Sure has been a lot of criticism about folks blogs recently. Shame too. I don't understand where if a person decides to share a bit (or alot as the case may be for some) of themselves with the world, that all the sudden folks are allowed to become critics and spelling/grammar teachers. Or accuse other folks of "spying" or get in little "jabs" at others through their blogs, or claim that a person isn't funny? enough or interesting? enough to have a blog? This all just seems odd to me that instead of using good judgment, and if ya don't like some thing, just don't go there, that they continue to indulge in the things they find atrocious. Whats up with that??!!
Which in turn, may make bloggers feel a need to defend themselves against their critics, or try to change their style of writing to better entertain the masses. Not fair! No one should have to defend themselves or change themselves simply to share a bit of knowledge, or spirit, or candor, or to relay a message that says, "Hey, you think you got it rough? Here's how my day went." Or, " I had a particularly wonderful day and things that matter to me went well and I just want to share it ."
You see, that's what to me a blog is all about. Writing about things that are pertinent, or "matter" to the one that is writing this stuff down. Its not there to entertain, though some I must admit that I have seen, give more opportunity to laugh at than others, depending on what you find humorous. It gives a person a selfish moment, ( that in this day and age where we are all scurrying around so busy trying to please everyone else in the world to start with, that we should indulge in a bit of self indulgence, I think its a healthy thing for the soul) where we can talk about ourselves, our friends, family, what happened at work, that we dislike the price of a container of ketchup at the grocery store nowadays, or anything we decide is important to US, the writer, at any given moment. And if by chance we decide to share what we feel is important to us with the masses, then I feel that indulging in the art of sharing is a pretty unselfish reward, and should not be taken for granted, or picked apart, or criticised. For those that feel they need to be the grammar cops of the world, you can all go take a flying leap! I live in the South, and this is how we talk! For those that don't like what I say, or think I'm not interesting enough or funny enough, well then, get out of here and don't come back. But DON'T give me your Holier than thou speeches about spelling, grammar, funny/not funny, interesting/not interesting lectures.I'm not interested. I'm here for me. I'm here blogging because I want to, not to impress anyone or get my point across. For those of you on the other hand, that are here just checking out what Im up to and have no grand expectations of being entertained, "Hello, and Welcome" "Glad ya dropped by," "Nice to see you!"
But, now that my little rant is over with, I will say, that I did use to have a blog that I use to share with only a select few. I shared it with a few old folks that I felt needed to laugh now and then, and did, try to be entertaining and tell a story for their sake. And to be honest, it had some pretty good reviews! But then, what do a bunch of old fogies know eh? Here is a sample of just a few posts from my old blog. Funny? Entertaining? I don't know, but I do know I had a good time writing them, sharing them, and it gave me a good feeling knowing that maybe, I, little ole insignificant me, might have given some one a reason to smile in an otherwise shitty day. So those who take their blogging so seriously, get after it, entertain the masses and have a great time supporting your ego's and thinking your going to get a Pulitzer. But leave the rest of us to our own forms of communication and creativity.
