Sidekick Wanted: Apply Within.

What up, fuckers? Been awhile, eh? Yeah, you'll have that. 

Summer time is a busy time for me. I have a summer soul and I take advantage of being able to do all the things I love as much as I possibly can because as we all know - summer doesn't last forever. Oh, but how grand life would be if it did. Woe is me. 

It's not that I don't like fall. I really do like fall. It's just that I know what comes next and I hate it, so it's hard for me to enjoy fall time. Good thing about fall is that it's most definitely tattoo season, I get to decorate the house, go to haunted houses, have pumpkin parties, wear hoodies and boots and shit. Bad thing about fall is that I have to try very very hard each year to not go into hibernation and be sad about my summer being gone. Like, I really have to make myself keep moving and going and doing shit or that evil Seasonal Affective Disorder will kick. my. ass. 

Which brings me to the point at hand...I've found myself suffering from a friend drought, and I can't stay busy and do cool shit all by myself. Quite the dilemma. Now, don't take that as I don't have friends, because I do have a a couple good ones that keep me grounded and come to rescue me at the first hint of crazy. I'm totally not looking for a best friend or a rock solid - I just need a fuckin' sidekick something awful. 

First and foremost, Duran is absolutely my hero right now, working full time, going to school full time, raising a 2 year old, and managing a boyfriend all at once. Kudos to her for being a bad bitch, because just watching it all happen wears me out. But as she's kicken 10 kinds of ass and making strides toward a better life for her and Sara, I'm left at home and bored most of the time. 

Figga fell off the earth a few months ago - can't elaborate on this one because I literally haven't spoke to him in months and don't know the details. This happens from time to time because I'm disposable like that. 

Tesla is in jail because she isn't smart at all - I'll spare the details mostly because I don't wanna talk about it, but I'm down a sister for a long ass time because of it. 

Coley is having new babies and raising an army, and kicken it with "the one who took my place" in the fairy tale, so that's a situation I like to avoid.  

There are others that I used to hang out with quite a bit that are fighting battles and/or destroying their lives for no good reason, and I don't want any part of that. 

And then there are some that are about to starve to death on bullshit diets, and I'm bullshit intolerant so that doesn't work out for me either. 

So, all that being said - which one of you cool fuckers wants to kick it with the Crow on a regular basis? I'm really not that bad, I promise! (Pshhhh, yeah right.) But no, really...I like to drink cold beer and sweet wine, I like to paint, I like to take adventures into the wilderness, I like to watch live music, I like to go to middle and high school football games, and watch football on Sundays...And I'm really not all that needy - I just require at least a smidgen of trustworthiness, and most importantly, a damn sense of humor. Living close to me is a plus as well. :) 

So, do any of you out there fit that criteria at all? If so, shoot me a message - there's a high school football game tonight that would be the perfect time for an interview...just sayin'. :) 

"Mama says idle hands are devil's handiwork, oh the trouble you'll get into when
you've got nothing better to do." - Leann Rimes

..But I'm A Good Time.

Today I’m rocking yesterday’s hair, wearing jeans that don’t fit anymore and I’m thinking that it would’ve been smart to buy two Caramelly Intense Starbucks Frappuccinos instead of one this morning.  I might just sit here with my mouth open all day because it makes it takes less effort to yawn that way. A nap is in my immediate future and I don’t even care who cares, for real - the only reason I’m typing this right now is because I need to stay awake.

And I just had this conversation with one of my most favorite coworkers:

Good morning, Jessie Jess. Good morning.

Hey Girl.
What did you do last night?

Ha….uhm, I mowed the yard.
What’s wrong with your hair?

I didn’t fix it. 

Why not?

I’m tired. I didn’t sleep good.

You toss and turn?

Yep, I guess I did.

What are you drinking?

Coffee.

That’s not good for you every day, Jessie Jess.

Sums the day up nicely...except we didn’t discuss the fact that I need to poop and that’s a pretty big deal at the moment. But my most favorite coworker’s life advice never fails to be legit – she wasn’t born with a bullshitter bone located anywhere in her body, that’s what I love about her. She will straight tell you that you look like shit, and go on about her day without missing a beat of that drum.

I wonder what she would have to say about the fact that one of my shoes seems to be looser than the other one and it flops every time I take a step? She’d probably tell me that it’s dangerous and that it might cause me to fall. And I’d bet ya $5 that she’d tell me twice.

As a matter of fact, now that I think about it, the world would be a better place if more people were just like my most favorite coworker.  Not so much to create hazardous situations with vacuums every day, or to stalk people with every intention of a headlock and a forced kiss, but…like her in the sense of just straight keepin’ it real, 100% of the time..

And lord, have I just stumbled us upon a sore subject.  I’ve gotta go get coffee before I tear off on this tangent.  I feel like I’m gonna end up with the jitters before I ever manage to wake up. Stand by.

Yeah, so what is the trouble with people keepin’ it real exactly? Like, I understand the desire to impress, I really do. And I know there are a lot of judgmental people in the world that you wouldn’t want to know all your details. I know that there are circumstances where one must attempt to “sell” themself so to speak…toot their own horn. But seriously, what good does it do to pretend to be someone else when there’s no way to hide the truth? Doesn’t that require a lot of unnecessary effort? Doesn’t that just set you up to fail? And isn’t that pretty much counterproductive? A waste of time?

Seriously though, I’m a hot damn mess 96% of the time myself, especially right now - with my hair all jacked up and my pants falling off my ass, the walking jitters and a loose shoe – who am I to judge who you are? I’m full of nonsense, quirks, and lessons learned the hard way – but for whatever reason, my favorite people are the lost causes and the long shots. I have this deep need to try and save the world, and I always wear my heart on my sleeve - which normally leaves me with my feelings hurt and a damn headache…but there is no reason to bullshit me, and I don’t understand why people insist on trying.

I may be a hot mess, yes – that may be so, but people really shouldn’t underestimate me like they do. I’m smart. I’m intuitive. And I’m paranoid – mix all this together and I’m damn near a mastermind. 

