A New Resalution

Ten things I'm going to try in the new year.



1 Watch at least one of the "Lord of the Rings".

2 Stop rubbing Joan's personal lotion on my hands at work before rubbing the eye glasses Jim leaves at work. (Double the evil, double the fun.)

3 Tell my youngest son the lump in my fore arm is caused by an over my active healing process and is not an electronic chip implanted by aliens.

4 By my own damn Chia pet and stop asking for one every Christmas and being bitterly disappointed.

5 Hang my coat up like a normal person when arriving in my office, instead of doing a strip tease utilizing the condiment shelves in lew of a pole. (Barrel turns the camera's on to only my office to watch me when he is on guard duty, instead of a 4 second rotation between all the different cameras. I know watching me in much more interesting but ick.)

6 Refrain from naming wild cats bizarre names such as Gingus Cat, Catskills Mountain, and Harriet, then expecting them to remember their new identities. I must also stop calling my inmates by the same names. (Harriet was my deaf mum's name. Harriet is also the semi albino hard of hearing cat. And my pot scraper.)

7 Embrace my inner freak by utilizing my fondue pot and that thing under my sink as I have always dreamed.

8 Take out additional insurance before attempting #7.

9 Write more stories complete with paragraghs and puctuation instead of easy lists.

10 Walk down my steps like a civilized individual without yelling "Weee! I can fly!" as I leap off my deck. Unless of course, I do manage to grab more air on the way down tomorrow.



ahem did you notice I did not mention Rock once in this post? he was going to be #10 but i held myself back

Queen Anne Cordials

The small grimy hand shot out of the tattered camouflage sleeve and into the crate of festively colored pistachio nuts.
"Hey. Knock it off. Your going to get yourself in trouble", the man told the girl sternly.
She looked at him and grinned vaguely. The back of her neck was beginning to sweat. She had been cold to the bone the entire day, but now she wiped away the drops of perspiration below her greesy hair line with a dirty glove.
"Hurry up, we have to get home and start supper."
He had found her, standing idle, starring at the ribbon candy. She followed him at a distance, trying to keep up with his long stride. Her legs were tired water, her big boots stone. The girl caught up with the man at the meat counter, were she paused and rested against the plastic parsley lined cooler and let the cold air blow up her back.
"They WILL hand you over to the police, if you keep that up", he warned her again, as she ate from the clear open bag in their cart, when he was done selecting the bargain hamburger.
"mm not doing...", but she could not finish the sentience. Her mouth was full, even though she knew better, and she just did not have the energy to finish her sentience.
"You're no thief", he told her as he tried wiping the red food coloring from the nut shells off her face with his spitty fingers. "If you are dumb enough not to wipe the evidence off your face, I'll let them keep you in back till they decide what jail to throw you in." She just smiled at him, wanting him to continue rubbing her face so she could rest longer.
"That's enough now. Behave. We have to get home and take care of the animals."
She wanted to leave the store right then, as hungry as she was. But she knew she would never find her way back to his truck parked in the dark snowy parking lot. And she hadn't the energy to explain why. So she clumped along behind him, trying her best to unbutton the heavy hand me down army jacket as she walked. The sweat was now pouring down her back between her shoulder blades and causing her woolen long johns to itch.
The man turned a corner with the cart and she lost him. So she sat down on a large bag of dry dog food and waited. The piped in Christmas music was too loud, and the words did not make sense. They sounded failure but not quite right, almost as if they were being sung in a different language. She sat and tried to concentrate on the words, thinking maybe if she thought hard enough, the words would come right.. She rubbed the sore spot on her forehead, where her hardhat had chaffed her skin when her boot slipped off the bottom bag of dog food she was sitting on and ripped a small hole. A dry puddle of dog foot piled by her foot. She bent over to pick it up in her clammy hand.
"Come. One." He had found her. Or at least she thought it might be him. He shoved his big hand under her damp arm pit and helped her up. She looked at him and saw two of his angry faces scowling back at her. With one hand she grabbed onto the side of the cart to steady herself and shoved the dog food into her mouth with the other.
"What did I tell you? Are you eating the pistachios?", he asked her. She shook her head no, letting them dissolve slowly in her mouth. She closed both her eyes. All the lights and confusion of the bulk grocery store was overstimulating for her. The metal of the grocery cart was cool beneath her hand. She let it guide her, as she shuffled along side it, moving when it did, trying her best not to crunch as she chewed.
"Where is your coat?", she heard the voice ask repeatedly. She didn't want to open her eyes. She didn't know who's voice was so insistent. She didn't know where she was. "Wait here", she might have heard drifting away from her.
She opened her eyes and found herself slumped in the front seat of her boyfriends truck, her face prompt against the windows frosty glass. The multicolored lights on the tree in front of the store were all blurred together. She was shivering again, her clothes all wet and clammy. She needed to pee, and to spit the cloying sweet taste from her mouth, but she could not yet pull herself upright and dig the blueprints out of the small of her back.
He had seen her open her eyes. "You ok now?", he asked, fear had replaced the anger. She turned her head, surprised to see him sitting next to her. She closed her eyes again and nodded.
"What happened in there?", he asked.
She wanted to answer but her mouth could not form a coherent word, even if she had a viable reason.
"I'm going back in, and pay for our groceries," he said a while later. "We will be late on the construction site this morning", she replied when her blood sugar was high enough for her to speak clearly.
"It is night, not morning", he told her tersely before walking away through the snow towards the electronic doors. She sat up straight and watched him go, glad to be going home where she would crawl straight into bed after her shower. Tomorrow would start another twelve hour day as a construction laborer.
She was drinking the bottom residue from their coffee thermos as he loaded the bags into the bed of the truck.
He pushed the torn holiday paper aside and dropped a case of diet Pepsi on the floor of the truck so she could lean against him on their long ride home.
"What happened back in there?", he asked her again.
"I don't know," she told him, "My blood sugar just dropped. You must be working me two hard."
"I left you by our cart in the check out line to get your coat off the dog food display. I knew something was wrong with you. When I came back, you were sitting in the pop cooler. You fought me as I pulled out. It was embarrassing."
"I'm sorry", she said as he rested her head against his shoulder. Their unknown babies in her stomach danced with all the sugar they had just been fed. Their little pancreases already producing extra insulin sporadically, mischievously.
"I hope you realize you just ate your Christmas present. I can't afford anymore."
The little mother looked at the empty box of chocolate covered cherries that had been wrapped so lovingly.

She has received a box every year she has been with him. She loves the candy. She just can't bring herself to eat it.

Getting My War Face On

So. It's the holiday company party time. First, I'm going to watch this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7j2DHUw8SZg

Then I'm putting on my babydoll pj's and my cell phone and heading out.


*i do have the asian chick in front rights hair, i might as well go for it.

Rock Star Locks

Like all the important decisions in her life, the thought came to her and was out her lips before she could stop it.
"So are we going to cut your hair today?", asked the stylist who was busy adding some summer to her winter 'do.
"NO", came her usual answer. No one ever cut her hair. Only her husband. He was very jealous and protective of her waves.
And then equally fast and before she realized she had said it, and meant it, "Yes. Today we cut it all off."
She felt naked when she stepped out of the salon, the wind cold on her neck.
When she walked into her house, he was there. He could not look at her. When he spoke to her, never looking at her directly, he called her by the masculine form of her name.
"Dylan, buddy, you seen my wife around?"
Watching late night TV when she was consoling her self by stuffing her face with popcorn and regret , she caught Marilyn Manson on a talk show sporting her new hair style.
She stood up and put the food down. Then she took off all her clothes and set off in search of her husband.
It was proven she was more woman than any aging transvestite rock star will ever be.

All I Want

Dear Santa,

All I want for this year is for my new friends to get what they want. Here's my top ten list.

For my dishwasher, Fronting, you know the one with the gold grill, I want an alarm clock. So he can get his lazy ass to work before 4 in the afternoon, and pay some of his child support before Christmas.

For Beckdaul, my favorite morning cook with the liquor store robbing habit, please give him early parole. The man worked sixteen hours days to buy a DVD player for the St. Joe's children's hospital. You know the place, his wife is next door dieing of cancer.

For my new boss Steve, give him a new tooth to replace the one he broke off when he bit into the claw part of his chicken patty.

For Officer Mackerel Breath up at A-control, please give him a sex life. I am tired of having to take my coat off in front of him every morning and spinning around. I know I have a dangerous look to me but hey.

Please give offender 218769 a shirt with sleeves so I do not have to blush every him he flexes.

Give Ellis the meat guy some cooking talent other than the perfect recipe for meth. I have never tried meth, but I understand it tastes similar to his chicken. That and a stronger lock for the chemical room.

Please give my pop vendor a sense of humor. So next time I jump out at him and yell "Boogie-Boogie", he doesn't throw another wrench at me.

Please give the warden a new phone number and a false sense of security. I really miss our late night phone conversations.

Please give my warehouse guy a full nights sleep without a shake down from the overzealous guard to is looking for stolen snacky snacks. I need my inventory done dammit.

Please let the cops find all that Minnesota evidence I planted at The Rocks house. I'll take good care of him on the inside, I promise

Getting What I Want

I've finally got it all figured out. My goals will all be achieved will little effort. Fait acompli without breaking a sweat. Here's how.

