BElieve THEre is GOOD in the world.

In the last blog, when I said that Christopher tests and/or challenges me every single day, y’all probably thought I was being dramatic, didn’t you? Thou shalt not doubt the Crow.

This morning we woke up to our first snow of the season; overnight we had received quite a few inches. Christopher leaves for work before I do so he normally starts my car for me and lets it warm up. This morning, he started both vehicles and cleaned the snow off of them while I was finishing up in the house. We walked out the door to leave at the same time, allowing ourselves some extra time because the roads were looking sketchy at best. He gets in his truck and leaves; I get in my car and notice that I could see out of the windshield, I could see out of the driver’s side…but not so much the passenger side or the back window as they were still covered with quite a few inches of snow. I think to myself “Okay, well – I guess it’s the thought that counts…” and I begin to look around for my ice scraper that is normally stored in the cubby hole of the driver’s side door. It’s not there. I look in the passenger side door, no scraper there. Glove box, floorboards - no scraper. At this point I’m debating on whether or not I should just pull out the driveway on a wing and prayer. I mean, there was 50% chance that nothing was coming from the direction I couldn’t see, and I’d be fine…right? I wouldn’t even see it coming if it was! However, I’m not that much of risk taker. If I die doing something stupid, my mother will kill me. So back out into the elements I go with the trusty Randy Travis cd case that always comes through in a frosty pinch, and I see the push-broom-rooster-defense-mechanism on the porch. I adapt and overcome the circumstances with what I have available, go on about my merry little way to work, all the while wondering what happened to my ice scraper.  I make it to the gas station that’s halfway to work and it hits me…not only did Christopher only scrape half of my necessary windows, but he also took my ice scraper with him when he left. The guy gets closer and closer to becoming a victim of domestic violence by the day…I’d kill him, but then I’d surely miss him! ;)

Believe it or not, that isn’t the point of this blog. The point is that twice today – I’ve seen good in the world. One act of good will being directly related to the shenanigans above and then another being directly related to the weather mentioned above.

I came out of the gas station with a newly purchased ice scraper and scraped my back window a bit better with the acceptable tool that I now had to work with. I got back in the car, and when I turned to look to see what was behind me and back out, I discovered that I still couldn’t see. A hot turd on the back dash would defrost my back window better than the actual rear defroster does…so I positioned myself to use my side mirrors to watch behind me. An old man with a jolly white beard stepped up beside my car and upon realizing that I couldn’t see very well, stood where I could see him and helped guide me out of the parking spot. Holy uncommon courtesy, right there!

And then, a couple hours into working and watching the automatic doors open and close, and thus feeling the frigid air blow in, a woman walked in. She came through the first set of doors, and immediately stepped to the side. I thought that she was standing there for a second to finish the phone call she was on or something and didn’t give it much thought. I also noticed that right as she walked through the first door, a crazy big burst of wind blew a wall snow across the parking lot. I thought about how she was lucky to have made it inside the doors just before that happened. She came on in to my desk and signed in as a visitor. I mentioned how I had seen the burst of wind, and how she barely made it inside in time…she said “yeah, I tried to step to the side really quick so the inside door wouldn’t open and let the wind in on you.” This woman had actually stopped to give the outside door a chance to close before she triggered the inside the door to open…out of again…the ever uncommon courtesy. And yes....on her way out, the nice lady did the exact. same. thing.

Being courteous has always been a big thing for me. I can’t even get up out of bed and turn a light on without feeling like a jackass if Christopher is still in bed asleep. I always let people merge on the interstate. I hold doors open for people when they are coming in a door after me. I am always polite and I continually put other people’s needs before my own. I was beginning to think that courteous people were dinosaurs, but today has shown me that there is still good in the world. Two random courteous people found me by happenstance today and made an impression on me ,maybe tomorrow the good in me will have a chance to pay it forward.

Blog-A-Doodle-Doo!

There are times when I am pretty sure that the love of my life purposely does things to test my patience. Other times, I think that maybe he just likes to challenge me. Either way, I'm living right in the middle of one of those testing and/or challenging times...as it seems that upon buying our new house, we instantly became bonified chicken farmers. 

Just to add a little back story here - I am petrified of birds. I had a bad experience that involved my hand and a mean ass endangered bird at the zoo when I was in 8th grade. "Hold this cup in your hand and be still." they said. "The birds will land on your hand and eat the food from the cup." they said. "The bird will start to ignore the food in the cup and will brutally try to eat your hand instead and your friend will have to punch it in order to save your life." no one said. Because of what no one said, I've spent the better part of my life running from and freaking out over anything with beak that got within 10 yards of me. That's why when Christopher came to me and said he wanted to raise chickens, I thought for sure that he was joking....but I was wrong. 

Despite my fear of the beaked animals, and my being convinced that I would end up attacked by one, he was determined that this chicken business was going to happen whether I liked it or not. He was bringing some damned birds home and that was that. And well, that was that. Mind you, Christopher is a "do it and work out the details later" kind of person, and I'm a "prepare everything first and then do it" kind of person...so when he brought home a box load of chickens, two ducks and a turkey without making accommodations for them first, I was a bit perturbed. That was the first of many long nights that I've spent building a chicken coop. 

Now, this batch of birds wasn't all that bad. They were just wee little babies, and they couldn't have hurt me if they wanted to. This gave me time to get adjusted to them while they were harmless, and it also gave them the opportunity to get used to me. I'll admit, the ducks were pretty damn cool and the turkey tickled the shit of me. The chickens minded their own business, free ranged, did their thing, and it wasn't near as bad as I had expected it would be. 



