Post Reduction

Not that anyone will really care, but I'm going to have to take a post reduction for a while. I'm unable to sit at my desktop for protracted periods, and well, my laptop hates me right now. Now there's no need for tears....I'll be back. My injury will heal, and I'll be back in the saddle again in no time.

Now get the hell outta here and get back to work, you slackers! ;o)

I Hate Microsoft

Well, something has happened to my beloved HP laptop. All of the sudden, I got the following black screen message:

"Windows could not start because the following file is missing or corrupt:

\WINDOWS\SYSTEM32\CONFIG\SYSTEM"

WHAT THE FUCK? It's now 4:27am CST, and I've been trying everything to fix this fucker for 4.5 solid hours! I'm EXHAUSTED! What the hell went wrong? I can't even get it to repair with the CDRom disk thingy. I've scoured the Microsoft website for some help, tried everything I could find, but if I want their personal help, I'll have to pony up $225. Again, WTF? This laptop is only 3 yrs old, and I've never had a problem with it. Hewlett-Packard sure wasn't any help either. I'm thinking I'm going to have to take it in for something serious, lose all of my stuff, and then get bent over for the service. Last time I looked, I wasn't raking in the big bucks with a tremendous surplus just waiting to be spent on computer repair.

Why does Windows hate me? I swear I didn't do anything to wrong Windows like remove the file or even corrupt it. I'm an upstanding person of ethics and morals..I don't corrupt anything.I have up to date virus software. I don't download willy nilly from the net. I feel so betrayed. I hate being a computer tard. Windows has reduced me to tears. I'm going to call Bill Fucking Gates myself and tell him how he has violated me. And NO people, I did not back up my stuff because I DON'T KNOW HOW. I turn things on and expect them to work. That's how I roll.

Go ahead. Lecture me. I'll cry some more.

Let's Get It On

RECENT UPDATE: To whomever emailed me somehow anonymously-You picked two of the most awesome songs! Bush cornered two of the Top 5 with "Mouth" and "Swallowed". Damn! Those songs do seem to have some kind of effect. Now next time, just comment on the stupid post, will ya? XOXO

I was sent an interesting article today by a friend that seemed so ridiculous at first...until I really started thinking about it. The gist of the article was about how music affects different centers of the brain, and that the music that we listen to is really our soundtrack to sex. I know. It sounds totally crazy. Then as I read on, I started to think about the kinds of songs that make a person feel sexy and amorous. Okay, what I mean is that I started to think of the songs or music that puts me "in the mood." Being that I appreciate order, I decided I would make a list of the top 5 songs that made me want to get down and dirty. Now, I'm going to put them here, of course, but you can't judge because then I want you to tell me yours and why. Call it an experiment of sorts. Of course, I also think these things change, but I'm willing to post my "right now sex songs". Here's my current Top 5, in no particular order:

Possession-Sarah McLachlan (This song is so sexy. It's probably been on my list all along...even before I knew I had a list.)

Want To-Sugarland (I love this song. I love this band. This song does make me want to.)

Anything ever done by Dave Matthews (I mostly want to have sex with him, but damn his songs are all pretty sexy in my opinion.)

Your Body is a Wonderland-John Mayer (OMG...that's about all I can say, and I think it's enough.)

Anything by Maroon 5 (I find their music incredibly sexy, and so I couldn't pick just one.)

So I put it out there people, and I hope you'll share with me your thoughts on this idea...and your songs.

*Important note: Please adhere to the TMI rule. I don't want to get linked in with porn sites. Thank you. :o)

I'm Open To Suggestion

So, I've decided to take a trip in November, kind of a combination birthday and Thanksgiving. I was thinking maybe New York City, as I haven't been back in quite a while. But I think there's got to be more out there. I want to stay within the country, as I don't want to hassle with a passport. So I'm open to hear some suggestions on what's fun to do around the great U. S. of A. I love a road trip, but I am good to fly as well.

I'd love to hear of some great things to see and do from all of you. I have to book pretty soon too. So....Whatcha got?

