April 29, 2005

A Blog Western - Part II

Dax done set me up but good. What a great beginning to the story. It's my first time trying something like this, and it was made a bit more difficult because I've not been a fan of westerns. Good stuff, and a hi-five for Dax for giving me something to follow. I just hope I continued on with the torch.

Next week, the most talented WitNit will be carrying the baton.

As the handsome, bubble blowing Dax would say, Just Dam!

The Gunslinger shifted in his saddle as he made his way out west towards the Lazy B Ranch. It had been a long day, with most of it spent on top of his horse. He was tired and hungry. The dust from the dry trails covered his clothing, much like flies on shit. It suited his mood. He felt like shit. He felt like Fido’s ass. He wanted a drink or three.

He let his mind wander as he stared out over the desolate plains that surrounded the outskirts of the Lazy B. The memories that had haunted him since he was a young boy rushed through him, much like a bullet would tear through a man’s gut.

That had been happening a lot more lately. Ever since he’d got the telegram requesting his presence at the Lazy B Ranch. It seemed Bill Callahan had a job for him.

The bile began to rise in his throat and he had to swallow several times to get it under control. Stalking Wolf. It was time.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Angel ran down the path that led toward the Tiller’s farm to show his mother and One Eyed Jack what he had caught for the day. Ever since he could remember, he spent most of his free time down at the fishing hole. First with Pa, then with One Eyed Jack, who’d come to help out at the farm when Pa died.

One Eyed Jack was an old friend of Pa’s, from way back. His wife and children had been murdered by a wild band of Apaches several years before. He never really recovered and spent most of his time contemplating the bottom of a bottle, trying to deaden the pain of his memories.

It was rumored that he had lost his eye during a poker game at the local saloon one night. No one ever really knew, but that was how the story went. Jack only had about three teeth left, and those were yellow from dip. His breath reeked of alcohol and his clothes smelled like cow dung that had been left in the sun too long. Truth be told, One Eyed Jack didn’t take baths much. He didn’t believe in them, and it showed. His shoes were worn and battered, his big toes poking out through the holes in the top. His scraggly, wild black hair stuck out from his old battered hat. Despite all of that, everyone liked him. He never lacked for food, or a place to lay his head at night. Jack was a decent fella, and the town folk felt protective of him.

One Eyed Jack had come to help out Miss Sally, once he heard of his childhood friend’s death after being thrown off his horse during a cattle drive to Wyoming.

Miss Sally, so lost in her own grief from losing her husband, had taken One Eyed Jack in, cleaned him up, dried him out and supplied him a room in the barn and food to fill his belly.

As time passed, he became one of the family. He tended to the fields and animals, as well as fixed fences or anything else that needed to be done. He was invaluable to Miss Sally. She had come to rely on him and in turn, One Eyed Jack had found peace that had eluded him since his family’s brutal murders.

Angel burst through the front door, his senses immediately being assaulted by the smell of freshly baked apple pie.

“Mama!” He shouted. “Mama! Look what I caught!” Miss Sally turned from the stove, smiling broadly at her son. Her heart caught in her throat. He looked so much like Tim. Sometimes it hurt her to look at him.

“I declare Angel Tiller. I do believe you caught the four biggest fish in that fishin hole! We’ll eat like the Governor tonight.”

Angel flushed with pride at his mama’s praise.

“Now, you go on out to the barn and help Mr. Jack clean these fish, and I’ll finish the rest of our supper.”

He headed back out the door, intent on showing Mr. Jack his catch. As he approached the barn door, he heard the thundering of hooves off in the distance. Apparently, One Eyed Jack had heard it too, because he walked out of the barn to stand next to Angel.

“Looks like we have visitors boy,” he said gruffly.

As the riders approached, Jack realized they were not of the friendly variety. The leader was sitting astride a tall black stallion. His jet-black hair pulled back in a braid and secured by a leather strip, fell almost to his waist.

He and the rest of the riders were all wearing bandanas that covered most of their faces.

The men surrounded Angel and Jack. Jack reached out and pulled Angel closer to him.

“Well, well, well, the leader spoke. What do we have here?”

He looked back and motioned to four of his men and shouted “go on up to the house and see what’s there!”

One Eyed Jack stepped forward and demanded, “Just what the hell do you want?”

“Why old man, ain’t nobody ever taught you no manners?” With that, he took out his pistol and aimed it at Jack. “I wanna see you dance old man” and he lowered the pistol and shot near his foot. Jack stood his ground, so the leader took another shot, this time near the other foot. “Dammit man. You deaf? I said dance!”

One Eyed Jack spit on the ground and said, “you ain’t worth the effort it takes to move.”

“Now, you just go takin all of fun out of everything old man. I don’t like that. I don’t like it at all.” The leader lifted his pistol, and shot Jack right between the eyes. Angel watched in horror as Jack crumbled to the ground, much like a stuck pig. He landed on his back, blood pouring from his wound, and his sightless eyes staring up at the sky.

