The Pleasures of Insomnia Are Ones I Can't Avoid

Who needs sleep?
Well, you're never gonna get it
Who needs sleep?
Tell me what's that for
Who needs sleep?
Be happy with what you're getting
There's a guy who's been awake since the second world war

We got home from Omaha about midnight last night. We had left at 4:00 a.m., so it made for a long day. I referred to my uncle, but he's actually my mom's first cousin - just bosses me around like an uncle. Either way, it is obvious they are related. Neither of them can drive in the city, both panic when they think they're lost, but both feel the need to give me directions when I'm driving. Uhh, did I give you the map? No, I believe I gave it to my sister...for a reason. You two couldn't find your butts with both hands and a flashlight.

Once I subtly reminded them who was driving and who should be directing, things went pretty smoothly. Of course, both of them got turned around when in their respective hospitals and couldn't find their way around. Neither of them like riding the elevator because they are claustrophobic. ("Moommmm, you can't get oooouuuttt." Heh heh.) And they have a deep love for fast food, as evidenced by every meal yesterday. I can feel my arteries clogging.

HOLY CRAP! There's another bat! Be right back.

Ok, so there was just a bat under my desk. About 4-6 inches long, furry, and...still alive. I don't know how long it's been lying right by my foot, but knowing my overwhelming powers of observation, probably all morning. It wasn't moving much, but enough to wake me up and clear out my arteries. They must be coming out of the attic again. My boss put it in a plastic bag and and threw it in the trash, the poor thing. I haven't seen one in over a year. Darn you, Henry, and your demanding that story! It's all your fault! Well, yours and Batman's.

So, anyhoo, back on my original story. My uncle's tests all came out normal and he was good to go for another year. Then we waited for over 2 hours for Mom to see the neurologist. As it turns out, the neurologist says that, as usual, our doctors overreacted. He says that the bulging disks are from arthritis and are not going to sever her spine and paralyze her, forcing me to move back home and care for her for the rest of her days while dying a little inside each day. Well, his version might have been a little shorter. She does have bruising around the disks and her spine, but no life-threatening damage.

But her pain is from the dog attack, and all this time since April, her doctor has not given her anything for pain. So the neurologist referred her to someone in Rapid City, SD, where she will get three cortisone shots over the next month. He also took X-rays to make sure he's not missing anything. She will have to go back to him in a month for follow-up. With any luck, she'll be overworked, stressed, and happy within the next 30 days. These people and their work ethic. Disgusting, that.

I was glad to get home, out of traffic and road construction, and back to the daily grind. But when I showed up for work this morning, I found out that our favorite new coworker had not shown up for work yesterday. It seems the pervert love of her life rolled his vehicle Wednesday night. What a shame. She called the boss, said she would be late coming in, so he told her to take her time. I guess she did, because she never showed up. And it just had to be when I was gone. Again. But you can bet she's back today, if only to tell me every breathless detail of his horrible ordeal. Was it wrong for me to interrupt and say in a disappointed tone, "But he's still alive?"
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Cry freedom!

I'm Only Paid To Like You Until 5:00

8:30 a.m.

May I help you?

I want to talk to your boss.

He's not here right now. May I take a message?

NO. (Click)

Fifteen minutes later:

May I help you?

Let me talk to your boss.

He's still not here, but I'd be happy to take a message.

Fine, tell him to call me right away.

Well, he won't be back in the office until afternoon likely after 1:30, but I'll let him know you called.

Fine, whatever.

An hour later:

May I help you?

Why hasn't he called me back?

Well, sir, he isn't back yet. He is still in court, and as I mentioned, he won't be back until this afternoon after 1:30.

It would sure be nice if people would call you back when they say they will! (CLICK)

1:00 p.m.

May I help you?

Is he even planning to call me back or not? Did you even give him the message?

I assure you, that just as soon as he gets back, I will give him your message. He will call you back as soon as he can.

Well, I'm still waiting. This is no laughing matter. (CLICK)

Boss arrives at 3:30, and begins returning phone calls.

3:45 p.m.

May I help you?

I've been waiting by the phone all day long, and he just ignores me. I want to talk to him right now.

Sir, he is back now, but he is on the other line. He's trying to get through all his messages, but I promise you're on the list.

Is he even going to bother calling me back?

I'm sure he will, sir.

WELL, WHY NOT?!!!!

Umm, I said he will call you back.

Oh. (CLICK)


Somedays, I really hate people.

Some other days, I really hate people in Nebraska. And Kansas.
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I'm taking my mom to the neurosurgeon in Omaha tomorrow. My uncle is now going with us, so he can go to the transplant center. He hasn't been back for a year, and the doctor refused to renew his prescriptions until he came in. He had a kidney transplant about 2 years ago, and he does not cooperate with his doctors. Heh heh. Serves him right.

My sister is going along to help keep me sane. Or make me more insane, I'm not really sure. I'll let you know on Friday, if I'm not in a rubber room by then.

Have The People Dreaming Of The Island Seen Lost?

I forgot to mention yesterday that I went to see The Island while I was in Vermillion. It was at this little old theater that was supposedly showing 4 movies. When you walked in the door, you were looking at the concession stand. The girl ran over from behind the counter to ask if I was going to see a movie. I said yes, and she had me walk with her over to a counter on the other side of a doorway. That side housed the video rental store. A girl working in rentals showed concession stand girl how to use the register. I was told I didn't need a ticket, and I could come and go as I pleased.

I left for a little awhile, and came back to where my parking spot was still available. Busy place. I went back inside and walked through the door beneath the arrow for The Island. I sat through about 6 or 8 previews, only to realize when the movie started that Billy Bob Thornton should not be in The Island. I was watching Bad News Bears apparently. So I got up and left that theater, only to see a big sign on a door that said The Island. I opened it - nope, just a broom closet. However, around the corner there was an unmarked door. Inside of that was another theater, which turned out to be showing my movie, which had not yet started. The movie was good, lots of action, and Scarlett Johannsen wasn't annoying like I had expected. I'm not usually a big Ewan McGregor fan, but I liked him much better after this movie. And the pop was only $2.75 for a large, so that may have put me in the right frame of mind from the start. But let me tell ya, I most certainly don't want to go to the Island.

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I took my poor camera in to see if any of my pics were salvageable. Some of the storm pictures were saved, but the Vermillion pics were all exposed. So here are the photos of all our destruction:

This is the tree in front of my house. It nearly took out my balcony, but the wind changed just in time.

This tree in my back yard took out the cable line. It's been 5 days, and still no T.V. Good thing I was gone for 3 of those days. And my mother forgot to tape Firefly for me while I was gone!

I was standing at the front door when this tree of my neighbor's split in half. Part of it ended up lying clear across the street. That was cool.

There is a barn under this tree. Note the classy outhouse in the foreground. My mother does have indoor plumbing, I promise.

This is across the street from where I work. The awning on the left started out on that green building. They were like that all down the street.

Looks like the Methodists will be meeting elsewhere for awhile. There's a hole like this in the other end of the church too. Oh, and half the roof is gone. Just east of the church, the preacher lost his garage and part of his house. It ended up embedded in his neighbor's siding.

