Queen of Pain

You can tell it's PMS time when I sink to the depths of paraphrasing Sting. After the Department of Revenue, the office nurse, the insurance adjustor, and a host of others have delivered worrisome news about the state of my union - middle-class American that I am - I decided, what the hell, let's call the exterminator for a termite inspection.

He's due to arrive any minute, and suddenly I feel fragile. It's been three years, maybe four, since a professional bug man has crawled under my house.

Oh God, he's here. This is worse than a gynecological exam.

NTD

So the insurance guy came by this morning and informed me that removal of the large tree dangling precariously on the fenceline will NOT be covered by my home insurance policy. So, along with my health insurance not paying for a mammogram, the limitations of other aspects of the insurance industry continue to disappoint.

Michael Moore, are you listening?


NTD

I am officially falling apart

The trifecta of high cholesterol counts - LDL, triglycerides, and overall number - are depressing enough. But it's what is referred to in every single annoying-ass femme-advert rag as my "wake-up call" - and I read this stuff religiously on the elliptical trainer because what else is there to read in a gym. So I can deny reality here, or else I can lose some weight.

Damn, I hate it when I have to behave by the rules and obsess about my body like the rest of America.

Here's a shout-out to some of my nearest and dearest junk foods:

poptarts/pizza/coconut curry/cheesecake/fried chicken/macaroni and cheese/shrimp...

... I just can't go on thinking about it.

And here's to a future filled with flax seed and steel-cut oats -

NTD

Pages loading, please wait

More and more of the suppliers whom I buy from are shifting their catalog pages to an online format. The positive thing about this is that I am notoriously under-organized (note that this is not quite the same as being utterly disorganized; for instance, of course I know where the Ferne Sales loose catalog sheets from 2003 are - they're in that pile beside the 1975 Mother Earth News collection, next to my daughter's crayon drawings, circa 1995. Some folks actually disparage this system, which is admittedly not very Dewey Decimal or Microsoft or politically correct or whatever. But the universe was created out of chaos, and if that principle somehow translates to The Lives of Middle-Aged American Women, then one day I just might emerge as the f**king genius I always hoped I was, the key to my brilliance simply lodged beneath a mountain of vintage Rolling Stone magazines and a cache of photographs of an old boyfriend).

It could happen.

So online catalogs for my shop is probably a good thing. But this morning I was sifting through the company pages of a particularly cumbersome inventory, and saw that it was over 200 pages. And every page, full of photographs and graphics, takes some time to load. So it used to take me twenty minutes to order; today it might be three hours.

Since I love to avoid cleaning bathrooms and scrubbing floors, I will forever have the perfect excuse to never find time to properly clean - gotta get my orders together.

Hey, I have to go, I have SERIOUS WORK to do.

NTD

It's difficult to think anything but pleasant thoughts while eating a home-grown tomato. - Lewis Grizzard

I was right with you, Mister Grizzard, through the first few dozen from my overgrown bitty garden. But as I look at the green monsters ripening on my windowsill this morning, I have to admit that those 'maters are becoming a might tiresome.

At least Stewart and I grew something edible - meanwhile, most of the squashes are a) fun to arrange and photograph; b) nice to put in a bowl with other vegetables; but c) sort of dry and woody to attempt to eat. The bell peppers are promising but sort of small; while the cucumbers are positively pornographic and delicious.

We are not quite slow-food homesteaders. But it's a start.

NTD

Overheard at the pawn shop...

"C'mon, dude, let me off work early. The bachelor party is tonight, and I got to get things together."

"That ain't no bachelor party. Y'all's just gonna be driving four-wheelers through the woods all night, drinking beer."

"Yeah, but we're doing it for __, and there's naked women involved."

I'm with Dude #1. Naked women make it a bachelor party.

Hope no one gets hurt in the woods, particularly the naked women.

NTD

Bat Boy Flies Away, Confirming End Times Prophesy

Move over Nostradamus -

The announcement that the Weekly World News is ceasing publication is all the evidence I need.

The end is near.