• If there is a detail that’s off, I’m gonna catch it.
• If something is odd, I’m gonna pick up on it.  
• If you tell me that you are a hardworking ass man and then never go anywhere – I’m gonna figure out that you ain’t got no damn job. 
• If you say over and over and over that you are tired of crazy women and you just want to be happy but then you create more drama than a high school girl, I’m gonna figure out that you’re probably the spark that started the crazy woman fire. 
• If you talk about buying big shit and having money in the bank like it ain’t no thing and then buy food with an EBT card, I’m gonna figure out that your ass is broke. 
• If you talk all hard like you’ve got a set of balls and then get scared when someone comes at you, I’m gonna figure out that you are a punk. 

It’s not that hard, it’s the whole concept of actions and words. All I have to do is sit back, watch for a while, and take it all in. Most times I can see through bullshit almost immediately – granted I might not mention it at the time but I’m gonna make a mental note of it.

I guess my point is that I definitely respect an honest loser more than I do a dishonest poser that tries to pull the wool over my eyes. Actually, it pisses me off pretty good when someone treats me like I’m a dumbass and fills me full of lies, especially when the truth is out there and obvious...At the end of the day, there is a better chance that I’m still gonna be your friend if you don’t waste your time pretending to be something that you aren’t  - just do us both a favor and keep it real like, “yeah – I’m a broke lazy shit talkin’ ass punk, but I’m a good time…” and leave out all the rest. 

I promise that I'll return the favor. 

One Gallon Of Three Idiot Plum

Progress is moving right along with the combining of the households – the two spare rooms are cleared out and are officially ready for paint - we’ve scheduled the paintin’ party for Wednesday and the movin’ party for Saturday. If you leave it up to two determined and independent women to get shit done, guess what? The shit will get done!

Being super cool and awesome we decided that we would let Ms. Sara pick out the color that she wanted her room to be on her own. So yesterday, we piggy backed our paint shopping extravaganza on to another shopping extravaganza that I had previously committed to…and we proceeded to Walmart where they carry - what for it - DISNEY paint.

After chasing the little rambunctious tater tot through Walmart, realizing that at some point somewhere she had removed and lost her shoes, finally getting her to tell us that her shoes were with the “dresses”, going back to search under all the dress racks and eventually finding them….we made it to the Disney paint display. We put her little barefoot hiney literally in the display, and almost immediately her little hand went straight to purple. Fairy Flight or Pixie Purple or something or another, I don’t recall exactly. But we made our way to the actual paint, grabbed a gallon of the brand that corresponded with the Disney stuff and went to the paint counter.

This is where the idiots happen.

At this point, our two shopping extravaganzas have combined, and we now have Ted with us posted up at the paint counter. However, we lack the presence of a Walmart Asshat….er, Associate. We wait there for a little bit and start to get frustrated, so I start banging on the desk with a paint mixer stick thinking that if I caused a commotion someone would notice that we were there and needed help. But no, nothing – there were like crickets chirping and shit. About the time we start considering knocking over a whole display of light bulbs to cause an even bigger commotion…an Asshat comes into view and Duran takes off to snag him.

She returns with not one but two Asshats and we get down to paint mixin’ business….only to find out that the Disney paint is only sold by the quart and the quart costs as much as a whole gallon would otherwise. Insane! And according to these Asshats, there was no way they could mix a gallon of paint that color for us, no way, not at all, and it was seemingly ridiculous that we even had such a blasphemous request. Like, no one would EVER need a GALLON of Disney paint.

As we are standing there having a moment, an Asshat Manager goes meandering by us. The two behind the counter holler at him, and he looks at them and says “There are two you of there, surely you got it.” and he keeps walking. They then ask, “Are you busy?” and he says – really shitty mind you, “I’ve got all kinds of stuff to do!” We all give him the same eyebrows up, wow you are a real douche bag look and he suddenly says. “….unless, of course, a customer needs my assistance.” and he walking comes back to the paint counter. Frustrated, and already having an obvious answer to the problem at hand, Duran grabs the Disney purple, walks over to the normal paint color display, finds the EXACT same color not even a slight shade different, only called “Lavender Flower” this time, takes it back to the counter and is like, “If you can’t do THAT one, then do THIS one.” and smacks it down on the counter top.   

There is a brief silence as they have simultaneous “duh” moments, and then Asshat Manager sends Asshat Cameron to cut fabric for an impatient rude lady, leaving us with half of our original Asshat paint mixin' team - and of course he’s the paint mixin' rookie. This dude, I shit you not, fucked up not one but 2 gallons of paint in 10 minutes! Feeling somewhat defeated, I decide to remove myself from the situation for a moment so I pick Sara up and take off briefly. After trying to stick her in a duct tape display and then a stack of industrial trash cans we chase each other around the isles and then come back to the paint counter to find that someone else is there helping and we are finally getting some damn paint mixed. The new Asshat’s explanation to the rookie Asshat of how to properly use the machine that shakes the shit out of the paint was the smartest thing I’d heard out of anyone in the whole place for over a damn hour and I had to stop myself from applauding.

As we are finally, and hour later, making progress toward getting this little girl some purple paint for her new room, we suddenly hear the Asshat Manager start yelling at some teenagers right down from us, and he comes stomping up the isle all swolt up and billy bad ass like…with a tire lube express technician body guard wearing 6 wallet chains for protection right behind him. As he screams at them because he’d had “two complaints on them from different departments”, and threatens to “throw them out if he sees them do anything out of the ordinary again”…I can’t help but think about how that manager must have been recently promoted, and that if we’d been there to get a gallon of idiot, we would’ve have already been well on our way to Cabela’s because there was definitely no shortage of dumbasses around us. 

I also think that instead of “Lavender Flowers”, we need to call the color that Sara picked “Three Idiot Plum”.  

  

    

Two & A Half Women.

I love when I end up with a Friday that doesn’t require strenuous brain activity! There will be no over-achieving for this girl today, and I ain’t even mad about it y’all! I got me some shit to say so its works out nicely! :)

After about 6 months of consideration, Duran and I have decided to combine households. It just kind of all makes sense, there’s no good sense in her trying to maintain a household that she will only see a handful of hours a week on top of being a full time nursing student, a full time employee, and an awesome mother. And there’s no sense in me having a whole half of a house that I don’t use.  So, after a little bit of rearranging and some painting, we are gonna move my girls right on into the Crow's Nest. It’s gonna be like a real life version of Two & A Half Men - except we are women. And I’m pretty excited that I get to be Charlie Sheen. (Duran isn’t so much excited about being Alan, and we may very well end up needing our own Berta!) It’s gonna help her out and help me out…and really the only real differences are that she won’t have to drive home to sleep, she won’t have to borrow and keep up with my clothes because hers will be there too, and I won’t have to investigate weird noises in the middle of the night by myself!