A couple months went by without incident, and then we came home from work one day to find that a predator of some sort had killed most of the flock. There were poofs of feathers all over the yard...no bodies or body parts or evidence of what had been there and the better part of the birds were gone. Later that evening our big rooster came hobbling back home, all tore up, and he died later that night. It was a sad day at headquarters. 

After the massacre, we were left with 4 big laying hens, 2 bantam roosters and 2 bantam hens. We spent quite a few more nights building a coop inside the back door of the garage so our survivors had a good sound safe haven from the evil critters of the unknown. Soon, after months and months of caring for these birds, they started laying eggs. I felt a mild sense of victory but I still felt that we had a done a crap load of work for something I could have easily picked up at Kroger. 

At this point Christopher is feeling much like a "chicken whisperer" and decides that he doesn't want to just have a couple laying hens...he wants to breed, incubate and hatch chickens too. In order to breed, incubate and hatch some big chickens, he would need to obtain another big rooster...and then, there was Rooster Raymond. 

Scrolling through Facebook on a random Sunday I see a friend of mine's husband had posted "free rooster, 2 years old, come get him!" So later that night, we go to get him. On our way there I get a text from my friend that says, "They call him Raymond..."



Raymond was asleep in the coop when we got there. Chris walked right up, opened the coop door, reached in and pulled his big ol' butt out. My friend looked at me wide eyed and said "what the hell is he, a chicken whisperer?" and to that I replied with a sigh..."yes, yes he is." I should have read between the lines there, but who's the whisperer here? Not me. 

The story on Rooster Raymond went something like this: he is a dying breed, called a "something something Delaware" and that the eggs for this breed could bring a pretty penny if we had a "something something Delaware" hen. Upon Googling this said "something something Delaware" rooster we discover that he is indeed a critically endangered breed, and that while they are considered a calm bird, they are by no means a friendly bird. What Wikipedia meant to say was, "this bird is a bonified jackass, you suckers!" 



Again, we get home with a box containing a bird that we don't have accommodations for. Knowing that Raymond and our bantam rooster Roy would fight, we put Roy in a small crate for the night. The next day, we commenced to fixing up the little makeshift interim coop of the baby birds past so that we could put it inside the big coop and use it to keep the bantams separate. 

...and now we get to my favorite part of this here chicken saga! 

As Christopher, me, and the boy are shoving this heavy little coop inside the big coop, Rooster Raymond becomes slightly agitated with the situation at hand. As Christopher walks backwards, holding the little coop up off the garage floor while we push the other end, Rooster Raymond turns into a honey badger...and you know what they say about honey badgers. 

Now, I'm no expert on birds and I've never been straight up flogged by a chicken, but I know what I know, and I know that Christopher is no pansy. He's totally a testosterone fueled man's man. However, when this bird commenced to kicking his ass from behind (literally), he didn't waste any manly man time getting away from him and he was mad as an old red hen about it! I'm not going to sit here and pretend that I wasn't slightly amused by this random act of chicken violence, because I was. And I was even more so amused when Christopher later described his dose of poetic justice as feeling like "he was punched in the back of the leg 6 times by a grown man". And I think I laughed a little more the next day when he discovered that the back of his leg was bruised from his thigh down. But enough about that. :)

Now we have this bird, that is exactly the bird I didn't want to have. You know, the one you have to keep an eye out for, that prevents you from feeling comfortable in your own yard, that forces you stay in your car in the driveway until it goes away, that makes it absolutely necessary for you to carry a push broom as a defense mechanism anytime you must enter the coop or his personal space? Yeah, that's the bird...and we call him Raymond.

We've had this honey badger something something Delaware rooster Raymond for two weeks now, and he continues to give Christopher a run for his money....or at least a run for his trusty push broom! Although the big sketchy bird terrifies me, I do find comfort in knowing that while Christopher is testing and/or challenging me on a daily basis, Rooster Raymond is behind him testing and/or challenging him right back! I will not say I told you so because Raymond hasn't got a hold of me yet...but I sure will sit back and enjoy the chicken karma as the chicken whisperer gets what is coming to him.

...and with any luck, these wicked chickens won't start laying deviled eggs. :)

Bigfoot Doesn't Believe In You Either.

Hello there, strangers. Been a while, eh? Hope you didn't miss me too much! I'm currently fresh off a 9 day Staycation and feeling quite refreshed, like I'm back on my a-game...so here I am, ready to provide you with long overdue material for your reading pleasure!

Today, we're gonna talk about the ever-elusive, world-reigning 

hide & seek champion of the woooooooooorld!

No matter what it is that you choose call him, whether it be Bigfoot, Sasquatch, Yeti, Hillbilly Beast, Holla Yella, Devil Monkey, Skunk Ape or Wood Booger - at this point, you have most likely formed an opinion on whether or not you think these big hairy creatures actually exist...for the record, this girl right here is a believer.

Now, I'm not saying that I go on adventures with the sole purpose of finding bigfoots. I'm not saying that I have actually seen or encountered any bigfoots personally. I'm just saying that I have seen the video (you know the one, where this big ass thing casually sashays his big ass across a creek bed, and then turns his big ass head around and looks at the dude recording him over his big ass shoulder, and then casually meanders his big ass along his merry little big ass way, one 7' long big ass stride at a time?) Even though I carry this big heavy brain around with me all day everyday and it normally serves me well - I have no explanation or earthly idea of what that big ass creature could've been...other than a bigfoot.