This tree has been in his yard for more than 30 years. Huge sucker, but that wind made short work of it.

This was the scene on nearly every street in town. Part of this tree went through a guy's windshield. They had just cleared a tree from the other side of the street that covered the rest of it before I took this pic.

Yesterday, it was really hot and humid. All of a sudden, the sky went completely black. Everybody and their dog was out on the street, more than a little nervous that we might be getting a repeat of this storm. As it turned out, we just got a little rain and it was over. Most people aren't finished cleaning up from last week. With the weather still scorching hot (116 here on Saturday), people aren't exactly up to the challenge of spending hours outside. And by people, I mean me. I don't care if the grass dies under all those leaves. I'll just have to feel guilty from inside the house while I'm watching Family Guy DVDs.

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I've been curious about a picture random-squeegee posted awhile back, and I think I may have found the answer to what it is. Plus, this guy lives in Hastings, NE, so I actually recognized the area shown in the footage(Type amphibicar into the search). I've got to get me one of those.

I've Got Meat Fallin' Off My Bones

I'm finally back home and slightly relieved to still be alive. I left right after work on Friday. It was about 10:30 when I got to Vermillion, since I had to backtrack a ways due to a crappy map (Mapquest sucks!). I had run the air conditioner the entire way up there. When I opened the door to get out, my windows fogged over instantly. It was still in the 90's!

Since a friend of mine was supposed to be staying with me in the USD dorms, she had called to get the reservation. But plans changed, she ended up staying with her dad, so I didn't know where the dorms were, whose name they were under, etc. I called her when I got to town - no answer. I left her a message and went looking for the residence hall myself. I was driving around campus without any luck, and I ended up on a one-way street the wrong way (it wasn't marked). My apologies to the guy in the roadster who gave me the heads-up when I nearly ran into him. My bad.

It was about 11:00 when I finally got hold of her. She hadn't asked the guy where the dorms were (!), but she gave me the number of a friend who was staying there. She was able to give me directions, and they weren't even on the campus! I raced over there, only to find the doors locked. A girl was just leaving, and let me in. It turned out her shift was ending, and she had been heading home for the night. She had to unlock everything again to help me, but she was very gracious anyway.

The dorms were really skeezy. It was really hot in the room, so I lifted the lid of the air conditioner to turn it on. The lid fell completely off, being rusted clear through, and to my surprise, the air conditioner was already on high! Lovely. The men's bathroom had been converted into a women's bathroom, by means of a clever note on the door. The whole place reeked of urine. Now I'm not some priss that gets grossed out easily. I use public bathrooms on the reservation without hesitation. But this place was a whole new level of grossness. The showers looked like the perfect place for Digger and his friends to move in. Just nasty.



But on to important matters. I was in Vermillion for a quick build. We build a worship building in 5 days. The concrete gets poured on Wednesday, and by Sunday everything is up and finished for the first meeting there. It's all done by volunteers from all over South Dakota, Nebraska, a few from Kansas, and a few from Missouri. I'm on the paint/stain crew, but I also help out the tile, masonry (or on this build, brick), and landscaping crews if they need help. Occasionally, I've even worked on the kitchen crew, but I'd rather not repeat that experience. The cook shack is not the place for amateurs.

The work went good, but the heat was unbelievable. It was 107 degrees on Saturday, but the heat index was 120. I was in a little room painting, and I was sweating like a hog. The upshot is that my clothes fit much better now. I drank so much water in the span of two days, I could have floated a boat. You get that many people in that small of an area, and there's some serious heat radiating everywhere. And let's not forget the stench. The ladies were great about bringing us drinks and wet rags for around our necks. We couldn't have done it without them. Or without the cookies. And the lasagna. And lots of gatorade.

We were working offsite at another building for all the staining work. The guys were spraying doors, so the rest of us slackers were sitting along the shady side of the building, trying to throw rocks into an old pair of shoes. We kept hearing the guys inside laughing, but we couldn't figure out why. But we found out soon enough. They came around the corner of the building and pelted us with water balloons. I was drenched from head to toe. It was meant as a prank, but I thanked them for the nice gesture of cooling us off. I love ruining their fun. And I've got plenty of time to get them back anyway.

Yesterday wasn't quite as hot, but we blew a transformer and lost power at one point. None of our fans worked then, and the air conditioning hadn't been installed yet, so we were pretty much dying until the power company got there to fix it. I only worked until about 3:00, because I had the long drive home. When I got home, it was 100 degrees here, and it actually felt cool. How sad is that?

I would have had pictures, but the latch holding the door of my camera shut broke and exposed my pictures. I don't know if any will turn out. It probably ruined my storm pics too. :( But all in all, it was a great time. Next one is in October, so I've got to start planning now. Paint brushes, check. Sanding blocks, check. Water balloons, check...
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Lookin' for love in all the wrong places...

To The Bat Cave!

It was 9:00 in the morning. I was sitting at my desk, working hard to earn my wages. Ok, so I might have been playing Zuma, but that's not important. Suddenly, I hear a shriek of horror from the middle office. I rush in there, thinking that perhaps the copier/fax/printer/scanner has fallen on my unsuspecting coworker, and they will have to get the jaws of life to get it off her. Wishing no ill on that particular secretary, but that just would have been cool to see.

She was standing in front of the paper cabinet, doors open, her eyes wide in horror. There in the cabinet laid a bat. A dead bat. It was only about 3 inches long, like a mini vampire. At first, I thought it was fake, but upon closer inspection I discovered it was furry. And kinda cute, in a corpselike way. We decided to put it in a Ziploc bag and take it to the vet the next day. No sign of how it got in a cupboard that is always closed.

The next morning I came to work, sat down in my chair and started chatting with the same secretary. All of a sudden, she looks over my shoulder and says, "Now don't freak out when you turn around, but there's a bat lying on the floor behind you." No freaking out, right. I casually spin my chair around to see another bat on top of my vent. Slightly larger than the other one, this bat was about 6-8 inches long, also furry, also having gone to the big Transylvania in the sky. It went into another Ziploc bag and entered cold storage with its buddy.

When we came to work the next day, we immediately headed into the second secretary's office to inspect it. Since they seemed to be getting larger each day, I half expected to see a 4 ft tall one sitting in her chair, drinking a cup of coffee and playing Freecell. But there were none to be found. I started to think maybe she was the one planting them, but then I realized she's too short to reach the cupboard door.

We called our buddy the exterminator to check the place out. Turned out that our office, which has an upstairs and attic we don't use, has over the years become infested with bats. When he went up there, he saw about 7 bats, which according to him, means that there were probably 15 more he didn't see. Isn't that lovely? He informed us that there was about a foot of bat crap all over the floor up there as well. Maybe we can start a guano farm and strike it rich.

He went out to his truck, and came back in with a Red Rider. He headed upstairs, we heard a shot or two, and he came down with a cute but dead bat in a jar. He promised he would be back when it got cold and would clear them all out and seal up the joint. Then he sauntered out of the office, carrying the gun out the door. Two old ladies were walking by just then, so he started muttering to himself loudly, "That'll teach him to lose my case!" and jumped into his truck and left. I think they nearly had heart attacks trying to beat each other to the coffee shop to tell the tale.

