The $125 Oil Change

I know it is normal practice for women to let men change the oil in their vehicles, I do, even if it means paying strangers money to do it. I HATE those guys, tho, cuz they always try to sell me stuff I don’t need, and I feel guilty for saying no. A while back I bought the filter and the oil to do it myself, and frankly, never did. The filter sat on my dining room table, mocking me, reminding me that I am more or less a lazy sot. It was a very LOUD filter, that one. On Monday, I decided to shut it up.

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Flea, YOU Did This.

Flea rocks. Seriously. If you came from her site, you know this already. If you don’t, get thee hence. Today she led me to the edge of the YouTube cliff and, without hesitating, pushed my butt OFF. Right over the edge. So thoughtful of her, doncha think?  I’m stealing her thunder by showing you where I landed. Heh. I love these guys, and we just met. Is that too needy?

Hmm. Apparently WordPress is going thru puberty, and is withholding the ability to embed until I bring it flowers or something. Here’s the link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UeF0fNwCL04&NR=1

Go. You know you want to.

Funny, huh? OK, maybe not so much HAHA funny, but VERY TELLING. Click around and watch some of their other vids. They me want to be Baptist again, just so I can do stuff like this on Sundays. (Shhh… don’t tell my elders.)

BTW, If you’re not a Jesus person, it’s ok. Don’ be hatin’. Those of us who drank the tropical punch koolaid are ok with you wanting a less complicated flavor. Just come back another day if you don’t wanna read about it.  (If you wanna taste, it’s free… :D)

School starts for me Tuesday. (TOMORROW! ACK!!) I’m nervous, but the first day is always stressful. Tonight I have to finish my syllabus and get some sleep, so I can get the thing copied in the morning before blastoff. The butterflies are on crack, apparently, cuz I feel just a little nauseous. Or, it could be the bean dip. Whatever.

OK, then. I have to type. See you guys later!

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Are You SURE She Means ME?

Um, I think most of you know by now that my opinion of myself is rather low on the scale.  It may or may not have been suggested that my brain be airbrushed to give me some semblance of self-esteem. In spite of that, I reported a few weeks ago that I have possibly made a new friend. Well, y’all, it’s official. I am a 12-yr-old girl.

I swear I feel like the kid who finally got picked first in dodgeball. Why? Well, somebody came up to me today and told me this awesome person was looking forward to getting to know me.  OMG, how lame am I that I giggled OUT LOUD?!? Yes, I’d LOVE to trade unicorn stickers and glitter pens with you! Say, Saturday, after Bratz? Check yes or no. Apparently I, the wallflower, have managed to attract a nice person IRL instead of sending her running away. It doesn’t hurt that she’s very smart and very funny and VERY MUCH LIKE ME without the whole self-hatred thing. Her children think I hung the moon, too, which is… um… good? Yes?

Y’all, it might be… just maybe… that things are looking up. Now if I could get a couple of my cyber friends here, too, we could totally take this burg and give it a shade of red even the devil could appreciate.

Later. *giggle*

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A Laugh a Day, So They Say

Y’all, look out your windows and see if the clouds are still moving. They shouldn’t be: the earth has stopped on its axis. Why, you ask? Because I, wallflower extraordinaire, have a new friend.

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The Cheez, Pleez.

Sorry, y’all. I should have linked to the kids. Here. Again, thanks!

ConvenientFriendGuy put a nice little thank you for me in his concert program tonight. Every now and then he gets it right, bless him. *Guard still up, pleez*

Hey! Pregnant MamaCat wasn’t!! And now she will never be, cuz I put a stop to that, “‘quick, fast, and in a hurry.”  One down, 4 to go. Y’all can come visit me in my cardboard box after the babies bleed me dry. At least the weather will be warm. (If you haven’t seen the Weather Channel lately, I am in the dry, hot corner of December. God took His big crayon/finger and drew a circle around GA. He said, verily, “No water for youse. Go forth and sweat.”)

Have a great (hopefully cool) Wednesday.

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Heathen Wars

I admit it. I am a sinner. I am a spiteful, conniving little brat with a chip on her shoulder. I sit around for hours, plotting how I will get my revenge on those who have wronged me, so if you have ideas, it would behoove you to turn around and run.

If you believe ALL of that, I have a really nice, shiny bridge over here, dirt cheap!