Because of that, I always make it a point to practice sasquatch safety at all times - for example, I know and I make sure that those around me know how to outrun a sasquatch in the event that we should end up in sasquatchy territory and have one get after us. Knowing this shit is half the battle, and all you need to know to survive is this: squatches won't run in corn because it hurts their big feet - run into a corn field, consider yourself safe. (However, do not at any time confuse corn with soybeans - soybeans are soft, it'll speed him up. Serious business.)

I make sure to keep an eye on the tree lines when I'm out tearing up the backroads or doing primitive shit. I don't have any desire to closely encounter a devil monkey, but I totally wouldn't mind to see one...from far away...in a car...preferably with a frog gig for protection...just to be on the safe side. And I've seen Harry & The Hendersons. I've heard stories from people that I trust about squatchy situations that they've been in that couldn't be explained. Every now and then you might even see me in a shirt that says, "keep calm & squatch on" - don't judge me. 

So, now that you know about my relationship with the hillbilly beast, let's talk about the show Finding Bigfoot. I'm sure you have seen or heard of it, but in a nutshell - there are these 4 "expert" people who travel around the country with their big fancy equipment, and go to these different places where there have been bigfoot sightings, they meet with the local people that claim to have seen bigfoot, they strategically find a spot where the most bigfoot sightings have taken place, and then they go post up in the woods there and attempt to find one....yada yada, so on and so forth.

All the local people meet up with this team of "experts" beforehand and tell their bigfoot stories, some of which are believable, some not so much. But the stories normally go something like this:

I was walking my dog along a creek minding my own business...

I was folding clothes and looking out the window and minding my own business...

The kids were making a video while camping and minding their own business....

I was in the woods hunting turkeys and minding my own business....

I was playing Indian music on my iPod in the building out back minding my own business, when something in the woods harmonized with a flute's b-minor flat...

The common denominator with ALL the stories is that ALL the people EVERYWHERE were MINDING THEIR OWN DAMN BUSINESS when they saw themselves a Wood Booger.

Okay - so all that being said, someone please tell me how come these 4 "experts" ALWAYS think that the best approach is to walk out into the woods and IMMEDIATELY start screaming at the top of their lungs & whacking the hell out of trees with sticks? I mean seriously, have you ever known anyone who hunts anything, to walk out in the woods and scream and whack sticks and make a big damn commotion in order to track something down, especially when every story they've ever heard tells them that they appear when shit is calm cool and collected?! 

Really, I understand that there are duck calls and deer rattles and such that people use to attract whatever it is that they're hunting in a normal hunting situation - and I guess it's kind of the same idea. But these squatches have been hiding out forever, literally. I'm guessing that they are pretty damn smart since they've been outsmarting experts over and over again since at least the 1950s. I'm thinking that acting like a damn fool in the woods ain't gonna get the job done here. A better tactic would be to do something that would create curiosity or peak their interest, all the while minding your own damn business. I mean really, if I were a bigfoot - all big and smart and impressively elusive, I would probably be offended and pissed off by simple minded humans doubting my intelligence!

Anyhow, I guess what I'm trying to say here is that it is okay if you don't believe in bigfoot, really - it is....because chances are they ain't been given one damn good solid reason to believe in you yet either.  

SQUATCH ON, PLAYA! 

Mother Clucker & The Chicken Littles; Doyle & Debbie Sue

What's up, y'all? Been awhile, ain't it? Yeah, yeah...I'm a slacker and I know it, I'd give a shit but I don't feel like it! Ha, that's joy of having your own blog - you can write whatever you want, whenever you want and if you don't wanna write shit, then hell - you don't have to! 

 

Anyhow, we've been busy bees since the big move. We've successfully destructed the whole kitchen and reconstructed the whole kitchen. I'm talking like we've ripped it all out down to the floor joists (including a little dumb half wall), and replaced every last bit of it. New floor, new vinyl, new cabinets, new counters, new island, new appliances...It's officially a clean and functional kitchen, and by god - I know where 95% of my shit is now. My OCD appreciates that tremendously! The disorganization was starting to wreak havoc on my sanity. 

However, we still lack a couple of kitchen components, A) The pantry needs an overhaul. B) We need to put the trim back up to cover the nasty baby shit green/yellow that used to be the kitchen's color, whoever picked that color was a fucked up individual! and C) We need barn wood to put up as the backsplash because that's just going to bring it all together. However, we can't find any and we're a little perturbed by it. And no, we're not going to pay some asshat $1.50 a foot for it - fuck that, I'll go buy privacy fence planks and call it damn day before that happens. People are fucking stingy man. Harold Christ! And also, I earned myself a high-five to fucking forehead, because this whole time I thought that we had 90 days to do the repairs, and turn the paperwork in for the reimbursement from our repair escrow account - turns out we only had 30. And this girl, being all prompt and shizzle, called 3 days prior to the unknown deadline to turn the required shit in. I was like, holy hell, 3 days?! Totally dodged that bullet by the skin of my teeth. I would've been sick and died from it if we'd missed out on getting that money back. Shew! Anyhow, y'all know of any blown down ass barns that might have some barn wood up for grabs, holler at your girl. 