Tonight as I am getting ready for bed, I'm going to layer my pajama's. Thin blue first. Flannel kitten pants. Wild hockey jersey over top. (Baby it's cold out side.) I'm gonna make sure I am slightly a strew and must up. Then I'm going to jam my tootsie's into my kids slippers and off I go. I will raise my arms out straight in front of me all sleepwalking zombie ish, and the fun begins.

Everyone knows when one is sleepwalking you never ever wake them for fear of a crazy psychotic episode and will follow a short distance behind me, scared to wake me, watchful in case I step off a cliff or through a plate glass window or lesbian bar.

I'm going to walk into the treatment center with a fifth of Jack and start rearranging things while quoting Ben Jonson. Then I might march over to the gym and straight into the men's locker room and start labeling body parts with my cake decorating kit and they can't stop me for fear I will freak out and go nuts and embarrass myself. And next I will shuffle into the prison's kitchen and climb into the steam kettle and pretend to row it like a kayak as I yell racial slurs and accidentally wack people with my paddle when they come near. The airport will be my last destination where I'll just march onto an airliner waiting to board with hands in front of me, navigate the plane from the pilots seat to the warm Caribbean. And it will all work as long as my arms are stiff out in front of me, cuz soon as my arms drop I'm just another drunk pervy racist in pajamas.

Wild Hearts

You won't even hear the shot.
There you were, sitting in your big over sized chair, feet up with your morning coffee. You were not even aware your baby was up, much less out side in the cold.
"Lynnie?", you hear your husbands voice full of fear come from the kitchen.
You pause, your favorite mug with the wide handle midway to your waiting mouth.
"LYNNIE BABE", he repeats louder but you hear the anxiety drip from every syllable anyway.
"What?", you holler kicking away your foot stool and spilling dark roast across your lap.
"Wolfy. Shot..", and the rest is drowned out by the thunder of your feet down the wooden floor on your way into the kitchen. You get to your husbands side at the kitchen window but his large frame is semi obstructing your view. You see your youngest son doubled over out in the back pasture.
"Wolfy shot a wild turkey. I'll be damned", Hubby finishes. You are remembering the lectures you have given him about the importance of complete sentences and uninterrupted thought. As you stand there and watch him continue to hoot and chortle in bizarre fragments you simply resign your self not to badger him and just psychically rebuff him. You hear your kids footfalls on the porch and walk over to the door.
"Let him in. Let him in quick." (See, You tell yourself. Two complete sentences in a row. So what if there are the same. He must have heard you in his head.)
You open the blind in the door's window and there is the boy holding up a very large black bird by the feet. The birds head will be hanging limp down by your son's knee's. You look at your mate with your eyes and mouth open in a perfect little 0 and your mate looks back at you with his eye's and mouth in the same letter.
"Open that door before anyone sees him out there", your husband will bark.
In comes the boy and dead animal dripping on your clean floor.
"What are we going to do with it?", the husband will ask the anxiety lingering in his voice. "I don't want to get caught and get in trouble with the game warden. They could come here and take everything", the fear in his voice mounting.
Scarty cat, you will think. Boy scout. Do gooder. Non poacher.
"I can burry him behind the pole barn." the Mr. Rodgers you married will come up with.
"Yeah. Could be the CSI from my department are watching me this weekend", you taunt him.
"Oh God! That's right" he will answer.
"Shut. Up.", you answer. Get the big pot in here. We are going to eat the evidence."
"NO! I will pluck it out in the barn. So if the DNR come. They can't take our house."
You go to mop the latte off the floor before your cat gets sick and the blood as well long as you are being domestic. Later as you are tearing bread for stuffing Wolfy will ask if his friend girl Vivica can come over. Your husband will over hear and yell, "Don't tell anyone about the bird."
You clean the organs and as you wash the heart you will tell your son who is standing at the sink waiting for you to pick up Viv, " Did you know some native Americans believe if you share the heart of an animal you killed, you will always be connected by that heart." He will listen and nod and tell you to hurry up.
Later when you are making the giblet gravy Wolfy will ask if his friend can stay for dinner. You will say yes.
"Are you going to use all the guts", he will ask.
"Yes."
"Can I have a taste of the heart?" He chews a large bite. Then he will ask Vivica to taste it. They will argue, but Vivica will succeed to his begging. She takes a nibble. "Ugh. I don't really like it." Wolfy will deflate before her eyes. (Viv of course knows where the bird came from. But she keeps her mouth shut.) Viv sees Wolfy's body curling in on it's self and ask for another taste. She likes it better this time.
They will turn to back to playing American Heart Association CPR on brown stained rug in the living room (Her mom is a nurse and all).
Lynnie chops the rest of the giblets up and adds them into the gravy. She likes this Vivica. She will get an extra big ladle. Viv makes the Dad say, "Please pass me the mashed potatoes", be fore she hands them over.

Starting Something

"Just what do you think you are doing under there?", your boss will ask you.


You will place the Sterno fluid, matches, and sunflower seeds (you crunch them when you are nervous) on the top of your desk as you crawl out and turn your big wide eyes toward him.



"Ooh. Now I've gone and started something", you will slowly answer, "I've done started something THISS time."



The smoke will be rising up now and your superior will shout about fire and usher everyone out the closest exit. Except you. You will sit with your head in your hands repeatedly whimpering about the thing you done started as the flames lick up the cheap veneer of your desk. As the last guard pauses to look back at you, yell- "I warned them, I warned them good. Don't play nice, and I WILL be starting something. Didn't I warn you all?"



Once everyone has left through the sally ports, turn the gas of the ovens that line the exterior of the room on full bast and blow the walls out. At this point you have exactly fifteen minuets before the fire fighters make it to your location. Strip down bare assed naked (the video monitors are now fogged over) and proceed to rub your butt on every phone receiver and computer mouse in the vicinity. Rub your ass on the camera's lens for good measure to throw the CSI in a loop ("Frank! Did you just see what I saw there? Was that an anus?"). Haul out the bones you got from the inside black market and arrange them realistically at your smoldering desk with some of your uniform. Resist the urge to cross the femur bones pirate style by the skull. This could possibly have taken you only ten minuets minus all the exaggerated hinney rubbing , but whatever. Grab the roster with the inmates identities on it and off the back loading dock you go. Two days later in Costa Ricca the locals will rub coconut oil into your singed skin while you burn through the drug proceeds of #237541, and wonder if anyone is using your phone.

Resume

"You ever cook before?", she asked him.
"Yes. Every thing from fine dinning to fry cook. Up near Orr."
She looks up from the application in front of her. "The Damn?"
"No. Other places near there." He lists off the restaurants but she does not hear. She is staring into the eyes the color of the shallows of Pelican lake. Warm sand with flecks of algae.
"How do you cook walleye?", she asks.
"Pan fry it in a light season dust."
She is on the rocky island now, fanning the embers beneath the skillet with her cold bloody fingers. Hunger rumbles in her belly. The forbidden fish will fill her.
"You start on Sunday morning. Be here at 4:am."
He nods his dignified head. "Have you ever fished Pelican Lake?"
She smiles at him. He smiles back for the first time. They both know she can not cast that line.
She gives him a tour of the kitchen and his uniform. An extra hair net for his long dark hair.
"How long do I have you for?", she asks, wondering if he has a woman waiting for him up north.
"Excuse me?" he replies, with out a question in his voice.
"When do you go home?", she expands.
He pauses a long winter pause, "I have no home now. My tribe burnt it when I gave all my nation's money back to the tribe instead of the council."
She knew there was more to the story but did not want to hear.
"From the little island in the middle you can hear the lonely whistle of the train in town, can't you", she says and it is not a question.

The Sounds of Early Morning

At about 6:15 I ran out of my door and dropped my keys down the temporary metal ramp my husband had leaned against the porch seven years earlier, when we built the house in lew of the wooden stairs he had planned. It was startling cold with a wind chill of minus 14 below and I was running late. Normally I would have been at work already for a good half an hour, mediating my crew, but this morning it was too cold for me to leave my cozy bed. My keys made a scratching sound on the ramp before coming to a crunching stop at the gravel. The wild cats meowed their good mornings as they rose with a rustle from their recycling box homes when I headed to my cold jeep to rev it's frozen engine into life. The heater whooshed frosty air on my ankles. My wind chimes clinked with a brittle sound in the wind on my porch when I stepped out of my car. Hubby had proudly made them out left over polished brass pipe from his last job for me. I hated them at first. I was annoyed that they broke my silence. I would pull it's clanker over the banister to quieten them. But now I think of him when I hear them, how he tried to make me something beautiful instead of practical. I always welcome the sound of his love.
There was a rustling sound in the hen house, but not yet a crow. The chickens were not fast to leave their warm beds ether.
I clunked back across my deck into the house for my warm cup of coffee to go, and my brief case when I was greeted by K1 who had slipped in front of the kitchen TV in my short absents outside.
"Morning Mom", his greeting is brief, knowing I can only grunt at him this time of day. The smack of our lips is heard over the morning news."Ugh coffee breath", he mutters.
I hear the sound of the steady hum of the oxygen machine being turned off and know Hubby is now awake and will not let me out of his sight without some conversation to start his day.
I slip out the door as fast and soft as I can without spilling my coffee.
On the radio in my jeep the local DJ is talking of the untimely death of the singer from Quiet Riot.
I sing along to "Come on feel the noise", in my morning frog voice as I pull out of my drive. I hurt my own ears and embarrass myself in front of me. I gave myself a warning glare in the rear view mirror, but was glad when I could not see myself.

