (who, by the way, SUCKED at writing) who didn't get paid enough and decided to make up a religion as I am of the Diet Barq's Root Beer can sitting next to me. :)

Conversation

The Club

I figure this car stealing will cost us about $500 maybe $600. Factor in the repairs that need to be made to the Blazer, buying Club like devices for all three of the cars we own, and then finally breaking down and getting Triple A, which I'm sure will pay for itself since our cars all have about 200,000 miles on them.

After a 41 hour absence the Blazer made its way back to us (for the whole saga see STOLEN CAR, STOLEN CAR PT2, RECOVERED and CHARLIE'S STORY OF THE RECOVERY entries).

I came home early this morning and discovered one of my neighbors in the middle of the street in her nightgown. Her electricity had gone out because of the storm and it was too hot in her house to sleep. She said a group of young thugs had been roaming the block checking the cars parked on the street. She said they'd been talking loudly and pointing out which houses looked like people were still awake in.

Okay now this thing is gonna cost me another hundred dollars because her news makes me want to buy a cop-car-searchlight strength motion detector light and attach it to the front of the house. That'd scare the little bastards away!

Great idea...unless... there's a power outage on my side of the street.

hurt.

I don't even know what the hell happened today. I don't know why I got so pissed off. I rarely fight with my parents, and today I got mad at both of them. I had a good reason for getting mad at my dad, but I suspect the fact that I was shithead to my mom has to do with me being a general pain in the ass.

I went to look up Pell Grants and how to apply for them, but unfortunately I'm not eligible. I have school loans that I haven't even begun to pay. Actually, my mom said she was going to pay for them. Not every school loan I take out, obviously, but I applied for these when I was 16 and just starting school. Because of some random hypocrisy in the admissions office, I wasn't allowed to do another semester until I got my GED, or so the letter that came in the mail one day told me. Last summer, though, I found out I was able to take classes again even without a diploma of any sort. I took two classes and we paid for them out of pocket and did the same last semester.

But I noticed Mom wasn't paying my loans. At all. I didn't say anything, but this evening, I freaked out on her. I haven't been to see my therapist in weeks, so maybe that was part of it. I just got so pissed off. I didn't ask to take those loans out, I didn't know I wouldn't be able to go back to school and not be able to avoid the loans for another few years before I graduated, and now I'm already over a thousand dollars in debt. I'm only 18 and I've never even had or applied for a credit card, and I've never even taken those letters the credit card companies send me seriously.

I would love to get a job and pay them off myself, but the only jobs available to me are retail and fast food. I can't work in an environment like that. I don't even like going into retail stores or fast food chains to buy things, much less work there. If I could get SSDI, at least I could say I'm pulling in some money. But that is so, so hard to do. Some fuckhead who works for the state will come in and say why I should be able to work in retail and shit and blah blah blah, and I'll be rejected. I could get a lawyer, but that'd just be more money to spend that I don't have.

All this came about from not having enough money. It's why I get so bloody angry when rich people say shit like, "Money is the root of all evil." Or some nonsense like that. Obviously they've never had to live paycheck to paycheck. Don't get me wrong, I know it could be worse, but good God, those people don't know how good they have it. It's fucking ridiculous to hear people bitch and moan about how hard their life is when they're making a six figure salary and buying imported bathroom cleaner. But they're not happy.

Of course they're not happy. Bitching and moaning takes up a lot of energy, and doesn't leave any room for happiness. If you're so fuckin' unhappy, go see a therapist or a counselor like the rest of us. You could probably afford to see one everyday, even without insurance.

My point? Try not to act like you have a hard life when you've been born into privilege and money. It's one thing to have a chemical imbalance and not being able to help it, but it's quite another to be sulky because that $5,000 dress only comes in light blue instead of midnight blue.

:\

Crime Scene (a special encore presentation...)