Why I Believe I Hate Baseball

As promised, I have another torturous tale about the evil that befell me courtesy of my older brother and cousin. This one involves 7 yr old me, a Louisville Slugger, and another trip to the emergency room. We've moved on to October of 1978. The parents are divorced, so we stay with our grandparents a lot, particularly on the weekends. So I'm at my Papaw and Granny's house, the same house where I impaled my foot the year before (but before we set the tree and two houses on fire), and it's a bit chilly for October in Texas. My brother and cousin decided they wanted to go outside and play some baseball. The neighborhood was full of kids, so we could always find enough people to put together any kind of game we wanted. I asked them if I could go and play too. My cousin punched me in the arm, and my brother shoved me to the floor. I guess I got my answer. As they left, they called out, "And YOU can't play so don't follow us!" Of course, my grandfather made them take me with them...I didn't even have to tattle. Now, I think I've mentioned that they were both evil bastards, didn't I? So when we get kids we need to play and head to the nearest ball field about two blocks from my grandparents' house, we are ready to get the teams picked and our game underway. I was the smallest kid there. There was another girl my age, but she was like an Amazon compared to me. My brother absolutely refused to let me play on his team, but he did convince the other team that I should play catcher on their team. The deal was struck, and so I was traded before the game began. My cousin was the pitcher for my team, and so during warm up he would throw the ball really hard at me not even concerned with the plate. Then he kept saying, "Scoot up, stupid! You can't catch the ball that far away from the batter." All went reasonably well until my brother came to bat. I was doing my, "Sa-wing, batter! Batterbatter swing!" chatter, and it evidently made my brother mad. He kept saying, "Shut up! I mean it! Just shut up!" I guess it really did get to him because very quickly my brother was down in the count with two strikes. With his ego at risk, I believe he made the conscious decision to cause a distraction just in case he didn't hit the next pitch. And he did cause a distraction, which inevitably involved injuring me in some way. When the ball came towards the plate, my brother had the bat at his waist and whipped it back, hitting me square in the upper left region of my forehead. Then he quickly swung it back forward, hitting me in the back of the head as I was falling backwards from the first swing. Finally, he whacked me again on the left side of my forehead. Needless to say, chaos ensued because I went into a full convulsion. All I remember was feeling very sick, dizzy, and like I was bouncing, but from all accounts, it was scary. So my cousin runs two blocks to get my grandfather, who jumps in his truck to come get me at the ball field. Meanwhile, most of the kids have taken off because they are afraid someone is going to get in some major trouble. My brother is kneeling over me saying, "Don't tell him I did it! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" when my grandfather showed up, checked my vitals and threw me in the truck to race to the emergency room. When we get there, I can barely see. Everything is blurry, I was doing some serious drooling, and had wet my pants, which embarrassed me at that age because I wasn't a baby and all. The next thing I remember is when I woke up in a hospital bed with my grandparents, father, brother and cousin in the room. Evidently, I had suffered a severe concussion and would have to stay the night, possibly two nights. When I came to, everyone wanted to know what happened, who hit me, whose parents to call, etc. I noticed my brother standing in the corner with my cousin, very pale and sick looking, and I thought he might even wet his pants. I secretly wished he had the little shitbag! I wanted to tell on him so badly! But I didn't rat him out..at least not then. I just said my head hurt and was sleepy. When I was released the next evening, I waited a full week before telling on my brother, which meant I had him at my mercy all week. When I finally told, I think he probably went the next week without being able to sit down. I still remember that my father said to him, "Son, are you just never going to learn? Your sister is not your personal punching bag. You cannot continue to do things that put her at risk! You're her big brother, you should be taking care of her and making sure nothing bad happens to her. I guess you'll just have to learn things the hard way." Later on, when we were older, he did look out for me. Of course, it was middle and high school, and we were much more mature. He's never really apologized for all the evil shit he did to me when we were younger though. I guess he'd like to forget it too. I don't know anyone who got as many whoopins as he did growing up. My daddy was certainly right: he did learn things the hard way.

**That goofy kid with the bowl cut on the left is my brother and the cutey on the right is lil ole me at 3 yrs old. We are 18 months apart but were always separated by two grades in school. And despite his evil ways, I love him dearly.

Check Her Out

My friend has started blogging again, and she desperately needs some traffic. (Sorry BB, but it's true!). Ya'll check her out at http://bubblybrunette.blogspot.com/ (That's her picture I posted. I told her she shouldn't be putting her picture out over the internet, but she wouldn't listen. Crazy bitch!)

Now I did say she was my friend, but please don't hold that against me.

~Sassy

Harry Potter Made Me

I went to see Harry Potter: The Order of the Phoenix this afternoon. And it made me uncomfortable. Was it the special effects? The dark tone of the film? No. It was Harry Potter himself. First, I can't believe how grown up those kids look. Second, Harry Potter had a five o'clock shadow...which I found rather sexy...which made me feel uncomfortable. Mainly because he's supposed to be like 15 or 16 years old in the story. Umm...this concerns me a great deal.