For the War but Against the Troops

I know certain people on my staff go threw my desk. My desk is in a locked office but every one in my company has a key because that is where we store the cantraband (ceyanne pepper for making home made mace, yeast for hooch, ect...). There are few seacrets in the kitchen as the cilivan cooks bid their time gossiping about the fellow co-workers. I figured out they have been going through my papers for some time, as they are not very good at putting my things back. I now lock the confedental papers in my supervisiors office- the one only I have a key for.
But last week I threw them a test crumb.
I wrote two of the biggest know it all's names on one of my note pads really hard.

JOAN
>FIRE
MIKE


Then I tore the top page off the note pad and left the imprints behind that was barley discernible.


Yesterday was a pleasure to work as now those two snoops think they will be fired. Somehow the entire place knows, including guards and the other shifts. I can not wait for one of them to build up the courage to ask me if they still have a job.

The Day is Coming

7:am-I stood in my bathroom pinning back my hair and rehearsing the phase, "So you quite?" and I got the page. A coat of gloss and I was out the door.

8:am-I am in the bubble listening to the morning cook's tiraid on the no show of the baker/truck driver. I listened but did not giggle or roll my eyes. The more she swore and vented, the better I felt.

9:am- I placed the order for the next food delivery. $1,465. Questioned Jim if he was feeling better. (He had called in sick and had gone to the Packer game.) Greeted Antoine with a cheerful good morning. (Was not acknowledged.)

10:am- Sat through the longest drawn out possible new hire meeting ever.

11:am- Met my bosses, bosses, boss. My boss to the third power explained he was there due to Antoine. I could not fire him because of lack of paper work from Gerald (my boss). Antoine just needed a talking to. And he had to talk to morning cook about anger management classes.

12:00- Boss to the third explained to me Gerald is not coming back. (He was transferred to another facility.) Asked if I could handle rest of the week without him. I nodded yes and wondered if he knew I had been by myself most days since I took the job 2 months ago. Told me had I been there longer than 6 months, I would of gotten the job. I thanked him and asked where the mail room was.

1:pm -Saw the deaf child molester in the kitchen and wondered how he got back into the kitchen after getting fired. (Can't I get rid of anyone?)

1:05- Had a face screaming caption questioning my why I hired deaf creep back.

1:30- Meeting with 5 yuppy yups about deaf guy's forged rehire papers. reshedualed follow up meeting for Friday.

1:45 -Watched lying deaf guy get re-fired and escorted out. Hid everything that had my signature on it.

2:pm- Talked to Sandy the Finnish guard from Maugha about bread. Found out she used to be a bouncer at the homeless shelter downtown. Our grandparents are from the same town.


3:pm-Called Gerald and asked who my new boss is. Steve will be new boss. Was told Steve is very similar to Gerald, but I will need to write my own rules.

4:pm- Found the damn mail box on my own.

The Axe

I can't wait until Wednesday. I can't wait and I'll tell you why. Wednesday is the day I get to fire Antoine. That's why. I am glad.
Antoine should have been fired a long time and many reasons ago, but my boss has this thing called a heart and won't do it. I have wanted to fire that lazy slug the day I first laid eyes on him.
Oh sure, having this employee around (he is not an inmate, he is one of my company) makes me look smarter and more ambitious but man I can replace him with a comatose three toed slough.
I am more excited about this right now than my upcoming Maui trip, the polar plunge, working with Solie Anderson, and that nother child I can't tell you about yet, and the big family reunion thing.
Technically mind you I am only to suspend Antoine, and I will do it in a very nice professional manner. But I will let him take it as a challenge and quit.

Bless my Pig

We can't serve pork in prison. None. Even though it is an inexpensive type of protein, the inmate's can't have it. Even though the majority of population would love a good chop, Muslims and Jews might accidentally consume it and there would be lawsuits. Law suits and riots. That is why every one on the inside wants to be a wiccan.
Convicts are allowed one religious feast a year. The native American population request venison and wild rice. Ramadan, roast beef and cheese cake. The wiccans, got wise and claim pig (and spumoni ice cream ) as part of their ritual. Suddenly, in mid October, everyone is begging me to work on halloween.
I had to order three times as much pork roast as what was needed for the number of self professed nature worshipers. The stuff just disappeared. Con's would sneak the meat out raw, and using a lead pencil and an electric outlet for a spark, to cook it over a paper fueled fire in their cell, one bite at a time.
Part of the wiccan celebration ritual, the high priest told me, as to have an extra "offering" feast plate prepared to be left out for their spirit ghost.
The high priest did send me the most polite thank you letter complimenting the special food and effort that when into the harvest feast.
Of course, by the time I received it, the priest was doing his time in the seg hole. He didn't realize our camera's videoed him stealing the spirit ghosts meal.

*all religion must be a documented religion of a non violent nature. you must attend 2 services lead by an ordained leader or witnessed by a certified worship leader

Down in Front

She sat in the back of the classroom doodling on her hand out and keeping an eye on the clock. Her books were already stashed in her pack, her laptop in it's case, and her keys at the ready in her front pocket. She would be the first one out of there, and she was anxious for the day to be over. Most of all, she hoped none of the slower participants would raise their hands with redundant questions. But of course the inevitable happened just as the ICS expert wound up his talk.

"So if there isn't any questions on the importance of the procedures I covered today, I'll let you go a little early."

She grabbed up her items half rising when the lady in the new badly fitting officers uniform at the front table shot up her hand. With a groan and an eye roll the impatient one lowered herself back into her chair.

"I understand what you said about the importance of a through pat down and all, but I work in a men's prison. I'm not touching junk for eight hours a day."

"You knew when you took the job it was a men's prison?"

"Welll...yes. But sometimes at movement I have to do pat downs and there is no way I'm going to be touching that much junk."

"How would you feel if you didn't touch their junk, and that is the day one of them comes through with a shank he hide in his crotch and he stabs your co-worker with it."

"They couldn't hide a knife there."

"Sure they will. Have you looked at the confiscated weapons on the back table. Especially if they know you are the officer that doesn't touch junk. I guarantee you, if you to work in my facility, you'd be touching more junk than any hooker or urologist in Minnesota, I'd personally make sure of that. One inmate was caught not long ago with a nine pound block of cheese he jammed into his pants...."

The girl accomplished her early getaway at that point as her hoots and guffaws were disrupting the class.

A Pointless and Epic Adventure

I walked into the connivance store and bought my big ass bag of cheap chippies. The clerk smiled at me briefly before handing me my change, a five dollar bill and some coins. As I leave the store a huge gust of wind snatches the bill from my hand and throws it into the air. I chase the bill down the street. Eventually it lands in the busy road. Fear of certain death keeps me from rushing out onto the street. Instead I wait a life time for the hurtling cars to pass.
After several anxious minuets it is safe for me to retrieve the wet crumpled bill. My money is torn nearly in two. And so without a moments hesitation, I march back into that connivance store and buy myself an other big assed bag of chippies. The clerk is perplexed by my action, but I do not care. That money was clearly jinxed and I would not carry such bad karma on my person.

SSSHHHhhh.....

*warning: the following blog contains adult material that may cause the hair on the back of your knees to rise, heebie geebies, Stockhome Syndrome, eye rolling, list making, and general feelings of unease.


The devil has inhabited my microwave.
I repeat. Satan now resides in my Whirlpool Elite.

This morning at 6:am as I was warming the milk for my coffee he first showed himself to me. Right there, in the digital time window he appeared. 666.

I stared wide eyed and fearful before snatching my innocent mug from his clutches. My milk was scalding hot. SCALDING I tell you. Usually it is only tepid when it comes out. I threw open my front door and rebuked the offensive liquid out of my home. Then I grabbed my purse, and my keys and ran out of the house as if Lucifer himself was on my heels. He might have been for all I knew, I was in that much heed. Then I slipped on his puddle and landed with a crunchy thud next to my car. I'll be damned if my boss didn't believe the devil made me late for work. See he is already casting his dark magic and causing riffs and mayhem in my relationships. I spent my day at work vigilantly answering all e-mail and never letting my in box get more than 5 letters at a time. At lunch time I skedaddled over to the chapel for a Bible, but after discovering the inmates used them all for free rolling papers, I hit the cooler to rustle up some garlic. By three o'clock, my coworkers sent my stinking twitching self home . I think some employee's were starting to believe me, wanting me cast out and all.

Back at home my husband did not kinder entertaining any spirits other than maybe a hot toddy in the microwave oven. Claims he sees that offensive number only every ten minutes or so. I decided I would venture back into my domain. Cunning monster that he is, my oven appeared fine, so I walked straight over to him and stared him straight in the face. That is when my first cookbook, the Betty Crocker circa 1981, fell out of the top cupboard, and bounced off my head. It's flimsy spine broken in two. Page 261 Dark Indulgence Pie. Page 262 Devils Food Cake.

This is what I need you to do, my friends and do it quick as I am crouched under my computer desk whisper typing this message lest my proximity and my safety be given away. Send me sustenance. Now. Knowing it is hard to get your hands on Holy Water, I want the next best thing: water of life. (That's code for Aquavit.) Food stuffs. A nice cheese tray and fruit basket. Macadamia nuts. Some kabobs. Sushi extra avocado. Any extra candy you have lying around. But not, not the Smarties. I do not know how long I will be under holding fort and battling temptation. Oh and prayers are welcome too.