Now while this all makes sense, has all been worked out to our benefit and we are both pretty excited about it – it has been brought to my attention that there are some folks out there who frown upon this idea because “they’ve heard things about me that they don’t like”. So of course I am going to take the opportunity to make a couple things known to clear up some confusion.

Few random facts about the crow here: I graduated high school with honors. I worked my first real job during my senior year and kept it for 10 years, and I’ve been at my second real job for 4 years. I am very passionate about my current job and our mission, which is to serve and support adults with intellectual disabilities and I guarantee that a great deal of y’all don’t have the heart or the backbone that it takes to do what we do daily.  I've bought and paid off three vehicles on my own in my lifetime, and carried my own insurance on every vehicle I’ve had since I started driving too. I bought my first house, all by myself, with my own fantastic credit at age 29.  I work every single day, I pay all my own bills, clean my own house and mow my own damn yard.  My criminal record is a clean one less the few traffic tickets that might show their ugly faces, and I’ll be damned if I can’t piss clean as a whistle too! I don't ask nobody for nothing, and if I have to I am very quick make up for the inconvenience in any way that I possibly can.  There are tons of people in this world who absolutely love me, because when I am treated well I return the favor. I’m always the first to help people out when they need it, and I am always happy and smiling and having a good time. On the other hand, yes – I AM a bonified smart ass. No, I DON’T take shit from anyone except my mother. And YES, I do like to drink ice cold beer with my buddies when I get the chance to do so. With all that said, if you still think I am a “bad” person/influence for my best friend and her daughter to live with then I will ask you this… do you get at least 2 snapchat videos a week of Sara’s beautiful face saying she wants to see you? Oh, no? Well I do and I’ll have you know that she doesn’t just ask for me by name…she asks for “My Jess”. So, yeah – you carry right on with your judgmental shit because us three women are gonna be just fine together, and as long as we are happy then it’s really none of your concern. :)

Now that we have that out of the way – I’m sure you are all aware that I broke another damn finger this week. Just 2 weeks shy of the 10 year anniversary of breaking the one right beside it! SMDH, I’m a walking injury – I need a bubble and a helmet! Anyhow, my pretty little pitty is totally the culprit this time, no cool stories about rope swings at the swimmin’ hole, and passing out in water over my head and having one of my buddies save me from drowning…nah, none of that. You see what had happened was – I let the pups out of their kennels after work on Monday, they tore out to the yard and ran their 100 mph laps as they normally do. They came back to porch ready for their afternoon ration of kibble and were bouncing around all crazy, Loki bumped into the patio table all hard. I hollered at them to stop actin’ crazy, and Loki did. Slim, however, was still running wide open and decided not to listen. I went to smack her little ass to get her attention and as I reach down she spun around really fast, throwing her big ol’ thunder thigh into my hand, thus bending my ring finger backwards at the knuckle, and essentially breaking it the fuck off.

I always said after I broke my middle finger that it was a feeling that I’d never forget, and after 10 years I was made aware that I really hadn’t forgot. I mean, I saw it bend in a way that fingers don’t bend, but the feeling was all too familiar to me and I knew that it was broken. So after jumping and hollering, and kicking and bouncing around like a damn fool in the back yard – it went just about like it did first time. The tunnel vision set in, the dizziness and the cold sweat and all that….so before I passed slick out I sat down for a bit in the yard.  When I got my bearings straight I went directly  to my purse for 1 of 2 800 mg ibuprofen that I had hoarded for when I would need them. Thank the lord for that shit.

Tuesday morning, I took the 2^nd one and proceeded to work for an hour or so, and then I went on to Urgent Care. X-Rays confirmed that it was broken, and they gave me a shot of ibuprofen in my butt. That was a little crazy to me because I totally could’ve avoided the big ass needle and just SWALLOWED the OTC ibuprofen in my purse instead. Meh. But the bone was back where it belonged and all lined up nicely so now I just have to go see a specialist on Tuesday so they can check for tendon damage, just in case. But I think it’s okay – I haven’t had ibuprofen since the shot in the butt three days ago and it doesn’t hurt more than an occasional achy feeling, so I think that’s a good sign. (Look at me, not even asking for pain medicine with a broke ass bone – there I go being a BAD influence again. LMAO.)

Just realized when I was paying my own damn bills earlier that I only have one week until I kick off Staycation 2015! The summer is going by way too quick, but I really can’t wait for my 9 day escape from reality and responsibility. It’s always been my favorite week of the year, for damn good reason, and I guess it always will be. :) I guess I should start planning activities immediately if not sooner.

If I don’t update you next week, then it will be at least 2 weeks because I won’t be writing during Staycation. Just in case, I hope y’all have a good time celebrating your independence with all those fancy boom sticks, good grilled food and ice cold beers. I shall report back in due time, fuckers!

Don't Puss Out Before We Do.

I swear that sometimes me and Duran could really benefit from having a camera crew following us around at all times - to not only catch raw footage of our shenanigans as they happen, but to record our damn conversations when were out burning up the back roads late on a Wednesday night. With that being said…..

I’m sure y’all know enough about the two of us at this point to know that our lives have been nothing short of a country song – and I’m not talking about bro-country either. It’s not up to me to decide which country song she has lived – but mine would probably be “If That Ain’t Country” by David Allan Coe.  Seriously, change up a few details – and that’s how it was back on that ridge in Bethlehem. 50 holes in our old tin roof, at the end of the porch there were 4 stacks of wheels and tires for sale, yard full of hogs…..yeah, that was totally us. Being so far back in the sticks and an only child at that – my days consisted of doing one of three things: hanging out in the garage with Randaddy watching and learning as he built various ridiculous vehicles, riding around on, driving & wrecking several of those ridiculous vehicles, or watching the cattle graze and thinking about one of the other two things.