I am a bad girl at heart. I guess we all are, if we’re honest, but I readily admit trying to make sure I was in the right place to see that certain stalkee person, and have even considered renting myself out as a hoochie for the weekend. Booty call, baybee. Yeah, cutie. I’m lookin’ at you…*wink wink*  OH. Um. Ahem. Sorry.

Tonight I held my tongue. I know, I KNOW… you don’t believe me, but trust me. There’s a chick walkin’ around tonight with all her blood on the inside because I kept my mouth shut. I wanted to cut out her tongue and impale it on a pointy stick (sharp for sharp, see?) and put it in my front yard as a warning to the natives. Later, I would dance around it naked and shoo off the flies, then leave it as an offering to the possum living in my barn. BUT! I kept the peace! Really!

See, I am taking a Sunday off from my church job – you know, the one where I don’t get paid, but I am adored. And Stuff. It just so happens that I am DOING that because our Big Cheese Music Leader will also be out of town: it is a pain in the tush when he’s not there, what with me being such a people person and all. You know.  So, I decided to be gone for the weekend, and will most likely attend The Church of the Holy Sealy.

Anyway, when I wouldn’t tell Chick where I was going, she said, “OH. IIIII know what it is.” I said, “What?” “One is out of town, the other is out… you don’t enjoy it when he’s not here…” Grrr. I informed her that I had NEVER done that (I haven’t, even though I wanted to), that I was ALWAYS here when he was gone unless we were both out on school trips. She shut up after that, because, well, she lives in a gigundous glass house.

I was miffed, not only at being so transparent in motive, but that she dared to try to make me feel guilty. She and her guitar-playing hubby left me alone most of the summer while they were off vacationing, with nary a concern for the services. She wouldn’t know how often I’ve carried the load ‘cuz she hasn’t been there to see it. If she had a 10-pack of “get out of practice/church free cards” for stupid things like being tired, she would be out of them by February. Her hubby is in the same boat with his kid’s little league games. We never know if they are gonna show up or not – they don’t bother to call, so for her to have that kinda nerve… well… you can tell. 

Now, before you get all wadded up over my apparent judgment of Chick and Hubby, please refer to sentence 2 of this post. THAT one is complete truth. It just jacks me up when somebody’s freakin’ eye-plank tries to knock me off my toadstool. Yes. YOU, C&H, are the reason I will not be in my church this weekend. I cannot stand YOU.

Now, God, I know this is a willful thing here. I have no defense. I freely admit wanting to smack the living crap outta one of Your kids, and I can only hope I will repent at some point.

That point is NOT going to be tonight.

So. There is no pike in my yard, no speared tongue-of-“insert title here,” because I just let it go – right onto your screen, I’m afraid, but that’s really why you read me anyway, isn’t it?

Tune in later for another installment of “Fun With Conflict Resolution. ” I am gonna have a huge dose of humble pie and take a nap.

Want a bite?

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Self-revelation’s the B-word

OK, so we all know I’m moody. We all know I am prone to road rage, and that I once pulled down half a tree with my bare hands. So really, I am a brat, and I hate figuring out things about myself that take away my rationalizations for my behavior. With that in mind, this week with Boo has shown me exactly how God must feel when He is dealing with me.

Bummer.

See, I bought this shiny new cage for her to live in while she recovers from the very expensive bone surgeries on her leg.  After the second shot at repair, I decided she needed to either be in a more enclosed space than she already was, or be strapped to a board with duct tape. Either way was fine with me. She needed to be STILL, dangit. Well, she showed ME.

First thing she did when I pit her inside was to wail, softly, but constantly. Then her head turned around and she spit pea soup on me. ok, no, not really, but her head did spin a bit as she backed around the entire cage, spilling her entire bowl of water into her bed, after which she rolled in her food bowl, coating herself and her pillow in tuna. Then she decided that if she shredded her litterbox liner, I would HAVE to open up and let her out. When THAT didn’t work, she decided to lie in it. Yes. She pouted in her litter box. She stayed there for a while, and when she finally gave up and got on her pillow, she gave me a look of “eat poop and die” and turned her back to me. She wouldn’t even turn her head when I called her name, and she’s usually very responsive. The view was a stack of cardboard boxes, but she didn’t care. She was punishing me. A little later I took her out and held her, and she rolled over on her back in my arms and went to sleep, purring. Hypocrite.

