Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

The Theme of My Song

Flea has a contest! Go check it out. This is my entry.


Although Jesus is the center of who I must be, my theme song is not a hymn. If I were to try to choose the theme song for my faith, it would BE an act of faith, and my head would explode from the effort. Nope, my theme song really needs a change, I think, simply because it’s really about unrequited love, and yes, that IS my life. Yes, it DOES need a change. Here’s how the song made me aware of itself.

Several years ago I found an abandoned kitten, eyes still closed, and took him home. Little Figaro was difficult: I had to learn to put a tube into his tummy to feed him because he was so agitated ALL. THE. TIME. I took him to work with me in a laundry basket, and the kids fed him for me at the end of classes. One afternoon he was climbing all over me crying while I was driving home, and I started singing.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.
You make me happy when skies are gray.
You’ll never know dear, how much I love you.
Please don’t take my sunshine away.

Fig crawled up on my chest, and flopped over on his back in my left arm where he could look up and watch my face. He stopped crying, and stayed quiet the rest of the way home.

That’s not the end of Fig’s story, but I noticed afterward that every time I would get stressed I would sing that song to myself, and I would feel better. Don’t get me wrong. It’s a sweet little song, but as I type this, I realize it’s about finding happiness in the external, rather than the internal. I kinda think it’s time to let that go.

Darn it, Flea. You made me go all existential on myself.

The best candidate for a replacement?

Thy Mercy, My God          The YouTube clip

1. Thy mercy, my God, is the theme of my song,
The joy of my heart. and the boast of my tongue;
Thy free grace alone, from the first to the last,
Hath won my affections, and bound my soul fast.

2. Without Thy sweet mercy I could not live here;
Sin would reduce me to utter despair;
But, through Thy free goodness, my spirits revive,
And He that first made me still keeps me alive.

3. Thy mercy is more than a match for my heart,
Which wonders to feel its own hardness depart;
Dissolved by Thy goodness, I fall to the ground,
And weep to the praise of the mercy I’ve found.

4. Great Father of mercies, Thy goodness I own,
And the covenant love of Thy crucified Son;
All praise to the Spirit, Whose whisper divine
Seals mercy, and pardon, and righteousness mine.
All praise to the Spirit, Whose whisper divine
Seals mercy, and pardon, and righteousness mine.

©2001 Same Old Dress Music (ASCAP).


That pretty much says it all.

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And The Award Goes To…

Hey! A few short thoughts for you today.

* Thanks to Flea for the lolinator. I nicked the link from her site and didn’t say where I found it. Check her out if you haven’t had the pleasure as yet.

* The cheezburgers in previous posts were all mine. The orangutan isn’t related – got that pic from the website, but I capped it. *bragging* I didn’t want you thinking I wasn’t invested. Those are MY BABIES, people! I did let the snake go, tho, after I played with it for a bit.

* What is the appropriate action toward/approach to/bitchslap method for a guy who has let his cat get pregnant twice? Is it wrong for me to want to keep HIM from reproducing? She’s gonna have those babies in my house. I just know it.

* I love furbabies. I have plenty, tho, thanks. Want some?

* Anybody out there live in Alabama?

Hmm. I am boring tonight. Perhaps it is the noxious nerve gas emanating from the back end of my youngest. It has fried my circuits.

Better luck tomorrow!

Later, peeps.

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I submitted this site to the lolinator (go get your own), and the lolcat post I wrote? IT DIDN’T CHANGE A WORD. SRSLY. *roflmao*

My lolname is “Zorro Leppard.”

I rawk.

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A Little Late

This is for Mir. Didn’t get it out of the phone in time. Gotta love the phone photo quality!

Love Monkey

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Under the Radar

Warning. Bad mood post. Move along if you don’t want to read it. Come back on a better day.


I am in league with the rest of North America, suffering from some pretty bad allergies. Mine manifest not so much as nasal stuff (although that has been horrible the last two months, too), but as a really dry cough that robs me of the ability to take a deep breath. Life without oxygen makes life a top-of-the-line Hoover. I feel like an 80-year-old smoker with a railroad tie strapped to each leg, and lemme just say, it’s hard to put up with other people’s stupidity when I feel this way.

I haven’t had the chest/breathing problem in a couple of years, so naturally, I am muchly unamused to have it come back. I am irritable. I am touchy. I am in a state of over-the-top PMS, 24/7, without the usual causes.  It is NOT a pretty sight.