We have always been glad there were no schizophrenics in our house. Television made us this way.
“Kate, fix me some coffee,” Daddy said to her as she scurried from the computer in the front room to the kitchen.
I tried not to hold my breath as I waited for this request to bump into her. Her moods had been mutating quicker than bouncing die in a Pop-A-Matic dome.
“Oh, alright.” She picked up the blue mug from the coffee table. From where I sat, in the recliner I got from Salvation Army, I could see the brown line of dried-sweetened-up liquid that was adhered down the side of the cup.
Was this crazy people behavior? Reusing something when it was dirty instead of soaping it first? I flashed onto the cup of a news director who used to be my boss. It was white with a cartoon drawing on it. The insides were painted with coffee stains.
“I only wash it twice a year,” his lips brushed the rim of his cup. He proudly sipped from something nasty.
Not crazy behavior. The news director’s dirty container gave me a piece of normal. I threaded it next to my husband. He was just being a boy.
Katee delivered the coffee. She opened a can of decaffeinated, diet Coke for herself and plopped onto the love seat. It was 8:57 p.m. on a weeknight.
"Law and Order or CSI?" Daddy hovered his finger over the flipper.
“Both on?” I asked.
“It’s some special,” he said.
We picked Law and Order and in the dark TV room, lit only by a small lamp and the neighbor’s side porch light, we watched for an hour.
“Damn. It’s the schizophrenic again,” said Katee when the show ended.
“It’s never the bipolar,” said Daddy.
“Bipolar’s are the victims. Like the girlfriend of the gambler on CSI and the doctor on Law and Order who cut on the manic depressive’s eyes,” said Katee.
“He was schizophrenic and cut on schizophrenic’s eyes. He thought he had a cure,” I said.
“You think if I said I could cure manic depression by cutting on the human brain, I’d get away with it? ‘Cause think about it; I’d get paid thousands of dollars for every surgery, and then if I got caught, I could claim I was nuts. It’s a win-win situation,” Katee said.
“It’s a TV show, Kate,” I said.
“You go to college and we’ll talk about it,” Daddy said.

102 in Shreveport

Too hot to heat up the kitchen.

Seasoned 4 1/2 chicken thighs and leg quarters with salt, fresh cracked black pepper, frest local honey and Ott's Original Famous Dressing (smuggled in from Oklahoma).

Baked for 45 minutes in a 375 toaster oven sitting on a TV tray on the front porch. Hot supper. Cold kitchen...um make that coolish kitchen.

horrors.

So, okay, it's almost dark outside and I'm sitting here reading about the 100 Scariest Movie Moments according to some guy on some website. And I'm gonna tell you, he ain't lyin'. There's some scary shit going on in those scenes. See, this is why I have nightmares about being locked in a building with zombies trying to claw their way in. Can't help it, I guess. I just like being scared. Which is normal, I guess, lots of people like being scared, but pretty much pitch a massive fit when it happens.

I was just thinking of stuff that scares me. Since it's not Halloween, this might not be appropriate, but I don't really care all that much. So, what scares me? Here's a nice list.

- First and foremost, I have a unnatural fear of zombies. Yes, zombies. About two years or so ago, I thought it would be a simply fab idea to rent the original Dawn of the Dead, because it looked silly. Oh my god I have never been so scared in my life until I watched the remake. It was bad enough when zombies just kinda shuffled along and ate brains, but now the fuckers can run, too? And our house is so not equipped for a zombie outbreak, which could happen at any moment. Our house has too many windows, and it's on cinder blocks, meaning there's a rather sizable gap between our floorboards and the ground. Now, there are things that are built around the openings of under the house, but this doesn't really help when one of those things is completely knocked down. I'm pretty sure zombies would crawl under there. This must be fixed.