Angel heard a scream from the house. He automatically turned towards the house and began to run, only to be brought up short by a hand at the scruff of his neck. “Where you goin boy?”

Angel kicked his boots and landed the tip of his foot on the man's shin.

He was immediately backhanded, and knocked to the ground by the man that was holding him. “Looks like this boy needs to learn some manners too, don’t he Stalking Wolf?”

All of the other men laughed. The leader they called Stalking Wolf crouched down next to Angel. The sun hit the blade of the long skinning knife he held in his hand. Angle felt the cool side of the blade touch his face just before it sliced a jagged line from the corner of his eye to down below his jaw.

Angel turned his head and saw his mother being dragged out of the house by three men.

“Boys!” Stalking Wolf shouted. “It’s time for us to have a little fun. It’s been a long time since I had me a woman.”

Angel attempted to rise up on his knees and go to his Ma but the leader pushed him back down and put his boot on his chest.

“Hold on there boy,” he snarled.

The last thing Angel remembered before he lost consciousness was hearing Stalking Wolf whisper, “when you dance with the devil, you’re bound to get burned.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Stalking Wolf stood behind the trees and watched Big Bill and Emily standing on the porch.

He felt his hatred grow, building, until he felt out of control. He felt the heat move to his loins as he watched Emily laugh out loud at something her father said.

He hated Big Bill with a passion. He had since the day he had met him. Since the day he was hired to accelerate the smaller ranches into shutting down, and moving elsewhere. Stalking Wolf hated everything about the Lazy B Ranch. It should have been his. It will be his. Emily will be his as well.

He smiled to himself as rubbed his chin. If the truth were known, Stalking Wolf hated everything about the white man. They had taken everything that had once belonged to his family. His people. Because of them, most of his tribe had disbanded, if they hadn’t been killed first.

He got some sense of satisfaction when he raided the other ranches, burning them to the ground, scalping the men, raping the women, and torturing the children. After all, it was nothing that hadn’t been done to his people.

But as Stalking Wolf and his men rid the area of Lazy B’s competition, the ranch only grew. Big Bill controlled the area now, and had the power. It was a power that he wanted to have to himself. It was his land. His land dammit, and no white man deserved to have it.

Soon that would all change. Stalking Wolf would own the ranch. Bill could easily be eliminated. Fat old bastard that he was. He had special plans for Emily. One day she would be his, and would rue the day she had spurned his advances. He shivered with pleasure at the thought of owning her body, and subjecting her to unspeakable horrors, before he turned her over to his men to finish her off.

Just then, he spotted a rider in the distance, and moved further in the woods, completely out of sight.

Emily was taking down the laundry from the line, when she spotted a lone rider heading toward the ranch. She watched as he rode toward here, his pace unhurried. Her Pa stepped out on to the porch, letting the screen door slam behind him.

“I’m looking for Bill Callahan,” he stated. Bill looked at this tall man, dressed from head to toe in black and said, “that would be me.”

“I’m the Gunslinger. I heard you were looking for me.”

Bill nodded in agreement. “I’ve got a job for you and I hear you are the man to take care of it.”

“I need to feed and water my horse.”

Bill pointed him in the direction of the barn. “When you’re done, come on back to the house. My Emily here has made up a fine pot of stew with some biscuits.”

“I’d be much obliged,” he replied. “I’ve been riding all day and could use a bath and some food, and a good nights sleep. Tomorrow we can get started.”

He headed off to the barn with his horse. Bill called after him, “wait, what’s your name? I can’t rightly be calling you Gunslinger in front of my daughter. It’s just not proper.”

The Gunslinger looked at Bill, and then over to Emily. He slowly moved his eyes over her and Emily felt herself blush.

“The name is Tiller. Angel Tiller.”

Emily gasped, “El angel del muerto,” she murmured in the Spanish she’d learned in finishing school. He continued to stare at Emily, running a hand down the jagged scar on his face, before he turned away and headed toward to barn to tend to his horse.

Posted by Moogie at 06:53 PM | Comments (17)

April 28, 2005

My lucky dollar

I have a lucky dollar. Perhaps you don't believe in things like this, but I do. I guess most people believe in pennies. You know, find a penny, pick it up and you will have good luck? Or some such.

On November 1, 1992, my father had a heart attack. Cardiac arrest, or whatever term you want to use. They estimate that it was at least 5 minutes before he got to the hospital. Five minutes that he was not breathing. He was with my mother.

It seems, as the story goes, they were getting ready for church that morning. Dad didn't really feel all that well so he told Mom that he would meet up with her later for the service. Mom was teaching Sunday School and he usually would come with her.