In between working our full time jobs, keeping a kid fed & on a somewhat-sensible schedule, and busting ass until bedtime on the house every single day, I've manage to read about 85% of a new book, "The Stranger Beside Me" by Ann Rule. Y'all remember how the book about Jim Jones got me all in an uproar and unsettled for a while? Well - this here book is about Ted Bundy, lady killer extraordinaire. And to think that I thought I knew some sketchy motherfuckers! Ol' Theodore was a real nut job, and boy was he slick as shit. The writer, Ann Rule, was his friend for many many years, thought the world of him, and she absolutely believed his innocence until she was at his trial as a reporter and saw all the evidence in person. She started out being an investigative narrator, putting things in order during open investigations to keep time lines straight for the law men, and then she started writing and publishing true crime short stories. So through the whole killing spree ordeal, she had all the inside information, but had no idea it was her buddy Ted whackin' bitches about the head all over the country. It's a pretty interesting read, if you're into that sort of thing. 

But yeah, the dude started off as an illegitimate child of the 50's which was damn near unheard of. His young mother had been sent away to a home for mothers of illegitimate children until he was born and then they came back home, under the falsehood that he was her younger brother and not her son. They lived that facade for a few years and then his mother decided that it no longer worked for her, and she took Ted and moved far away. Of course he was wounded by the lies, but seemed to carry on about his daily business. In high school he fell in love with a woman that was far out of his league, and they dated for about a year. She refused to take him to meet her family because she knew that they'd reject him, and then eventually she broke it off with him and shattered his heart. He then went on like, a three year personal overhaul - wen't to college, got degrees, got into politics, made a name for himself - just completely succeeded in every thing he put his mind to. So then he went back home, found ol' girl and reconciled. He proceeded to swoon her and make her fall back in love with him, proposed to her, she accepted...and then he dropped her ass like a bad habit. He did all that - went through all that trouble just to make her feel like she wasn't good enough for him this time. I mean, he totally got his sweet revenge on this bitch. And then, that didn't give him the gratification that he'd hoped it would, so three days later, he starts killing everyone bitch that he saw that resembled the girl. Dude. Was. Crazy. But my point to all of this, is I am now damn leery of everybody dude I see in a cast. You ain't tricking me into no bullshit, Bundy! Piss!

So the other night, probably half delirious from my new crazy bitch medicine, I decided to kick it on the bed and scroll through the "Henry County Buy, Sell, Trade" page on Facebook. People will seriously try to make a buck off anything, won't they? So I get to this post from this chick in LaGrange - it says "Tape Dispeniser (notice the spelling there) $5.00, just needs tape location lagrange" So I stare at the picture of this old school, hard to operate, bulky ass tape gun...and I just die laughing. I mean one of those tears rolling, can't explain what I'm laughing about kind of laughs. Like for real, you can buy those little sleek user friendly ones WITH TAPE at the family dollar for $2.75. I'm like, hell naw - ain't no way I'd pay her $5.00 for no damn broke down ass tape "dispeniser". So, Christopher decides he wants to comment on the post, but he's not a member of the group so he can't.  In turn, I end up talked into posting under the picture, being a total smart ass that it's fancy and that I'd trade her 2 lbs of butterbeans for it. Girl don't even get that I was being facetious - she replies back, "I really need the money!" I was weak over this shit. Anyhow, these buy sell trade pages are my new favorite way to find humor at other's expense. And I've also got some shit I need to post on there. "$3 for a used bic pen, bitches! Buyer must pickup!"

I'm sure you've been following the saga of Diesel Ray's asshole surgery on Facebook. He had a tumor removed off his asshole last Monday, that was supposed to be a simple procedure. It tested non cancerous which was the best part of this whole ordeal by far. He was good with it until Thursday, when it started to itch and his cone prevented him from digging at the wound, so he goes all old man resourceful and drags his ass across my new carpet in order to FSU. So Friday, he's bleeding again. Saturday his asshole is swelled up like something awful, so we go back to the vet. His asshole is now infected. So we've got oral medicine and topical cream that I get the privilege of apply to his dog asshole twice a day. And being as his ass is bleeding and has cream on it, he gets to wear a diaper - and ultimately shits in said diaper. Probably for spite because he's all wounded about having to wear the damn thing. Anyhow - this morning he's in far better shape - but my legs are bruised due to his ability to adapt and overcome to the cone and takes my wheels out from under me every time he comes near me. Poor guy is traumatized by this shit, and I think I am too. This has been a nightmare from jump. 

 

In other news, Christopher came home with 10 baby chickens last night, who I've deemed "Mother Clucker & The Chicken Littles". And we spent the majority of the night building a "Chicken Little Coop". Now don't get me wrong, baby chickens are pretty cute...but what they are going to grow into terrifies me. Y'all know I've got personal issues with birds, if it's got a beak - we just aren't gonna be friends. As long as they stay in the coop I think we'll get along just fine, but I'm tellin' ya - first fuckin' chicken that gets after me is gonna cause a moderate come apart. I've already worked out a plan of escape: run to the nearest vehicle and bounce. LOL, this is gonna be a hot mess and I know it, but we're gonna have fresh eggs in like 9 months or something. We're gonna be some egg eatin' fools, no doubt. 