Taking Stock

Dear DOC,

As per your request, I have made the necessary arrangements for the possible panepicademic.
I have stockpiled:

85050 paper bags. 120 cases.
255150 plastic baggies 256 cases
765450 paper napkins 780 cases

The non perishables are currently being held in the outside ware house as I know if the inmates see the number of paper products, they would expect a lock down and incite a riot.

Our freezer's maximum capacity is 1112 square feet of room. 13500 frozen dinner are 135000 ounces or 8437.5 pounds. They will fit. If we order them when we have the manpower to utilize the fork lift. I called our supplier in Wisconsin. All they need is 2 functioning employees, and it will be here in a day. Same with the 151200 pounds of canned fruit. And the 20160 ponds fresh fruit. 2520- 336 cases. 113400 cases of cold cereal. 12650 crates of milk- fresh, 315 boxes 32 cases powdered. 765 loves of bread. 1032 pounds of pre sliced meat and cheese. 135 pounds of peanut butter. 750 pounds of canned stew. Concentrated fruit juice, 4 pallets. 2000 pounds margarine. 78 cases mustard packets.

I have two week's worth of supplies to revert back to scratch cooking . We also will need 1008 man hours of able bodied labor to function.
With that in place I can feed population and staff for 21 days lock down, 45 with no outside contact . All my kitchen ducks are in a row.

I also took an inventory of the stock I have on hand,

I big ass block pepper jack cheese
3 bags Doritoes
2 large Baja Sol salsa
10 pounds t-bone
tater tots, frozen veg, cream of mushroom soup, hamburger
8 pounds assorted chocolate
Hagen Daze
Aquavit
1 box red, 1 box white
2 large bags Alley Cat
The Complete Monty Python DVD boxed set
The last Lemony Snicket, Harry Potter, Narnia, Louis Eldrich Book
12 pounds fireworks
1 case TP

Course the last item's are at my house. That's where I'm going to stay if this all shakes down.

Phobia Free

"I'm leaving," the Phobia said dragging his heavy baggage toward my front door.

"Just like that?" I asked. "I'm going to be worry free?"

"Not really, Disgust is going to replace me."

"Disgust?" I answered with a frown, holding open my door with a clean handkerchief.

I wished Phobia well and passed him a bottle of sanitizer for his travels.

"Maybe you will see me again", he said as he nervously scanned the horizon and crossed himself before setting off.

"Maybe you will", I answered not wanting to sound rude.

I closed my door without locking it and leaned against it with sigh and a (disgusted) sneer.

"Gonna go round in circles...."

Now look here. http://aralbalkan.com/1058

Tell me what you see.

10 Things, Boss Man, 10 Things

Dear new Boss Man, here are some things you ought to know about me.


10- When I wrote on my resume I was night manager at my last job, it meant they left me alone to direct myself around after dark.

9-I giggle out loud every time I here the word "penile."

8-During my interview process, I ask all the applicants two questions.
1) Do you have a tattoo? 2) Do you want one?
Then I whip out my inkin gun I jimmy rigged out of my computer motor (thank you academy for teaching me how) and sell my black market body art. I'm really good at Cripts, Native Pride Warriors, and MS 13 tags. But I really enjoy tatting Bloods on the Vice Lords and vice verca.
I make good money AND get to watch the throw down that ensues.

7-My left boot is now named Jewel and my right Butt. Both of their last names: Kicker.

6 Every day I try bribing the ICS with food stuffs to get me my own teaser. I'm willing to go as far as the Thanksgiving pudding cups if I can zap someone. (Oh and it's going to be one of those damn stubborn ICS agents that's going to fry first when I get one for keeping me from my fun.)

5-I use the warden's name in vain.

4- I spent my time at academy fantasizing about the male nurse that droned on in front of the room for a good part of the day in a strangely falsetto voice of the dangers of blood born pathogens. I pictured him dressed up as Lisa Minnelli. He so could have pulled off an evening gown and a feather boa had he a martini glass and a little mascara . I bet myself nursey did a mean impersonation of a heart broken lounge warbler in front of the boys in the infirmary. That and I thought about toast.

3-Oh like hell in a hostage take over am I "going to assume my role as a hostage and act accordingly." Protect the general public? No. I'm jumping in the dietary truck and rammin the gate. Razor wire. Gate. And I might just take Wasson with me. Dude makes a mean dirty rice. Good to know on the outside, when we are hiding out in Mexico.

2-At lunch time when the warden does his face time front and center up by the guards cage and watches the inmates going through the serving lines eating, he wants to see me "work" the room. He would like me to listen to the inmates feed back, so he does not get kites of complaints. Those randy guys don't want to talk food to me. So I walk up and down the serving lines behind my workers and whistle "Chain gang". He wonders why they glare at him.

1- You had me at "all male."

RAWWWRR

For the briefest of instances, when I opened my e-mail, I felt like a winner. One hundred twelve letters! I was the epitome of popularity! Finally all my my unanswered mail has been reciprocated. All my old friends are trying to contact me once again. Probley some big bash in my honor. And then sadly I realized I did not know one hundred and twelve people and the short lived joy I was feeling was deflated while I set about deleting my latest virus residue. I was on my second or third page of erasing the ones about Steve the crocodile hunters demise, and growing my arm chair taxi penis when a certain one caught my eye.

FEEL LIKE THE TIGER YOU ARE.

Huh? What did that one mean?

When I poke my rotund cat Tippy in the belly I feel soft fur. A warm fur covered marshmallow/bean bag chair feeling. Tippy, vain cat that he is, does not put up with me poking his flub for long before he haughty stalks off twitching his tail. I touched a tiger up at that zoo in Hinkley once, the time the owner let me ride around on his golf cart as he was feeding the critters, but that was after a few complimentary beverages at the casino, and I can honestly tell you at that time I didn't feel a thing.

OH. Feel like the tiger I are.

I always felt myself more like in the canine family, what being raised by wolves on the Canadian border and how well I can relate to the fox and all, but hey I could give this thought a shove.

In my tiger frame of mind I'm damn hot. Not the good hot. The growly, I got all this crazy fur on me shave me now I'm going to bite your head off hot. And I'm gassy from all this meat diet, plus a little constipated to boot. I could go hunting for sport, pleasure or just a quick snacky snack, but I just want to lay here. And I'm all twitchy, looking over my shoulder for poachers all the time. They only want me for my hide and my aphrodisiac ability. Not that I would get any steamy loving mind you. They done shot every other tiger cept my brother and he is up in a zoo, God knows where in Minnesota. Not that I would do him anyway, the lazy buggers farts were riper than mine. Bring me a steak and a nice cool place where I don' t have to keep marking as my territory. I'm the biggest thing going on around here.

Yup, that person who sent me that knew me well after all. I should invite him over for dinner. Bring your own penis armchair.

Where You At?

The Man sucked in her breath and pushed open the scared grey metal door with much more force than was needed. The broom that was leaning against the hot boxes on the other side clattered to the floor, and the heavy portal ricochet back towards The Man causing her to leap sideways into the room like an over caffeinated cat avoiding bath time. All the voices that had a moment earlier been echoing through the florescent bright kitchen died abruptly as the fifty nine eyes all turn in her direction. It would have been sixty, had Minendez not lost one that gang fight uptown.


The new meat had entered. The inmates did not know what to do with the little white girl man yet, so they only watched, and waited. But mostly they watched.


The Man, on the other hand, was much more scared of what they could do to her than what she could do to any of them. She scanned the room quickly, trying not to appear too obviously anxious, looking for the large black man, Gerald. Gerald was The Man's protector, her saviour. Unfortunately her new boss ran on Gerald time and was not yet there.


"I wonder if I could bust outta here", she thought, "If I was ever convicted of a heinous crime and had undergone a sex change. I mean after all, I got into here with only this badge. No keys, no escort, and no armed guard I was promised. I could get out." She didn't realize yet, how soon this thought would become her deepest desire.


Being the adrenaline fueled rush thought that it was, this all had bounced through her head before the broom finally came to a stop on the floor to her right.


She was in the kitchen alright. Locked in the kitchen, with fifty nine eyes trained on her and ten of the longest yards to the secure office she shared with Gerald. She quickly walked with her head up, trying not to run and shed fear laced hormones in her wake. She looked nether to her left, nor to her right as The man took in as straight a line possible past the dish line, the cooks area, the salad and prep lines, and the bakery. She made it to the safety of her door. The safe door that stood in front of her locked, the keys in Gerald's pocket, right where she wanted to be at that instant.


She could only blame herself. She could have stopped at the front guard station and waited for Gerald. The Man could have requested a guard or an escort back anytime before she got this far. But hey, the watch officer she had walked swiftly past at the front of the cafeteria had been playing solitaire on his computer instead of monitoring any of the numerous surveillance camera's and was too busy trying to close down his screen before she had seen what he was up too to bother with checking her clearance.


She could not place the trembling hand she had reached out on the door to juggle it's unwielding knob and alert the convicts of her venerability so instead she reached up to adjust the lock of hair that had strayed from the tight knot on top of her head. In that instant as she looked into the glass walls of the darkened room surrounding her desk, she had a glimmer of hope as looked into the eyes of the uniformed woman staring back out at her. But that emotionless face held tension only The Man could identify. She hoped.


The movie in her mind fast forwarded through all her viable options at this point of her rapidly approaching demise-


She could scale the bakery stack rack next to her and climb into the extended ceiling panels overhead and tunnel around the eclectic cables if not to freedom, to a spot that would only hold her weight.