Since then, there has been no sign of the beasts. The exterminator did come back and seal up the hole. Occasionally, it sounds like something is moving around up there, but nobody is willing to go check. I'm not Bruce Wayne, it's not my problem. But anytime something goes missing, we blame the bats. Mysterious sticky spot left on the counter? Blame the bats. Can't find your stapler? Blame the bats. Computers go on the fritz? Blame the bats. Think I'm being too harsh on them? Then explain why this was on my desktop this morning:

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I'm headed to Vermillion, SD, tonight after work to lend a hand on a building project. I'm staying at the USD dorms, so that should be entertaining. We should have everything finished by Sunday afternoon, and I'll be back on the road for 6 hrs so I can work Monday morning. I may have to sell a kidney to pay for gas. Have a great weekend.

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I'm keeping this day open on my calendar.
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I think it's time for rubber booties.

I Think I Saw This In A Movie Once

I had great plans last night. I was going to get my lawn mowed, buy food, kick back with a cold one, and get caught up on reruns of Lost. Productivity, good eats, a daily allowance of barley & hops, and quality television - the stuff perfection is made of. But plans were about to be changed for me.

I got out of work late, ran home, changed quick as Superman (but not in a phone booth), and headed to get groceries. Afterwards, I stopped at my mom's to see what needed done. My nephew was there helping her, so I got off scot-free. On my way to her house, I had noticed that the temperature on the bank clock was 109 degrees. How on earth could I be expected to mow in that kind of heat?

When I got home, I started food cooking, and headed out into hell's waiting room to mow. My bro-in-law had dropped off one of his mowers to use. When I got ready to start it, I realized that instead of a handle on the cord, there was a metal ring. Great, a jimmy-rigged setup. I grabbed the ring, pulled with all my might. It was at this point that nearly all the flesh on my fingers was practically ripped off as the cord snapped back and the metal ring tried to take my digits with it. And the mower didn't start.

Less than pleased, I headed into the house, noticing that the wind was picking up and the sky was a little dark. Crap. The one night I had time to mow, and it would probably rain. At least it had cooled down some, so if I hurried I might get finished. I cleaned up my hand, found no ligaments hanging loose on their own, so I figured I'd put on gloves and try 'er again.

I headed for the front door when I heard a weird roaring noise. I opened the door to the oddest sight I've seen in a long time. The sky was completely Kermit green. Across the street, I initially thought I saw a funnel cloud headed toward my house, but I then realized that the wind was just swirling through the open space between the funeral home and apartment building over their dirt road. Well, actually I realized it when the gust of dirt hit me in the face, but I digress. But the freakiest part of it was the two trees in my front yard. Both of them were bent over almost in half. It was like the footage you see on the Weather Channel of a hurricane. I have a newfound sympathy for those on the west coast right now.

The rain started coming down in sheets and the wind was like I have never seen it (and hard wind is a staple in NE). I suddenly remembered the mower was sitting out uncovered. I ran to my back door and opened it. There in my back yard, I saw that a huge limb had fallen. And landed on my bike. I stood there pondering my good luck, and just then a huge chunk of hail came through the door and landed on my foot. I shut the door. Screw the mower.

I headed back to the front of the house to see if my car was getting hit as well. Most of the hail was pea- to marble-sized, but as I stood there a chunk the size of a golf ball hit my screen door. No, naturally, I ran outside to grab it so I could put it in the freezer. Thankfully, the big stuff was few and far between, so my car may have made it through unscathed.

Then the electricity went out, came on, went out, and so on. It was severely cramping my tv viewing. My nephew called freaking out (he's petrified of storms, thanks to his pansy mother) and I could hear my mom spazzing in the background. "What's she all worked up about?" I asked. My mom is usually unfazed by storms. "Oh, the wind blew a bunch of sand in the patio door and it's all over everything and I'm walking in it and it's going to be tracked all over the house and she'll never get it out of the carpet and why aren't I in the basement?" he replied. Oookkkaayy. Way to have priorities.

I assured him I was alive, but he was upset that his parents and my grandpa weren't answering the phone. As it turned out, my grandpa was sleeping and land lines were out all over town and most cell phones weren't working. Go figure. On an average day, my cell service is crap while everyone else is happily chatting. Then a storm hits, my phone works great, and now there is no one to talk to.

The storm just kept getting worse. I hear a huge crack in front of my house. My beautiful tree in my front yard had just gotten a huge limb in the middle broke out of it. It narrowly missed taking the balcony off the front of the house. What would I have done if I could no longer grill out high up in the air? It would have been tragic. The wind was hitting so hard that it sounded like there was someone knocking on every window in the place. If my sister had been there, I'd have started yelling, "Auntie Em! Auntie Em!" just to make her a little more paranoid.

Crap. Our power just went out for 2 hours. I just lost part of this post, but I'll try to remember what brilliance was here.

The storm lasted for about an hour and a half. As it turned out, we had 100 mi/hr straight winds. In some parts of town, there were also tornados. One lady saw a funnel cloud come down, go back into the cloud, and come back down as four tornados. North of town, there was baseball-sized hail that broke out windows. The rest of the town got pea- to golf ball-sized hail. And there was 3/4 in of rain.

The Methodist church lost a huge chunk out of the middle of their roof and one wall was sucked out. The damage was so bad, it will have to be completely rebuilt. All the windows were blown out of the high school. The lumberyard lost their roof, which for some reason I find hilarious. Enormous blue spruce, cedar, hackberries, etc. all over town were completely uprooted. The new courthouse lost most of its roof. One guy lost half of his house, and the family next door to my boss had two limbs land on both their vehicles.

As for my family, a tree split in half and landed on my mom's barn. A limb fell and took out one power line there as well. I also had a tree uprooted and land on a power line in my back yard. My sister lost half her huge cottonwood and it landed on their fence. No serious damage to the fence, though. Power is out in half the town, as is cable. I got to go home early for lunch, as everything went dead here. Of course, it came back in time for me to have to work again. *Sigh*

Thankfully, there were no casualties and no injuries reported yet. In a town of 3,000 even one would have hit hard. As much as I make fun of our alcoholic volunteer firemen (a.k.a. "the pissin' crew"), they do a great job in times like this. They were out all night, making sure all the elderly were ok, including my grandpa, who slept through the storm (!) until I woke him up. Volunteers have been working hard, cleaning up as much as possible so the emergency crews could get through. Streets are still closed all over town, but maybe by the time I get off work, things will be closer to normal. I'll post some pics once I get them back.

Maybe I'll mow tonight after I clean up all the debris in my yard. Then again, they're predicting rain.

Another Branch in Joe's Family Tree

Have you ever had that creepy feeling like someone was behind you, looking over your shoulder, watching your every move? Well, I'm having it right now. I think it's because all morning long, my new sex offender-loving coworker has been behind me, looking over my shoulder, watching my every move. Maybe I'm just paranoid. Or maybe she's related to Joe.