So the story moves forward and Mom is ending the Sunday School with the normal songs with all of the classes and she spies Dad in the back of the building. He signals for her to come over to him. She does (it's important to note that my mom is a retired Registered Nurse). She notices he is sweating profusely, and he tells her that he is having some pain down his right arm and is nauseous. I'm sure that most of you can figure out where this is going.

Mom notices the symptoms and calmly tells my Dad that perhaps, they should take a trip to the hospital. She talks him out of taking his truck, which he drove to church and begins the drive to the hospital. A few minutes away fromt he hospital, Dad cries out "Martie, I can't take it" and promptly goes limp.

Folks, can you imagine what was going through my Mom's mind at the time?

She took stock of the situation, figured it would take longer if she called 911, and gunned it, petal to the metal, to the hospital. She had previously reached over and realized he wasn't breathing. She told me that she weaved the car in and out of the lanes in hopes that the police would pull her over, then give her an escort, but no such luck.

She pulled into the Emergency Room parking lot, honking her horn full blast. No one came out. She ran into the Emergency Room but there was no one around. I get sick to my stomach every time I think of that. She ran back out to the car and saw a man in a white coat and a nurse, running for the car.

To summarize, the doctor (the one who was running in the parking lot) got the ball going and a gurney was brought out, my Dad lifted on it and my mom said all the way into the Emergency Room the doctor was pounding on his chest...literally. He climbed up on top of my Dad, desparately trying to save his life.

My mom spent I don't know how much time in the emergency room waiting for news of Dad. Someone was watching over him because he made it.

I remember getting the call early in the morning on that day. It's a nightmare that I would rather not relive. I called my older brother with the news, and we got the next flight out to Florida. I remember being really numb and my husband picking up the slack and helping me pack.

I don't remember much about the plane ride. Mom had told us to come right away. They weren't sure he would make it.

I remember my brother, and my then sister-in-law meeting us at the airport. I remember looking at my brother, straight in the eye. I remember his slight nod of the head. He was still alive. It was the only communication I needed. We were all trying to hold it together.

I remember seeing Dad that first time. The respirator. The tubes. They were everywhere.

I remember touching his head, rubbing his hair. Telling him that I loved him. At this point, they had him fairly drugged up so that his heart could rest and heal. Or at least, that's how it was explained to us.

I remember putting my hands in my pockets because I didn't know what else to do with them. I remember finding the dollar in my pocket that must have went through the washer and dryer. I remember grasping it in my hand, and holding it as if it were my father's life line. I don't know why I thought that. I just know, that for whatever reason, it gave me comfort.

I remember the nausea. The bone chilling fear. This was my father. He was immortal. This could not happen.

The following days were long and filled with fear. I remember going home at night, and sleeping with my mom. She needed to be with someone. To not be alone. And so did I.

I remember that my mom would get snatches of sleep. And then get up out of bed and walk around and pray. All through the night. I added my prayers to hers.

The nurses called my father Angel. Because, by all accounts, he should not have made it. He survived. He did not need surgery. He had, obviously, some damage to his heart but at that point and time, he could control it with diet an exercise.

I still have my lucky dollar. I carry it with me all the time. Just like I did when my father was in the hospital. I have no clue why it is lucky in my mind. Most likely because it comforted me when my state of mind was not what it normally should have been.

Everyone needs their own version of a lucky dollar, don't you think?

Posted by Moogie at 09:24 PM | Comments (0)

April 27, 2005

Soap

When I was growing up, swearing was not an option (we couldn't even take the Lord's name in vain). It was not only not and option, it was punishable by soap. As in the washing your mouth out variety. Nasty stuff.

I don't remember my mother using any particular brand on us, it was most likely whatever was on sale I would imagine. There were certain brands that were worse, to be sure, but let's face it. When you have a bar of soap in your mouth, it doesn't much matter if it's Irish Spring or Dove.

In my early teens I could be somewhat cocky. I'm not even sure what word(s) I used. I only knew that I was stupid enough to use them within my mother's super hero hearing distance. Bad move.

Well, at this point, because I was a teen, AND cocky, and of course my parents knew absolutely NOTHING, I made a very bad error in judgment. I didn't open my mouth.

Not one to be undone by the stubborn actions of a recalcitrant daughter, she went under the kitchen sink and brought out the liquid dish soap.

I held my lips and teeth firmly together, but I was no match for the little cap that could slither its way through the lips. And she squeezed. And squeezed. AND.SQUEEZED. The amount of squeezing that went on has grown over the years (when I tell the story), much like that fish that got away.

It really doesn't matter how much of that vile, sudsy liquid made it's way past my lips and into my mouth.

Let me give you some advice. When faced with a bar of soap, or liquid soap, choose the bar. Because when you have liquid soap in your mouth, and you try to rinse, the bubbles keep growing, and growing, and growing.