Ya ever chase a goat?? Well I did and the rotten little buggers, they like it! My son went out a couple of weeks ago, to play with our goats, (they were new at the time, and a novelty)Now, I'm lucky to get him to look at them at all. I have found, that Goats aren't dumb. In comparison to my sheep, they are smelly little Einsteins with dangerous horns, and a bad attitude toward anyone wanting to put them some where they don't want to go. Sheep, such stupid, placid creatures, couldn't think them selves out of a pen with the gate left wide open! Ask me, I know!! But goats, now they are the thinkers of the hoofed world. Smart, agile, quick, and they have a sense of humor that I have yet to grasp. Lets get on with this. So he goes in to the pen to play with the goats. Leaves the gate not open, just unlatched. The first billy goat gruff See's this, and waits till the boy is enamored with another of his cell mates. A sweet little baby girl that "acted' as if she was openly enjoying the attentions of the boy. Truth of the matter is, she saw the unlatched gate too, and was just a decoy, a part of the plan. Distract the boy, while the first goat pushes open the gate, and the remaining 2 jump over the boy and are on their way to freedom. I, am out in the yard, doing little odd jobs, and look up to see 3 goats frolicking around all over the place, with my son winded and red faced trying to catch them. Well, I couldn't help myself, and had to stand and watch this little game go on for several minuets before I felt obligated to yell at him about leaving the gate unlatched. Ha! And you thought I was gonna say go help him. Well, I watched for a while longer shouting directions and encouragement to him then finally decided that if the goats were gonna get back in the pen, that I was gonna have to step in and help. So, Here I go. I step towards one. He leaps away. OK, I'll concentrate my efforts on a smaller, less fast one. Nope, she ain't having it either. They have gotten a taste of being chased by the son, and now me. Oh what a wonderful game! (At least to them it seemed that way) Judging by the looks on their faces, it must have been. I especially loved the part where they would let you get right up to them, almost touching them, ( mind you it would take 15 minuets of pretending you weren't looking at them to get that close) and then, just as I am about to catch it. Hippity hop, and its off again. Laughing at me!!! I'm serious! You could see it laughing! My son and I chased these goats for what seemed an eternity. All the while, my dogs are in their kennels barking madly, and all I do is yell at them to Shut Up! These are working border collies. Dogs that have been trained to round up my live stock for me. Where is my brain you ask at this point?? I haven't a clue. I yell at the dogs again to shut up, and continue to play this game of tag your it with these damn goats. I am at this point thinking If I ever get my hands on you, I'm making stew outta your ass. To hell with chasing these stinky little devils in a goat suit. GET ME MY GUN!!! I start towards the house, pass the kennels, yell at the dogs again, Shut the *!* Up! I yell at them again, and just for good measure I kick the gate. Ouch!! I shouldn't have done that with sandal's on. Well, ouch wasn't exactly what I said, but for editing purposes.... and I keep on walking/ hopping, my toe is bleeding. Just about the time I reach the front steps of my porch, a little voice inside my head goes off. Its a wonder I heard it at all what with 6 dogs barking their fool heads off. " "Hey Stupid" it says to me. I stop, look around. "Yea, you. Stupid. What are you doing?" Well, I say to myself, .... Self, I'm going to get the gun and stop these *!* goats in there tracks, and then I'm gonna make some stew for supper.( I figure if I put enough garlic salt on it we wont taste the goat anyhow.) Besides asking you if you've ever chased a goat, let me ask you this. Have you ever just smacked yourself? It hurts, I know first hand.And more than the stubbed toe too! So I smack myself, right smack between the eyes ( I think it wouldn't have hurt as much if I had removed my glasses first) and turn and look at my dogs. (Through one lens, as the other has been smacked out) As soon as I turned to look at the dogs, silence falls over the yard, (except of course for the blahing of the sheep, who have been watching whats going on and have now become the goats cheering section.) All dogs butts hit the dirt, tails wagging furiously bringing up clouds of dust from their wagging tails. "Pick me, pick me" they seem to be willing me with their minds. Here I am with 6 herding dogs, and "I'M" chasing the stupid, (oops edit stupid) conniving goats! So, I let my oldest dog out first. She has always gotten the job done for me. She runs right past the goats, straight to the sheep pasture and stands expectantly at the gate to the sheep. I chide her and try to convince her that its the goats I want her to get for me. Well, she looks at me like Ive got two heads, with a look on her face that clearly says, "I am a sheep dog, and will not be trifled with chasing "those smelly creatures!" And she wouldn't either! Wouldn't even look at them. True to her form, she is a "sheep dog" and nothing more. So, Back to the kennel you go sis. Then I pull out the 3 yr old. Shes like Mikey. She'll do anything. Fingers crossed, and Id have crossed my toes too if they didn't hurt so much from kicking the gate. I send swift Chris to pick up the scattered goats. Low and behold, bingo! She gets it. This little dog is a multi tasker. She will be going pee, chasing the ball, herding the sheep, and getting a drink all at the same time. An over achiever if you will. But today, for her and only because of her, we didn't have goat stew for supper. She saw what needed to be done, and did it. Had them goats in their pen in about 10 seconds. And just for good measure as the last one was flying in, she got a well aimed bite on the butt on the one that opened the gate and started this whole bloody game. Guess who got a hamburger from McDonald's for supper?!