- Secondly, I hate things that crawl. Okay, babies are fine. They have to crawl. I don't like it when something. . .unnatural crawls. And I don't like bugs, either. Especially spiders omg. I didn't have this fear until I saw The Excorcist and saw Linda Blair crawling backwards down the stairs and being generally freaky. I didn't mind the head-turning, or the pea soup vomit, or any of that, but when she started crawling down stairs, I thought it might've been a better idea for the rest of the family to pack their shit up and leave, and set the house on fire before they drove off. OH and you know that scene during Poltergeist II when the dad drinks the rest of the tequila and swallows the worm, too? And then he, like, vomits up a really big worm and the worm turns into some kind of. . .thing. . .that totally crawls out of the room with a big creepy ass smile? I hate that scene so much.

- Thirdly, children who are in horror movies are bad news, mmkay? And especially if they have really, really blonde hair and big, blue, soulless eyes! Every time I see a kid like that, I just know I'm gonna be devoured by the kid and their relatives. :|

- Fourthly, I'm not so much fond of when I go in the bathroom and the shower curtain's closed and it's like four in the morning. I don't why people insist on closing shower curtains. I always, always have to check behind that curtain to make sure something is not going to pop out and eat me while I'm trying to take a pee.

- Other things I fear include closets, clowns that look particularly evil, and mirrors. Why mirrors? Well, why not mirrors? This is part of the reason I'm pleased about having our bathroom sink broken. It means I don't brush my teeth in there, therefore I don't have to fear looking up and seeing something staring back at me when I come up from spitting out toothpaste. I have two large mirrors in my room, and one faces directly opposite my bed. And that's why I sleep on my side away from it. As for the closets and clowns, does it really need explaining? Monsters live in closets. Clowns are the worst thing anyone ever thought up. I mean, come on, when's the last time a clown succeeded in cheering you up rather than scaring the piss out of you? Except Krusty the Clown, of course.

- Oh, and one last thing. There is an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer that scares me. I believe it's called "Hush" or something, and it's the scariest tv show episode to ever exist. Why? Well, people who're familiar with the Buffyverse will understand. For those of you who are not, the episode involves these creatures called The Gentlemen and these other little dudes called The Footmen, who come into Sunnydale and steal everyone's voices so that they kill people and take their hearts and no one can call for help. The episode is incredibly eerie, mostly because of the silence, but also because of The Gentlemen. Rather than walk, they just float along, and have very horrible grins on their faces. The Footmen are bound in straightjackets, and walk/run in a very ape-like fashion. It's rather terrifying. For this reason, it's kind of freaky to go outside at night, especially after watching the episode, 'cause I'm always sure I'll see those guys floating around. *shivers*

And now I'm gonna go back to reading 100 Scariest Movie Moments, complete with pictures and all, even though I'm all kinds of freaked out. Hope you enjoyed my mild paranoia!

College or Hardware? Centenary's the place

Centenary College in Shreveport can trace its origins to 1825 and as such is the oldest privately chartered liberal arts college west of the Mississippi in the United States. It'’s appropriate that one of Shreveport'’s oldest hardware stores can be found across the street from that lovely green campus.

Katee and I were headed for Saturday afternoon Cheesequake Blizzards at Dairy Queen but first we made a stop at Centenary Hardware. We're working on weatherproofing the house so we stopped by for some foam weather-stripping and a latch for the pull down attic door.

Look closely at the door to Centenary Hardware. When's the last time you saw "the big boys" advertising local theatre productions?

By the way the local media is giving thumbs up to both productions posted on the door. The Shreveport Times loved Princess Ida and for more about Anything Goes check out Shreveport.blogspot.com and Shreveportfaces.blogspot.com.

louisiana summer.

I'm wearing shorts.

I don't ever wear shorts.

This is how I know it's too damn hot outside. My hair, which was short in October, has grown to about two inches past my shoulder, and my bangs have grown out and have decided they like getting in the way of things. I never realized how irritating long hair is in the summer until now. I keep it up and out of the way. My fan is always on and I am always in a tank top.

It's too hot to do anything. I'm finding that I have to force myself to get up and do things. It's all well and good when it's 7 am and only 80 degrees, but at 5 pm when it's 100 degrees, I can't say that I can get myself psyched enough to go partying.