Somebody suggested that I shouldn’t be sick again: the last time I had this I was under a lot of stress, and now that I’m NOT, I shouldn’t be having this problem. Read: It was in your head the first time, so it must be now. Also read: I don’t care enough about you to have a clue what is going on in your life right now, so I don’t KNOW how sick you’ve been. Harumph. I didn’t tell him the last time somebody in my family was told her symptoms were stress-related, she was dead with a brain tumor 6 months later.

After all, he said, I have no debt, so what have I to be stressed about?

Let’s see.

My income is below my outgo. I am now self-employed, which means I have no health care for the imaginary symptoms I am suffering. I also recently found out about another serious health issue which has absolutely destroyed my way of life. Except that is hasn’t, because it has been so hard to make the changes that needed making that I have quit even trying.  I lasted 2 months. Did I mention no health care? To pay for those changes and the meds involved with them? My vehicle drinks gas like water and has 120k miles on it. I have a badly leaking roof that is going to cost over $15,000 to replace, my last grad school class to pay for, graduation fees, comprehensive exams, a dying washing machine and hot water heater, a leaking shower which I have recaulked THREE times now and it STILL puddles on the floor, more cats than God, and I am afraid the democrats are going into office in January. Or just as bad, depending on who gets the nom, the republicans.  Add to that the loss of the JOY in my salvation, and I am pretty much screwed.

Oh, yeah. I have no stress.

Y’all, I am standing in the bottom of a very deep hole, and I don’t have the energy to climb the rope hanging on the side. Cyndi says I don’t love myself enough to get through this. She’s right. I WANT to, but then I am reminded that there is just so much weakness in me, and I can’t. I can’t respect someone who would just sit around and wait to die, and baby, I am there.

I want a clean slate, but deep down I fear know nothing would change if I left this town, these people, this life. I would still be carrying my own luggage, see, and eventually that crap’s gonna pop open on a sidewalk while I’m waiting for a bus.  Knowing I make my own life suck does NOT help me un-suck it.

See how I made a funny there? So totally worth hanging around me, and yet, *looking around at the empty office and knowing the empty cold cat-pee-coated house waiting for me* here I am, pouring my heart out to the internet, alone. I am sure the cat pee comment will have men flocking to love me. I know if you made it this far you are either really, RILLY curious about what a bad mood blog post entails, or you are a glutton for punishment. If I had run up on the first sentence somewhere, I don’t know that I would have kept reading. I supposed it would have depended on whether it was written in english or text-messagese.

Anyway, I guess I need to go find a tree to chop down or something, so my head doesn’t pop in an angry mess. I’d sure hate to ruin a good truck interior with brain matter. The truck’s the only thing I own right now that doesn’t smell like cat pee. Somebody ought to get the benefit of that after I’m gone.


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Oh. My. Gosh. I can NOT imagine walking out onto a city street and seeing my body, headless or not, plastered on the side of a building. Who thinks this crap up?? Better question? What kind of messed up desperate for help must you be in order to STAY when a guy says to you, “take off the clothes,” while camerapeople watch? Oh, HELL to the no. I can’t imagine answering that ad in the first place. I have to give those women props, though. Honestly. Standing there and facing a less-than-airbrushed body in a mirror is bad enough in my own bathroom. The courage it would take to go on tv is just…well, I wouldn’t be there, is all. More power to ’em.

You know these women had no idea what they were getting into, because when they are encouraged to take it off for the camera shoot, they look shocked. They are great actresses if they DO know that’s part of the deal ahead of time.  

Do they get paid to do that? I just don’t know how many zeros it would take. Seriously. I KNOW people who watch that show. I have friends I could never look in the eye again, EVER. Sheesh.

Have we established that I won’t be seen on a stripper pole any time soon? Good. Just to be clear.


I know my UPS guy is really getting tired of me. He’s probably thinking, “Dang, woman. Make a freakin’ LIST.”  I singlehandedly kept half a fleet employed for the holidays. Somebody should stop me. Really. Please. I do not need a Hannukah CD from Amazon. I also don’t need those two adorable cat pins that are calling to me in their cuteness from the Animal Rescue Site. Most of all? I do NOT need that pound of gourmet chocolates or the vacuum-packed Memphis ribs, or… well, you get the idea. I am highly suggestible.

It’s NOT all about the O.

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The Home Stretch

One more week till Christmas! That means I’ll soon have the time to recaulk the shower-that-won’t-stop-leaking, rearrange the kitchen to make it more functional, build that entertainment center shelf, install the new dish receiver, vacuum and mop the floors, haul off a year’s worth of Amazon boxes, pick up pecans, and mulch the leaves and stuff with the mower.

