Ode on a Moonpie

In our first post back in business, I mentioned that I tried and failed to return to college at age 43.

There are, in fact, several things wrong with that declaration.

1) We all know that I am only 33 years old.
2) Statements of my failure have been greatly exaggerated.

Okay, so two issues does not "several" make. They're two biggies, dammit.

As a result of my NOT failing to re-enroll at the "Harvard of Lauderdale County" and after struggling mightily against an evil department chair and successfully gaining admittance into the Professional Writing Program I now find myself, for the first time in the history of my own personal ever...writing poetry.

God help me, I hate poetry.

Call me a Philistine, a heathen, a Midwesterner...I. Hate. Poetry.

I hate poetry for the same reason I hate 'brilliant literature' - it just tries too damn hard.

The best poetry is simple:
The once was a man from Nantucket.
Cookie-Cookie-Cookie-Cook. (thanks, Mel!)
I never saw a purple cow....

But poets - who I believe suffer from a collective case of short man syndrome - insist on making obscure references to Visigoths and ankhs and chalices in poems about dogs and trees and taking out the trash. It's like they can't help breaking out $5 words at every possible opportunity.

:: sigh::

So here I sit, charged with writing a poem for class on Wednesday.
And I have NO idea what to write about.

Maybe I can write about blogs.

There once was a blogger from 'bama
Who did her best work in her 'jammas
A filthy limerick she created
But her damn blog host was R rated
So instead she droned on about...llamas


I have a LOT of flippin' poetry to write over the next few weeks. If you'd like to lend a hand and offer up subject suggestions, please leave them in the lovely little comment box.

Or, as Rick James would have said if he hadn't died of Jheri Curl poisoning a decade before the proliferation of The Interwebz:

"Poem me, bitches!"

I want one...

...a new template design. The little box popped up when I signed on and I thought, "That's what I need. A new template design."

Looked at the bio a minute ago. WHERE HAS THE TIME GONE? I am one, ONE, one hair away from a textbook meltdown. Y'all...next year I will be 55 years old. Fifty-five. I read something the other day that asked, "How old would you be if you didn't know how old you are?" and my immediate reaction was, "Twenty."

Damn. I've lost 34 years.

I never finished my graduate degree. Had a baby after five years of trying, instead. Got ready to go back to school again and (after nearly 30 years of unprotected sex) had another baby. Gave up and stopped signing my name to applications because apparently, that's what gets me pregnant ;)

So now here I sit. This year my children will be 30, 15 and 10. Next year will be the first time in 30 years I haven't driven a child to and from some sort of school. I can be anything I want to be.

That does NOT include 55 years old. I am FURIOUS. This is so not FAIR! But then I get out the big girl panties and suck it up and move through another day and then...it hits me again. The Big Boy irritates me every time he takes a breath. He can't DO anything...he doesn't build or ski or paint or read. He doesn't like to eat out or travel. Having said that? He never DID, so the problem is me. Has to be.

Looking at it rationally, I have nine months, which is very significant. Nine months until this school year is out, ten months until The Nice Kid gets her license and is a willing chauffeur. And then I can be anything I want to be. As long as it doesn't cost anything (there's that two-kids-left-to-raise thing) and there's no age requirement and I can still be on-call because they ARE still kids and I HAVE THE BALLS TO VENTURE OUT.

So here I sit, feeling all sorry for myself and whining because I'm drinking $5 wine every night instead of $40 stuff (that I wouldn't know was better) and mad because I don't have a house keeper twice a week and irritated because there's not a flat screen in the other den and my bedroom. And I click on Queen Mediocretia because she makes me laugh, and then God clicked on this. And I cried until I couldn't breathe and then laughed until I couldn't breathe again.

My God believes in a good swift kick to the ass when merited.

I want this fixed? I better get out the toolbox.

Or at least another template ;)

Friday Funny

In the interest of fair play and publishing justice here is a link to a rant by Comic Sans, the most maligned font since Gutenberg introduced Clownish Calligraphic in 1441.

(Yes, he did. Don't argue with me.)

It's my birthday...

...It shipped...It's my birthday...It shipped...It's my birthday.

My birthday's really not until next spring but IT SHIPPED!!

The customer is always WHAT?

Okay...you know I love my camera. My pictures are legend just because I take them and other people don't (but...they're good pictures. Sez me. ;)

So I buy this great camera, and then my camera buddy finds me a great lens and I am a picture taking FOOL. Have been known to take 1700 pictures at one soccer game. I LOVE MY CAMERA.

Earlier this year...it stops working. No theatrics or accidents...I didn't drop it and I didn't spill bourbon on it. It just stopped working. So I sent it to Nikon, they fixed it and seven days later my camera was back and it worked. Life is good.

About two months ago? Picked it up and...same thing. Didn't work. MY CAMERA. So I boxed it back up and shipped it back and...nothing. I sent it FedEx but it took a week to show up in Nikon's system. and you KNOW that's not right. And then, they kept it for a week and then sent it back to me and said...there's nothing wrong with it.