So, when it comes to hot-rodding shit, I have plenty of experience. I’ve been giving shit hell for years; Randaddy would always just watch & laugh, and then fix whatever it was that I tore up later. Be it a moped, go cart, golf cart, lawn mower, three wheeler, four wheeler, dirt bike, crotch-rocket, boat, corvette, jacked up chevrolet – it’s even been an escalade a once or twice - but no matter what we had at the time, he always let me drive it and he always encouraged me to give it hell. I guess from this point of view, my life may have been “Daddy Let Me Drive” By Alan Jackson. Either way – Randaddy created a monster.

One thing about Randaddy is that his shit never looked good, minus the escalade of the current times. Back in the day – the shittier the ride looked the better it was for him. There was nothing more rewarding to us than to be sittin’ in a 1969 part baby blue, part two tone orange and white old ass rusted out chevrolet c10 with the damn mirror bungee strapped down so at it wouldn’t flap back and break the window out at high speeds….and have and have a cocky little bastard in a new shiny truck pull up beside us at a red light, rev the engine, look at us and laugh. Oh, boy – it was my favorite when that happened! You can bet your ass that we all three smiled and me and Madre braced ourselves (I had to situate more than her because I was riding on a damn milk crate between bucket seats so I had to protect my noggin’ and get my legs out of the way of the shifter). You see, what folks didn’t know about this old busted up truck that appeared to be fresh out of a grown up fence row – was that Randaddy spent a good deal of time standing inside it, where the original motor had been, beating the fender wells and the firewall with a sledge hammer to make room for a dump truck’s big block to fit in its place. And it never failed…when we got that cocky laugh from a pretty boy in a pretty truck beside us, even if first and second gear were already torn out – Randaddy would bring old blue off the line right and we would leave that pretty boy feeling bad about himself behind us in a cloud of smoke…they never did laugh with us at the next light. J

Being Randaddy’s monster, I understand that I have a different point of view than most girls do - with the exception of Duran - but I swear, I can hardly stand to ride in a truck with a dude that is scared to drive it. Being raised by a redneck motorhead is the biggest reason I’m sure, and my opinion is probably a little tainted by the fact that all our trucks looked like shit and it didn’t matter it if we bounced it off something. Throughout my life, I’ve apparently been blessed by the grace of God to have encountered several people who were about the same, if not just as hot-rodding inclined as Randaddy, and they’ve always let me ride shotgun – or bitch – whenever I wanted to. And my stars, my most recent ex-boy (but still a) friend is the drivin-est motherfucker I have ever met – hell, I’ve had more fun with him in a 2WD in the last three years than I’ve had my whole entire life in a 4WD (with the exception of Mud Truck Roger, and he was driving then too.)...and even before said 2WD ever came into play, adventures with Christopher were always the best…there’s nothing like being at the top of Leadmine in a Comanche, and hearing, “I’m not sure about the brakes, put your seat belt on.” Lol, my adrenaline junkie tendencies run real deep and so do Duran’s.  

But here recently we have encountered several, what we refer to as, city trucks. Seriously y’all, let’s talk about this. Is that just what guys wanna do these days? Spend a shit ton of money to drive something that looks pretty but does nothing else? that doesn’t get muddy or go fast or climb hills or pull shit? We are struggling to understand what is happening here, it’s all foreign to us. Now, don’t get us wrong – we aren’t saying that we think y’all should be willing to go hard ass without the first worry of fuckin’ shit up at the drop of a hat… lol, we don’t expect everyone to be a Christopher. We completely understand responsibility and being smart about shit…but these city trucks, that are pretty but do nothing else,  have us like, really?

If we are in a truck with six damn tires that is 4WD (6WD?), and you’ve agreed to take us on an adventure – there is no reason what so ever that we should be stuck on a small incline the middle of a damn grassland.. And if we are, it’s because you aren’t doing something right. And if you aren’t doing it right, then you should at least listen to the girls riding with you – stop babyin’ it, cut left, give it hell, don’t puss out.

Even worse, if you have a truck, but you are scared to take it somewhere my Lincoln goes without trouble – then you shouldn’t have a truck to begin with. Sure, it’s pretty and the wheels are all fuckin’ shiny…but where can those wheels take you if you won’t drive down a gravel road? Fuckin’ LaGrange? Well, that’s no fun. You go to LaGrange, we’ll take the Lincoln thru the gravel all the way to the creek, and give it hell. Congrats, you just pussed out before you even left the gate.

You hear people say all the time that “country isn’t what you wear” and all that jibba jabba, and while that may be true…I’ve always thought to each his own, you know? If you wanna wear worn out jeans, a Stetson hat and alligator boots, or an $80 fucking Abercrombie t-shirt, then so be it. It doesn’t have to mean anything more than you like that style, and doesn’t have to reflect how you were raised or how you feel. Hell, I rock cowboy boots one day and chuck taylors the next – depending on what mood I’m in.  I think the same reasoning applies here too – a truck is just a truck, anyone can have one, and having one doesn’t say shit about your character. What really matters is what is on the inside… and throughout my life I’ve learned that you can tell a lot about a person’s character by the way they drive their truck. Like, how they react in a tight spot, how brave they are, how sensitive they are, how much fun they like to have, how much they value material things, how real or how fake they are, how willing they are to adapt and overcome….and most importantly, you can tell exactly when a person will puss out on you.

We know what we know and at this point we know two things about ourselves - if you park your city truck beside someone else’s country truck and give us choice – we’re gonna choose to ride in the truck that ain’t afraid to get dirty. And if you plan to be around us, there is one thing that you don’t wanna be….and that’s the guy that pusses out before we do. 

And we do not apologize for setting the bar real high... ;) 

Timeslap.

Okay - so I'm just gonna go ahead and admit that the very first thing I do each day as soon as my eyes open...is grab my phone and check the Timehop app.

 

Timehop is my homeboy for sure -  he just hangs out there on my communicator, stores my memories for me and then reminds me of them at the perfect time...that's pretty fucking amazing if you ask me! I guess when you are a nostalgic person with a sensitive soul, having the opportunity to look back and see what happened on each particular day of your life for however long you've used social media is something you tend to enjoy and actually look forward to.