She could drop where she stood and with a little luck, hit her head on the tile floor and render herself unconscious, oblivious to what would happen to her body next.


She could fling herself at the camera pointed at her office door screaming and flailing around in hopes Beril had shut down the game he had been playing to turn his attention the video screen premier of her peril. "Peril!!!! BERILLLL!! Jack on Queen! Halp! Look at me!"*


She could take the offensive and jump on the closest table and shout, "BITCHES! Listen up! Keep it in pocket and you won't do f@#* hole. Feel me. Get you s&$@ ass's humpin!"


She could turn and walk into the ware house back into the freezer and just not come out liquid. (Humans are liquid, or are we gas. Except frozen right? Then we are solid.)


She could do her best Erica Kane impersonation, her most used out, where she squares her shoulders and acts as if she can do anything she wants and expects others to do her bidding. Except Erica would sleep with the warden and then marry the alpha riot inciter. As exciting as that prospect sounded at the moment, she already had a bitch at home.*




"Good Morning The Man! Where is Gerald!" Her ears welcomed the sound of one of the contracted morning cooks voice over the echo of her knees knocking together.


She turned towards the chef who was making his way toward her. Fat Jim, the cook so dirty grizzly he made the tattooed toothless inmates look good lurched in his discombobulated gait over to her.


"The Man, c'mon into the bubble and had a cup a coffee and sit down." Head so high her chin grazed the clouds, she followed him into the the one way glass unclosed room.

Later while standing in her new found haven, she would watch the workers in the kitchen and discover the backgrounds of the men who soon became her new friends. Littleman, the three hundred pound line server with the positive attitude and quick smile would help her when population harass her about the shit they were being fed. "When are we gonna get some steak in this place boss lady?" they would ask as they shuffled by, tray in hand wanting to make conversation with a new face. "Hey, leave the lady lone man. Where you at?" Littleman was in for murder. Maybe her new friend for life. This was a surprise when she found out. She had pacified herself with the thought perhaps Littleman had just got busted for driving a get away car. By the time he was sent away to segregation for smuggling food, she was more comfortable hanging out with the 'mates than the staff. When The Man discovered her lead night cook had beat his woman's baby to death with his bare hands, she stopped doing background checks.

Never in her wildest dream had she imagined herself managing a prison. Life changes happen fast. I don't expect to be at this job long. But then they say attention deficit is a contributing attribute among prisoners.



*Hubby. I will write about his transformation soon.

When I get out of jail...

When I get out of jail,


I drive away very very fast.

And don't look back at the guards in the tower watching me peel out.

I turn my music up LOUD.

And roll down my window and gulp the fresh air.

When I pull into my yard, I walk over to the chicken pen and lock my knees when the multicolored flock swarm me, much like the inmates do, when I enter the cafeteria, so I don't turn and run . And I stand there and watch them, watch me, much like the cafeteria. Only it relaxes me.

I walk into my house and wash my hands repeatedly. I sometimes wash my hands repeatedly before I shower and wash repeatedly.

Then I eat. I crave the food so spicy it will bring tears to my eyes. I want the deserts to sweet they hurt. My office is right next to the bakery and I'm damned if I will eat state paid food designated for the prisoners. The same food the guards will push like brutish pigs to get to while the men are sitting waiting at the long hard tables watching , waiting for clearance, is not what I want to put in my mouth. But most of all, I want that fruit cake. The cake only my mum knew how to make and only at Christmas.

And when I get to sit down and hug my boys, I stare at their innocent beauty, in my bright warm yellow kitchen with it's cobalt blue and teal green curtains, glad to be in a room not void of color, and tell them funny stories about the murders, and rapists, and the raping murderers, and the murdering rapists and that silly cook dude to is in for knocking over a liquor store, but got sent to minimum security, only to walk off and swipe the dietary van to rob the bottle shop three blocks away, and is now back cooking breakfast.

And I'm all ok.

Purgatory in Azkaban

One the second day in her new life in management she spend the first twenty minutes of her pre pre dawn morning locked in the shabby corridors between buildings after taking a wrong turn. She could not continue forward nor go back. She passed from one door to the next and stood staring at the solid grey steel barrier and wondered if there was some sort of alarm she would trigger if she just continued to jiggle the handles aggressively. The armed guard that had glimpsed her defeated form in passing and set her free never did explain to her her name tag would open any door. Maybe he knew there are just doors she should not open. Silly guard.

A Seriers of Adventures or Nothing at All

Everything on the woman hurt as she squatted there, unsuccessfully trying to shade her head under the tallest weed in her local. And to top it off her allergies was causing her nose to run as steady as the corn harvester's continuous hum off in the far field to the east. She wanted him there already, to bring her a long cold drink, before she lost conscious, and to carry her broken body back to the cab of the truck. But instead she kept crawling through the dirt, picking the hot little cabenara peppers, and stuffing them into the bottom of her baggy rolled up t-shirt. Soon she thought longingly, school would be out, and she would see his dirt bike raising puffs of dust as he zigged zagged his way to her.

"Hey. What's this? Is this a dirty little grub crawling through the field?."

He had startled her, coming from the opposite direction on foot. She wiped her nose on her grimy sleeve and looked up at Gunny where he stood behind her blocking the merciless sun from her with a half filled pepper basket in this thick arms.

"Got any water on you Babe?", her voice cracked.

His smiling face fell serious. "Mom. You. Know. You . Carry. Water. At all times!"

The teenager dropped his produce on the ground without a regard to the peppers that tumbled out and took the plastic bottle hanging from his belt. "Drink. Where is your water?"

The woman tilted her head back and guzzled the sweet tasting water he had handed her. She made a vague flail of her arm towards the farm's truck parked farther across the field at the rows end, and spilt the precious water down her front as she did so.

"You left your water in the truck?"

She nodded, sniffling and wiping her blushing nose as she did.

"If you had water in the truck, why didn't you just go get yourself some Mom?"

"It hurts too much to get up and walk."

The boy looked at her with his bright blue eyes but did not lecture her further. The novelty of having his mother at his job where he could tell her what to do was just too good a taste in his mouth not to savor. Gunny had worked on the farm since spring when his special education manager had told them they could not find him any summer employment the boy was qualified for. The owners had sized up Gunny as they shook his hand and hired him on the spot. He had wanted to work so badly, to be out of the house and not responsible to babysit, that he bicycled five miles to and five home from an eight hour shift daily before he was aloud the privilege to drive his dirt bike.

"Mom, you are mixing up the habenaro's with the cabenera's. Where is the list Gary gave you?" He held up two of the peppers from the basket she had dumped her shirt tails into and held them up to show her the difference.

Lynnae held up the scrap of cardboard and read out load to her dyslexic son the grocery list of produce they needed for the farmers market the next morning.

"What was your Dad doing when you got off the bus?", she asked him, although she knew full well the answer, as they both bent their heads over the basket to sort the mixed peppers.

"He was sitting out in the chicken coup, with the phone in front of him."

"Did he have his oxygen on?"

"No. You gotta pick faster there Mum, if we are to finish this before sun up."

"Yes Retard. I mean boss."

She had started calling him retarded soon after his little brother had been born and the specialists switched his handicap after his surgery's from physical to mental. But she made sure she called his brother retarded as well. She called his father retarded. And the cat. But most of all she called herself Retard. She knew sooner or later someone would use that word on him. But she would be the first, too suck any hurtful power out of it. And then she would laugh.

"Haaaha."

"Ugh Mom. You just wiped the snot off your sleeve across your forehead."

"It cools my retarded head."

"Did the prison call you yet Mom?"

"They called home and your Dad answered. He has called me out here a million times."

"Where is your cell phone then?"

"In the truck."

"You left it there so Dad doesn't bug you?"

"Yup."

"That's a jalapeno you have there now. How did you get that one mixed in?"

"It jumped into my shirt."

"Are you gonna take the job then Mom ?."

"They are going to call my cell and let me know if I have it."

"One the phone you left in the truck."

"Yes. I have a headache from the dehydration."

"You don't want that job very much do you Mom."

"Dad wants me to work. I need to be out of the house."

The young man left her to finish the peppers and loped over to the truck to retrieved her phone. It rang in his hand halfway back to her.

"If it is your dad, don't answer it."

"No, the number is 653 47... he faltered trying to get the numbers in their proper order."

"ANSWER IT!", she bellowed counting the rings.

"Ello", she hears. "Who is this? Who? Hang on. Mom it's Ga, Ghar, somebody for you." He hands her the phone after his unsuccessful attempt to pronounce the callers name.

"Lynnae, this is Gerald." Gerald's smooth voice rolls over her ears and down her body in a cool wave. She thinks of the time she had met him before, when she had been sitting nervously in the waiting room and she first saw him quietly standing there assessing her through the thick Plexiglas on the other side of the locked doors. He had the same calm composer as he walked her through the cafeteria, past the hard jumpsuit clad men, past the serving lines into the guts of the kitchen. It was amazing she could focas on his level voice when he showed her the contraband spears the convicts had fashioned out of the three foot long balloon whisks sharpened into a multi pronged shank over the sound of her own knees knocking together. She had stopped looking at anything else after that, except the armed guard she would have shadow her for her own protection.

The two of them loaded the corn trucks for an hour past sunset, until it was to dark to drive the bike without a headlight home, so the teenager helped his mother into the car and drove her so her tired legs would not have to work the petals.