I don't swear much these days, and every time I do, I look around to see if my mother is anywhere near.

It's not all that hard to figure out why.

Posted by Moogie at 06:53 PM | Comments (6)

April 25, 2005

Confessions of a t-ball mom

T-ball is an interesting game. Ok, let's face it. As long as Mo isn't in the room, it's just about the funniest game you can imagine. It's the beginning of a softball/baseball career for little kids.

It's kind of like a Long Island Ice Tea, or Velociman's Magic Punch. It feels good going down but then you find yourself riddled with uncotrollable laughing fits, whilst feeling somewhat dazed and confused. Yes, it's contagious, and no, there's no known cure.

Have you ever noticed that most of the uniforms don't fit these little tykes? Whether it's the shirts that go below the knees, the shorts that fall just above the ankles, or the helmets that block their vision. No matter, that's what makes it all the more precious in my point of view.

I like this game. It suits the age. At each inning (normally there are just two), each child gets to bat. They have four "human" pitches by a brave coach. Let me tell you this folks. I still believe it would be wise for the coaches (if male) to wear cups. But that's my opinion only. There are times when I have seen perfectly mature, grown men, rolling around on the ground crying when a child makes a serious connection to the ball with their bat...and it heads straight back towards the pitcher. Gives a new meaning to the words "blue balls" I tell you.

As I was saying, each child gets four pitches by the coach. If they haven't hit one by then, they bring out the "t". And they keep encouraging the child until the ball is hit. Sometimes, that's a bit more difficult than you would imagine. I have seen a coach kind of throw the ball out on to the field after the 42nd miss on the "t". But that's ok. All the parents are screaming (and from both teams) "Go Johnny, RUN! That's it slugger!" So you see, there are no losers here.

If by chance, your child hits the ball, one way or the other, the coaches begin yelling to get them kick started because most of them lose their brain and forget that they are supposed to run to first base after a hit. What is the most fun is when you hear everyone on the field (the adults) and everyone in the stands yelling "NO!!! THE OTHER WAY!!! RUN THE OTHER WAY!!!" I have found that we end up watching a child get a home run. In reverse.

So, we've made it to first base. When the ball is back in the hands of the pitcher (the child, not the one who pitches the ball), or the coach, or they have been tagged out, they stop running. The nice thing about it is, the kids don't get out. They are hi-fived for a good job, and are set and ready to move on to the next base. In many instances, kids make home runs. Mostly because no one can catch. Or, there are about seven kids fighting over the ball and the runner has made it to home before everything has been sorted out.

I know that there aren't alot of rules in this game. The one main rule is to have fun. But I still think that t-ball is a good foundation to teach your children alot of things. First off, it teaches them the basics of the game. It instills in them a sense of teamwork, good sportsmanship, and commitment. And that's only for starters.

This will be the last year that Mo will be playing t-ball. I, for one, will miss it.

Posted by Moogie at 06:33 PM | Comments (3)

My Pig

A hat tip to David for this little diddy.

When I saw Mr. Velociman's pig, it was love at first oink. I was in hog heaven. I decided that I had to have one of my own, and go after that sexy porker right away. But alas, my dreams turned into chitlins when this lovely sow showed up. and turned his head the other way. Ah, well, I'm sure there is plenty of other bacon in the sea.

According to the results, I am positive and optimistic. I am innovative and active, but don't have a strong sense of family, nor do I remember dates (now the date part is so me). I am analytical, cautious, and distrustful. I am secure, stubborn, and stick to my ideals. I am a great listener as well. The quality of my sex life is "WOW!" but, then again, I had cosmetic work on my tail, so I'm not sure that counts.

Go HERE and draw your own pig.

I may have lost my chance at the Vpig, but you still have time to rope in one of your own.

Posted by Moogie at 06:17 PM | Comments (2)

Dating 101

It started of simply enough. A Saturday filled with activity. Not suprising if you remember the fact that both my kids are in softball, and dance.

I took Mo to her t-ball game at 11:00. Mr. Moogie took Chickie to Folkston for her double header. The first game started at 10:00, the second started at 12:30. Folkston is about a 40 minute drive from our house, but from the t-ball field you need to add about another 20 minutes.

I promised Chickie that I would be there for at least part of the second game.

The t-ball game went longer than expected. They normally last an hour. You do the math. I got there at the congratulatory hand shake at the end of the second game.

She was, understandably, pissed. Luckily it didn't last.

I took the kids (no we weren't finished yet) to Walmart. First I got them something to eat, because they were starving, and, you know, I never feed them. We picked up a present for Chickie who was attending a slumber party that night (ok, one kid down). While we were there, we also picked up another present for Mo, who was attending a birthday party Sunday afternoon.

When I got home, we got a telephone call from one of Mo's friends Mom's, wanting to know if Mo could spend the night Saturday night.