So, as a compromise of sorts, we've decided that if Christopher gets to have chickens, I get to have goats. And I'm so super pumped about the goats. We only wanted one but we've been advised that since they are herd animals they need a companion to thrive. So we're gonna get a male and a female, Doyle & Debbie Sue, and it's gonna the best ever. Goats are so damn cute! And a lady has some for sale in Port Royal, we're hoping to put a deposit on one this week and then we'll get her when she's weaned from her mother in about 5 weeks or so. And then there's another batch about to be born and we're gonna get the male from that batch. So he'll be a couple weeks behind her. Whoever knew that two acres would provide enough space for such exciting animal endeavors! :) Hell, we might just open us a petting zoo. :)

And one more awesome thing about an animal, and I'll quit boring you for the day. On our way down Drennon Saturday, Damion asks me - "Have you ever been to the winery?" As a self proclaimed wino, I reply with "I've been to the shop part, but not the event part. And since you mentioned it, I could use a bottle of Drennon Creek." So we bust a move up the winery drive way and walk in the little sales shed. As we come in the door, this massive dog comes around the counter and looks at us like, "wassup?!" I was like, holy shit - that's the biggest most awesome dog ever! Girl behind the counters says "Yeah, that's Burley. He was so quiet I forgot he was in here." So being dog people, me and Damion make over the big guy for a few minutes. She tells us that he's only a year and a half old, so he's still got growing to do. I was amazed at his size already, but also amazed that this gigantic puppy was so docile. She told us that he'd had lots of training to stop him from jumping on people, since it's a public venue they couldn't having him tackling their patrons. Anyhow, if we could've gotten away with it, we would've lured him to the car and took him home with us. Burley was the shit. :) Anyhow, I now realize that we do not have big dogs. We've got two mediums and a small & fat. :) 

I guess that's about all I've got for now, I'll keep you posted with pictures of "Mother Clucker & The Chicken Littles" and also of Doyle & Debbie Sue when we finally get our hands on them. We're going all rural route super star at 2492. Y'all better watch out, we might fuck around and get some rabbits next. :) 

Mi Casa es Su Casa.

I'm sure most of you have seen the facebook posts on my big accomplishment of the year. And yes, I'm predicting on February 11th that nothing else groundbreaking is going to happen for the whole rest of the year, and I really hope I am right. I need some peace. :)

Sooooooooo, have y'all ever bought a house? If you have, then you might understand. If you haven't, then my best advice is....don't. The house buying process ended up being the longest most drawn out, stressful two months of my whole entire life. Seriously, rent something. (And I'm saying that with my most serious, eyes bugged out and head nodding, face.)

It all started off kinda slow...I sold the trailerhut, paid off all my debt, went to the bank with general questions about buying a house, ended up pre-approved for $100k. Lol, I know right...$100k for the bitch who couldn't have scored a credit card to save her life a few short years ago! Grown ass woman shit, right there! Ha. 

Anyhow, we looked around at different houses. Some were great but sold too fast. Some where great but the locations sucked. Some were weird with garages that were built on hillsides and supported by wooden beams in the back so that it wasn't even safe to park a car in. Some didn't qualify for our loan, some just didn't qualify period. But then, there was the one. 

The one that had enough bedrooms, had enough bathrooms, had a fireplace, had an enormous garage, had just enough land, was just outside of town but not out in bum-fucked, Kentucky. I saw it, I claimed it, I called Nancye (<-- realtor) like, "this one, right here. I need to see it, right now." She says...."oooooh, that one had a contract as soon as it hit the market, but you should check this one out in Pendleton..." Bummer. So, we follow direction and on Thanksgiving Day we go to this other house. I'm telling ya what - I don't even know what the house was, for real. It was like someone took a very old single wide trailer and a newer single wide trailer and sistered them together, with a shit load of windows on one end. It was...well, interesting...but ultimately, it was a no. 

So, back to the drawing board we went. Not really excited about any of our options, we continued to look and wait to see what happened to pop up. On Monday, December 9th I come in to work and I had an email from Nancye...it said that the house on Drennon was back available but not for long, and that I needed to call her ASAP. I called, she explained that something had fallen through with the previous buyer's contract, and HUD had kicked it out - she said that if we could manage to get out there, look at the place, and out-bid them before they redid their contract we would have a chance...aaaaaaaand so began the process. The long, drawn out, never ending, stressful, ridiculous process of buying a HUD home, with an FHA loan. Meh. 

So, we outbid them, and we won. I figured at this point the first people would burn the damn place to the ground before we could even buy it, because I would have been PISSED in their situation! Anyhow, on December 10th I signed the contract and instantaneously spun myself into a level of "stressed the fuck out" that I had never seen before. 

So, here's what I didn't know. I didn't know that from the start to the finish of the process, Elayne (<-- loan officer) would have her face all up in my financial koolaid. "Oh, you had a deposit that wasn't payroll for $89.99 on this date, I'll need a signed and dated letter stating what that is...Oh, and you deposited $45.00 on Wednesday too, include that." Yeah, I got reimbursed for work expenses, and got $45 refunded from my HRA? What the hell? "Oh, I see there are deductions other than taxes coming out of your paychecks, I'll need a letter stating what they are." Uhm, health insurance? Isn't that standard? Don't most people have insurance?! Don't you guys look at paystubs ALL the time?! Jesus take the wheel!  ....and this was just the start. 

Then we had to have a structural inspection, and then we had to have a regular inspection. And then we were supposed to have a septic inspection couldn't be done because the house had known plumbing issues and the water couldn't be turned on. And then one week before my closing deadline they tell me that the loan value plus the down payment assistance I qualified for equaled more than 110% of the total value of the house, therefore they had to take some of that assistance away from me. So, now one week shy of my closing deadline, I've got to pull another $1,000 out of my ass to cover my much larger portion of the closing cost. Thank God for grandmother's with saving accounts that are willing to give me some cold hard cash in a pinch, and go through the headache of proving that they have the money, proving that they withdrew the money, obtaining a certified check, and then proving that they gave it to me by signing a big scary form. Shew. 