Now, you may ask, “What hath that to do with God?” Boo is just showing me my human nature. When God puts me in a cage, I moan and wail and whine and cry, trying every way I know short of hurting myself to get out. I show my butt, lie in my own litter box, and when all else fails, turn my back on Him, pouting.  When he lets me out for a bit, I rest pretty well in His love, but as soon as I’m back in containment, I am angry again. I can’t see that it’s His love for me that put me in the cage in the first place. Boo doesn’t know I am protecting her, that the confinement is because I love her. I only wish I knew what it is I am being protected FROM in my own cage.

The sad part is that Boo is 2 1/2. In human years, that makes her an adolescent, which MEANS that MY behavior is inexcusable for a 40-yr-old. Doesn’t stop me, tho. There’s an e-mail out there about being thankful for the thorns in life: I have to learn to be grateful for the cage, because it means there is One who loves me enough to shelter me in my pain. But dang, it’s hard.

So, what’s your cage? I have several, and rotate between them according to my need: the cage of solitude, when I need to be closer to my Creator; the cage of purity (think about it) when I would be a ho; the cage of location, to make me stay home and face myself. I know there are others, but listing them would bore you, dear reader, and besides, you get the idea. You are smart, and pretty, and you have cages of your own.

Go forth and be grateful for the thorns. And remind me, please, to do the same. Only maybe you should stand back a little when you do, cuz I get good distance on the pea soup.

-Me 

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Mind Games

I am God’s doodle pad. It is not always a good thing that He’s in my head: He enjoys putting me in “situations” a little too much.  If I say something politically incorrect, even in jest, I can and should expect to be thrust into dealing with it.

Case in point. Bouncy, talkative hordes of people unglue me. I live alone, I generally play alone and do everything at and to my house by myself, so silence is the norm. The cats mainly talk to each other and leave me out of it, unless they want me to come watch them play with some huge rat they’ve brought in, but that’s another post. One week I had been in a string of situations that had me dangling precariously at the end of my rope, so I decided to get away from the world and go to my local theater for a matinee. I figured the place would be fairly empty, and it was. I picked the perfect seat in the perfect row and settled in for a quiet, peaceful afternoon. You see where this is going, right? A minute or so before the curtain opened, no less than fifteen of the loudest, squirmiest, wiggliest people I had been around in a long, LONG time walked into the empty theater. Remember, the place was empty? Well, hello. This crowd marched right in and filled up MY ROW. Grandma wound up in the seat next to me, and lemme tell ya, it had been a while since Granny left the house. She talked to me the entire movie.  

I had to laugh. God was, so why shouldn’t I?

I am also known for being odd, plus a few other adjectives not fit to print. I have been told on more than one occasion to get a personality transplant. I say I’m just picky about the company I keep. Since stupid people drive me insane, I try to stay away from them. I have a mental list, and of course, God knows this. He seldom misses an opportunity to tweak me with it.

There was one chick in particular who had earned a place on that list. Seriously, she had. She didn’t know it. She still doesn’t, which isn’t really fair to her, but I’m using all that bottled-up anger to manage my blood pressure, see, so I can’t really talk to her about it. She thinks we’re pals. One fun afternoon I was lucky enough to give this woman a ride home after we had been out of town performing with some group or other. We got stuck in traffic an hour from home. I was so desperate to have that ride END that I took a detour, promptly got lost, and added another hour to the drive. All in all, we took 3 hours to drive 45 miles, and it was a long wait to see if my hair was going to grow back out on its’ own, or if I would need plugs. I think God called in the Archangels and had pizza and beer for that one.

I realize the way to stop Him is to just love everybody, but I’m not having much luck with that. I know I’m supposed to: it’s in the Book. I am still breathing, however, so… no.  

Hmm. I wonder what He’d do if I said something about how horribly rude RDA is? Or maybe Mel Gibson? It’s worth a try, huh? -Z, back into the hole 

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Jesus – Extra Cheese, Please

Again with the cheese. No connection, I promise.

Today, I ordered pizza for lunch from a local place that rhymes with Coppa Don’s. I know pizza is bad for me. Criminy, lettuce is bad for me. I gain weight breathing. The Food Network is a porn channel, in my opinion.

Ahem.

Anyway, after the second heavenly slice, I knew I had done the right thing. I noticed the delivery label:

See? Jesus works at Coppa Don’s, and He personally prepared my pie. I am blessed. If I had known He was on the ovens today, I would have asked Him to take the calories out.

-Me

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