Apparently, she is bored. Either that, or her new lover's stalking fetish has rubbed off on her. (And yes, I do mean rubbed off.) My boss is out of the office this morning and must not have left her anything to do. So, she has been in my office constantly - wandering around, picking up papers on my desk and looking at them, reading the messages for the bosses that are turned upside down so people don't read them, etc. I've tried the subtle "What can I do for you?" or "Is there something I can help you find?" in that sing-song voice that anyone else would recognize as "Danger, Will Robinson, Danger!" All she says is "No, that's okay," and continues fiddling with stuff. My stuff. My stuff on my desk. My stuff on my L-shaped desk that requires her to walk in behind it and stand in my space to mess with things that don't belong to her. Yeah, that stuff.

Most of the time, she doesn't say anything. She just tromps up here, stands in front of my desk with her hands on her hips, and stares at me. Needless to say, it's a little unnerving. I've tried engaging her in conversation, hoping that something I say will offend her senses and she will run away. That was unsuccessful. Do I ignore her, pretend she isn't boring holes into my sternum with the fire from her eyesockets, act as though I always have an audience to everything I do? Or should I start rocking back and forth, counting my fingers and chanting, "Three feet of personal space, three feet of personal space!"? Or perhaps begin farting loudly over and over, giggling "Excuse me" each time? If I go with that, I think I'm going to need to bring some refried beans to work or something.

She's only 21, and she doesn't have much office experience yet. She hasn't learned how to control THE VOLUME OF HER VOICE, social skills are a little untweaked, and nobody has told her yet that cursing isn't a normal part of legal vocabulary unless you're one of the attorneys. Don't get me wrong, she's pleasant enough, but dang! Learn how to interact on a human level with others! Granted, she doesn't say "That's what she said" constantly, but she does find a way to tie her I-have-abuse-love-with-young-girls boyfriend into nearly every conversation. And she sings to the music in her office. And it's not that good. The music or her voice.

It's not like I have never worked with crazies before. I spent six months working at an Amigos with two kleptos, a retarded woman who didn't think she was retarded, and a 40 yo manager who brought her bong to work so she could hang out with the teenagers outside while her 10 day old baby she'd had with our married superviser laid in a hamburger bun crate in the back room. I know crazy. But this is a whole new level of body shiver-inducing nuttiness and I'm a little uncertain as to how to cope. Anyone got any suggestions? Suggestions that don't involve hiding a body in the staircase?

We've Gone High Class

The pictures are finally developed, and as usual, the midget was thwarted. All those darn people cut off my view. However, in reality, I took more pictures of the people walking by than I did of the performers anyway. Freaks are much more interesting, so here ya go, in all their blurry glory. I added some to the previous post too, so check them out

Let's see, where to begin? First, we'd better get all gussied up before going to town...

Despite this hideous picture, we are determined to find someone to make us feel better about ourselves. They say the camera adds 10 lbs. How many cameras were on us?

Next, we'd better make sure we have all the necessary accessories for a good time. Hat, check. Beer, check. Security clearance, check. Mesh shirt and beads, check.

Time to check out the crowd. Hey, there's Mikey from American Chopper!

There's more than one way to enjoy the show - participating or watching...

The Impersonators come out to play, offering pearl necklaces and wearing cheap sunglasses.

Guess we'd better get some food. Can't be starving away these dead sexy bods of ours!

Hey, buddy, that's some shirt you got there! Can I borrow it for church?

Their mothers must be so proud.

And that's that. Hope you've enjoyed this little glimpse into the lives of Nebraska's royalty. Wishing you RC Cola wishes and moon pie dreams.

I Just Had An Apostrophe! I Think You Mean An Epiphany

This weekend, I learned two important truths. The first is that, as much as I hate to admit it, my sister has gotten old. We barely got to the concert before it started, because my car was in the shop and my sister is a pansy driver. But we made it in time, and we headed down to the front of the stage. Well, we almost made it there. At the top of the hill, she looked down, saw the huge crowd already there, and said "Are you sure we want to stand down there?" It was at that point I knew I wasn't going to get good pictures this trip.

I smiled nicely, and offered to get the chairs from the vehicle. I trekked back past the security guards, down the hill the 100 mi back to the car, got the chairs, and headed back up the hill to get felt up by the state patrol who seemed certain there was a semi-automatic hidden in the chair case. I was beginning to be a little less thrilled about the heat and the fact that I was now listening to Quiet Riot instead of watching them.

We ended up sitting up at the top of the west hill, looking down on the stage (think nosebleed section if we weren't in the middle of a pasture). I walked down the hill to get a little closer to the stage and attempt to get some decent pictures. And to keep from repeating myself, I did that several times during the course of the concerts, but since I am as vertically gifted as Gary Coleman and the rest of the crowd was related to Tiny Tim, I have a feeling they will be less than stellar pics. I'll find out this afternoon.

Quiet Riot was as good as ever. So if you thought hair bands were the greatest thing since sliced bread, they were still awesome. If you thought they were the first metrosexuals, well, there ya go. The lead singer was wearing black stretch pants with sequins on them, and that's all I'll say about that. They really got the crowd involved. By that I mean they encouraged everyone to hold up their middle finger and shout out those two little words. Those guys dropped more f-bombs in their first two sentences than the Osbornes can in an entire show. But they rocked out in all their spandex glory, and it was great.

Smashmouth was fun too. I had seen them before, and I thought they were better then. This time, they were having problems with feedback, and they were starting to get pissed off. I don't know if it was their road crew or the volunteers that were screwing up, but they started to lose their patience after about the fourth song interrupted by squealing speakers. But they were game and gave it a good try, so we won't burn their boxers just yet.

Then came the crowd favorite, ZZ Top. At least, I'm assuming it was the crowd favorite, because the majority of those in attendance were in their 60's. It was like a hippie/hillbilly extravaganza. ZZ Top said they had been performing for 35 years. That's pretty incredible, especially since their beards have stayed the same all that time. They sounded awesome. The things they can do with their guitars are almost obscene. And the thoughts conjured in my head when they started singing their new song, Buck Naked, were definitely obscene. And then things just got worse when my sister leaned over and whispered, "Pearl Necklace doesn't sound so cool when it looks like grandpa up there singing it, does it?" Wrong, just wrong. It almost made me exhume the remains of the friggin' onion I'd just devoured.

Overall, it was a pretty good time. Some toe tappin' going on, a little cheering, nothing too strenuous. Normally, I'm first or second row in front of the stage, jammin' out with a crowd of stoned out, drunk, haven't-bathed-in-days hippies and their stoned out, drunk, just-had-free-love-for-the-first-time children. Not exactly my demographic, but we all find common ground at the feet of rock gods. This time, I was sitting in a chair in a crowd of drunk, slightly arthritic, former hippies who now understand why their parents told them not to play the music so loud. But at the end of the night, my ears weren't ringing. And my feet didn't hurt. I wasn't sunburned, I didn't have heat exhaustion, and I wasn't in severe pain from not peeing for 9 hours. Plus, I had even had time to watch the motorcross aerial stunts in between shows, because I wasn't saving my place in the front. And I had time before ZZ Top to get an airbrushed tattoo.