And then, there was the homeowner's insurance that had guarantee replacement value. Again, I'm thinking this is a pretty standard procedure until I get the paperwork that says "....does not guarantee replacement value." Are you fucking serious?! I thought that was what insurance was? I mean, if not for replacement if the place blows the hell away, then what in the damn hell am I paying Kentucky Farm Bureau $780 dollars a year for? Anyone?! Uh, yeah. That was a royal pain in the ass, a big delay and yet another kick to the ol' pocket book. You know, no problem, let's just double that charge at the last minute too. 

So, I literally talked to Elayne every single day for a month and a half. I talked to Nancye once a week for about 6 weeks. I jumped through about a million hoops, and I had about 15 come aparts. I had to have one 15 day extension on my closing deadline. All in all, I needed one big damn miracle to pull this shit off. Seriously, up until the day I was on the interstate headed to close, I was completely convinced that each next thing I had to tackle would be the one thing that I couldn't tackle. However, I managed. Actually, I linebacked that shit. :)

My first plan of action as a homeowner was to sit in the middle of the empty living room of the damn place and drink a bunch of beer. And then, if I still felt the need, my second plan of action was to kick a damn dent in the garage door for all the pain and suffering the place had caused me before I ever even owned it. But really what happened was, Madre and Randaddy bought me a bottle of Flat Rock Red, Coley brought over some vintage can Miller Lite, and I didn't kick anything. :) 

And now that we are there, and (almost kinda) settled, I think it's time to send some shout outs to several people for all they have done to assist us in reaching this big, ground breaking milestone...

Christopher - thanks for not shanking me in the eye or shoving me down a flight of steps during the whole process. you took the brunt of all the stress, and even though there was a slip or two, you handled me quite well. 

Madre - thanks for telling me each and every time that I called you with a new hurdle that it was all going to be okay. even when you didn't know how the hell it was going to be okay, you convinced me that it would be. thanks for helping me move for several days, and thanks for renting us the uhaul. 

Randaddy - thanks for checking out all the super important components of the house, for teaching me how a furnace works, for letting me use the cool little pen that lights up when you stick it in the plug...I always wanted to do that! Thanks for yelling at me every time I sat down on moving day, thanks for taking the doors off the fridge, and thanks for offering to help with anything that needs to be done. 

Alice - thanks for allowing me to dig my gubby paws into your savings account without question when the shit hit the fan! without your kindness we couldn't have pulled it off, and we appreciate what you did for us soooo much!

Tesler - thanks for being the packing, taping, labeling person...you rocked ass on moving day! thanks for even packing christopher's old crusty panties, i'm so glad you guys were able to bond over dirty laundry and I'm sorry we caused your feet to swell. :)

Obie - thanks for being our box coordinator, and humoring us while we busted ass. You're input on which box would fit where was greatly appreciated. :)

Angie - thanks for allowing us to load up the danger ranger, and for giving me a great plan of action to get everything moved. one room at a time! thanks for coordinating placement inside the uhaul, and thanks for making room for that damn fishtank! :)

Ricky - thanks for bringing the truck and the trailer and managing to get most of our outside crap moved at once! thanks for crawling around under the house with Christopher and fixing water pipes, and thanks for stopping and getting our trash can too. :)

Coley - thanks for allowing me to throw a million hefty bags in the back of your new ride. and thanks for hauling that one important box from point a to point b. thanks for staying throughout the duration of the move, and buying us a Beast at the end of the day. :)

Tracy - thanks for helping us unload all 9 vehicles and for providing encouragement along the way!

Chris - thanks for providing an extra set of muscles and helping us unload!

Scott - thanks for helping us back that damn trailer into the garage and helping us unload it. also, thanks for asking Angie if she was okay before dying laughing when she fell in the hole!

Michele - thanks for allowing me to have tantrums in your office and bang my head against your desk when needed. I'm sure you wanted to tell me to go the hell away but you never did, and for that I thank you as well! thanks for also covering me when I had to be off work!

Alex - thanks for allowing me to bitch and rant and rave to you every time you came upstairs, and for continuing to keep tabs and ask how things were going even when I am sure you were tired of hearing about it!

We are very lucky to have such awesome people fighting in our corner, and I'm telling you right now that there couldn't have been a more kickass convoy traveling from Booker Pike to Drennon Road, 9 vehicles deep! We're still planning on having that dirty 30/housewarming/thank you party on March 1st! We hope that all of you can come enjoy this house that we worked so hard to get, and help us celebrate our big accomplishment! 

Mi Casa es Su Casa, y'all! 

This Machine Is Broken.

If you know anything about me at all, you probably know that I'm a Sunday cleaner. Other than your basic maintenance type cleaning, I don't mess with any of it through the week. Hell, I work a full time job - ain't nobody got time to come home and damn clean everyday, nor do they have the desire. So yes, on Saturday - you better believe that my house is fucked. But, come Sunday - you better believe that my ass is up and working miracles. Except this past Sunday...

Due to an unexpected death in the family, we had to move Tesler's baby shower to Sunday. In turn, my house got no attention what-so-ever. I didn't even have time to do the first load of laundry. And serious business y'all, I can't afford to get behind on laundry. Not only do we have more laundry than seems humanly possible for 3 people to produce, but I absolutely HATE to do it. Hate the whole dag-blasted process! I had a truck load of laundry and absolutely no desire whatsoever to spend the next week wasting my life trying to catch it all up. Laundry makes me a grumpy girl...