Well. Just. Duh. DO THEY THINK I SENT IT IN FOR THE HELL OF IT? I had to pay the $20 postage this second time....and I have better things to do with $20...(you can buy a plastic flask of bourbon for transitory purposes for $20 and, as I'll explain later, I have a 15-year-old with her permit.) I sent it in because IT DOESN'T WORK! Wrong. This is all wrong.

So they sent it back and I turned it on, tried the lens and the battery (that I had checked out at the battery store) and...My. Camera. Still. Does. Not. Work.

This called for a phone call. Where someone who thought COUNRTY GIRL had an accent talked me through using different lens (Damn. You think? IDIOT) and TAKING OUT THE BATTERY which I had to do to SEND IT TO THEM. And all the other things you do with novice camera users and then finally he said...We'll send you shipping labels. Send it back. Again.

They did and I did.

Two weeks ago Tuesday.

Saturday night? Enough already. So I logged into my Nikon account with the intent of threatening them...
Facebook? Try me. Blog? I'm in. Email? All over the universe.

And there it was...all soft and cuddly and "we're the best and we got your back."

Replace product. Replace. Product.

Two year old camera? Replace product. Which they probably don't make anymore so I'm gonna get a really cool camera. To take my really cool pictures.

Never mind.

I just HAD to open my mouth. As of today, Thursday, my Nikon status has remained unchanged since Saturday. Replace product. I've logged on a dozen times a day expecting "Product shipped," but no. Replace product. So I just called and the guy was...puzzled. Puzzled enough that he admitted: Puzzled. So he's going to "research" the issue and let me know. The Not Nice Kid played the inaugural game of the club soccer's all-girl team last Saturday, scored the first two goals, and I didn't have my camera. This Saturday The Nice Kid has a USTA tournament, and there's a hummingbird banding at 8 a.m. Saturday morning and...I don't have my camera.

Sigh**

A Public Service Announcement

:: standing in a courtroom with my hand on a bible, a talmud and a koran ::

I swear to you, I took this picture on Sunday afternoon at a gas station/truck stop/diner located less than one mile from my home. (Thank the Hubster for finding it when he stopped for gas on Saturday).

Can you imagine the back story? The photograph was taken at the prison...and it seems like maybe they got married there. How did they meet? She looks like a nice girl. Happy. He looks... like he should be in prison.

Did she actually marry him while he was incarcerated and trust him - a convicted criminal - enough to come straight home when he was paroled?

Oh, Jessie, Jessie, Jessie.

Love is patient. Love is kind.
But Love will R-U-N-N-O-F-T and leave your ass the first chance it gets.

So, kids, if you've seen Shane McGee, please call his wife.

I don't feel guilty about leaving their names and her telephone number intact. Since she traveled a hell of a long way, judging by the area code, to plaster this sonuvabitch's face on the wall of a truck stop, I believe we're performing a public service.

I just hope to God that she finds him and that her maiden name is Bobbitt.

Revenge of the Blog

Hello?
Is anyone out there?

I hear Edward R. Murrow in my head:
"Hello America. This is London calling."

Or maybe I hear Ed MacMahon:
“Heeeere’s The Girls!”
(Nah, sounds like I’m talking about my cleavage)

At any rate, here we are.
Back from the dead, but still not as cool as vampires.
And definitely not sparkly.

Enough time has elapsed (but not time-elapsed, because if the time was time-elapsed we'd have been back ages go)...since we went MIA that both our lives are back in relative order.
Relative to what, you ask?
Good question.

Compared to the economy, we’re in order like Martha Stewart’s sock drawer:
Arranged by color and fiber content.

Compared to where we were 4 years ago, we’re still a hot mess.

But the fact that we now have time to not only send random texts, but actually see each other on a regular basis indicates that it’s time to fire up the ol’ e-lec-tronic soapbox again.

Recent topics of conversation and upcoming posts:

Country Girl’s middle child is now a driver-in-training.
CG1 also has a pellet embedded in her ass – on purpose.
She's recently been alluding to the fact that she’ll be 55 years old and is on the precipice of ...something.
In her words, “The precipice of what? Stay tuned.”
Be afraid. Be very afraid.

I, City Girl, tried and failed to return to college for a second undergraduate degree – at age 43.
I've recovered from the corporate buyout, but could still be laid off on a whim. Good times.
Hub and I are refinancing our house. I am going through the mortgage process for the first time and have never felt like such an idiot in my life. Now that’s saying something.

MOST recent CGCG topic of conversation:
How to un-Friend dead people on Facebook. Our friend, MLF, actually sent us instructions on how to shut down her account - with crypic last message -when she Bites the Big Taco.

So stick around. Comment, even. We need the support of our ePeers!

We are CountryGirl-CityGirl. It has been 15 weeks since our last post.

God, grant us the ability to blog without failing epically

To call out the idiots in our lives without getting caught

And to shine the bright white light of logic where only a dim flicker of horse sense is currently stabled. A-men.