 

Most days, Timehop doesn't let me down and proves to be good for a laugh, a reason to holler at an old friend, a way to see my life's progress, or a reason to shake my head at my own shenanigans - sometimes even all the above in one day. But then there are those days, though few and far between, when Timehop just unexpectedly "timeslaps" me right in the face. Timehop sometimes be like:


..."Hey, Jcrow! Remember that time when you thought this bitch was cool as fuck on March 13th of 2012... and then she really wasn't?" 


 ...Or, "Hey Jcrow, remember this time 4 years ago when your heart was shattered and you were sitting at home crying all day long?" 


 ...Or "Hey Jcrow, remember that this day last year was the first time your beloved Diesel Ray ever had a seizure?"

 

Yep - those are the ones that I call the "timeslaps".

 

So anyhow - these "timeslaps" got me to thinking a while back - I remember that I was laying in bed contemplating the ways of the world, and I mentioned something about something I'd seen on Timehop and how I missed having several different people around that were readily available to bring me joy in a plethora of ways. There are so many people out there in the world who used to play big parts in my life story - people who just generally made me happy, made me smile, made my day, shared a common interest...people who just straight up enriched my life in one way or another.

 

The trouble is - most of these people eventually ended up destroying parts of me in some way shape or form too. Therefore, they are no longer a part of my life story. I guess that's just my luck though right, that my souls favorite counterparts are normally shitty motherfuckers? Hahaha....anyhow, I was told that night, during that conversation, that I am a horrible judge of character and that's why my dumb ass always ends up with my feelings hurt.

 

And I guess that is kinda the truth, if that's how you wanna look at it. But really, I am not a horrible judge of character. I always know exactly what kind of people I'm up against, as it is very hard to fool me. I just choose to see the good in people instead of the bad. I choose to give people chances that they may not deserve. But you know what - as selfish as it may sound, most of the time giving people these chances is just as much for my own benefit as it is theirs. 

 

...I mean so what if he ended up destroying my trust and turned out to be just another jackass in a sea of jackasses? He made me laugh and smile and I enjoyed my time with him before that - so it was worth it, right?

 

...So what if she ended up being my worst enemy in disguise and tried to tear my life apart one piece at a time...I still get kicks outta the dumb shit we experienced together, and I still laugh a bunch when I think the dumb shit she would say to me - so it was worth it too, right?

 

..So what if he left me for a skank that I thought was a good friend of mine...before that he was my very best friend and the sole person on this earth that I relied on and could always relate to - so those years we spent together were also worth it, right?

 

I guess what I am trying to say is that maybe I'm not the dumb ass after all. Maybe if more people gave people chances they don't deserve instead of judging them, they might enjoy their timehop app as much as I enjoy mine. Maybe, just maybe, if people were less concerned with missing the pain...they wouldn't miss out on quite as many dances. 

Put Boozer In 3 And Ride.

It's Wednesday and I'm so bored that it's making my head hurt. Like, for real - I don't even have anything to say right now, I'm just trying to pass the time. How about that, this one is for my entertainment and not yours!


I guess the most recent blog worthy news from the castle on Drennon is that I finally have a mower, and thanks to my Uncle Mike's yard OCD I didn't even need a bush hog as predicted! Randaddy scored the fine machine from a dude named Boozer - keeping with the pattern of naming shit after who it came from, I've decided to call the ol' John Deere just that. Which works well because I sure don't plan to ever mow without a cold can of Coors. Ha. Anyhow, Randaddy & Madre delivered Boozer Friday and I'm pretty excited about the mower itself, not so much the catch. The catch being that I have to make the yard look "acceptable", and according to Randy the only way to  do that is to stripe it. LMFAO, he's telling this to the bitch that was perfectly okay with not mowing and just riding the four wheeler around in he yard all summer to smash it all down! Anyhow, have y'all ever tried to "stripe" a yard? It sure ain't as fun as ruttin' one up, I'll tell ya that! 


From what I remember from my "stripe" lesson, I'm supposed to plan out how I want my stripes, mow around the outside of the yard like three times to give myself room to turn around, and then mow one stripe at a time, back and forth and back and forth, side by side. Now, there are quite a few reasons why I'm guessing this ain't gonna happen but two of them really stand out...one being that I can't mow in a straight line for shit. Even when I try to mow in a square, it ends up all kinds of crooked. And two, this ain't one of those fancy schmancy mowers where you can just move the lever back and forth and it speeds up and slows down and goes into reverse...nope, gotta clutch that shit to switch them gears. I just can't see my fat ass clutching and switching gears two different times at the end of each and every stripe....especially since I've got damn near two acres to mow! I'm just gonna put a beer in the beer holder, put the earbuds in my ears, put boozer in 3 and ride. :)


A co-worker of mine just came in proclaiming "I'm baaaaaaaack!" and was very excited that he was "better" and able to come to work. I asked if he had recently been "bad" and he replied..."pink eye" and pointed at his left eye. What I need to know is this: did anyone else's mother ever tell them that you shouldn't look a person that has pink eye directly in the eye, because you'd catch it? or did my brain just make this shit up? I did look at his eye when he pointed at it and it's not pink anymore...but I still had that thought in the back of my head, even though I know that it isn't feasible. Also, since we are on the topic, I'd like to point out that one can catch the conjunctivitis, aka the pink eye, if someone farts bare assed on one's pillow. Just throwing that out here. :)  


And also, dog people - riddle me this... You know that my pretty Slimbo Jade has been a puppy enigma since they day she arrived at the castle. The girl has surprised me and baffled me over and over and at 8 months old, that still hasn't changed. She has definitely challenged her mother's ability to adapt and overcome - lucky for her little ass, I love her! Anyhow, my little girl is super smart... at 5 weeks old and 3 measly pounds she figured out how to climb up on the night stand in order to get herself in the bed with us. Loki Joe on the other hand, couldn't get his big ass in the bed on his own until he was 5 months old. Being as super smart as she proved to be, it was odd to me that I couldn't ever, for the life of me, get her to stop taking massive dumps in her kennel. On the other hand, my goofy Loki did really well in his. I never can tell which way shit is gonna go with these two shit heads, but I can always count on one of them to act a damn fool! Anyhow - what bothers me the most about Slimbo, what I just can't seem to understand...is how she can be such a hard ass feisty little girl that runs and plays and beats up on her brother one minute, and then have her tail tucked and terrified of everything the next? Literally, if I put a leash on her, she drops to floor and shakes....she won't walk on a leash for shit! She's not a fan of people coming up to her to pet her, she usually pees if a new person comes at her too fast...but eventually she will go up to new people on her own and does just fine. What in the hell is going on here? I'm thinking she might be crazier than I am! But anyway - anybody ever had a dog scared to be on a leash? Anybody ever figure out how to fix that? I think I might need Aunt Daphne's help on this pup too.