Sunday night while laying in bed, my little light bulb ding-ding went off..."Hey babe! Tomorrow, let's pack all this up and go to the laundromat!" I said. "It will be so much easier and we can knock it all out at once!" I said. "This is the best idea I've ever had!"....no one said. 

Yesterday when I got home from work, we commenced gathering and sorting laundry. We took the throw blankets, stripped the beds, loaded everything up in the truck and wen't on about our adventure to the laundromat. We stopped for some Taco Bell, accidentally passed up the laundromat, ended up back around the McDonald's so we hit the drive thru for hot fudge sundays...and with yummy dessert in our bellies, we were ready to tackle the task at hand. 

Ten minutes later, there I stand...staring at the triple loader completely perturbed. The damn thing was 2/3 the size of the washer I have at home, and they seriously have the nerve to call it a triple loader?! I'm guessing that the double loaders are half the size?! At this point, I'm starting to pick up the message that they are putting down...and that message was "We're about to quarter rape you, you laundry hatin' bitch!" I actually thought about packing it all back out to the truck going home, but instead I inserted my 12 quarters...yes, count'em, $3.00...into a 2/3 loader and begin to sulk a bit. 

We loaded up 4 "triple loaders" for a grand total of $12.00, and two "maxi loaders" for a grand total of $8.50. And because I'm telling this story, I'm gonna tell you the whole story. As soon as the machines were loaded and started, the hot fudge sunday flared up my non-reliable lactose intolerance, and I was forced to go drop a deuce in the sketchy place. Surprisingly enough, the bathroom was clean and painted a very cheery yellow color...at least some of the quarters they were jackin' people for were being put to good use. The laundromat deuce wasn't as bad as I had predicted it was going to be, score one for them. 

I come out of the bathroom after about 10 minutes and the clothes are done. I know, right? I'm guessing that my clothes didn't get real clean during their 10 minute triple loaded cycle. At this point, I'm like FML - (fuck my laundry).

So, we gather up the soaking wet clothes that obviously didn't spin good, and we transfer them to the dryers...this is where I think I catch a break. The dryers only cost a quarter! Ooooooh, but woe is me, they fail to tell you that your quarter gets you SEVEN minutes in a dryer...that doesn't even warm up! Yes, this is for real! And what is also for real, is that Christopher thought it would be quite humorous to proclaim quite loudly that "the damn dryers didn't even get hot enough to kill our bed bugs!"....yeah, you just can't make this shit up! It happened. 

Christopher then goes outside to smoke, me and the boy plop down at the table trying to take it all in. I mean, I've not been to a laundromat since EBG's was a laundromat, and I don't remember it being this sucky. I remember pacman games and gumball machines, and watching the soapy water drain into the crevice behind the washers and run down the incline to the drain...come to think of it - their bathroom totally sucked worse than this one did. My brain stops there as I'm snapped back to reality, Damion says, "Jess, look at Dad!"...I turn around to find that Christopher, my knight in shining armor, has his ass cheeks pressed against the outside of the damn window and is not only mooning me, but all of the other laundromat patrons as well. He stays outside cracking himself over it for a minute, and comes back in totally amused that Damion got me with "the oldest trick in the book". He definitely "madest thou look." Suter shenanigans. Story of my life!

We're there for another hour or so, patiently feeding quarter after quarter into the dryers to no avail, the boys give each other wet willy's and fight over quarters, until we finally just give up and fold most of it damp. We load it all back up in the truck, and pack it all back in the house during a wind chill advisory. And now it sits patiently in my kitchen, and I have no earthly desire what so ever to put it where it goes.

On a good note, Damion says that if we can come up with one of those fancy laundry carts, that he'll start helping with laundry. He even said that he'd settle for a shopping cart. Now that I think back on it, I'm not quite sure why we didn't pull off a laundry cart heist as soon as those words came out of his mouth, and I'm half inclined to go on a cart robbery mission as soon as I leave work today. 

I know what I know, and I know that you're not gonna see this white girl in a laundromat ever again. Just like 75% of what they had to offer, "This machine is broken". :)

Speaking of small robberies, you should watch this clip. Actually, you should watch this whole movie. And then you should remember to thank me later. :)

((...refusing to give a fuck isn't just easy, it's kind of awesome...))

It's funny how sometimes I can look for days and find no motivation whatsoever to write, and then sometimes - I can literally trip and fall into something that makes my brain start to work. Well, don't look now...but my wheels are spinning. Shhh... :)

3 days into the new year, I have stumbled upon an article in my news feed called "14 Fucks I Refuse To Give In 2014"...now, isn't that quite the spin on things?! Just the title alone made me cock my head up sideways and raise an eyebrow. Instead of thinking of a dozen lame things that she should start doing to better herself in 2014, the writer thought of a dozen things that she could stop "giving a fuck about" in order to better herself in 2014. I was like, seriously...the girl is at least half genius. Just take a moment to think of all the petty shit we find ourselves tied up in all the time, and then think of how nice it would be to NOT have to deal with any of that petty shit again this year? Are y'all picking up what I'm putting down, here?

Anyhow, I read this article...Most of the things that she's decided to NOT do this year were things that I could totally get used to not doing myself. I'm tellin' ya...the girl is my kind of girl! I don't know that I can come up with 14 things of my own right off the top of my head on such short notice but this is definitely something I am going to put some thought into, in order to make this year better than the last. 