YES.A.KID.FREE.NIGHT.NO.GUILT!

It can't get much better than that. I forgot about Murphy. He's got a nasty habbit of showing up when you least expect it.

Both of us took one girl, and dropped them off at their destination for the evening, and came home. We both kind of stood in the garage for a bit and stared at each other.

Without further ado, here is how you go on a date, sans kids:

1. Stand in the garage asking each other what you want to do for the evening.

2. After numerous responses such as "I don't know, what do you want to do", decide you want to go out to dinner. The kind where you don't put your order down at the counter, and they don't ask "Do you want fries with that? Biggie size?"

3. Sit down on couch and stare at the ceiling, noting how quiet it is.

4. Decide you better get a move on if you want to eat before midnight.

5. Get in the car and realize you have no idea where you want to go.

6. Toss ideas back and forth until you get to the freeway.

7. Make decision. Get off at the correct exit.

8. Change your mind.

9. Choose to go to restaurant in St. Simon's Island, a 45 minute drive.

10. Finally reach your destination after being "temporarily confused" (read lost) about your location.

11. Find out there is a 60 minute wait when you go to sign in.

12. Look at each other and realize it doesn't matter because you don't have to be home at any certain time.

13. Have a drink while waiting for a table, complete with a conversation in complete sentences, that has nothing to do with children.

14. Order and consume a wonderful meal, while continuing conversation.

15. As you are finishing meal, get call on cell phone (it's 10:00) from the mother of the friend your daughter is staying at.

16. Listen to mother tell you daughter has a bad stomach ache and has been sleeping and now seems to have a fever.

17. Pay bill, make drive back to the house in which your daughter is at.

18. Find daughter asleep, and when you wake her up to get to the car, she is miserable.

19. Wonder in the back of your mind if she has appendicitis because nothing has come out of either end, she has a fever and is rubbing the area of which her appedix in located. She tells you it's sore.

20. Go home, give child Motrin, and tuck her in bed.

I'm happy to say that it must have been a bug, or something left over from when she was sick a few days ago. She seems none worse for the wear and is full of piss and vinegar.

Needless to say, we are thinking that we will no longer attempt to have a night out on our own for a while.

It's best if we just keep the kids with us.

Posted by Moogie at 06:05 PM | Comments (1)

April 24, 2005

Are you in the car alone?

Just checking.

Posted by Moogie at 07:31 PM | Comments (2)

Turning off the brain

Have you ever been on the freeway and suddenly found yourself on an exit ramp and you're not quite sure if it's the right one?

I hate it when that happens, don't you?

It's as if your mind is a million miles away. Most of the time, I couldn't tell you what I was thinking about. Everything is so automatic at times.

I do that type of thing alot. I'll walk into the room, and stand there wondering what the heck I am there for. I'll start to ask a question, only to have it slip my mind the moment I open my mouth.

I often wonder if I'm completely losing it.

Now what what I talking about?

Posted by Moogie at 04:06 PM | Comments (3)

April 23, 2005

Honor's Chorus

What a great night. The kids did so well. It was amazing what they did with all of them in just two days.

This particular shot is when the director had them all set up and was beginning her warm ups. The kids were having such a good time. Chickie is the 3rd from the right, with her fingers in the air. Goes with her personality. She wasn't nervous at all. It doesn't give proper justification to the size of the chorus. There were approximately 180 children participating.

This is when they were singing one of the six songs on the list. I'm sorry about the quality of the pictures. Out of all of them that we took, I could only get a couple of them to turn out ok after fiddling with photoshop a bit. Our camera isn't that great and the lighting was horrible. At least we were sitting up front so I got to see it up close and personal so I have the memories in my mind, if not on photos. Chickie is 4th from the right, back row.

Posted by Moogie at 06:14 PM | Comments (1)

April 22, 2005

She done me proud

Chickie was chosen to be in the Honors Chorus this year. She's been in Chorus all year but this is reserved for the (at least in my mind) special students.

10-15 students from each grade school in the county are picked each year. Contrary to the name, it's not based soley on singing ability. Each child is picked because of their willingness to help others, their attitude, and their grades, to name a few. To me, that's way more important than being picked because you are certain to be the next winner on American Idol.

Her concert is tonight. I'm not sure who is more excited. Her or me.

Posted by Moogie at 04:42 PM | Comments (6)

Part I is up!

It's up! Dax has started this off with a bang! It's going to be great to see how the story unfolds. Here is a list of the author's, the next one, being yours truly.

Chapter 2 - April 29 - Moogie
Chapter 3 - May 6 - Acidman
Chapter 4 - May 13 - Key
Chapter 5 - May 20 - Eric
Chapter 6 - May 27 - Pammy
Chapter 7 - June 3 - VelociGod

Posted by Moogie at 04:18 PM | Comments (3)

The Wrekyll in Jekyll or....