And there is the second truth of the weekend. I have become a milquetoast concertgoer. And I kinda like it.

Freaks on Parade

I was going to finally tell you my bat story, but I'm afraid it will have to wait. I'm leaving this afternoon for a rousing adventure at Comstock Rock. My camera is ready and willing, and my sister is going along to confirm all the hideous sights. Last year, I was by myself. I kept turning to say, "Did you see that?", but nobody was there. It looked like I was schizophrenic, which maybe I am, but that's neither here nor there.

We're just going for tonight, since I was too cheap to buy a 4-day ticket. Plus, I want to take off time in August for another little trip that I will tell you about some other time. So on the schedule: Quiet Riot, Smashmouth, and ZZ Top. I've seen Smashmouth before, but none of my pictures turned out that time. But I have learned the proper use of the camera modes this time, so watch out! I'm hoping that ZZ Top will be having so much fun, they won't notice if I trade them my Sunfire, and drive off in one of their classic cars. I'm a little bummed that the one guy shaved off his beard, but I guess we can live with it. I'm going to get disgustingly full of a friggin' onion, and since Big Sis is going along, I can almost guarantee some funnel cake action.

I can promise that I won't be getting a real tattoo (no desire to get hepatitis in the middle of a pasture, but there just may be some airbrushed monstrosity on my arm by the end of the night. And word has it that they just put up a new waterslide, so there's no telling what might go on this evening. I promise to post pics next week of all the freak shows we see along the way. And did I ever show you the picture of the clown tattoo from last year?
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Not sure, but I think I may have went to school with this guy. I hope I'm wrong.
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I shamelessly stole this from Henry. Please forgive me, man, I couldn't help it.

And on that note, I'm out like a wet fart. Have a great weekend.

Mean Gimps & Killer Outdoor Furniture

Well, our pervert loverboy just walked through the office, bringing a rose to his beloved. I feel kinda squicky just writing that. But I talked enough about them yesterday.

So here's a short rant about Bridezilla. She ended up having two strokes, but she got out of the hospital now, and the only thing that is still paralyzed is her left hand. I was feeling all sorry for her until this morning. That's when I found out that she was completely rude and horrible to her mother the entire time she was out there. When her mom finally stood up for herself and told her she was just trying to help, Bridezilla said, "Yeah, well I didn't ask you to come out here." Un-frickin-believable. She could have died, and she's still being a spoiled, selfish little brat. Her mom & stepdad went in debt even further so she could make that trip, and that's the thanks she gets. I was going to make a little phone call right then, but her mom said not to, that it might make her mad. And we're caring what she thinks, why? I'm just going to wait until she calls me to join her pity party, and then I'm going to unload on her. I don't care if Stanford does want to do a test study on her because her disease is so rare. She ain't gonna milk it around me when she can't even be nice to her mother.

But that's not really what I intended to tell you about today. The real story is in the tale of my new purchase. A couple of weeks ago, I bought a hammock chair. It was like 10 bucks from some cheapo catalog, but it still looked pretty cool. But when I got it, it had no rope to hang it up. That was fine, I bought some rope. But then I needed help to hang it, because let's face it, I'm a little short on one end.

My grandfather was over last night to help me. As he began cursing the extra 300 ft. of rope I purchased, my mother mentioned that we didn't have a ladder. How would we put the rope over the tree limb? My grandfather snorted in derision and replied, "Well, I guess that makes sense in a woman's line of reasoning." My head swiveled like it was ready to spit pea soup and I softly said (while holding on to his oxygen hose), "Would you care to repeat that?" He started moonwalking faster than the one-gloved wonder, justifying his statement by pointing out that my mother was a woman, but he wasn't referring to all women in general. Nice try.

The funny thing was that it took him about three or four tries before he even swung the rope high enough to reach the limb. When it got stuck, I asked him if he would like a woman to assist him. He made some crack under his breath about her having to be a rich nurse, which I ignored, and I finally got the rope down. I showed him how high I wanted it, and he insisted it would be too high. I swore it wouldn't, but I agree to try it his way. I sat in the swing as instructed. Immediately, that sucker dropped about 3 feet, and my butt got a quick introduction to the ground. "Ya think we might want to make it a little higher, Grandpa?" I got no response.

I was ordered back into the chair of death after it was raised in the air. After being promised it would not be dropped this time, I tried to climb in it. I could no more get in it than nothing. I was like a midget trying to reach a door knob. I finally grabbed the wooden bar above and pulled myself halfway in it, at which point the piece of crap started spinning. I couldn't get completely in, but I couldn't get out. I asked for assistance from my maternal unit, who was laughing uncontrollably. Instead, she reached out and gave it another spin. Even my grandpa was laughing as I finally half jumped/half fell out of the chair, vowing revenge on my tormentors.

I hate hammock chairs.
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In other news, I think I found the no-good squirrel that random-squeegee's grandmother saw eating the bird. I always knew he was trouble.

When I First Met Your Daddy in Prison...

Well, I'm sad to report that the service went as expected. Does that make me a bad person? Anyway, it turned out that he had been cremated, so there was no creepy makeupped corpse lying there with its belt undone for all the world to see. That happened at one funeral I went to - the mortician had to rush up and fasten the belt. It made it worse that the mortician was rumored to "love" his work. Not a pleasant image. But this service was short, sweet, and to the point. Because his wife had already packed everything for their move, she had no pictures to display, except their wedding picture. That was a treat, because I never knew him to be thin. Or to have hair that wasn't in a buzz cut. Very entertaining, in spite of the circumstances.

Now, on to bigger and better things. We have a new girl at our office, whom I believe I've mentioned before. She is 21, fresh out of college. She is my cousin's wife's sister (there's a mouthful). Seems eager to work, friendly, cooperative. What else? Oh yeah, talks loudly about her sex life in the front office. And swears in front of our 75 yo secretary. She's living with a 35 year old registered sex offender (but it was all just a misunderstanding, of course) that she met the Friday that I left for Lincoln. She felt compelled to describe to me in detail on Monday how they had "hooked up" on Saturday night. I think I just threw up a little in my mouth. By Monday, he had moved in with her. By Thursday, she had brought three enormous pictures of him, one of which she hung on the wall in her office, so we can all look at it right as we walk in the room. Yesterday, she tells me that she is going to try to get a loan so that they can get a vehicle for him to drive. Of course, it will be in her name, since she's got such good credit. M'kay. And today she comes in and says he asked her to marry him. She said yes. Holy Moses on a motorbike.

So for those of you keeping score, she has known him for exactly 12 days. She knows that he wasn't really guilty of what he was charged with, because he said so. Apparently, Illinois just convicts innocent people of sexual assault of a victim 13-16 yo without just cause and forces them to register their whereabouts every 90 days. I hate it when that happens. For the record, he now goes by his middle name instead of his first name, just because he decided he didn't like his first name. Naturally, that would be the only reason. And he hasn't updated his whereabouts since he moved here. But she acts so starved for affection that she just drinks in whatever he tells her. By the first Monday after she met him, she was saying "I love you" on the phone to him constantly. In the words of my sister in the 80's, gag me with a spatula.