They walked into their bright kitchen, welcomed by the puffing sound of the oxygen machine in the corner and her youngest son's voice reading his homework out loud to his father.

"Your home late, I was getting worried about you two."

"I hurt."

"That's cuse Mom is slow and doesn't know her veggies."

"I can make you guys a can of soup it you want." He looked up at her wilted dirty shape hopefully. Hoping she would not make him get up and cook for her and hoping she had good news.

"I'm going to have left overs", Gunny said.

"I'm going to have water and a shower", the lady answered, unable to meet his eyes disappearing upstairs avoiding his questioning and letting the kids scavenge the three of them a dinner.

She stood in the dressing room in front of the large mirror the next day and started into her refection. Her hair was sun bleached and her face burned and the business suit hung loose on her body. She undid the pinstriped trousers and let them slide to pile at her feet. She kicked them off, too stiff to bend over and pick them up, she left them where they lay. She walked out of the department store without trying on any more clothes.

As she drove home she returned Gerald's phone call. Because life is a series of adventures or nothing at all. The challanges just change.

nature 'coo

Les Survivor man
you are one dirty wild Cunuck
I wanna cook you poutsine

Becoming the Man

Day six: She drank her morning tea, while comfortably propped on her new bum enhancer and perusing the web site of state correctional institute. The total population of the facility containers more people than the town she grew up in. More people than the town she grew up in and the next, bigger town over, the one with a high school, two restaurants, a cafe, and three bait stores. She wondered if she could do this job. The amount of work may be overwhelming but it was the fact she would be feeding very very bad people. The type of people she would consider letting starve before throwing a crust of bread. Her last job she spoon fed the over privileged lamb chops and prime rib as they recovered. Now her challenges would be staffing the cooks who taught the inmates how to cook mystery meat as a trade. Paedophiles where the last peoples, in her mind, that should be in a kitchen. Six months ago ,the night manager who her last company found out had a molestation record had been fired. He had supervised the high school kids, but managed to creep even the adults out.
She got into her jeep and drove to the compound to take a closer look. She had always driven by it on the freeway, tucked discreetly behind a thin grove of pine trees. The chain link fence had always be noticeable, if you looked, but she just preferred to look away and pretend it did not exist. Today she drove slowly around it's perimeter until she came to a wide shoulder, where she pulled over to stare up at the razor wire and drum her fingers until the security truck with two guards in it on the other slowed to a stop on the other side of the wire. She pulled away then, not to fast, as she did not want to cause suspicion. As she headed back north and glanced in the review mirror, she thought she could do this. Vanity be damned. She had no choice, with her husband sick, and the bills coming in, she would be the man. As long as she could always drive away.
She drove back into her hometown to the salon, and spent the last of her cash cutting off her hair and buying a suit.

Aftermath

Day four: Finds the girl, showered, dressed and standing in the doctors office in front of the illuminated x-ray machine. The good doc has left her waiting in this room far too long and she has flicked on the machine to examine herself from the inside alone. She stares, open mouthed and horrified at what she is seeing on the bright screen. The door opens and she turns, mouth still agape as the Dr enters the room. He hastily flicks off the softly humming screen, aggravated by her unautorized action. They head for the consulting table with her medical file tucked under the care givers arm, safety out of her reach. But she does not want to witness his sympathetic side step jig when he musters the courage to break the bad news to her. Her eyes have confirmed just what she did not come to hear.
"You know there are treatments, that might help you," he said. "Prosthetics."
With a grandiose wave of the hand, he flicks the black and white x-ray on. Her eyes are automatically drawn to the abnormality in her upper abdomen. "What did those people do to me when they did that experimental transplant? What exactly did they put in me?", she though as her raised her accusatory finger at the odd shapes outlined on the screen, but the correct answer came to her. "BRA HOOKS!", she blurted, now fully understanding what she was looking at.
Good thing there was a professional in the room at that time to point out the spare bone she had grown that was protruding out of the bottom left on the image, causing her pain. A tail is a thing of nature she thought. A tail she can live with, with a shoe lift and a butt pad to sit on and the occasional adjustment. Might even put a stop to the headache and violent PMS. But treatment could not cure the massive amount of gas that the doctor further went on to point out in the x-ray. So the gimpy munkay shoved the new lift into her sandal, left the doctor a silent but deadly bomb and clumped out of the room.

Day five: After refusing to repeat the hated unemployment mantra Hubby has been coaching her *, she finds herself somewhere south of the cities, in some parking lot that had she been paying any attention, might have learned was Burnsville, or Owatona, had she not been stuffing her mouth with fresh apples, trying to eat them faster than the driver, while pretending to ask pertainet questions while longing for her new friend butt pad. **Her Cell phone rang after the forth hour of down pour and she watched the current wash her new lift out of her sandal as she stood by the sweet corn counting out a dozen perfectly ripe ears to the Gucci wrapped Asian lady. She briefly considered chasing it down stream to the lower end of the parking lot, racing the spongy pad to rescue it before it reached gutter but it was more important to make the correct small talk with her hopefully new employer . Later, as she shivered like a dirty wet mop on the edge of the truck seat as it bounced on the detour that added another miserable hour to her day, she wondered if it was too late to crawl to the edge of the river, where interstate 35 had collapsed and throw her self in, and damn her state of being.

*I am unemployable. The lowliest of the low. A determent to my honey.Therefore I must do whatever he asks.
**It was a farmers market damn it. My teenager's place of employment who love my son for his work ethic was short on help as their employee's have returned to collage, needed someone to fill in. I like to pretend that I was working at "advertisement and marketing", but it was a damn farmers market. I did it to get away from hubby and his mantra.

to be continued....

These Days

Day one, the flip out:

Illogical and unreasonable yelling occurs. Resignation letter is carefully written. OK, "I quite." was scribbled on a piece of scratch paper and left on bosses desk. Girl slams off before her shift starts. Her feeling of triumph and freedom ends five minutes after she pulls out for the last time and remembers her knives she left behind. Hubby has zero sympathy and yells for rest of the now benefit, medically uninsured day.

Day two, withdrawal.

She does not get out of bed due to migraine. Fear and remorse for her action fill her along with pain. She wants the call from her boss apologising for his misunderstand to come so she refuse it, or just go back with her tail somewhat between her legs, but her head high, but it never rings, except for the telemarketers which only aggravate her and keep her from sleep.

Day three: continued degeneration.

She looks at a million different job listings on the Internet and applies for a handful. She has not yet changed out of her pajama's. Her best leads are at an all male corrections institute for sex offenders,(hey it is a state job with very good pay and bennies) or working with the elderly. When her teenage son offers her a temp. job at his work, she laughs. And takes it. Manual labor here she comes.

North of Now

On the second day of her vacation, the girl stopped struggling with the rock hard clay she was chiseling at and leaned against the sweaty shovel. She was beginning to miss the job she hated. She paused her laboring, adjusted her pony tail, and pondered what her co harts were doing without her.
"Anywhere in the world."
"What?"
"Anywhere in the world you want to go."
The girl hurriedly stood up straight and took her foot off the shovel. She had not wanted him to catch her daydreaming when there was so much ahead for her to do.
"Next year I will send you anywhere you want to go on your vacation."
"Why next year?", she asked wishing she was anywhere on the face of the earth but standing along side the half finished chicken coup.
"Just figure out where you want to go and we will book it now, this year, before your vacation is over, so you are set for next summer."
"Let's just get this never ending building project of your done first. I have all winter to search on the Internet and plan for next."
"No- do it now. You can use up all my frequent flier miles and you and the boys can go where ever your heart desires."
"I can do that later", she argued.
"They might not be available for you later", he persisted.
The girl lay down her tool and walked into the house to shower of the dust and the tears before reaching for the computer he had bought her last Christmas. She stared at the blank search engine screen and tried to come up with a destination. She used to dream of the exotic travels she would make. Her mind when back to how happy she had been last year, north of the Arctic circle. He was not with her then, but they could talk every night. She tried picturing a bright, tropical adventure, but a trip to the center of the earth's magma core could not warm her now. So she Googled her own house to see if any sign of him could be seen from space now. Or ever.
Later that night he asked her again where she wanted to go.
"Alaska.", was her answer.
"Alaska? You never wanted to go to Alaska when I used to talked about going there."
"Alaska is different now."

Top Reasons I belong in a Nut House

13- I hold long deep detailed conversations with dead people but only in my sleep.

12-Signing all my checks "Mrs. Rock".



11-My time needs better skedualing.



10-I work only to irritate my boss.



9-So I'm compulsive obsessive.



8-So I'm compulsive obsessive.



7-My other personality is named Hermione Erica Granger Kane.



6-My last visit just seamed right.



5-I spent 200. bucks on maple syrup cuz the tree's on the bottle make me feel more green.



4-I 'm into the smell of rubber.



3- I did so write those lyrics for Dr. Demento, damn it. Haa- Haa- Hee-Hee!



2- I am able to inject my own insulin before shock therapy.



1- The three week cold war I held with that foreign service dude that provided my Internet service.

i won the battle i did! my refusal to talk to that non english speaking dingle berry worked. i win!

so what if my hubby was forced to do it, my stubbornness won in the long run

Two Different Things

What I thought:

Oh just shut your mouth. You seen this coming. How long have the experts been telling you to change your habits. You did this to yourself. Act that way and what did you expect? You had plenty of warning. How many hospital visits? You are weak. You had better not try to blame this on me. How many times and ways did I try to help you? You didn't earnestly try a bit, much less listen. I did it, what was stopping you. You have no control. Have this procedure done and it doesn't change you.