...the Georgia Writer's Workshop. Heh.

All I can say is WOW! In fact, I've been mumbling that alot lately. What a great time.

I managed to make it home, despite my best efforts the night before to sabotage that. I want to say thank you to all of you that made my first Blog Meet a wonderful experience. You all made me feel so welcome. Again, thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Ok, enough with the mushy stuff. On with the pictures. I'll only put a few up here that we took, but will provide a link to a photo album.

Here you go. Please note, these are in no particular order. Mr. Moogie took some of these on Friday night, and then I grabbed the baton, and carried on with Saturday night. Please note, the one's that I took are most likely somewhat blurry (I was able to somewhat camoflage that with Photoshop), and, well, a little off kilter. I have NO idea why.

Shaddup.

Rob: Take a close look. He looks so harmless doesn't he? The Acidman is somewhat quiet in person. I love to listen to his stories about when he was growing up and what he has experienced in his life. It's hard to equate the real life Rob, with the person you see on the blog. That's most likely the thing that keeps me coming back to his site. A real Southern Gentleman is Rob.

The Acid Brothers: A musical team that brings me back to the days of Simon and Garfunkel. Dave, Rob's brother is a wonderful man, with a wonderful talent for stroking that guitar, and a voice to match. The look so much alike, it's almost eerie. Next time, I think I'll bring a tape to record their music. Good stuff.

Rube: He brought along his lovely significant other Anna. They are vacationing here from Germany. Rumor has it, they came to the United States to attend the Writer's Conference. I can't argue with that. When I was introduced to him by Zonker, I had my reservations. "Moogie, meet You Bitch." Yeah, that's what I said. What a wonderful couple. I was only sorry that I didn't get to talk to them all that much.

Jim: He resides at Parkway Rest Stop. Class act. All the way around. He's a seriously talented guitar player that has a singing voice that would make women swoon. To top all of that off, he has a wicked sense of humor. I also talked to him on the phone Friday night and felt immediately at ease.

Denny: Denny resides at the Grouchy Old Cripple and that name couldn't be further from the truth. The man is a gem. A talented all around musician, with a gentle manner. I enjoyed the time I got to talk to him, even though it wasn't enough.

Eric: Ah Mr. Straight White Guy. He brought along his lovely wife, Mrs. Straight White Guy. Both of them were wonderful people. I could listen to his wife talk all day. Such a melodic voice. Eric wasn't so bad in his own right either. He really made me feel welcome and made sure that I had been introduced to everyone (along with Zonker and Cat). He gave me a buttload of poker chips, which I now have proudly displayed on my desk. I've almost forgiven him for his GRANDMOTHER comment, but not quite. If you want the full story, you'll have to ask him.

Velociman: I still don't have a full grasp of the man behind the blog but I think I'm getting there. He once described himself as a torilla and I think that might be a good one. He's very gracious with a wonderful sense of humor. He brought along The Bride, which was a wonderful treat. It was great to put a face with a name because I kept picturing him to look something like what he has posted on his blog.

Catfish: What can I say about this most gracious southern gentleman. He is Da Man! I asked him to marry me about 12 times but he kept turning me down. Something about having met Mr. Moogie and not wanting to make him mad. What a guy. He is all that I thought he would be, and more. Not only that, he's a neighor and I'm hoping we can get together in between blog meets.

Key: What can I say? This woman is as beautiful on the outside as she is on the inside. One class act. I didn't get to talk to her as much as I would have liked, but I have to say, I look forward to the next time we meet. Another absolute gem. They don't make them any finer than that.

Kelley: I didn't get much of a chance to chat with this gal either, but let me tell you, she is a hoot. She's also a wonderful singer. I could listen to her all day.

That's about all the photos fit to print. There were so many I didn't get. You can view more
here at the photo album.

Posted by Moogie at 03:51 PM | Comments (8)

April 15, 2005

What's next?

I have a sneaking suspicion that I need to rewind back to a couple of days and start over. Here is a listing of why:

1. Wednesday night, Mo comes home complaining of a sore throat (note: CRCT testing is all this week).

2. She later starts to feel better, sore throat gone and she is as happy as pig in a blanket.

3. Mo goes to school Thursday, comes home with fever and bad sore throat.

4. Mo still sick Friday morning. I stay home with her.

5. Take Mo into doctors Friday, no Strep showing yet.

6. Make follow-up appointment (just in case) for Saturday morning.

7. Stop off at McDonalds to buy Mo large milk shake.

8. Mo takes a couple of sips on way home, puts it down and falls asleep.

9. Take Mo inside, give her Motrin, she goes and lies down on bed.

10. Mo gets up about 20 minutes later, fever has risen (not alarmingly so), throat is really hurting, though Motrin has helped. It is now VERY red.