Partying sucks anyway. I had fun tonight, despite the fact that I did not choose to indulge in the wonders of alcohol, or perhaps ecstasy. Whatever kids these days fancy.

Shit. I need to stop being so old.

Arggh. It's too hot to be acting my age!!!!

...the xmas tree is still up and it's July 14...

...but the good news is we've been doing this blog for exactly one month and we've made over 30 posts.

Yes, the tree's still up and there are bits and pieces of Christmas decorations still hanging around the house like this one in the hall right next to the bathroom door.

In Charlie's blue spiral blog notebook I wrote down about 18 ideas he might want to write about. He looked them over and with real amazement in his voice he said, "Wow, how do you think these up?"

"Thinking up things I'm very good at. Putting away Christmas decorations? Not so much..."

charlie's story of the recovery.

I never expected to get my little Blazer back. You can't imagine my surprise when two days later it was recovered by the police. We met the police at the spot where they found it. I was very disgusted when the key wouldn't start it. The crooks had busted the steering column and I didn't know how to start it. A young man from the neighborhood offered to pull us home but unfortunately he did not have a heavy enough chain.

We finally decided to call a wrecker. It took about an hour for the wrecker to get there. By that time we were all exhausted. We decided that I would take my daughter home in the van so I could move the truck so the Blazer could park where it usually does. We couldn't have it towed to a shop because we were low on money. Fixing would have to wait for another day.

Kathryn was gonna ride home with her mother who had come out for this big family event. You can imagine my surprise when I saw my wife drive up in the Blazer. It turns out that the wrecker guy showed her how to start and turn off the car and didn't charge us a cent for a tow. Well, we were sure unlucky to have our car stolen but very lucky to get it back and to get it home for free.

Charlie

Blackberry Wine Cooler

Just checked the Shreveport KSLA Channel 12 website. The temp is 98. Heat index is 101. Katee's thinking about shaving her head. I'm wearing a wife beater. Charlie sneaks around in his underwear if we let him. Yes, we have air conditioning but we're keeping it at 80 so the bill will stay around $300 a month.

I need something stronger than lemonade. Maybe a homemade wine cooler. My new recipe uses Mogen David Blackberry wine and Albertson's diet Lemon-Lime Duo. Get out the last remaining green glass from the cabinet. Add crushed ice from the refrigerator door. Pour in the soda. Unscrew the lid and splash in the wine. Stir. Sip. Turn on the AC. Sit under the ceiling fan. Flip on the the Wexford oscillating stick fan. Aaaahhhh.

recovered!

Our car was found!

It was around 7 pm on Friday night that we got a call from the Shreveport Police Department. Mama had a few hours before she had to get to work, and the woman who called said that the police officer told her it appeared to be drivable, so we set out to get our Blazer back. I didn't even bother to change out of my pajamas.

We got to the location that we were given directions to, and were kinda surprised to find that it was parked in a small field of some kind in the middle of a slightly rundown neighborhood.

The police car was parked on the street and an extremely cute cop was taking fingerprints from our vehicle. The steering column was ripped up since the thieves used a screwdriver to start the car, which was classy of them. *snicker* The glovebox was also ripped out, but I suppose this was because it was locked. Perhaps they thought it might hold treasure of some sort, such as a gun or money or something.

Alas, we shall never know what was in the glovebox because we could never get it open. Cute Cop, named Brian Michael, was wearing very professional looking rubber gloves while taking the fingerprints and using that nifty fingerprint powder stuff.

I was impressed because on shows like CSI and Law & Order the cops are always touching things and getting their fingerprints all over it. He said most cops don't use the gloves. He did, though, and this was endearing. He also had a lovely smile and I attempted to bat my eyelashes. Unfortunately, I lose at flirting, so I just kinda sauntered around in the hopes that I looked slightly cute.