I guess I'm gonna go for now. I think I've said enough for someone who didn't have anything to say...I've somehow managed to find a meeting to go to for a half hour and that makes me happy because the phone is ringing on my last fucking nerve today! Fuuuuuuuuuuuck.


Anyhow, I'll catch you fuckers later. :)

Thursday: Stuck, Cold, Suck Zone, Vacuum, Camouflage, Elbow Memo, Good Hair, Crow Bar, The End.

It's Thursday here at headquarters - that means my "work wife" is busy in meetings all day and I don't have anyone to blurt out random ass shit to for 8 hours. Her stupid meetings are negatively affecting my life and my relationship with Thursday. Thursday used to be my favorite - I'm sure it was just because it was Smack Down day and we used to all congregate at my house and drink 75 cent Colt 45 double deuces and then have our own wrestling matches in the living room floor - I would like to think there were other reasons for my fondness of the fourth day of the week...but looking back, I'm pretty sure that was it. I was just that damn cool back in the day. :)

I have this really fancy chair pad here at headquarters that plugs in and keeps my buns all warm and toasty. It's probably one of my most cherished possessions since I almost freeze up and bust twice a day. But check this out...every single time I go to move when it's plugged in, the cord is always wrapped around the legs of my chair a hundred times and it has me trapped under my desk. I'm sure y'all know by now that the crow has restriction issues and not being able to move just doesn't work out well for me, right? Right. So being trapped results in me having a small tantrum while I make my escape never so gracefully, and then I have to flip the chair up and unwind the damn thing. I swear this happens like 7 times a day. I know that it would be a lot cooler if I could tell you that it happens because I sit here and spin around in real fast circles in my chair all day long and have a big time - and I probably would do just that if I wasn't a victim of the dreaded motion sickness monster - but I really don't spin around, ever. So what the fuck is going on here, dudes? There's no logical reason for this chair pad to be fucking with me all the time. I'm thinking that we might have to go our separate ways. Would I rather be stuck, or cold? That is the question....

Also, here at headquarters they have hired a new guy whose sole purpose and only responsibility is to make sure our environment is a safe one to work in. This guy also happens to be a storm spotter, which I'm curious about. Like, what does one have to do to be considered a storm spotter? Because I can walk my fat ass outside and spot storms all day long. Hell, with all these windows around me that leave me completely susceptible to lightning strikes, I can keep my fat ass inside here and spot storms. Maybe he needs to check out my environmental safety now that I think about it! But really, I like to watch storms...I feel like I could do the whole Twister bit, travel the country with some crazies and a rigged up contraption, watch some shit fly around, try to avoid the suck zone. "These pipes go down at least thirty feet, if we anchor to them we might have a chance!" Ha! Anyhow...I told you that so I could tell you this....my "work best friend", who thinks I'm the absolute best thing since sliced bread and puts me in a headlock when she catches me slippin' to tries and kiss me because she "loves me loves me"...is probably the most dangerous thing in my environment right now, besides the windows. But really, if she runs me over with that vacuum one more time, I'm probably just gonna shit myself. Where's the damn safety dude when you need him? Prolly spottin' storms, right?

Speaking of my "work best friend", she seriously just asked me if I liked her camouflage jogging pants. Being he nice person that I am, I told her that I did like them. She explained to me that I "need to go get some at the dollar general". Oh, there's never a dull moment at headquarters. I really don't know how people choose to not work here.

So, I'm sure that you all have seen the new ink on the spacebook page, right? I'm pretty pumped about it. Anyhow - I would just like to throw out there that 5 hours is a LONG fucking time to be getting tattooed. Like, it really did start to test my patience. I didn't complain much at all because I'm a total hard ass but there were at least 2 separate occasions when I looked at Tattoo Kevin and said "oooooh, that feels like SHIIIIIIIIT." And he laughed at me - I guess it's common knowledge in the tattoo world that the area close to the elbow is the devil. I must have missed that memo! I was totally concerned that Tattoo Kevin was gonna suck figurative balls because that's my luck - you  know, that I'd have to spend 5 hours on a Saturday with a stranger in my bubble that was a fuckin' douche. But I was pleasantly surprised - he really didn't suck at all - he was actually very polite so having him in my bubble wasn't a problem. He even has a mouth like a sailor, just like me, so I didn't have to worry about dropping the f-bomb in casual conversation. Anyhow, the crappy stuff is starting to flake off and the sunflower is bright and awesome underneath. Keep your face to the sunshine, y'all. :)

I took a leap of faith on Tuesday and cut the hair AGAIN. Like I have hair to cut, right? Bitch ain't gonna be happy 'til she got a fade! LMAO, anyhow - A friend of mine got to posting and talking about pixie cuts on spacebook, and you know how my wheels get to turning and I can't make them stop. :) But - leap of faith - the cut I picked is completely different on one side than it is on the other, and I wasn't confident that my OCD would tolerate it...but thankfully - it's all good. actually, it's pretty damn snazzy. :) #goodhair

It seems as if a spontaneous Crow Bar event is going to take place Saturday night, a week prior to the grand opening, but that's how we roll. Who makes the rules here anyway? This girl does. :)  I'm anxious for the Smith Bar regulars to come see how they think the Crow Bar measures up. We've got some big shoes to fill...but I think drail, the chad and myself have done quite an amazing job. Did I tell y'all that the chad hung up a pink bar light? Yep, he sure did. Handier than a pocket knife. :)

I'll be tearing outta here early today - got a big Cedar Lake event taking place tonight and I've got a super hot date for it. :) Should be a big time...especially since we scored awesome outfits Monday. I guess I need to get some shit finished up now. If anything groundbreaking happens, I'll be sure to report.