Maybe I just need to get laid. Yeah, that's it. Here's hoping no dreams occur this evening...if I'm able to sleep after my almost descent into statutory lust. Blegh. I feel dirty now. I'm going to take a shower.

*The movie was still very good. And yes, those are my eyes. The ones I want to poke out after afixing them in such a way on Harry Potter. I'm a sick woman.

*I Heart Doo Doo

Perhaps some of you saw the picture at The Boss' post regarding an interesting business in the Baltimore area. I really thought he was pulling a fast one on us loyal readers, so I called the number in the picture...twice...from my cell phone...here in Texas. This morning, however, that came back to haunt me. At the butt crack of dawn, my cell phone rang. Since I've been having trouble sleeping, I didn't fall asleep until 4am, and my phone is ringing at 6:30am? WTF? So here is the conversation that ensued (verbatim people):

Me: What?!

Him: Uh, hello? May I ask who is speaking?

Me: No, I'm too tired to tell you. Perhaps you can tell me who you are looking for, and we'll bring this conversation to an end.

Him: Uh, well. I wasn't sure about this number, but I do waterproofing and saw that you had called but I couldn't remember if we had gone over an estimate. We can do that over the phone if you want.

Me: Is that you, Doo Doo Brown?

Him: Yes! I am with Doo Doo Brown Waterproofing. (I'm flabbergasted and sit straight up in bed)

Me: Holy shit!

Him: Excuse me?

Me: Uh, listen sir. I think I may have just dialed your number because I thought it was a scam. I mean, no one can have a business called Doo Doo Brown, right? I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm in Texas and it's now 6:35 am. I'm sorry to waste your time, but I don't have a basement that needs waterproofing, and somehow I don't think I could afford to have you come all the way out here if I did. Thank you though.

Him: Oh. Well. Please pass on my name to friends and neighbors that might need some help with waterproofing.

Me: Doo Doo, you seem like a nice man, but you've woken me up....in TEXAS. I don't think you'll be getting much business here. We got our own Doo Doo Browns out here, but I'm up to discuss franchising if you heart is set on it.

Him: Have a nice day. (Click!)

Yes, friends and foes, it was Doo Doo Brown. And I think he loves me. And I think I like it. (Though I am worried a bit that I might be robbing the cradle with Doo Doo.) Don't mock our love.

*Suggested title brought to you by a much funnier person than I. This one's for you.

The Wisdom Of The Universe

Well people, I got the call. Looks like I won't be at a new job this coming school year, but while I'm disappointed, I was heartened by what they told me. Evidently, I made the top 2, but they felt the other candidate was a better "fit" for this particular position. It's a new school that they are opening, so I'm thinking that I lost out to a more experienced candidate and a better personality fit with the principal. Both important in the job game. They were "impressed" with my ideas and enthusiasm, and they "strongly" encouraged me to apply next year as they anticipate more openings. So, I must bow to the wisdom of the universe that says I am meant to stay in my current position, long commute and all, for another year. Luckily, I am happy with the actual job, so I am no worse for the wear.

Thank you all for your well wishes. It's back to Mayberry in a few weeks. I'll keep my application with them updated and reapply next year to the "golden district". I'm confident that I will get there sometime in the near future.

I Fear I May Be A Bleeding Heart

UPDATE: A semi-not really-friend-who got my blog address from a mutual friend just called me to let me know that I'm a "johnny come lately" to this show. Evidently, I'm a complete reality tv tard and should give up my Tivo. After listening to her rather insulting rant, I told her that I'd nominated her for the show. She got all flustered and asked under what addiction could I possibly nominate her. I told her that I told them she was addicted to porn and neglected her children for her computer because of it (her husband is a deacon at their church). All I got after that was a click. Of course I would never do such a thing, but excuse me lady, I don't need your commentary on my viewing habits or otherwise. I guess I'm going to hell for that one.

I'm beginning to think I'm becoming, sadly, a bleeding heart. Shit, shit, shit! Why, you ask, would I fear this happening? Is it because something has rocked me to my very core and caused a shift in my values? No. I'm convinced it is because of one thing: Intervention. Have you seen this train wreck? It's a show on A&E. Here's how they describe it:


Intervention™ is a powerful and gripping television series in which people confront their darkest demons and seek a route to redemption. The Intervention Television series profiles people whose dependence on drugs and alcohol or other compulsive behavior has brought them to a point of personal crisis and estranged them from their friends and loved ones. Each Intervention episode ends with a surprise intervention that is staged by the family and friends of the alcohol of drug addict, and which is conducted by one of four Intervention specialists: Jeff VanVonderen, Candy Finningan, Ken Seeley and Tara Fields.