After the fingerprints were taken from the car, Daddy tried to start the car, but it wouldn't even crank. Not even a little noise. The steering column was too messed up. The lights were coming on, so it wasn't the battery. Cute Cop asked if we needed help finding a tow truck to come get it, but I said, "Hey! I get four free tows a year with the roadside assistance I pay extra for from Cingular!" Sadly, I couldn't remember what I supposed to dial in order to get to it, so I called my grandma to see if she knew because she had a Cingular phone. Of course, she had no idea. Mom went home to find out what the number was. When I found out the number, I called, but my phone started cutting out. Typical. I got a dude on the line, and he was all nice, asking if I was in a safe place and such, and I said I just needed a tow truck. When I told him it had been stolen and the steering column was sufficiently fucked, he said that since it was a theft and vandalism had occurred, they couldn't give me a free tow. Bollocks.

So I thanked him for being nice and helpful (he did offer to help find a tow service around town) and hung up, cursing cell phone companies in general for being bastards. This was at 8:30ish and it was starting to get mosquito-y. Cute Cop was called back to the station for paperwork and said he could come back, but we said it'd be all right, and thanks for being so helpful and cute. People were starting to wander over from around the neighborhood. A young man came up to us, and with him was the cutest pit bull ever. For those of you who don't know, I love pit bulls and I want ooooone. This pit was very well taken care of and had apparently run off. He was sweet and I wanted to take him home, but he was much, much larger than a normal pit.

. . .Oh no. I have to tear myself away from the computer. :| I suppose this is to be continued!

A Believer in Christ

Drinking lemonade, duct taping my water sprinkler together so I can hydrate the crispy lawn and sitting under the ceiling fan on the front porch have been some of my summertime activities so far this year.

The heat won't let me forget I live in Louisiana. But even then sometimes I stumble upon places or things that will remind me full force that I live in the South. I found this headstone in a cemetery just a couple of blocks from the house.

On June 2, 1865 (one and a half months after President Lincoln was killed), in downtown Shreveport the last Confederate national flag was furled when the Trans-Mississippi Department of the Confederate Army, headquartered in our town, surrendered.

Skye

There was a knock on the door about 10:00 one night. When I opened it there was our neighbor Susan holding the cutest little dog you've ever seen. She was a Min Pin named Skye and she didn't have a home. Susan tried to keep her but she had two other dogs and they just weren't getting along with Skye.

She was a nervous little thing and had to run from room to room to check out the house. It din't take any time to decide to keep her even though we had three dogs already. I've gotten very close to Skye, she eats with me, sleeps with me and follows me everywhere I go.

Charlie

stolen car pt 2

So this is my [Katee's] experience with the stolen car.

I took my Ambien at about 1 am (I'd stay up all night every night, if I could get away with it) and passed out at around 1:30. I woke up this morning at 10ish. Somehow, in between these times, someone had managed to steal our car, my parents freaked out, and I was blissfully unconsious the entire time.

When I woke up, I stumbled into the bathroom, found my way to the kitchen and grabbed a diet Coke, and started toward the front door to go for my morning smoke. While passing through the TV room, my dad said, "Hey, guess what?" I jumped because I didn't know he was awake and said, "What?" I thought maybe Mama had an insanely high toke rate (tips) at work last night. And he says, "Someone stole the Blazer."

Blink. Blink. Blink. Seriously?

I was not so much surprised to hear that a car got stolen (this isn't the classiest neighborhood, even if our block is nice). I was surprised to hear that someone actually took the time to steal a 1988 Chevy frickin' Blazer. This car had nothing to offer. The one redeeming feature was the radio, but it's not like that was anything to get worked up about. The factory speakers didn't even work anymore; there's a huge, shitty speaker in the backseat that barely works. It doesn't even have AC or heat. And it's almost 20 years old. It had, like, some ungodly amount of milage on it. I think around 190,000. I was just shocked because that's probably the shittiest car on this block, and they actually stole it?

