* = Names changed to protect the dumbasses

Several days ago, I called my other half.  His cell phone was turned off.  It was close enough to his being off work that I thought maybe he had to work over because someone was late.  Such is the nature of the casino business.  A little over an hour later my cell phone rings.  I greet the caller with my usual cheerful, "Hello!"  I, however, am not greeted nearly as nicely.

"What do you want?"  That's what I get.  Nothing nice in the voice.  Nothing that sounds like he might be joking.  He was being a bastard.  He tells me that he left work early & went to a casino.  No big surprise there.  I think nothing about it again.  Until yesterday.

I talk to my mom all the time.  Being that she lives in Texas & I live here in hell, I always use one of the cells to call her seeing as how long distance is included.  I do use his so that my minutes won't go over & he won't bitch.  Its a win/win situation.  So, yesterday, I called my mom.  When I was done, I sat the phone down on the desk beside me, but I didn't turn it off.  A short time later, it rings.  I answered it.

"Hello!" I answered.

"Can I talk to Maynard*?" came the female voice on the other end.

"May I tell him who is calling?"

"This is Rowena*."

So, I take the phone in there to bastard boy.  At this point, I figure Rowena may be a new dealer or shift supervisor at work.  He stumbles in the conversation.  I'm standing there listening to the whole thing.  He tells this person he isn't going to do anything, he's going to bed, has to work tonight, bye.  My blood began to boil immediately.

So I questioned the existence of this person.  He tells me that she is a customer that wants him to teach her to deal.  This, in her mind, involves going around to local card rooms.  I think not.  I asked why he saw fit to give her his number.  His response was so that she would leave him alone.  He goes on to say that she is just looking for a guy that will give her money.  So, that leads me to believe she's a whore in the proper sense of the word.

Being that we rarely, if ever, answer the house phone, I asked why he didn't just give her that number.  "Because I didn't want you to get mad."  Now I was 10 times more pissed than I was before.  I told him that's what he got for attempting to be sneaky.  Then he got pissed.  Screw him.

Why did I find it necessary to get upset about this whole thing?  Because something doesn't sound right to me.  He generally, or so I thought, tells me everything that happens at work.  Even the crap I don't care about.  He never saw fit to tell me that some woman (I use the term VERY loosely at this point in time) has been trying to get into his pants.  He explains that he has no intention of doing anything with her.  At that point, I explained to him that its not what he thinks is going to happen, its what she thinks is going to happen.  He was confused, of course.  I had to explain the coochie factor.

First, I am not your psychiatrist.  Second, I'm not listening to anymore whining about people wanting to die.  I'm not going to subject myself to it.  I had calmed down considerably from this morning.  Then I read Friday's entry from today & got pissed all over again.  Not for the same reason mind you, but it just got me to thinking about it all over again.

I'm sick of hearing about people wanting to die.  You know what Skippy, I don't care anymore.  Yes, I'm that much of a bitch.  I refuse to help anyone that isn't willing to help themselves.  If you feel your life isn't worth anything, then by all means do what you feel is necessary, but don't seek help when you aren't willing to accept what is being offered or suggested.  And before you go runnin' your collective mouths, read on.

My brother died at the age of 24.  He fought EVERY single day he was alive to stay that way.  Sure, there were days that he was down & thought about the exact same thing you are.  Ending it.  At least he had good reason.  The chances that he would get that double transplant were slim, very slim.  But he overcame that.  He knew that no matter how bad it got, it could always get better.  As long as he tried to make it better. 

Just a few days before he went into the hospital for the last time, we talked about him coming to visit me when he got "fixed."  He was looking forward to it.  He wanted it.  Sure, he was scared.  He could have died during the transplant.  But he was willing to take that risk to make it better.  That's what its about people.  Risks.  If you aren't willing to risk anything, then its never going to be better.  He never had the choice that you have.  His life was taken.  Not by force, but it was just that time.  You have a choice he never had.  You have a choice that thousands don't have.  You want to throw it away, that's your choice, but I want you to know something.  You are a selfish spoiled brat if you do that.

I still cry every day over that loss.  I loved him so much.  I didn't even have a chance to say good bye.  That eats at me every day.  Sure, its not his fault, but it still hurts.  Now let me tell you about someone else.  And yes, you are going to read every last word of this damn you.

Seems that the drawl most of us Southerners are so proud of isn't recognized by the routing system put in by the Shereveport, LA police department.  I have had this problem on a couple of occasions.  Usually when I am already pissed.  That seems to be when the drawl comes out more.  Then I can't get routed where I need to be & it pisses me off more.  Screw voice technology.

What do you really need it for anyway?  I'll tell ya, because the company that has this equipment installed is full of cheap bastards.  They don't want to pay an operator what's most likely minimum wage to answer the phone.  So instead, they spend a chunk of change to have these systems put in.  Then the call still gets routed to the receptionist if your lucky.  If not, you get Joe Schmoe's voice mail.  Too bad he's in the shipping department & not customer service where you wanted to be.