So, do I voice my concerns about a matter that really isn't any of my business? Do I tell her that the week before he met her he was sleeping with another of my cousins? Or do I let her continue in her naive course which will likely end in heartbreak? He comes in our office and I have to deal with him, and she keeps pushing me to have him trim my horses' hooves (he's supposedly a cowboy). I don't want him anywhere near my place, and I don't really like talking to him either. But she's kinda family, and I don't want there to be problems in that respect. At least with our pervert clients, they know I know what they've done, and they usually mind their P's & Q's. But this schmuck thinks he's smarter than everyone, and that nobody knows about him. Plus, he's one of those guys who thinks he's a great charmer (read manipulator). There's just something about it that just makes me want to whip out the trusty Playdoh knife, if ya get my meaning.

Also, my bosses don't know about this. Should I let them know that a registered sex offender is a regular in our office? And isn't our client? How does it reflect on our office? Or do I let them find out on their own? I don't want to get her in trouble, but I think they should at least be aware of the situation, especially in the event that he gets in trouble again.

So today, y'all are Dear Abby. Or Dear Prudence, if you don't like Abby. Let the advice flow freely.

Here's what the GQ Man of the Year looks like: Phillip A. Bush.

How Long Can You Tread Water?

Ok, this is possibly going to be short today. I have to go to Jerry's funeral this afternoon, so it will just depend on how much I can get written by then. But with any luck, maybe there will be some crazy hijinks at the funeral which I can report on tomorrow.

Last night, we got a huge rain storm. On one side of town, it was hardly sprinkling at all, and the other side was a torrential downpour. I was soaked by the time I got to my mom's house. The rain was coming down so hard and loud, I couldn't hear my stereo in the car. When it can drown out Smashing Pumpkins, that's some powerful H2O. As I was sitting at her house, the lights went out. THEN the lightning struck and the very next second I heard the thunder. My bro-in-law says that has something to do with the fact that lightning comes from the ground up, but he also takes a road cone to the city with him to mark his parking space when he leaves it, so what does he know?

Anyhoo, I hung out there for awhile, but I finally couldn't stand it anymore. I just KNEW there were enormous puddles all over town calling my name. So I rushed out into the deluge, hopped in my car, and headed downtown. I should have had my camera with me. Every intersection was flooded. One lane of the highway was underwater as well. On Main Street, the water was flowing into Subway. All their bread is probably soggy too, so I wouldn't recommend eating there for a day or two.

Since I live in Hickville, we still have a few dirt streets. Normally, I think they serve no purpose. But when it rains... 4-WHEELIN'! I headed down the street next to the Pepsi Plant, doing about 30 mi/hr. There in front of me was an enormous puddle about shin deep across the entire street. When I hit that sucker, the water went up over my car and ran down the back window. It was awesome. And for those of you shaking your heads, muttering about wet brakes and stalling out, yes that could have happened. But it didn't. And if it had, I would have walked home in the rain. That would have been half the fun. And let me tell ya, you might be going 30 when you start into the water, but you're slowed to about 5 after the first 20 feet. I came around one corner rather swiftly, and I nearly drowned out the cop car coming from the other direction. I tried to pretend it was an accident, but I was snickering and pointing inside.

After about an hour of playing in the streets all over town, I finally got bored (read low on gas) and went home. I don't know how much rain we got over all, but I think a certain someone might have been getting a call. (scroll down to listen)

Well, I'm outta here. Though I would never wish for anything catastrophic to happen at a funeral, it does make for good post material. Just sayin'...

Sweating Like a Hog Does Not Make You Smell Like Bacon

I hate to say this, but I am really glad the weekend is over. I worked my butt off the entire time (see? it's gone!), and that's just not what weekends are supposed to be about. Where is the rest? Where is the relaxation? Where's the cabana boy bringing me drinks? Granted, my nephew did mow my lawn for me, but I was helping my mother at the time, so I still didn't get to lounge around in front of the air conditioner. What is this world coming to?

It was 100+ degrees every day. I spent Friday night cleaning up my uncle's log cabin he's building, wiping everything down so the floors could be painted. The guys were using a grinder to get the excess concrete off the basement floor, so by the time I came back upstairs, my skin was like Michael Jackson's and my hair was completely white. I bet that does wonders for my lungs. By the time I'm 40, I'll probably be dragging an oxygen tank around with me, gasping for air, and telling about those wild days of my youth when nobody wore dust masks.

Since I spent the rest of my free time on Friday night and Saturday being my maternal unit's indentured servant (mo' tea, suh?), I was ready for a break by Saturday night. I could just see in her eyes that she had made a list of jobs for me, and she was checking it twice. But just then my sister offered to treat me to the movie, so we bolted out of there like Bobby Brown running from a drug dog.

So here's my mini-review of War of the Worlds: I know that it was supposed to be serious and frightening. However, for his next movie, I might suggest that Spielberg find himself a boom operator that isn't drunk. It's hard to remain focused on the terror of tissue-spurting aliens when you're counting the times that the boom is in the frame (I lost count at 6 because I was laughing too hard). But the family aspect was pretty accurate, as least in regards to my own family: dad's a deadbeat who never sees his kids, son is a teenage rebel with a chip on his shoulder and an ugly haircut, and the youngest is a smartmouth, screaming little girl who is so annoying you're tempted to reach down her throat and remove her vocal cords. Oh wait, I was the youngest in the family... Ok, so it wasn't exactly like my family. The action and Tim Robbins' character almost made me forget that Tom Cruise is crazy. All in all, I'd give it a 3 out of 5 stars. Not as good as the book, but at least Jessica Simpson wasn't in it. It was okay, but I probably won't watch it again. ETA: At least not very soon. And I did like Tom's portrayal of the dad who is not much of an adult himself.

Sunday morning we were on the way to church in another town. As we're pulling into town, my sister mentions that we were asked to help the lady move whose husband just died. Umm, that information might have been more useful to me before I left the house without old clothes. They had made other plans so they couldn't stay, but I talked my nephew into staying with me and helping them. So from 12:30 to 6:00, I moved enough boxes of crap for three families...in high heels and a skirt. The first U-Haul wasn't big enough, so it had to be unloaded and everything was reloaded into a bigger one. I'm still amazed that two people could have so much stuff in such a small space. And they had sold all the big furniture except for the beds! Every time I would think we were close to done, they would open the door to another room. How many fabric remnants do you need? Why are we packing up expired license plates? And why in God's name do you have a head cheese slicer?

As we were finishing up loading the truck, the lady's son-in-law walked up to us. "So, how long have you two been married?" I looked to my right and left to see who he was talking about. And there I saw my nephew, whose look of horror masked my own. "Umm, we're not married. That's my nephew, and he's only 14." My nephew just muttered a "Jeez!" under his breath and made a quick exit. I realize this guy was from South Carolina, but for crying out loud! I was left to ponder how on earth you would mistake him for an adult. Yes, he's a head taller than me, but I have the height of Verne Troyer, so that doesn't really count. Great googly-moogly.