If and when they catch the person/people who stole it, I'm gonna give him/her/them a severe ass kicking. Not because they stole the car, but because they are, quite possibly, the worst car theives in the entire world. Shitty that they didn't steal the truck, though. Its breaks don't work unless you're driving like, 10 mph. And you know they'd be flying down the steet doing 80, go to slam on the breaks, and crash the damn thing. Then we'd get a new car and that'd be one less shithead walking on this planet. Okay, maybe not so much with the dying part, but they would've got knocked around and blown up real good. The truck's a standard, though, so it's no wonder they didn't steal it.

I just can't believe that I slept through that whole thing. I could probably sleep through a tornado, though. Those sleeping pills are goooood. Well, what the hell do I care, right? I've got every good movie ever on DVD and a desktop wallpaper featuring Joaquin Phoenix lookin' fine. And I'm going to see Pirates of the Carribbean 2 on Sunday. It's been reported that Johnny Depp has made Jack Sparrow even more fey than in the first one.

Speaking of beautiful men, where are the hot guys in Shreveport? For real, y'all, it's slim pickins. They're either gay or nonexistant. This doesn't help me. :(

Stolen Car

I had a pretty good night at work on the sit down blackjack table. That spot is okay once every couple of months. It was $5 so I worked the entire time. On the way home I decided I'd raid the freezer to see if there were any Klondike bars left. Then I planned on looking up sprinkle hoses vs. soaker hoses since I went to Sears Wednesday and discovered they were both around $10. I wanted to research which one would be best for my gardening purposes.

I take Clyde Fant home on Wednesdays 'cause there's too much club traffic when I get off work. So I take the river road and avoid the whole mess. When I pulled onto my street I noticed our new (1988/new to us) Chevy Blazer was missing.

It's the middle of night, where can Charlie be? I start to panic. The doctor called in more bipolar meds for him Wednesday. In addition to the Clonazepam, Wellbutrin, Equetro, Mirapex, and Ambien Cr, he is now ingesting Effexor and Seroquel. So I imagine him weaving the streets of Highland, gently tapping the peeling trunks of crepe myrtles and letting thier petals shower down on the Chevy's hood.

I worked up a good froth of panic by the time I got inside and threw down my lunch bag. Then I saw him bundled up on the couch. I swallowed and poked him "Charlie, where's the Blazer ?"

"Huh, what?" He stumbled to the bathroom and slipped shorts on. "Aww, I was sleeping so good."

"So the new medicine is working?"

"Yeah, it was."

I'm happy the medicine is finally allowing him to get a good night's sleep but then I'm mad at him for sleeping heavy and missing the roar of the noisy pipes that must have sounded when the thieves drove off with the Blazer.

storms, johnny cash, and cold fried chicken.

So, the fireworks thing didn't work out so much. We were getting ready to go, looked outside, and noticed that there were storm clouds of the apocalypse going on outside. See, I'm kind of deathly afraid of storms because one time, when I was twelve, there were straight-line winds and a tree fell in our yard. Not a little crepe myrtle-sized tree. Oh no, my friends, this was a giant tree that once resided in front of our neighbor's house. Our neighbors that live two houses down. When the lightning started, Daddy and I decided it would be better to go get fried chicken and watch a movie rather than risk certain death.

Of course, it didn't rain over here at all. Apparently it rained everywhere in the city, except where we live. What is that all about? Anyway, we meandered over to Church's chicken place and were vastly disappointed in the little meals we got. Cold chicken, cold mashed potatoes, and cold biscuits. It was quite sad. I was definitely looking forward to fried chicken. However, the night was saved when we settled down to watch Walk The Line. Joaquin Phoenix was lookin' fine as always, and Reese Witherspoon is my favorite person in the world ever ohmigosh. Their performances in the movie were lovely and I never realized how much I love Johnny Cash's music and am determined to find CDs that cost less that $25. Fuck you, Sam Goody.

My favorite scene is the part where June Carter gets all pissed off because the boys on the tour are acting like shitheads.