Someone Entertain Me.

Ok, Wednesday - let's do this.


Not exactly sure what me and Wednesday are fittin' to do at this point - but I'm determined that something productive is gonna happen today. From the looks of my to do list here at headquarters, it's not gonna be anything at all before 4:00 pm. I really hate it when the boss man goes on big adventures and leaves me here to drown in my own boredom for weeks at a time. It's just not acceptable! Still got a couple days left to survive...gimme my boss back, dammit!


I think I'm gonna need to tan today, and then try to be productive at the castle if the rain will go away long enough. I really need to de-junk the yard. I'll never understand why people think that they require so much crap, I've been months trying to dig out from under the small portion of the hoard that the honky left behind...I guess in some instances - like, building kick ass bars in the garage and such - random junk does come in handy. But damn the hoard already, I'm gonna set it all on fire. :) One is going to have to mow soon, so one must prepare...and I'll be damned if I mow around bullshit again this year. Such is the life of a grown ass woman. :)


Speaking of mowing, the parentals scored me a trusty ol' John Deere mower that they plan to deliver this weekend. Word on the ridge is that it's even got a beer holder - now that's fancy right there! Y'all know me...I don't even give a shit if it mows, so long as it rides and doesn't spill my brewski when I hit creek rocks while I'm cruising & tanning. :) Hahaha...I can always ride the four wheeler around in a circle a bunch of times and smash the grass down like we did last year if it doesn't mow. I'm pretty versatile like that. :)


Looks as if I'm geared up to get that fancy schmancy sunflower tattoo that I've been trying to work out in my brain for several months. And ain't it funny that after months of planning this shit, I completely changed the game up yesterday on a whim and went with it. Spontaneity at it's finest!! That's the way of the Crow. :) But anyhow - looks like I'll be spending "at least 5 hours" at the tattoo shop on Saturday.  Pretty excited about that - been quite a bit of time since I've had some good quality ink therapy. The only thing that I'm not looking forward to is smelling like a baby's ass and itching without being able to scratch for a couple weeks. Oh well, beauty is pain, right? That's what I heard. I just hope this tattoo guy is as kick ass as Littlefield @ White Rabbit was - being as I have to spend a whole day with him in my bubble. But as long as I face the sunshine, I won't see the shadows, right? It's what the sunflowers do. :)


And speaking of people who aren't kick ass - I had a conversation with a coworker the other day that was about as dumb as the day is long. It makes me wonder if I really do have a "dumb ass" magnet lodged in me somewhere. I joke about this magnet all the time, but I feel like it make be for real. Anyhow, this coworker calls me and says: "Did my staff member drop of a time sheet to you Friday?" I said, "Nope." She says, "She told me that she left there with the receptionist." And I said, "Well, she did not leave it with me."  And then she says, "It was in an envelope addressed to so and so."  Please let me interject here that I had no way of knowing what was in said sealed envelope because I DID NOT open it as it wasn't addressed to ME.... So I reply, "Yep, someone did leave an envelope for so and so but I don't know that a time sheet was in it." She said, "Well, so and so didn't get it." I said, "Well, did so and so check her mailbox, because that's where I put it?" She said, "I don't know, how would I know that?" Same way I would have known what was in that sealed envelope, ya jackwagon!  Really y'all, I swear that I come to work in a good mood every day - I don't get pissy until the idiots happen. :)


I guess I'll be done for now. I've gotta decide what my fat ass might eat for lunch and stare at the walls for a few more hours.  Hell, I might read a book or see if Michele wants to thumb wrestle - you never can tell what the Crow might do - but honestly, I'll probably just sit here and yawn until my eyes water and my nose stops up.




We'll see ya. :)

Well Played, Honky.

In order to be a strong, courageous and independent woman - one has to be strong courageous and independent....right? I mean, you just can't claim to be all the above if you have to ask for help all the time - which is the reason that yesterday, I found myself staring right down the barrel of a task that gave me the weirds all the way around. Although I really didn't want to do it....I had no choice but to dig down deep into my strong, courageous and independent soul, drink a couple beers, and dive in head first.

Now, its common knowledge (to everyone except The Chad) that when the weather turns cold, it's a smart move to shut off the water to the outside spigot and drain the pipe so it does not freeze and bust, right? Last year when it was time for this happen, the honky I lived with was absolutely a turd about it. Just like everything else, shutting the damn spigot off seemed to be the end of the world for him. I'm pretty sure the task stayed on the honky-do list for about....three weeks. The Crow wasn't amused.

Now that its kinda-sorta spring and we've had some warm-ish days, I have found myself with a four-wheeler that's a hot mess and covered in record-breaking mud from a couple record-breaking snows. My Dirty Girl needs to be buffed up a scubby -  to say the least. However, in order for the Crow to buff the Dirty Girl - the Crow must first have a water hose.

I'm not saying that I'm total pussy when it comes to cold wet small enclosed places and all the creatures and bugs and spiders and snakes and shit that could potentially be lurking in the darkness...but yeah...actually that's exactly what I'm saying. Out of all the things in the world that give me anxiety, this task hit 85% of them right on the damn head. Crawling my fat ass under my house, and then all the way across the length of my house to the other end where the spigot is, turning the shut off valve, and then crawling my fat ass back across the length of my house - totally gave me pause.

So for days I thought about it, put it off, thought about recruiting someone else to do it, thought about it some more....but then yesterday I decided that if I was gonna be a grown ass woman, and be off on some grown ass woman shit all the time...I had to put on my grown ass woman hat and get it done. At this point I'm like, no wonder the honky didn't want to do this shit, this is gonna fuckin' suuuuuuuuuuck! Ha.

Anyhow, I threw on the coveralls, pulled on the shit kicker boots, found some gloves, couldn't find a flashlight but I decided the communicator would have to suffice, got the best friend in place to come in after me if I completely came apart - and in to the great unknown went the Crow. (And just to put some irony in the fire - whilst I was gearing up for this mission, the above-mentioned honky that used to live with me cruised by the house for no damn good reason that I can figure...almost as if he somehow knew what my fat ass was about to endure and wanted to bear witness.)