NTD

If you don't think drugs have done good things for us, then take all of your records, tapes and CD's and burn them. – Bill Hicks

Happy Soundtrack of the Day

1. Daniel Johnston - True Love Will Find You In The End

2. Kimya Dawson - I Like Giants

3. 8 Track Gorilla - Make It With You

4. Andrae Crouch - Soon and Very Soon

5. Woody Wood - The Gardendemocopyright

NTD

File under: Mothers Against Dumbass Drivers

Funniest?? Weirdest?? twelve-inch letters affixed across the windshield of an SUV in the Wendy's parking lot:

"MILF"

There is a big-ass truck in this town that has "WELL-HUNG" displayed on the tinted glass, but we're used to that one after a couple of years. So yesterday the daughters and I had to check out the woman in the milf-mobile driver's seat in order to discern whether there is truth in the advertising.

"Nope."
"Not me."
"No way."
We agreed - my seventeen year old, my twenty one year old, and myself - aged 46 - that none of us would care to f**k the big-haired mother whose cigarette dangled precariously from a downturned mouth. But then we decided to analyze this.

What sort of mother would claim that she is a "Mother I'd Like to F**k" to the general driving audience in this conservative Christian town? Does this claim suggest that she believes that everyone would like to f**k her? Or, wait... does that mean that she wishes that she could f**k herself, since the term is first person? Otherwise, wouldn't it be more accurate to call herself a MYLF... "mother you'd like to f**k"? But something about "mylf" sounds sort of like the extreme feminist term "womyn", hinting at unshaved legs and goddess worship. And if an ardent lover put these vinyl letters on her SUV - well, is this a bragging right, or is this mother perhaps a part-time hooker? If so, why isn't there a phone number or at least an e-mail address so that the milf fantasy can commence?

And good Lord, what about the children? I can't think of anything more embarrassing than riding in THAT vehicle.

Suddenly, the faded paint and dented front-end of my '93 Isuzu pickup I was driving (and especially the mildewing Grateful Dead sticker we affixed to the window back in '95 when Jerry Garcia died) seems positively tasteful.

NTD

P.S. Although I reported the death of my Isuzu back in the winter, I am happy to tell you that you can't keep a good truck down. Even an ugly one.

Slow News Day...

... but in today's world, what the heck is wrong with that?

I'm trying to let the coffee think for me, since in four hours I have scheduled an interview with a local first-time novelist. I didn't receive a copy of the book but I'm trying to work around that fact.

NTD

Quote of the Day

There is only one journey. Going inside yourself. – Rainer Maria Rilke

NTD

Almost five hours assisting my elderly father study for and subsequently ace an insurance certification test online - thank Jesus for the blessed Happy Hour at our local watering hole a mere block from home. My now-legal eldest daughter, recently returned from across the pond in Spain, was amazed to learn that we can purchase TWO liquor drinks for $3.88 total around the corner.

God Bless the USA.

NTD

It's supposed to hit 103 today here in my so-called Sun Belt town. I'm hiding in my cave, testing the limits of central air conditioning.

It was Stewart who used the term "Sun Belt" in a conversation last week, which brought out my southern girl ire. No true southerner would ever use that term, coined by northerner Kevin Phillips during his tenure as Richard Nixon strategist. Stewart pointed out that it was not just a Deep South word, as it includes New Mexico and other states known for their heat. As usual, he's right. But I don't cotton to the branding of my ancestral home by folks who don't even live here.

Unfortunately it's the miracle of air conditioning which I cling to today that made all this dang progress possible.

I can't adequately explain why I go all Scarlett O'Hara on everyone's ass at unexpected moments. Sometimes it seems justified, and other times it just feels like PMS.

NTD

I'm back in hot hot hot south Georgia trying my best not to step outside. I have a fasting blood test at 9 a.m. so of course I was wide awake at 7 o'clock, unable to stay in bed. All I can think about is coffee and orange juice, but my coping mechanisms are 1) staring at the internet and 2) watching a smoking live eighties VHS of Tina Turner's world tour. I don't care so much about her music from Private Dancer, but Tina is The Shit. She's duetting with David Bowie, but he's pretty milquetoast in comparison to her legs, her hips, her facial expressions which fall somewhere between a beatific smile and a good orgasm.

But I'm still thirsty.

NTD