[These are not exact quotes, obviously]

The Boys: *sitting around in an auditorium, getting drunk while under the guise of rehearsing*
June: *walks in* STOP GETTING DRUNK WE ARE ON TOUR WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE WE HAVE A CONCERT IN A HOUR!
Johnny: *says something stupid and slightly offensive*
June: *walks back to the stage, picks up beer bottles, and starts chucking them at the boys*
Every dude on the stage: *dives behind something to get out of the way*
*Nothing*: Is more hilarious and awesome as that scene.
June: IMMATURE LITTLE SHITS I HATE YOU ALL, etc, etc, and then she says something about a being a Dutch boy and I can't stop giggling throughout the whole scene.

Also, I was beginning to think that June Carter was one stubborn chick. Seriously, y'all, Johnny asked her to marry him like seven trillion times and the whole time I'm like, "What is he gonna have to do, climb a mountain and chuck down a $5,000 diamond and white gold engagement ring?" All in all, quite an awesome movie. Joaquin was wonderful, and Reese was rockin', and they didn't butcher the accents and thank god for that because Reese was born Louisiana and if she'd done a shitty accent I would've been dumbfounded.

My mom bought four movies on Monday. The awesome part is that those four movies only cost us $20 all together. This is why you get the previously viewed movies, kids. We got Walk The Line, Brokeback Mountain (!!!), Sin City, and King Kong. Haven't watched any of the others. I've seen Sin City and it's deliciously awesome death scenes, King Kong is three hours and eight minutes long, so I'll have to devote like an entire day to that one, and Brokeback Mountain might not be a good movie to watch with the parents. And no, not because of the gay sex scene. It's the fact that there's a sex scene at all. I will walk out of the room when this occurs because good GOD, that's awkward.

It was a kind of boring Independence Day, but the people down the street had really good (i.e., expensive) fireworks, so I watched them from my porch. And any time I can watch a movie with Joaquin Phoenix being smokin' hot even when he looks rough is a good day for me. :D

[Oh, and the spell check recognized the name Joaquin, but it got confused when the word "y'all" came up. Ahhh, this spell-checker amuses me to no end.]

fireworks.

My dad and I are going to see the fireworks display tonight. They start at 9:22 pm. This is exciting. I adore when something starts at, say, 11:05, instead of 11:00. I think it's why I like college. The odd times that the classes start please me for no apparent reason.

We haven't been to see the fireworks display in years, but it's always beautiful. I don't remember the last time I went, but I remember what we (the children) would do before the fireworks started. We would wander away from the adults and slide down the giant hill on homemade sled-type things made of cardboard boxes, we'd say bad words and then giggle as though we'd just done something incredibly taboo, and we'd roll in the grass, ignoring the itchies and the bugs, just being kids. And then we were called back when the fireworks were about to start, settle ourselves on a blanket or chair, and gaze up at the sky. Then those fireworks, those sky flowers, would start and we would stare, transfixed, not even noticing the deafening noise that came with them.

The end display would set off in a fiery blaze of red, white, blue, purple, green, yellow, orange, and colors I didn't know the name of at the time. They'd come up, just like that, from a place miles away, and burst into magnificent spectacles. When they were almost out, I remember being scared that the embers would fall on me and burn me. They never did, of course, but it still scared me. And then it was over and we went home and I'd fall asleep, sometimes with a friend who'd decided to stay over, us murmuring about the fireworks until sleep would take over and my dreams of the night sky and shooting stars would entertain me until morning.

It was like that for years, but we stopped going. Maybe I got too old for flying down hills on cardboard boxes and being scared of the embers that would never touch the ground. Or maybe I was too antisocial for my own good and refused to go, preferring to stay with whatever boyfriend I had at the time and watch them run away from those pitiful fireworks we'd buy at the tents that would pop up around town.

And now I don't have that boyfriend excuse and I want to see my sky flowers again. I want to wear my shirt that says "Give Peace A Chance" with an American flag on it and flare-legged pants, just to feel like a hippie, but maybe without all the LSD and pot. Maybe I'll remember that my country's not so bad, even if we are in the wrong hands right now. And I'll sing the Star Spangled Banner, just like I did in front of a gymnasium full of people before the state danceline championship, recite the Pledge of Allegiance, and try to remember what America is supposed to stand for, despite our cockyness and the fact that we're too nosy.

