Hanna

Ok, Eight's got a real name now. Hanna.

And it's not related to this Hannah, who appears to be selling some "candy":

Dear Disney Marketing Team,

Please fire the jackass who came up with idea immediately.

Thanks!

GO EIGHT, GO!!

Go Eight!! It's your birthday. We're gonna party like it's your birthday. We're gonna drink Bacardi like it's your birthday! Or I'll bust a cap in your ass.


Sorry to go all GANGSTA on ya but YO! Work is slow and something needs to pick up!! WORD TO YO MAMMA!!

Eight is currently pointed at Florida but let's hope it aims a little closer to home. And let's hope that Hubby gets called out on storm work. STORM WORK!!! The land of kick-ass overtime. Sweet, SWEET overtime. Yummy!

Here's hoping nobody gets hurt - just the power lines and I don't go all She-Ra on the children while Hubby's out of town.

Love Your Friends

The weekend is over thank goodness.

Saturday, I went with some CBA folks to visit Ms. Sandy's grave. I wish I could say we were visiting with Ms. Sandy but she was killed while she was riding her motorcycle five years ago. Sandy was killed when a car turned left in front of her. She was wearing her "magic helmet" like all the safetycrats demand you wear. Kind of hard for a magic helmet to save you from your guts being squished up under a car. Her lipstick was not even smudged. But she had on her helmet dammit. Sandy's husband still lives in their marital home - right across the street in the church's yard, Sandy is buried there. So every single day, Mr. Ray sees his wife's grave and when he comes to meetings, he gets to drive over the same stretch of road where she was killed. It's about a quarter mile from their home. And the driver of the car (a.k.a. killer) got off scott free. Well, except for the $25 fine of course. How in the world is this fair?

Saturday afternoon my friend's wife died of liver disease. I'm not sure which one, it had a really weird name and was a genetic thing, not a drink thing.

Sunday we went to the visitation and tried to comfort him the best we could. Which meant a whole lotta motorcycles riding up in your yard. I was so appreciative of the folks who showed up, many of them driving hours and hours away from home just to give him a hug. Bikers kick ass.

Love your friends while they're here.

twenty-five cents

As usual, Wendy's disappoints again today. I don't know why I keep trying but I do chase the taste of their fries like a junky. The sweet and salty ones. Those were NOT at Wendy's today. But whatever, this is about twenty-five cents, not fries.

I'm not sure how your Wendy's drive-thru works but ours has a nice computer screen at the order stand and a two-window system follows. The first window you pay, the second window you pick up food. Normally the person manning window #1 also takes the orders.

I could tell the nice fluffy lady was working the drive thru. She has a pleasant voice and always says "You're Welcome" after I say "Thank you." I expected to see here when I rounded the corner to Window #1. I was surprised to see Shanaynay:

So Shanaynay's ONLY JOB is to take money from the customer and give change. She's not taking any orders or doing anything else. When I round the corner of the building, she's casually leaning out the window, arms crossed on the sill.

I actually have paper money today so I hand her $7.00 for my $6.50 meal. Shananay counts my money TWICE (it's a $5 and two $1's - sheesh!) punches it up on the screen and scoops two quarters out of her till and pulls the receipt off the printer.

Remember, Shanaynay has no other responsibilities except to take money and make change. Nobody is talking in her ear about no ketchup and extra pickles. Just. Make. Change. and hand it to the customer.

Like a good customer, I'm ready and my palm is out flat waiting to receive my two quarters and small receipt. Shanaynay FUMBLES one of my quarters and it falls straight to the ground. She then looks at me like it's MY FAULT she can't place two quarters in my flat hand.

Instead of raising my blood pressure over this huge act of incompetency, I just looked at her and said, "I guess it's your quarter now."

Dear Shanaynay:

I know your chosen career path was probably not fast food. I understand it's not a glamorous job. I bet you're not getting rich there either. But PLEASE! You have a job! Take some pride in it and yourself and COMPLETE THE DAMN PASS!!! Or at least offer me a quarter out of your till!

Are you kidding me?

I received this email today. TODAY. On my freakin' BIRTHDAY.

I know that this comes as a great shock and this is probably the last thing that you need to deal with. There are several things that I have carried on my shoulders for quite some time and I would like for you to hear me out. I can completely understand if you do not want to waste your time at all. A small portion of your time just to listen would be greatly appreciated. Honestly, I know that you most assuredly would rather me fall of the face of the Earth forever and I have accepted this. I will completely honor the decision you make and if unfavorable, this will be the last that you will hear from me again. Correspondence through e-mail is fine but what needs to be said should be face to face.

Hmm....where to begin?

You're right Mr. Assface McAsshat, you're the LAST thing I would choose to deal with today. IT'S MY FREAKIN' BIRTHDAY, IT'S NOT ABOUT YOU, IT'S ABOUT ME!!! Dammit.

You want a favor from me? You want me to hear you out?? Let's see, the last time I tried to be nice to you I sent you a friendly birthday card thru the post office and you took it as a curse. But now, NOW you're asking me to pause from my life so that you can whine and cry about these burdens you've been carrying on your shoulders for all these years.

You mention talking to me but you make no mention of talking to my child, whom you scared the bejesus out of at our parting. You know, the one that involved the cops and a restraining order? What about him? Where's the apology to that sweet little boy? Oh, I forgot, it's all about YOU and what YOU need.

I most certainly do not wish for you to fall off the face of the Earth. I wish nothing for you, period.

You know, I heard about your little visit to our mutual friends' house and the apology over the pool stick. The pool stick that you broke about 8 years ago and were too much of a punk to say you were wrong and that you were sorry and you'd replace it when you lost the game (or shot). Eight. Years. Ago.

Fuck that.

I'm gonna go eat some cake, jerk.