After we left, I decided to reward Sheldon's hard work, since he wouldn't have had to stay. So I took him to see Mr. and Mrs. Smith. My second mini-review: Go see it. Great action, humor, interesting plot. Excellent sarcasm - I was sold in the first five minutes. Plus, it has the beautiful Brad Pitt in it and the talented (IMO) Angelina Jolie. And Vince Vaughn is absolutely hilarious. In one of the parts that, according to an interview, he ad-libbed, my nephew was laughing so hard he nearly choked to death on his popcorn. Sure, there's going to be parts that some people are going to say, "They can't really do that!" But I go to movies for a break from reality, so I don't mind that. Oh, and be sure to look at Adam Brody's shirt. Funny stuff.

Tomorrow, I promise I'll talk about something more interesting. But it's Monday. You get what you pay for.

Good News, Bad News, Movie News, and Worse News

Yesterday afternoon, my mom stopped in the office, just frantic. "I just got fired!" I rolled my eyes, knowing that she was just trying to get a reaction out of me, and I'm not that big a fish. When she figured out I wasn't taking her bait, she told me the real story. The doctor had called her boss and told him she should not be working. He made her drop everything she was doing and go home right then. She won't be allowed to work until at least the 30th, after she gets back from her appointment with the neurosurgeon. She was freaking out, mainly because she had "all that work that didn't get finished, and nobody else is going to do it, everything is going to be behind, and how are the city bills going to get paid?" Personally, I think it would be pretty funny if the City were delinquent - maybe they'll get their utilities shut off. That said, she's going to have a heart attack long before that happens. Over two weeks off work? My mother hasn't taken a vacation in the 20 years she's worked there. She's only missed 5 days of work for illness in 20 yrs. And she's not allowed to do hardly anything, so she won't even be able to catch up on housework. If you ask me, I think she's just healthy enough to be baking cookies. I don't know what she's getting all worked up about. Workman's comp is paying for it all. If it were me, I'd be kicked back in a lawn chair in all my neck brace glory, sipping on a mai tai. Of course, that dog owner would be buying me a new pool too, but that's just me.

But here's the dilemma. My mother also has a cleaning job at a dental clinic. And guess who can't do any cleaning work now? So guess who got drafted as a janitor? That's right, yours truly just got sucked back in. Great for her, sucks for me. Since misery loves company, I volunteered my sister to help me. Sure, she's gonna hate me for awhile, but she can direct all that anger into the toilet she'll be scrubbing. And I've no doubt that my mother will be standing over us, acting like sidewalk supervisor. If we haven't learned how to scrub a floor by our ages, there's no hope for us. Better if she just stays home and assumes we're doing things right.
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Have you ever seen the movie Suspect Zero? If you haven't, I recommend it. Unless you are grossed out easily, afraid of bald men, or you hate Carrie Ann Moss. Then you should go see Pollyanna or something. Kind of a mind game, not entirely unlike Memento or Silence of the Lambs. But I gotta say, I liked Aaron Eckhart better as the long-haired biker in Erin Brockovich. Now, if he'd been a biker FBI agent, or maybe if he had worn Erin Brockovich's outfits, that would have put this flick over the top.
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Just got a call from my grandpa. You remember that couple I said was moving to South Carolina? Well, the husband got a bad headache yesterday, and they flew him to Omaha. He ended up with a bleed in his brain, and he died this morning. I don't know what his poor wife is going to do. They already sold all their stuff, and they were planning on moving to SC this weekend. It was so unexpected that his kids didn't even have time to get here.

He was the coolest guy. Always quick with a compliment or a joke, he was the first person to offer assistance when you needed anything. He and his wife were best friends, and despite the fact they had been married for 52 years, he would still grab her butt when she walked by. (And yes, that traumatized me the first time I witnessed it.) He will be greatly missed. Rest in peace, Jerry.
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Now this is truly a case of the blind leading the blind.

Well, That Can't Be Good

You remember my little tale of Bridezilla? Well, her stepdad IM'd me today. Monday night she had a stroke. She's only 22 years old. She was on the computer, and all of a sudden, her left arm went dead. They took her to the emergency room right away. Apparently, they think it's some kind of rare blood disorder that is making blood clots. Then her blood thins just enough, and the blood clots are breaking loose into her bloodstream. Just freaky.

Awhile back, maybe a year or so ago, she was having headaches. They did an MRI and found a "spot" at the base of her brain. They thought it was blood, but they decided it must have been from when she had her car accident a year earlier. After running some tests, they decided it wasn't causing any damage and there was no need to try to remove it. Now it seems that it was really from this disease and they screwed up in their diagnosis.

Right now, her left arm is paralyzed - I don't know about her leg. She's in the ICU, and they don't know how long she will have to be there. Actually, they don't know if the paralyzation will go away either. Her mom flew out to be with her, but they've only let her in to see her once. She doesn't even know how long she'll have to be out there. I don't know if she's able to talk yet, but I'll bet she's not biting anyone. Lord, I apologize...
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My sister and family got back from Canada. They brought me a gift bag, and the items inside tell a great deal about the gifters themselves and who truly knows me best. My sister bought me a stuffed moose and a jar of real maple syrup. My nephew bought me a baseball cap and a shot glass, and my bro-in-law got me Canadian beaver droppings (maple coated roasted almonds). Cute, sweet, and domestic? Or sporty, thirsty, with a little gross-out humor included? I'll let you decide which best suits me.
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Just when my mother thought it was safe to go back in the yards...

Holy Spontaneous Combustion, Batman!

Friday was pretty uneventful. I took the ducklings, (as they shall be called due to their waddling from foot to foot dragging oxygen, bad legs, or their wounded pride,) to an all-you-can-eat buffet, otherwise known as the Your-Legs-Are-Younger-Than-Mine-So-Go-Get-Me-Some-Grub. The place was packed, so I stood in line for forever and a day to get his food. Then I headed back into line for my food, ignoring the stares of those thinking, 'Gluttony is one of the seven deadly sins'. By the time I got back to the table, Father Time was ready for seconds. This time, I decided not to notice right away and took about three bites of my own food before giving in and heading back into the line.

After gorging themselves to centimeters from a button-popping extravaganza, the geriatrics were ready to go back to the room. Mom was really tired and her neck was hurting, so she went to bed, closely followed by the other lady...at 8:30 p.m. Now just what am I supposed to do? So, I laid down and listened to a book on tape for about an hour. Bored out of my mind, I finally gave up and went to bed. After listening to the dueling snorers for 4 hours, I finally got up again and listened to my book some more. (8:30 - can you believe it? Ridiculous!) Plus, neither of them like air conditioning, so it was about 150 degrees in the room. I should have had a pan of muffins sitting on the dresser, and they'd have been cooked by morning.

About 1:30, I went back to bed, determined to smother my mother if she threw all her covers on me one more time. Have I ever mentioned I really hate sharing a room with other people? I think I got a total about 45 minutes of sleep. Oh, and I forgot to mention that my mom had ended up with poison ivy the day we left. And I had to share a bed with her. I politely informed her the first night that if she spread it to me, I would cut off her disease-ridden limbs and beat her with them. She didn't seem at all intimidated. I get no respect.