Hm. Only one more week till Christmas, and I am already tired. *fingers drumming* 

But? It’s cold! Yay! TOTALLY makes it better.

I have stuff to tell you that you may or may not be interested in, but it will have to wait, cuz I have to go PAY PROPERTY TAXES. WOO HOO!


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Happy Fangsgivings

funny pictures
moar funny pictures

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The Internet Was Hungry

A few days ago, I wrote a marvelous post with links and pictures and everything, but WordPress ate it. And for once in the history of this blog, WP didn’t autosave a draft of the darned thing. Of course not. That would have been too convenient. Then I got busy, and now we are at 10 days since my last post.

Sorry ’bout that.

I think the post had updates on stuff – my advancing age prevents me from remembering. I went to the eye doctor this week, and had the JOYjoyJOY of not ONLY giving him 2 weeks’ pay, cuz he is handsome and likes to take his family to Disneyworld, but the over-40 syndrome has set in: I have to have progressive lenses. The aging has officially begun, people, and it ain’t pretty. >save< While my bad eyesight prevents me from seeing what I really look like when I get out of the shower, it’s a bit of a nuisance when doing things like, say, reading traffic signs, or blog posts. You know you’re in trouble when the big E at the top of the eye chart looks like an ink blot. Ahem.

On other fronts, JP came home, and promptly got himself bitten again. *sigh* I went to the vet for some pain meds, but otherwise just kept the antibiotics going from the last drama. I might have suggested to him that he’s an idiot. Or not. Either way, he’s better now, for the most part. (NOW WP is saving like Jesus. *sigh*)

Lily is growing like a weed. She seems to be mad a lot lately, so naturally, I am guessing womanhood is coming. Check her out, along with some other family members and friends.  I think that link is the first in the list of new pics, so go forward to see the rest. Not that you can’t go any direction you wish, I’m just sayin’.

The voices have been quiet the last week or so. I don’t want to play the hypochondria game. Really, I don’t. But in researching my (lone) commenter’s question, I kept finding names for my symptoms. That’s a little creepy, honestly, because I had a cousin who took his life because the voices in his head were telling him to kill his family, and he refused. I am not there yet. Of course, there’s nobody here to kill, but these guys don’t enunciate often enough to to give me orders. And that, dear readers, will be the deciding factor. When the voices start making me watch wrestling, or home makeover shows, I will run for medicinal help. Until then, I’ll just have to live with ’em.

I asked for a diagnosis, and I think think b-p makes the most sense. There is one other idea that I kind of like, too, and that’s an alien implant. I take issue with their experimental focus, though. I would gladly submit to a probe or two if only I could wake up thin tomorrow. Voices? Pfthttt. Bring ’em on. I don’t fear no steenkeeng voices! I yam BEAUTIFUL!!! Or, I would be.

Alas, and sigh.

OK! That’s it for now. There is big news in the making, but it will be a while before it reaches a state of toasty goodness that I can share. MMMMM. Butter…

Have a good weekend!

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1. It’s free. Go for it.
Folgers Gourmet Selections. Get A Free Sample

2. Titanic came out 10 years ago, and I was sitting here tonight trying to remember where I was Labor Day weekend, 2007. It wasn’t a long trip: this was my first night in this house. I came over to visit my mother Saturday afternoon, and never went home again. She was ill, though we wouldn’t know for another two weeks that she had a brain tumor. So. Here I sat.

It’s hard to believe a whole decade of my life has gone that quickly, with so many events stuck inside. The trip to D.C. in 2005, the American Legion National Convention invite and concert in 2004, Sept. 11, 2001. Another space shuttle explosion, monstrous hurricanes, a tsunami (and how many of us took that word seriously in high school geology, huh? I know I didn’t), the death of a Princess, war… So much. When I moved here, gas was 85 cents a gallon. THAT is hardest of all to accept, not that death and disaster are less important, but that the gas thing is eating our economy alive.  I’ve only been net-connected for 11 or 12 years, and I can’t imagine how I ever got along without it.

Anyway, just a couple of thoughts. I have been a kitten hammock all evening, and my nutritional intake has consisted of cheese sauce and a huge bag of wavy chips. Oh, and a bowl of veggie soup. One way or the other, I should be pretty clean tomorrow, I guess.

Have a good holiday. See you when you get back.

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