Happy 4th of July, everyone. Except the people who don't live in this country because I'm sure y'all don't care much at all. :P

Mrs. Beasley Says...

Mrs. Beasley says -- and her friend The Fourth of July Fairy concurs --

"Have a safe and happy Fourth, dear!"

girly bits ahoy! [actually hpv vaccine stuff]

This is old news, but I'm still blogging about it.

Am I the only chick who's totally psyched about the HPV vaccine? Those super conservative preacher guys are all pissed off because they claim that it'll encourage women to be sluts or something. These are, of course, men who do not get cervical cancer. And anyway, God forbid anyone have any fun in this country, right? They said that about birth control pills and condoms and God knows what else. As if people weren't having sex for fun before those came out. They were, for those of you who've been locked in a basement all your lives. People just don't die as much anymore, whether it's from STI's or having 17 children and being pregnant all the time, or both. It happens.

Don't give me the whole, "We don't need to have our daughter tested because she's pure!" bullshit, either. First of all, she's probably not, as clueless as you sound. I'm sure the birds-and-bees talk you gave was very informative and that's why she thinks peeing or jumping up and down after sex will prevent pregnancy, or that she won't get pregnant her first time. Second of all, even she is, she's not always going to be. Even if she does save that virginity for the honeymoon, there's still no guarantee the groom won't turn out to be a douche bag. He might very well go out and get HPV from some random chick. Or dude. You never know, man. NO EXCUSES. You get your daughter that vaccine.

. . .

Ohhh no. Doctor, vaccine, birth control. I have to get a pelvic exam next month. Urgh, why is that necessary for getting your birth control refilled? If it didn't help with the whole wonky period thing, I'd swear it off. Am I the only person who thinks that pelvic exams were invented by a sadist? Honestly. Obviously a dude came up with this procedure, 'cause they don't have to get a speculum shoved up in their vaginal canal so that a doctor can poke at their girly bits and check out their cervix. Since they have the luxury of not having the complicated equipment we have. And we have to do that every year from the time we turn 18 or are sexually active until the end of the world or something.

Well. We don't have to. Just ask my mom. When she was looking at the speculum at Dr. Landry's, she was all amazed that it was plastic and disposable.

Faces

When nationally known photographer/author Willie Middlebrook came to Shreveport in 1997 I was one of the local artists selected to work with him. Our project had us creating 20 4’x4’ photographic collages. My personal collage was about my daughter. This photo was part of it. She was 10 and yet to be diagnosed with bipolar disorder. She seemed to explode with anger on an hourly basis.

A new study appearing in Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences might explain a little as to why she seemed irritated all the time. It says that biplolar youths are more likely than others to see hostility in and fear neutral faces. Compared with those without bipolar disorder, bipolar youths gave hostility ratings to the neutral faces and reported being more fearful of those faces, the study shows.

ummmm.

So, I watched The Shawshank Redemption on Friday night and thoroughly enjoyed it. When I really like movies or when I'm really bored, I'll go on imdb.com and look up the movie for trivia and whatnot.

Here's an interesting tidbit: The American Humane Association monitored the filming of scenes involving Brooks' crow. During the scene where he fed it a maggot, the AHA objected on the grounds that it was cruel to the maggot, and required that they use a maggot that had died from natural causes. One was found, and the scene was filmed.

What the shit? No, seriously. A crow is going to eat a maggot whether or not it died of natural causes because that is what crows do. They eat their food and don't worry about it because they're not a bunch of hypocritical assholes. IT'S A MAGGOT. All it's going to do is wiggle around and be food for birds. Besides, how long and fulfilling could a maggot's life possibly be? Would they like us to make a memorial for the maggot?

Maybe I'm insensitive, but whatever. I just think that's more than a little stupid.