Saturday was a bit of a blur, due to severe lack of shut-eye. I actually dozed off while sitting in IHOP. That's just sad. And one of my friends I was supposed to meet in Lincoln ended up with cellulitis in her leg and was stuck in her hotel all weekend. So I decided to go by myself to the movie. I only found one theater still playing Batman Begins (!), so I headed downtown for a little Bale in a dark room. Umm...sorry, lost my train of thought there for a moment. Anyhoo, there is virtually no parking available in downtown Lincoln, unless you want to sell an ovary to pay for it. And I didn't. I did, however, still have my grandfather's handicapped sticker still swinging from the rearview mirror. Hey, he put it up there. Who am I to take it down? Before you get all indignant thinking some cripple had to pull themselves on their hands a mile cuz I took their spot, just take a breath. I used a handicapped spot in front of a CLOSED doctor's office three blocks away. And I limped dramatically until I got around the corner, so it was fine. :P When I came back to it after the flick, there were two bicycle cops on the corner, but they didn't even question it, so my heart returned to beating at a normal pace and I lived to offend the law another day.

As I crossed the street to the theater with a large group of other moviegoers, I noticed a cross on the corner. A large cross. A 20 ft high cross with homosexuality, abortion, etc. written all over it. Next to it stood a nice-looking man, his wife, and his son standing there handing out pamplets. As I increased my pace and attempted to avoid eye contact, the man pulled out a microphone. I missed part of it, but this guy definitely had some passion. Here's the part I caught: "It's easy to spend a lifetime on this earth living in pleasure, but are you willing to spend an eternity burning in hell?!" Alrighty. Not sure what movie they were protesting or if that was just a convenient street corner. Maybe Herbie: Fully Loaded had them all fired up. When I got out of the movie, he had the cross braced against his back and they were packing up. I didn't see a vehicle, so maybe he was planning on carrying it all the way down 14th.

Now for my movie review. Batman Begins was awesome. I was skeptical beforehand, but I think I actually liked it better than the original Batman, which I didn't think was possible. It was nice to see them get back to the way Batman should have been, and to not hear the words "Holy rusted metal Batman!" And Christian Bale? I think NYPinTA and I might just have to duke it out over this one. Or saw him in half. I've always thought he was a great actor, but I liked the dark quality of his character, even though he was a good guy. Gotta love the tortured soul. And the car. But was it necessary to have Joey Potter nippin' out 24/7? I think no is the correct answer. How freaky was the Scarecrow? I'm trying to figure out where I've seen that guy before, but I'm drawing a blank, so if you could help me out with that, it would be appreciated. This is definitely one I'm buying on DVD.

As for the rest of the trip, it went similar to the first days. Add in more heat, a bit more nagging, a twitch developing in my right eye, and a near-death experience for a couple of people who tried to harp on me at 6:30 a.m. for my ability to get ready on time. All in all, I'd say I was pretty glad to get home, and I think the AARP bus is going to be retired for awhile. My trigger finger is just getting too spasmodic, and no good can come of that.
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Check out this blog post. I laughed my butt off, and then felt a little guilty.

"Double Murder? No Your Honor, It Was Justifiable, Trust Me. (a.k.a. My, but these Orange Jumpsuits Don't Flatter My Figure At All")

Well, I'm back. And everyone is still alive. Granted, if I had those nifty mind powers like Carrie, it would be a different story, but you don't need to know about my imaginings. I'll try to tell the short version of my weekend. For those of you who read regularly, you know that I use the term "short" loosely. Every post is practically a novel. It might take more than one post, so deal with it.

Things went fairly well on Thursday. I had to load everyone's crap myself, because Old Man River is doing good to get himself, a cane, and his handicapped sticker into the vehicle, and Mom is still in a neck brace and the doctor told her she couldn't carry anything. We stopped along the way to pick up another lady, and since she is also crippled (and 75), I packed up her stuff too. It's sad that 4 days' worth of luggage for the 4 of us filled the entire bed of my mom's Dodge Dakota. I swear I loaded the kitchen sink at one point. Plus, my grandpa had to take along his oxygen machine which weighs just short of a ton, and he also brought about 350 little oxygen bottles to carry in his "holster" on his hip.

By the time we got our eating & shopping done and got to the motel, my grandpa was exhausted. He decided to stay at the motel and have me bring supper back for him. So I got his supper at Long John's Silver at the drive-thru. There was an enormous black guy wearing a beanie at the drive-up window. He looked like that guy in Men In Black 2 that worked in the post office and had a face like a hippo. The first thing he said to me rhymed, and I had a little chuckle in my head. But after he continued talking, suddenly I realized that it was intentional on his part. He spoke only in rhyme! "Would you like some sauce? You're the boss!" "Here's your sack. Please come back!" I thought about saying something smartmouth back to him in rhyme, but I figured it would only encourage him. Friggin' weirdo.

Anyhoo, I left the grub off at the motel and picked up the rest of the motley crew (get it?). We did some shopping after we ate, so we didn't get back to the motel until about 10:30. There was a note in my door and this is what it said:

I cut my tounge and it won't stop bleeting. It's ben 3 hours.

I suppressed my urge to either leave immediately and buy my grandfather a dictionary, or laugh hysterically at the thought of him "bleeting." Instead, I went to his room, only to find him freaking out over the blood that was "soaking into the pillow and going everywhere." In reality, it was about three drops of blood on the pillowcase. Yeah, he's gonna have to go into protective custody over that one, or that hotel staff will string him up. I sighed inwardly, rolled my eyes when he wasn't looking, and changed the pillowcase.

But when I walked into the bathroom, it looked like someone had been murdered. He is on medicine to thin his blood, so even a small cut bleeds profusely. He had cut a blood vessel on the underside of his tongue, and it had apparently been gushing for quite some time. He said he felt a little lightheaded even. And clearly, my grandfather is unacquainted with the idea of a trashcan, so there was bloody napkins everywhere. I entertained the idea of leaving everything the way it was, and putting a steak knife in one of the drawers, but knowing my luck, the maid would have a heart attack and I'd be held responsible.

I called the Nurse on Call at the local hospital. She instructed that pressure and a dry cloth/towel needed to be put on it. Well, when you're in a motel, you use what you have. He didn't have his own towel to use...but he had a clean pair of dry underwear. You see where I'm going with this. The bleeding finally stopped about midnight. But it started up again the next morning when we went to breakfast, so we decided a towel was necessary if he was going to be in public.

Something always happens to him when we go to Lincoln. Last year, his oxygen machine quit working, and he went for hours not getting any air before we found a place open that could loan us a regulator. The year before, his throat closed up and he couldn't swallow. I think he lost about 15 lbs. on that trip. This year, between his bleeding like a stuck hog and the other lady running into my ankles with her scooter every step in Wal-Mart, I was ready to park this Senior Express and turn in my keys.

I'm tired of typing. More on the rest of the insanity tomorrow.