What I said:

Stomach bypass surgery can be dangerous.

Munkay Do List

Today's to-do list.




1-Hypnotize cat into foot warming snack fetcher.


2-Finish memorizing the Gettysburg Address as promised to 7 th grade teacher.


3-Open "Teach Yourself Belly Dance" video. Close shades.


4-Transport dryer lint wad to attic for added insulation benefits.

5-#69 from "The Joy of Cooking." Osso Busso .(come up with innocent sounding description for calf calve.)


6-Find the perfect chocolate covered fathers day gift. Wrap in crumpled paper, shove in mailbox. Call hubby, inform him his gift has finally arrived. Open and taste to make certain it is still good.


7-Get pesky restraining orders lifted.


8- Write thank you letter to life coach. Set on fire and use to smudge the failure stink off self.

8-Decide which kid(s) to sell to the gypsies.

8-Phone in sick. Time how long it takes boss to realize in his panic I'm not scheduled.


9-Practice counting skills.


10-Revise semi hostile chicken coup. (go ahead, try to figure that one out.)


11- Sit down kids, tell them of their true father. Call the Rock and demand back child support.

All in Her Head

As she slumbered deeply, she watched herself at her job. It was pre service and she a frenzied dynamo, throwing direction, matrix at the saute station, creviche juxtapose, all the while eating strawberries. She halts abruptly pitching a half devoured berry across the room into the Hobart. "Strawberries! I'm allergic to damn strawberries."
When she awoke her strangely fresh welt covered red blotchy face looked as if it had been in the garbage disposal.
She spend her day off hiding in her house trying not to even think of work.

This First Week of Summer Vacation Vote

Here you go and you didn't even have to ask for it, this weeks voting choices for you pleasure.


"Dear Boss", letter number two.

3- Last Saturday I filled the salt and pepper shakers, cleaned out the walk in cooler, drove over to Wisconsin and checked out the empty restaurant my realtor told me about, and still made it back in time to do the prime rib. But hey, no one was around so.

The Beast

He wasn't born inherently evil no. I think he has been sculpted. Then again, I was there at his birth, holding his mothers legs when he change his mind about coming out. After the doctor made the cut so the lazy little bastard could have an easier time emerging, he just waited and let her bleed.


Push

If I close my eyes and picture Antonio Banderas, I might be able to let him do it. But he always catches me off guard and I get hit face first with his pepper breath and stubble burn. And then I run to the nearest sink when he is done
and scrub his kisses off.

Year of the Chicken

He looked at her with a pleading look in his eyes. "Chicken?" he asked her with as much desire as he was capable. Old fool , she thought, why does he even ask. "No. Not now, not ever."

There you go. First fifty voters will receive my usual bribe of partial nudity and home stilled liquor. Vote me up.

Better than a Spider

Ten things I've had in my bathtub recently.

10- Ten pounds of live crayfish.*

9-Cramps

8-Louise Eldrich

7- Hot fudge sundae

6-"a calming, soothing, exfoliating experience"

5-The twelve bar blues.

4-A clumsy scared wet cat named Tippy

3-Two dozen baby chicks, six ducks.**

2-Worlds biggest clog left by stinky poultry.

1- Peace

*What is a valentines day without some crawly pinchy things?

**Your bathroom heat light doubles as an incubator

April's Scars

i get home at night
and get my kid to bed
wanna call him up
just to hear his voice again
so i cut myself instead

it's hard
so goddamn hard
trying to get it all done
i use a knife
sweet shiny knife
because i don't have a gun

the office woman hate me
talk shit they don't know
i do their work for them
and smile when i'm done

the bills are piling up
in fact they are choking me
i don't want my baby to go
i don't do it for the blood
but the pain to flow

Word Thief

I'm sorry Annie. When I clicked on your link I was mad to see my words there. Very mad. Then I realized you wrote them first, and I erased them. Again, my deepest apologies.

*this sincere apology was not copied from any one's blog, but check all links and sidebars just encase it was so good it stuck in my fuddled head head

**not once but twice did I use Annie's stuff- arrgh I'm never reading anything again

Helping Out Kerry

The woman made a dash across the bumpy unpaved parking lot in the down pour and ducked her head to avoid the large dripping basket of bright red double inpatients hanging from the porch. She smoothed the stray hairs that had jiggled loose from french knot she had earlier fussed with back into their rightful place and peered through the large cedar shuttered windows into the brightly light dinning room within. The tables inside filled with couples or family's all looked happy, warm and dry. Waitresses were trying to make busy work of delivering the few platters of thick sizzling steaks and frosted cocktails, or baskets of burgers with cokes. It was not yet the dinner rush hour, so the atmosphere inside was of jovial anticipation. She was in no hurry to enter the restaurant, wanting the first impression she made when she opened the door to be that of a confident professional. A young, sexy, confident professional. The exact opposite of what she was feeling on the inside. She saw the manager entered from the back kitchen and make a quick survey of the room with his eyes. The lady hastily stepped back farther into the night shadow. Anyone looking out into the night would not have been able to see her soggy wet shape , but she was scared. She did not want to be there.

Kerry stood a couple seconds longer, before stopping a passing server and starting a conversation. It was obvious the aproned young girl was not interested in talking and had wanted to go about her duties or chat with the other waitresses. The woman squinted in, wanting to see him better, wishing she had not been so vain as to leave her glasses at home. He had put on a little weight around the jaw line and perhaps his middle too, but she had never seen Kerry in a tie before, so she hoped it was just an illusion. In her memories, Kerry wore his usual white apron over his Hardrock t-shirt and jeans. Not that she thought of him often in the years that passed. The woman smiled a little to herself, he was waiting for her and wanting to make a good impression, she decided, as she saw him straightening a stack of menus and checking his watch. She did not want or need this job at all, but her son did. Her son was the reason she was there.

She had worked with Kerry years ago right after the boy was born, while she was still in school. Back shortly after their boss had walked in early and caught Kerry snorting lines of cocaine off the office desk and Kerry had turned himself around. Then a girl, she would bring the baby in with her to that other restaurant on the lake before her waitress's shift. Her baby on hip, she would set all the tables for the night, before her boyfriend picked the infant up on his way home from work. She would sit at one of the tables every night getting ready, folding fold napkins and Kerry would write out the nightly specials and play peek a boo with her kid. Kerry had liked her boy then, back before any of his developmental delays where apparent, or perhaps Kerry had just liked her enough it didn't matter to him. Or maybe because Karry was just that nice. After work, the two of them would sit and listen to the nights band, Kerry drinking only a diet soda, and the girl a tomato juice. And when any of the local guys would come over and try to hit on her, Kerry would chase them off, because he had wanted her for himself. She was lonely then for company, she had nether encouraged him or discouraged his attention. The baby, cooed with delight when Kerry was around.

She had seen the ad in the paper advertising for a cook in his restaurant. The woman did not want the job. It was below her now to read tickets and fry burgers, but it would get her back into his kitchen. Her old friend was surprised when she phone him and asked for a part time job. Kerry knew she was a hard worker, even though her waiting table days long over, he was glad to have her help out. Kerry just did not yet know she had planned on teaching her son to do the job instead.

A couple walked around her and pushed open the front door. She saw Kerry turn towards the rush of cold wet air with an expecting look on his face that fell once he realized the were only strangers. Inhaling a deep breath she straightened her back , sucked in her gut, before walking over to the large wooden door and placed her hand on the knob. Then she turned on her heel and ran back into the raining night.

Working Dogs

On my day off I should be able to sit in the recliner wearing my grubby jammies and watching mindless TV until mid afternoon, I mean it is my house. But Willy and Marco were staring at me. There they were, right out side my patio windows, looking in longingly all bug eyed and limp tongued, filling my precious time alone with guilt. It was not me, the two of them wanted however, but I would do.
I walked over to the door and opened it. "Come on boys, get in here." In danced the pair happy for my company. Willy and Marco are the neighbors little mutts, and when their "boys" head off for school, they go in search of replacement boys.
Their idea of a good time didn't involve cable.
I didn't feel like frisking around the yard right then so I took them into the kitchen for a snacky snack.
When I opened the fridge door, out toppled the open can of cranberry's left over from Thanksgiving and hit Willy smack on his little terrier head.
"YIP", exclaimed Willy in surprised pain.
"Yip", agreed Marco with Willy being the alpha canine and all.
"Shit." I said. "Now I have to clean this rotter out."
Now I have a very detailed and organized method to clean out the fridge that consists of three categories.

THINGS THE DOGS CAN EAT

THINGS THAT CAN EAT THE DOGS

SAVABLES

We were making good progress on this undertaking, after I made sure Marco licked all the blood colored cranberries off Willy's head, until I knocked over what I think was a large container of chili off one of the upper shelves to splatter over the bottom of my fridge.

I stood there a while angerly cursing the mess I had created while the dogs sat and looked up at me with their heads tilted sideways and their ears perked up expectantly.

"Boys. You got me into this. If you can clean each other, you can clean my fridge."

I'll let them out soon.

