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.