Here's how I described it to my dad yesterday on the phone: Hey Daddy, have you seen that show Intervention on A&E? It's a show that chronicles people addicted to drugs, alcohol, gambling, porn, eating disorders, you name it. The subjects agree to be in a documentary about addiction, and so cameras follow them around filming them doing the despicable deeds they do for their addiction. Then it profiles the loved ones in their lives and how they enable the addiction and the effects on their lives as well. They all meet with an intervention specialist and then ambush the bad seed fuck up of their family with an intervention. You gotta watch it!


Now, it NEVER FAILS that I bawl my eyes out every show. I fucking hate that it gets to me. There is always a back story of why otherwise promising individuals turn into raving crackheads. It's always the "poor me, my parents divorced when I was-insert age here" or " my father didn't love me" or other bullshit like that. Now come on people! I had quite an unstable and somewhat difficult childhood, but I can never remember a time where drugs alcohol, promiscuity, etc. had any allure to me. Shit, I didn't even really drink until college, and even then it was only about 2 semesters of partying. Yet these sad sacks suck me in with their tales of woe and mistreatment. It always breaks me up to see the parents and grandparents, brothers and sisters, whoever when they talk about how they've lost their fuck up family member to some kind of addiction. I am endlessly appalled by the things these people do to feed their addiction. They lie, cheat, steal, prostitute themselves, lose their children , and generally abuse themselves and everyone around them. What the hell? And I still cry for these people. I just can't fathom having an addiction that would cause me to go against everything I know is right and just piss my life away to get the next score. It really just doesn't compute. My brother had a drug problem. Thank God he realized it and got help. My estranged mother lost custody of us kids due to drugs and neglect. To this day, I don't even feel bad about not giving either one of them a pass for their behavior. I can't think of one good excuse from them that would fly with me. But when I see these people on TV, I just want to hug them. I want to fix it for them. I want to gather them up and put them on a fluffy cloud surrounded by rainbows and butterflies. I almost want to say that I understand why they chose to fuck up their life and take their families down with them. I don't normally have any sympathy for dumbass alcoholic drug-addicted prostitutes with eating disorders. To be brutally honest, I mostly feel disgusted that they waste their lives away and blame everyone else for their asinine choices. I'm a firm believer that you are aware of the choices you make and their consequences, and it's either deal with reality or escape to fantasyland. Have I gone soft in my old age? Quick! Someone try to persuade me that socialized medicine is a good idea. Maybe that will shake me back to my regular self.





*Side note: Some of you have asked, and I appreciate it more than you know. Yes, I had the big interview today, but I don’t want to jinx it yet. Keep the good vibes going. I will find out the end of this week.

More Heartwarming Childhood Memories

I love stories about people's childhoods. I think they are the most interesting stories that are told. I was over at JV's reading some of his archival stories about his brothers, so it got me to thinking about my own brothers, particularly the older one.