Then this voice recognition crap with phones.  Are you so amazingly lazy that you can't dial a damn number?  Instead, you tell into your phone that you'd like to call Satan.  Instead, you get Stan, the cousin you can't tolerate.  HA! HA!  That's what you get you lazy ass.

I can't wait until they come out with a voice activated sex doll.  That should make for some interesting stories & lots of hospital visits.  I'm surprised the doctor's council hasn't already come up with that.  It is a way to boost business after all.  Oooh I can't wait.

Word of the Day
indolent - adjective
1.  a) causing little or no pain  b) slow to develop or heal
2.  a) averse to activity, effort, or movement : habitually lazy  b) conducing to or encouraging laziness

Yes, that's correct, this week's Crush is Cookie Monster.  Mr. Monster has taught me many, many things.  He taught me that its OK to demand cookies from my mother.  If a steady diet of cookies was OK for Mr. Monster, it was OK for me.  He taught me that it was more than OK to talk funny.  Mom said he talked funny because of a sugar overdose.  I know, however, that its just they way Mr. Monster talks.  I think one of the most important things Cookie Monster taught me was that is WAS socially acceptable to have blue hair.  For that, I thank Mr. Monster.

Due to the fact that I feel I am going to lose what little food I have eaten today, everything is being put off until I either lose my lunch or tomorrow.  Thank you.  Drive-thru.

On a side note.....  look what I made all by my damn self!    Yes, I am aware that it sucks ass, but its the first one I made all by myself.  So lick me & make sure you do it right.

Yesterday morning I was flipping channels.  There was nothing on & I was on a frantic search for something decent.  I came across some channel (which turned out to be ESPN) & there was a woman with REALLY big hair, bad make-up & groovy cat eye glasses.  Of course I stopped.  The loud woman with the Southern accent & bad hair was discussing Dr. Pepper chicken with the host.  I was completely mezmerized.  You would have been too.  Trust me.  The woman turned out to be someone by the name of Ruby Ann Boxcar.  She's got several cookbooks out.  Its all about trailer park livin' & SPAM.  Oh yeah, I gotta get these.

Currently, I feel like crap.  The temperature swings here always do that to me.  Well that & the fact that I often leave my humble cave without taking my jacket.  So now, I have my yearly "ickies".

My nose feels like there are two, albeit small, Oompa Loompas shoved up there & into my sinus cavities.  In retaliation, some of their wonderful friends have decided to rescue them.  Their first plan of attack?  To thoroughly sandpaper my throat.  When that doesn't seem to be working, a nice Oompa Loompa band plays in my head.  And quite loudly I might add.  I think the trombone players are facring the side of my head & spread out so that every slide jabs another spot.

I can deal with those things.  Apparently, the band hasn't formed an immunity to Excedrin Migraine yet.  However, they think its amusing to sit on my chest.  On occasion, it is turned into a trampoline which causes me to cough & hack.  They stop right at the point where I am about to puke.  How very nice of them.  Right now I wish I had the number of a rogue Oompa Loompa who could come in & take care of things.  Hell, I'd even settle for a negotiator.

Yes, that's right, I said snow.  I am also completely aware that I live in the middle of the desert.  However, the portion of the desert in which I am situated is in a valley.  All around this valley are mountains.  The most notable being the Spring Mountains & Mt. Charleston.

This entry is in the process of being moved to my "photo" blog.  You can find it here.

I've spent a better part of my afternoon/evening looking for victorian type Christmas graphics.  I haven't had much luck & its really ticking me off.  I thought I'd get a head start on putting together the Christmas stuff for my crappy little blog here.  But NOOOOO.  There are forces much greater & apparently more clever than I am conspiring against me.  It figures.

So now, the victorian idea may be scrapped altogether.  Sucks to be me somedays.  That means my little tired brain has to come up with something else.  Did I mention it sucks to be me somedays?  Well it does.

I want to learn to make blinkie things.  I like blinkie things.  All the blinkie things I see aren't things I'd want.  Not that I really know what I want anyway.  I just know that they aren't it.  Maybe I'm just too friggin' picky.  Who know?  Not me, that's for sure.

Really my searching hasn't been a total loss.  I did find some place that has Civil War era quilt designs.  Not something most of you are concerned with I know, but it gets me all giddy. 

So there is no witty entry for today.  Nothing earth shatterning.  Nothing that will make you think.  No naughty monkeys.

Word of the Day
Southern - 's&-[th]&rn - noun
the dialect of English spoken in most of the Chesapeake Bay area, the coastal plain and the greater part of the upland plateau in Virginia, No. Carolina, So. Carolina, and Georgia, and the Gulf states at least as far west as the valley of the Brazos in Texas and sometimes taken to include the south Midland area