Mother is a Tingle

Do you feel that? Oh yeah I do. My spidey senses are all a tingle. In T-minus two hours forty five minutes I load the SUV with pre ads and ado's and head to the Spiderman Three movie. In has been quite a long time since I have been out after dark. I am unsure what to do with myself. I'm sure it will all come back to me and I'll behave appropriately and all but what if I revert back to my party mode? Close all borders and hide the whiskey and firearms, I'm stepping out.
Oh wait, I'm taking a car load of kids.
Which one of you will hide Mama's bail money?

Lost in Translation

Items found on Finnish menu's.

Shrimp and crap salad for two.

Grilled pork shop.

You can have crap on your pizza.

We give you water only when you ask.

Dead snails from Åland in garlic and butter sauce.

The cock is recommending today's beef.

We can serve your steak with much blood, some blood, or well-done.

Ice cream with warm bear halves and toffee sauce.

Finnish mushroom salad - wild, salty and sticky mushrooms with cream sauce and pickles.

Mexican burrito with mutilated chicken meat and salsa.

Try traditional Finnish pee soup.

We can bring the nuts and drinks to your room (room service card). Drink something if you want (room service card). On our breakfast table you will find the cheese, the meat and some others.

Omelet is made with recent eggs from a local farm where the chickens are alive.

This week is "bird meat week" but we also have a good selection of mammal meat.

Japanese guests can have traditional breakfast with stinky rice and fishes.

Tar ice cream - Finnish special. Good for people who eat tar and lingon berries.

Children's hamburger is served with the French Pizzas. After clock 21 are not. Sorry.

Meat with sweat and sour sauce.

If I were to come across any of these dishes on a menu, I would demand to see the cock immediately.

Couldn't See The Rose For The Thorns

He looked at me and said, "I wish I could find a girl just like you", in a voice full of longing.
"Why not me, I'm right here", I thought with exasperation.
"I'm going out to finish the yard before I go", I replied.

Friends of the Earth

My friend Laney and I were out in my back yard the other night enjoying the fine spring weather by the light of fire cast off by burning my pile of old tires.

"Jeese", Laney said, "This is the life."

"Ain't it tho?" I answered. "Slosh some more of that there diesel on the fire now."

"You got it Munkay. While I'm at it I'll get a start on this pile of insulation. This pink stuff makes such pretty rainbow flames."

"Ok, kick some more of those tar shingles off our old shed to turn it up a notch"

"I love the outdoors", Laney proclaimed.

We sat back once again to relax and enjoy the black angle wing plumes billowing out high above our heads reaching it's strangle hold towards the stars.

"Yeah man. I'm all about this county living", I replied, stuck by the sheer wonder of nature as soon as the oily smoke wafted away from my face.

"Too bad we always have to wait till dark to do this. Everyone should be able to enjoy our beautiful black mushroom cloud", Laney admonished tossing her empty beer can into the flames.

"Oh no, my friend. The old ways are gone. All that is left is that we remember the rituals of the past. The traditions of our fathers, and our fathers father, and our fathers fathers fathers
be fore.."

"Alright Already!", Laney shrieked wistfully at me.

"Those were the good times," I continued for the benefit of my kids who had pulled up the car seat next to me and handed us fresh beer.
"Piles of garbage in your yard ment you were affluent, and could afford to buy new stuff see. The bigger your dump, the more you had. Family would get together with their hauling crap. Trucks by the numbers carrying all sorts of junk. You never heard of some kid getting locked in a freezer hell no. We'd burn the shit out of them, or toss them in the lake."

"My dad", Laney's eyes grew bright at the mention of water, leaned forward staring hard at the smoldering goo, "Hell he'd have us kids fill up the back of his old Ford, and then we'd watch him load it on his fishing boat..."

"Laney's dad, fished for a living. Buzzy was one of the last commercial fishermen on Lake of the Woods", I told the boys.

"You remember my dad?", Laney asked me, her eyes glistening from the memories or the gas.

"Course I remember old Buzzy. How did he ever get that name?"

"He used to drive his fishing boat full throttle drunk as a skunk . But we never called him that. He was always just dad. But that is a different story."

"Go on", the boys chorused, eager to hear more.

"Anyway dad would load up everything he couldn't burn on the back of his truck as all us kids watched.."

"How many were in your family Laney?"

"There were thirty-seven of us kids, being Catholic and all. And then my gramma who had the fishing resort always had lots of junk."

"Laney you had a big family", I reminisced. Laney's face had brighten and appeared young again before our very eyes as she continued with her story.

"Us kids would watch my old man, drunk as he could be, toss shit off the side of his boat for hours. Never let us help a once, would he. He was scared one of us would fall in and drown. We all would crowd around him as he talked.."

"He could talk and toss?"

"Talk and toss. "You kids stand back your getting to close to the edge now, eh." And we would answer him, "Close eh?" So he'd know we were all safe."Fish, drink and toss shit, Buzzy could. But he just couldn't swim."

"He was a craftsman, you dad."

"An artisan."

"Eh."

"Eh."

"They state banned commercial fishing to boost the tourism up north."

Laney when all quiet for a while. Then she stood up and grabbed the computer monitor next to her and hoisted it up high above her head before throwing it into the fire where it crashed sending an impressive amount of yellow sparks into the night air.

"That was the shame of losing our God giving right to get rid of our junk. We picked up after our selves didn't we?"

"That we did, Laney, that we did."

"Now there is trash everywhere. Broken glass, don't get me started on graffiti."

"Eeh."

"Eh."

No Comment

I cannot leave comments on all my beloved blogs. At first it didn't bug me, but now it is driving me nuts. I feel so left out. Maybe it is a conspiracy, a conspiracy set up by the man, the government to keep me down. I will not be represst no. Just you wait till on of my kids get home.

Faster Than Dropping An Anvil On My Noggin

Twelve things that have a calming effect on me.

12-Walking wolf like in circles around my bed after a warm beer bong of Jack.
11-A properly fitted straight jacket.
10-Binge eating.
9-Crafting voodoo dolls from my bosses hair.
8-Spooning the UPS man. "ssh, promise to bring me my package from Amazon tomorrow and I'll let you up."
7-Doing the kunilini with my cat.
6- This video,http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WrXhLGLO0RA
5-Huffing a Pam/powered sugar cocktail.
4 -The memory of dancing naked in the fountains at St. Petersburg. Not my memory, but a good one none the less.
3-Visualizing the graduation of my youngest offspring. Or him at least sleeping by himself.
2-Immobilizing the behemoth wind chimes hubby crafted and hung under my bedroom window.
1-Having the Rock light that last cigarette.

A Page From Her Biography

"The girl, looking at the components before her, tied back her long blond hair with a ribbon and set her mind to the task before her. The boy standing beside the apron clad girl watched her movements with a hopeful look on his young face. He knew she was about to cook up a storm when he saw her secure her wayward locks tightly into place with the familiar black string."
"Mom. You are not Violet Baudelaire. And stop narrating what you are doing. I'm right here."

Talking out loud helped me to focus on what I was trying to accomplish. I could so easily been distracted by people watching and had too much fun. It was after all, a cooking competition, serious important business in those parts. I had thought I was a shoe in for the little gala, after all I am a professional.

"Baby, when I win the trophy, I'll let you polish it."
"How do you pronounce this dish again Mom?"
"Shut up K2. Go hang out in the bar."

The contest was up in dense Scandinavian country on "the range" in an old bar/hotel. The dish was a Finnish American one I had never tasted and didn't know how to pronounce. Mojakka. But I had read some recipes and came up with my own version. Everyone who I had made taste it had told me I was a sure thing.

"That lady stole my spot. I've gotten that table every year. I'm not sure she is even Finnish, she has red in her hair."

The local cooks pretty much ignored any social niceties with my son and I, intruders that we were. Except to elbow us out of the prime tables, and sneak curious glances at us out of the corners of their eyes. Last years winner did come over to stand back from our Marimecco decorated area and stare disapproving with a disgusted sneer on her face.

"What are you doing?"
"My dish is named, "Finnish Woman Seldom Stew."
"Yeah, I meant what's in it?"
"Crab claws, mussels, shrimp, steamer clams, Finnish fingerling potatoes, leeks, sausage, wine..."
"Oh seafood?"
"Yes.'
"You know I won last year."

We were the only ones to cook our entry right there. The other contestants lugged in their crock pots of pre made mojokka . The judges seriously asked if they were to eat the shells in my dish. The emcee invited all contestants and their family's up on the stage for the award ceremony. I stayed behind and continued to pass out samples of my stew until right before the grand announcement. From the back of the room, I could see my son had positioned himself directly in front of the emcee, looking up at him with a confident expecting look on his grinning mug. Our names were not called. My son's crest fallen face was that of incredulous disbelief. Seeing the look on my son mirrored how I hurt I was feeling, worse than losing the competition. I hope I just hid it better.

"Mom, Did that mean we did not win? How can that be? Are they just saving the grand prise for us?"
"No baby. We just didn't win this one."
"We were pearls before swine!"
"K2- that was not a nice thing to say. Where did you come up with that one?"
"In the bar."

The judges and sponsors send me a nice condolence letter thanking me in participating in the competition and explaining that although my mojakka was good, the judges found it too busy.

I had thought I had really lost when I had seen the disappointed look on my son's face. I never wanted him to think of me in a loser way and hope I never cause that look in any ones eyes. He was not disapointed in me just the judges. But I won in his reaction after our losing.

K2 tied the condolence letter around a handful of fire crackers and set them off in an empty Dinty Moore can with glee.