So, I think I've mentioned my older brother and cousin and the tortures that they would heap on me...mostly during the summer. They've held my little 4 yr old hands to a hot car tailpipe, shot at me with BB guns, hit me in the head several times with a Louisville Slugger, and then there are the bugs. Now, I was a rough and tumble kid for the most part, but I'm all girl when it comes to bugs. I. HATE. BUGS. The only bugs I can deal with are lightning bugs and roly poly type pill bugs. They don't make noise and as far as I know, they don't bite. Let me take you back...way back to the year 1976. It was the year of the bicentennial, the year before Elvis would be found dead on his toilet, the year that Wild Cherry's "Play That Funky Music" was the #4 song for the year, and the year we had what seemed to me an unusual amount of disgusting bugs in Texas. It was late summer, end of July I think. My Papaw was rebuilding his wooden fence, so there were contractors with lumber and nails around the place a lot during the week. But this happened on a Saturday afternoon. As you know, the summer days are long, and so unlike kids today, we would spend every moment of light outside. This particular evening, the Cicadas were singing loud and proud having emerged from their scary little houses. Do you know what Cicadas are? They are by far some of the freakiest insects. Okay, maybe not the freakiest, but still very unsettling. Plus the males make this horrible loud buzzing sound. Ugh! Anyway, my brother and cousin were complaining that I was following them around. My Papaw told them to shut it or he'd be forced to "kick them in the fat" or "bust them in the kisser" (I heart his lil sayings) if they didn't stop whining and be nice to me. So they decided that it would be fun to catch Cicadas and THROW THEM AT ME! Imagine a lil Sassy: skinny, small for her age then, long blonde wavy hair down her back, big blue eyes...very innocent looking. Now imagine her running like someone lit a fire under her ass with two mean ass boys chasing her with big, ugly, loud bugs and throwing them at her. After I made the block, screaming all the way, we got back to my Papaw's house (this was prior to his move to the lake, so we were in suburbia) when they made contact with the Cicadas. In. My. Hair. Those lil bastards started buzzing and flapping and getting all tangled in my hair. I freaked out even more and ran as the evil bastards were catching and throwing more at me. As I ran around the back of the house, I didn't notice that the contractors had left some of the old boards from the fence laying (lying?) on the ground. As my lil girl self was not paying attention to anything but the loud buzzing and movement on my head, no notice was paid to the fact that the boards had nails sticking up out of them. So all of the sudden, I stopped short. I looked down at my right foot, and there was a nail coming out of the top of it! Yes, I had stepped on a board with the nail that went all the way through my lil 5 yr old foot. Upon visual recognition, I immediately let out a blood-curdling scream, which did two things: froze my brother and cousin in their tracks and brought out my Papaw. He came flying out the back door, with my Granny, looking all wild-eyed and crazy. He came over to me, lifted me straight off the board, and tried to console me as my Granny said, "Moe, you get her to the emergency right away! I'll call P and D (my mother and father)." (My grandfather's name was actually Harold, but he was called Moe his whole life. I'm not exactly sure why though.) When we arrived, the triage nurse took care of my foot, but I wouldn't let her touch me until she got those fucking bugs out of my hair. They had stopped buzzing, so I could only hope they had suffocated in my hair. So, after 3 hours in the emergency room at Baylor Dallas, where they gave me all kinds of shots, a few stitches on the bottom of my foot, and used some kind of Q-tip to stick all the way through MY FOOT, we left with the pain meds and bandage changing instructions. Evidently, I fell asleep in the truck because I woke up on the couch and it was dark outside. I saw my brother and cousin sitting on the floor looking at me with very swollen eyes and other tell tale signs of some heavy duty bawling. They told me they were sorry. They brought me some chocolate milk. Later, I heard my Granny telling my mother that Papaw had taken the boys to "the woodshed". I didn't really know what she meant, but I was pretty sure they had gotten a whoopin'. Ha! Evil shitbags! The end of my summer that year pretty much sucked. I had to stay off my foot, couldn't ride my bike, and had to go back to the doctor about 4 times. There was a lot of worry about infection, and every time I winced in pain or cried because it really did hurt, my grandfather would look ominously at the boys, who would scurry out of the house as quickly as they could. It just wasn't summer unless I made at least one trip to the emergency room. Oddly enough, my Papaw never spanked me. But those boys got the strap a lot, I think. Anyway, I still hate Cicadas. They are so fucking creepy and leave their shells behind. Gross. I'm sure at some point my family was turned into CPS for fears that I was being abused. But as you can tell, I've always had that "accident waiting to happen" vibe going on in my life. And people laugh when I say I don't swim in the ocean because I'm afraid of being attacked by a shark. History supports that fear, people. If it's going to happen, it's going to happen to moi. You'll be happy to know that both my brother and my cousin grew up to be contributing citizens and not serial killers. Maybe I've forgiven boys, but I have not forgotten.

I Need YOUR Help

Hi all! I'm fresh off the phone from procuring an interview with "the" district I've been trying to get into! Yes, that's right peeps, I have an interview for Monday, 10am. Now, I'm completely qualified, have polished up my resume, and alerted my references of this opportunity. Here's where you come in: I need you to send out good vibes to the universe. It doesn't matter if you believe in "The Secret" or not, but I do know that no man is an island, and the more positive energy that goes out will result in good things. I'm still not sure if this is just a courtesy interview due to my friend in that district or not, but I'm choosing to believe that they liked what they saw given the recommendation to look at my qualifications. So light a candle, say a prayer, dance in the moonlight, whatever you do to make things happen. I need this break in a big way. Better money, closer to home, near future opportunity to move up.

So I need your help. I've already emailed family and friends to get on the bandwagon. Let's make this happen people! I'll do my part in being a great interview, but it'll be nice to know that I've got the support of many others.

Sassy B