11. Read to Mo on my bed, and give her throat lozenge.

12. Mo falls asleep.

13. I sit down at the computer and plan.

14. Husband is leaving right after work tonight to go to Jekyll Island.

15. Chickie has softball practice at 6:00 tonight.

16. Mo has Tball game tomorrow, but will miss it due to illness.

17. Chickie has softball game tomorrow at 12:30, meeting all the parents and Chick-Fil-A at 11:15 so all can drive over together.

18. Mo has follow-up doctors apointment which I'm sure is no longer "just in case" tomorrow at 9:30.

19. Did I mention that husband's battery was dead this morning?

20. Realize that taxes have been filed today, and have decided to let my husband off the hook for waiting until the last minute because we are getting money back.

I'm starting to figure out how I will handle all of this on my own. It's not a big deal or anything, just more of a challenge to schedule. I don't want to take a sick child out all that much if I don't have to. I'm getting really good at juggling.

You want to know what the greatest thing was? My husband just called and asked me if it was really ok if he went. That he would be glad to stay home and help because he knew what a pain things were going to be.

Can you beat that? He's the greatest. BTW, I told him we would be fine and that he should go.

Oh, and I get to go take my turn Saturday afternoon when he gets home, so that's something to look forward to. (we are attending the Georgia Writer's Workshop - in shifts).

Posted by Moogie at 04:39 PM | Comments (17)

April 14, 2005

What is in a name anyway?

Your Boobies' Names Are: The Bazoombas

Lovely.

I got this in an email. If I can peel my daughter up off the floor, I'm going to go cook dinner.

What's in a name anyway? Right?

Posted by Moogie at 07:16 PM | Comments (5)

Check out the new buttons

You may have noticed, or maybe not. Check out the side bar. I've got some new buttons up. Take a peek at these talented people. Most excellent if you ask me. And even if you didn't, I'd say the same thing. Course, they are paying me well to advertise. Even if I did have to go and get Uncle Vito and his friends to "collect."

Disarming Diva
Snarky Diva
Sassy Diva
Feisty Diva

KateSpot
Moogie's World
Freudian Slippers
Villains Vanquished
Twisty

Zonker
The Wizard
Phin
Puffy

Lollygaggin
Meanderings
Mr. Helpful
Acidman
Velociman

Posted by Moogie at 07:12 PM | Comments (1)

Hat's off to Carmi!

I was browsing through my blogroll, and was reading one of my favorite bloggers, and I got the most exciting news!

Carmi, a most talented journalist, was mentioned on a radio talk show. They were discussing one of his most recent columns about about the experiences of losing a pet.

If you haven't already read his blog, go do so now. He is a wonderful writer, and his posts inspire me to think, really think. His writing has quite often forced me to look deep inside myself, and consider what is really important in my life, and to be thankful of those things I already possess.

Go take a peek, and give him a big congratulations.

Congrats Carmi! You deserve it.

Posted by Moogie at 06:05 PM | Comments (4)

April 13, 2005

Contemplating my navel

Sweet Mary and Joseph, and all that is holy. Is there no body part that is sacred anymore?

The girls were feeling a little grumpy last night, so I let them fall asleep with me. Actually, I use this as an excuse regularly so that bedtime is easy. Ok. To be truthful, I use this as an excuse to be able to go to bed early. There, I've bared my soul, and as of last night, that's not all.

We were lying in bed last night, and were watching the last bit of Full House, when my daughter began looking at my belly button. You see, I have an innie. A serious innie. I've been known to rent it out and house a family of, at the very least, 6, and there is enough room for the family pets as well. Though I do draw the line at snakes. If you get up close to it and yell, it echoes.

The only time this has been different in my life is when I was in the last stages of pregnancy, and had an outie that would scare the bejesus out of most people. It reminded me of looking down the barrel of a Colt .357 magnum, which was made for shooting malefactors. No criminal would dare walk through my front door because all I would have to do was point my belly at them and burp. Or, so I'm told.

In any case, Chickie was looking at my belly button. She' pulled up my nightshirt. I'm given to understand that she was hunting for treasure. Apparently she found it. In the form of lint. I wonder how much an ounce of lint is going for these days?

I need to ask you all. Is it just my child with these idiosyncrasies? I mean, don't most of your kids color, or play video games?

To make a long story short, she went and got the q-tips and began the seemingly unending task of cleaning all of the lint out of my belly button.

I need to make it clear that I do shower daily, and do use soap. But apparently not good enough. She has assigned herself the task of checking it out every few days to make sure there is none of that nasty build up showing. I can't tell you how grateful I am.

Posted by Moogie at 06:36 PM | Comments (8)

April 12, 2005

On Coping

Dear Readers,

I would first off like to send my heartfelt thanks to all of you who emailed and called me, concerned about my unexpected absence over the past week. Let me explain. I’ll keep it brief. Ok, maybe not.