So I'm on all fours, crawling and breathing and cussing and sweating and shit, and I get as far as I could go in a straight line from point a to point b. I realize that I'm gonna have to take the scenic route around some drain pipes and concrete blocks and come up on the back side to reach my destination. I get all the way around and to the end of the of the house and I shine my communicator light on the pipe that I need to get my nasty dirty grubby hands on...and woe is me - I see no valve. I shine my light down the pipe as far as I can see from the position I was in...and I see no valve. So, with a "what the fuck?", I take the scenic route back around the pipes and blocks, get back to where I was and shine my light further down the pipe. Now here I am, barely holding my fucking bearings together, still better than halfway across the house with all the creatures and bugs and spiders and snakes and shit...and I can't find this motherfucker?! I decided that I needed to get close enough to the damn pipe to see the entire thing, because it had to be there somewhere. Frustrated, over the pipes and through the webs, to the fucking water pipe I go. And then there it is. I see it...the shut off valve that the honky himself installed and had tantrums over - was a whole three fuckin' feet from the damn crawl space door. Are you fucking kidding me? Well played, honky. Well fuckin' played.

After crawling my way back to the valve, turning it on, having the best friend turn on the spigot to be sure it worked, and then crawling my fat ass out of the crawl space - I decided that the Dirty Girl was gonna have to be muddy for a while longer because I had to get myself back together. And by get myself back together, I mean that I needed to ride bitch on the best friend's four-wheeler to the creek and drink a few beers to celebrate the fact that I had just proved beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I am indeed....a strong, courageous, independent, grown ass fuckin' woman. I have most definitely got this shit. :)

Cough, Cough, Hack.

Don't look now, but it seems as if the Crow has managed to end up with nothing to do on a Friday....and that's pretty damn convenient because the Crow doesn't feel much like over-achieving today. It's a hard life out here for a smart kid with tuberculosis. Cough, cough, hack. But despite the fact that my lungs are currently well on their way to crapping out and killing me, I'm feeling pretty good about today. I don't have much to report...or maybe I have far too much to report and just don't feel like it? Either way - I can't promise that this blog will have a point. So be it.


I realize that its been a super long time since I wrote anything, you know how it goes - I go through dry spells. But damn - life has sure has jumped, flipped, landed on it's face, and picked itself back up again since the last time I reported anything groundbreaking. A wise old man once told me that I "bounce back quicker than most things made of flesh and bone", and by God, he's right. If life has ever taught me anything - it's that it always goes on.  Ain't no sense in crying over spilled beer, right? Anyhow, I took a stand and made some changes and wouldn't you know it, I found me again....I was right where I left me too.  :)

"If making you happy costs me my happiness, then I can't afford you."

I work with a woman that is nothing short of terrifying and she is absolutely my real life hero. When I grow up, I wanna be able to make people stand up straight just by walking past them...just like she does. :) Anyhow - shit got real here at headquarters yesterday and she had escort a couple people out...such a fearless leader she is! Long story short, my boss called her Rocky this morning...and she said "No, I wanna be the Patrick Swayze of Cedar Lake. Call me Dalton."  And I swear to Jesus, I love her even more because of that statement. I love Roadhouse! I wonder if it's on Netflix? :)

"All you have to do is follow three simple rules. One, never underestimate your opponent. Expect the unexpected. Two, take it outside. Never start anything inside the bar unless it's absolutely necessary. And three, be nice." - James Dalton

So, in the midst of all the above mentioned life changes & face plants - I have encountered and attached myself to the hip of an awesome soul who built me the best looking bar in the county out of random crap that had been hoarded at my castle. Its even strong enough to dance on. :)  I'm pretty excited to get The Crow Bar up and running so my favorite cool kids can come and kick it with me. The Smith Bar totally inspired me, and it will take me quite a while to catch up to their awesomeness... but thanks to The Chad, we're off to a damn good start. Got some bar furniture being delivered this weekend...y'all stay tuned for the grand opening! "The beer is free, just bring your own!" My gosh, we may need to have shirts made.

So, I experienced a first today. You'd think that at 31 damn years old, I'd be all out of firsts....but nooooooooo! Out of all the many years I have spent posting crazy shit on Facebook, today I was reported for an "offensive" image. I feel like 90% of my Facebook time consists of me trying to read between tit & ass shots...and today I get reported over a cartoon that included the word "vag"! Like, really? VAG is short for VAGINA and that's the proper word for the lady part! It's the proper fucking word, y'all! And it's offensive?! I feel like I need to start a campaign, "Anti-Sensitivity For President!" Because seriously, how does one exist in this cruel world on a daily basis if they can't read the word VAG without trippen?! It must be a tough, scary and boring life for them. I feel like I need to type VAG a whole bunch of times at the end of this blog just to retaliate. I've had enough sensitive already, sheesh.
 

I'm sure you all have read about and remember that I do not have a good relationship with the lunch ladies here at headquarters. I don't even believe that we should call them ladies! It never fails that every time I go in the damn dining room, I get hit with some shitty ass remarks...hell, even yesterday when I was on my tuberculosis death bed I got yelled at over soup that sucked! Cough, Cough, Hack! But just to shed some light on what we're dealing with here, below is a conversation that I overheard today while standing in the lunch line. It seems I'm not alone in my battle against the trolls after all....

Nice Lady:  I'll have a pork chop and cabbage, please.

Lunch Lady:  You want it all?

Nice Lady:  No, just a pork chop and cabbage.

Lunch Lady:  Do you want Lima Beans or Corn Bread?

Nice Lady: No, just a pork chop and cabbage.

Lunch Lady:  Why?! Are you on a diet or something?!


That rude shit is just unnecessary! Just give her what she asked for, you evil woman!

But anyhow, enough of my shenanigans for the day. I've gotta close up shop a little early because I get to be a judge at our 3rd Annual Chili Cookoff in a half hour or so. Oh, the perks of working for a non-profit organization - we totally get to have fun.  :)  

"VAG VAG VAG VAG VAG VAG VAG VAG VAG VAG VAG VAG VAG!"

^^  The Crow's Revenge  ^^