So, not to look as if I've done stoled this half genius girl's story - I'm going to copy and paste the things that she doesn't plan on giving a fuck about this year, that may very well apply to ol' Jcrow here as well. 

Becoming a Morning Person 

I’ve always hated mornings. I hate getting out of bed, hate getting out of the shower, hate finishing my coffee. I pretty much just hate everything and everyone who crosses my path prior to 10 am. I’ve tried to ‘fix’ this issue multiple times, trying to schedule in an hour of exercise or writing prior to embarking on my day. Fuck that. The only thing worse that getting out of bed in the morning is getting out of bed to torture yourself on a treadmill or stare at a screen. So keep all your “10 Things Successful People Do Before 5 am” motivational posts to yourself come 2014. I’ll be successfully asleep.

- the only thing I would add would be that I plan on going to bed early too. I love my sleep, and I require a lot of it. It's genetic, I can't help it...Amen, ol' girl. 

Fitting In

I suck at social situations. I’m awkward, withdrawn, quiet and quick to drop a sarcastic remark. I also sport a handful of tattoos, have an award-winning bitchy resting face, and have been told I give off a not-so-subtle fuck off vibe whenever I walk into a room. By no means am I trying to be standoffish, this is just who I am. So when it comes to fitting in at conferences, networking events, house parties, the supermarket — you know, anywhere there are other people — I tend to struggle. For years I’ve tried to fix this; forced myself to be more outgoing, more present, less me. It’s exhausting and annoying. So fuck fitting in. Despite my icy demeanor and lack of seemingly standard social skills, I’ve managed to surround myself with an accepting, loyal group of friends; people that understand my oddities and love me for them. Bitchy resting face and all.

- I can't think of a single word more to add to that one! If I had a beer and she had a beer, I'd request a slap of the cans!

Quitting Vices

 Why are New Year’s resolutions always about ending bad habits? Personally, I quite enjoy my vices. Beer = delicious. Pie for breakfast? Completely acceptable. Hoarding all of the blankets on the coldest night of the year? Not my fault you were too slow to steal them first. Everything in moderation, right? My bad habits have shaped me as much as my good ones. But at the end of the day, they aren’t really hurting anyone. I drink socially and with restraint, pie only finds its way into my fridge two or three times a year, and my boyfriend is more than welcome to yank the covers back over to his side… provided he’s ready to accept the consequences.

- y'all thought when I said half genius that I was playin', didn't ya?!

Swearing

My ex used to hate it when I would swear. And I get that — believe it or not, I’m not a huge fan of constant vulgarities either. That being said, some situations simply call for foul language. Come on, no one is going to stick to a Screw It list or an Eff It list. What’s more, studies have shown that people who swear are actually more trustworthy and honest. Which, by my count, means I’m kind of exceptional. Fuck it? Don’t mind if I do…

- this reminds me of story I heard about cute little Shaney the other day. Sometimes in life, you just gotta be able to get your point across effectively - and if that means dropping the

 f-bomb, then so be it! We're not babies!

Guilt 

Earlier this year I was told that guilt is the fear of future punishment. That we feel bad for past transgressions not just because we regret them, but because we’re worried that we’ll make the same mistakes again. I’m not entirely sure of the legitimacy of this statement, but it certainly resonated with me. I regret a lot in my life; I’ve made some foolish mistakes and have hurt a lot of people, not to mention myself. But it’s the fear of making these same mistakes again that weighs on me the most. And yet, the mistakes I made in the past were the result of dozens of different variables  -  age, health, circumstance  - repeating them is pretty much impossible. So why bother dwelling on it? Fuck the guilt; I can’t undo the past, but I can certainly look forward to the future.

- preaching to the choir, girlfriend! 

Lying to Myself 

We all lie to ourselves. Some of these lies are inconsequential. Others send us down a slippery slope of denial straight onto a soft cushion of false security. I’ve lied to myself a lot over the last year. I’ve told myself things are fine when they’re falling apart, convinced myself that a bad decision was a blessing in disguise. Thing is, it’s easy to tell the lie. Believing it is a whole other story. So fuck the fabrications and flimsy fronts. How can you possibly trust someone else when you can’t even trust yourself?

- I hope y'all are taking what I am taking from this. 

Growing Up

And give up my love of dinosaurs and LEGO? Fuck that.

- and gummy bears?! right on! 

Saving Relationships

Romantic, platonic, familial  -  I’ve spent a great deal of time trying to nurture destructive relationships. Compromising in order to avoid confrontation, pretending problems weren’t as pronounced as they were. The fastest way to lose yourself? Focus all of your energy on something or someone that was never really there. Eventually you’ll wake up alone. Worse, you’ll wake up a stranger.

- if your presence doesn't add value to my life, then your absence will make no difference! 

Forgetting Failures

I failed at being a wife. A lot of the time, I fail at being a daughter. I’m not a very good sister, and  I have a pretty good feeling the odds will be against me if I ever decide to become a mother.  I’ve failed at business, failed to relax while on vacation. I’ve failed to let insecurities go, failed to speak up when I had the chance. Fuck, I’ve failed myself more times than I’d care to admit. I’ve forgiven a lot of them. But forgetting them is useless. I made those mistakes for a reason. The least I can do is learn from them.

- I'm thinking I really need to have a cold beer with this girl, she speaks to my soul! I really hope that something here reached out and touched you a little. 

__________________________________________________

Happy New Year, Y'all!

...may you give as few fucks as me and the half genius girl in 2014...