I was captured by Cannibals, and taken to live amongst the tribes, and Gods who look remarkably like elephants in our society (did I mention they were pink and danced?). When they noticed the clippers I always carry in my purse, they decided to enslave me to a life of pedicures, removing hangnails not withstanding. One of their leaders, also known as Acidman, liked to have his toenails painted red. To be truthful, he really scared me. He has a tripple nipple (and they are pierced). Besides that, every time he walked into the hut, everyone got down on their knees and chanted “Diva, Diva, Diva,” and dayum, if that man(?) didn’t have the most interesting collection of red hats. Go figure.

I was finally able to find time to fashion a communication device from a coconut, but before I could dial out (don’t ask), my younger (though not as smart as me) sister initiated communication, found out my location, and contacted the necessary personnel to remove me from my most humbled surroundings.

Fast-forward to being removed from the mind altering drugs...oh, heh. I suppose you want the truth?

For those of you who have ever suffered from Diverticulitis (or other things related), you know that the cure can sometimes be as bad as the disease itself. Ok, not entirely true, but it’s not pleasant. Suffice to say, the antibiotics are nasty stuff, one of them (yes, I took two different ones) no smaller than a small nuclear based submarine, with an aftertaste that can remove the paint off of your neighbors Jaguar, and kill the athletes foot for the entire NFL, while simultaneously disinfecting your kitchen counters.

Simply put, I was in a state of pre-puke, puke, and after puke. EJECT! EJECT! EJECT! Oh, and blessed sleep. I will not go into how I went to work for the first three days last week. I am stupid. That is all you need to know.

Suffice to say, I’m able to sit up and take nourishment. The kind where it goes PAST my lips, and my tongue, down the throat and decides to reside in my stomach until the digestive system (such as it is) has worked its wonders.

I am alive. Can I get an AMEN?

In all seriousness, I wish to thank those of you who sent their support via email. It was overwhelming. I would also like to thank Christina for calling and checking in. Though she is younger, and looks harmless on the outside, she can be quite the little vixen when your back is turned. I noticed she thought she could take a few swipes out of me whilst I was ON.MY.LAST.LEG, but we shall see who gets the last laugh. BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. She has never liked me because I was a favorite of mothers (I always got to lick the beaters).

Besides. She is after my husband. And I have proof.

"Thank God, she married that nice guy with the oh, so smooth speaking voice (sigh).."

Needless to say, I feel good. Really good. Each day is better.

I'm back. Spread the word.

Posted by Moogie at 06:38 PM | Comments (11)

April 04, 2005

25 Word Challenge Now Closed

Thank you to all who participated. What a great turn out! I think we all had a good time with this one.

Don't forget, the next host of the 25 World Challenge will be none other than Phin, of Phin's Blog.

Thanks again!

Posted by Moogie at 06:58 PM | Comments (3)

April 02, 2005

How much is enough?

My husband and daughter, formerly known as Midget, now Meelie No (her choice and it fits-don't ask), went to Sears today to pick up some filters for the ride on mower. While in the store, they saw some go-carts.

Meelie No: Dad, I want one of those.

Dad: Honey, those are a bit out of our price range (to the tune of about $1,500)

Meelie No: No, all you need to do is that Toaster "Stoodle" get rich thing at Publix.

Dad: Is that so? How come?

Meelie No: Cuz then you could be a Tripple Nipple Gazillionaire.

I have one question for you. Just what the hell is a tripple nipple?

Posted by Moogie at 07:37 PM | Comments (11)

The 25-Word Challenge is ON

Welcome to this weeks installment of the 25 word challange. The concept is simple. A story is started with 25 words in a post, then continued in the comments section.

The rules are very simple:
a) each comment has to be 25 words and
b) no back to back comments, but commenters can come back as often as they like.

Next week's challange is hosted at Phin's Blog.

Without further ado, here you go. Have a great time! I'll be closing the comments sometime Sunday evening.

As Modesty crouched beside the tree, she could feel her heart slam against her chest. She needed to find her sidekick Willie before they did.

Posted by Moogie at 08:47 AM | Comments (32)

April 01, 2005

The 25-Word Challenge Reminder

Ok people. It's your time to shine! Tomorrow, I have the pleasure of being the host in the 25-Word Challenge, for our lovely and talented Feisty Repartee.

Be sure to drop by and join in the fun.

Below is a list of future participants.

April 9 - Phin at Phin's Blog

April 16 - Ali at Lady Mac's Musings

April 23 - Glenn at Politikal Animal

April 30 - Dash at The Boiling Point

May 7 - Pammy at Lollygaggin

May 14 – Michele at Meaderings

May 21 – Zonker at Thunder and Roses

May 28 – Oddybobo at Bobo Blogger

Posted by Moogie at 05:24 PM | Comments (1)