Last evening, sitting on my front porch in the sultry summer humidity of the sticky south, picking my nose , edit! ole guitar, and wondering.... whats that smell?? No, edit that. Thinking, damn its hot, and trying to finger out the cords to an old Sir Elton song,( yes, you can play Elton on a guitar) Looking out over the un-vastness ( new word..."Un-vastness" meaning small, meager, un large, smallish...( where the hell is Websters!) of our quaint little 10 acre farm, I looked out across the woods, and see two of the biggest damn bucks you ever seen! Ah ah Ah, I know what your thinking... south, big bucks... no, these were of the hoofed variety. Its my damn blog, I can say what i want. No politically correct here. Anyway, I saw those bucks, and I'll tell ya what the south has done to me. Do I run to get the camera? Do I sit quietly and enjoy the calm quiet serene setting? No, I throw down the ( set down) my guitar, run in the house, and grab my 6 mm rifle with the high powered scope. What I nice shot I think as I shoulder the weapon and peer through the scope. No spots on them big boys, so no childhood reminiscing of Bambi here. The southern mentality has taken hold of me now, and here in the south, we call them Blambi! Ahhhh, so sad by true. I cant take a shot at them,(sneaky ass fish and game might be prowling around within earshot) and its only bow season at the moment. Good, at least that stops me from doing the unthinkable. Unthinkable, ONLY because its bow season. Not unthinkable because of the many other unthinkable reasons. I got what is currently and commonly known and admired around here as Buck fever. I like taxidermy. I have lots of it (dead animals) all over my home. .....and I want more. None of what I have did I kill myself.( unless you want to include the dead beetle I stepped on still on the kitchen floor) It was all bought and paid for without ever getting my hands blood stained. This, does not sound like the tree hugging girl from Utah that I once was. I feel like I should be a prime candidate for a Jeff Foxworthy skit. You know, where he says... You know your a red neck when??..(You include dead beetles as taxidermy?) I am in shock, awe if you will at my sudden and utter disrespect for life. My freezer is full, I don't need it for food, besides, I hate the taste of venison. Hell, I even hate to smell it cooking. I sat back down in my chair, (ya know, here in the south we include upside down 5 gallon buckets in the chair category,) and start to think about this most unfortunate turn towards redneckedness that I seem to have taken. I chamber a shell. It feels so macho and I love the sound and feel of the bolt action. I Look through the scope again, they are still there, drinking from the pond and taunting me with those big horns whilst having no clue how close they are to.....yes, Blambi. My breathing becomes quicker, I start to sweat, Scratch that, sweat more than I already was and I start to tremble. What a rush. Out of no where, right in my sights, a pretty little butterfly flits on through. Pausing for a slight second just to hover in my cross hairs. Wow, this scope is high powered, as I can see even the hairs on its legs and the dust on its wings. I set down the rifle, and watch, smiling as it floats across the yard. I was proud, and amazed that I didn't run and get a butterfly net to capture and add this little fella to my taxidermy collection. Theres hope for me yet.
Well, here I am again. Its been a long week, and its only hump day! Glad to be off this weekend. My humor has escaped me this evening, and I'm sorry for myself for that. Been working dogs this evening, and between them and the silly tups, I'm just give slam, slap out. (A lovely little southern term) Went fishing yesterday at the pond, caught a mess of fish and gave them to a neighbor. (Let him clean them) All in all, it was very relaxing, except for when I caught "the big one". Word to the wise. Never , ever, when a 12 yr old sweetly says "here mom, let me help you with that", ever let him "help" you put your prize fish ( by the "Heft it scaleometer, a 6 pounder) that it took you 10 minuets to land on a little bitty pole, help you put this prize fish on your stringer. 12 yr old boys are jealous little dark creatures, prone to being deceitful, and will "seem" helpful, but in reality, are scamming little shits! Long story short, my "big fish" some how made it back into the pond, to be caught again, another day. All the whilst I am saying "DONT HELP ME!!" I really don't know which of the 2 was slimier, him or the fish. Now anyone that knows me, or has fished with me, including my 12 yr old son, knows that I take my fishing very seriously. When I catch a nice one, you can hear me squealing 3 counties away. Catch and release is a foreign language to me. I caught it, its mine! So the loss of this fish devastated me. How could I go home now, after everyone 3 counties away heard me squeal, with out the "Big one?" I fished furiously again for him till almost dark, to no avail. Loose your fish, equals loose your bragging rights! Ho me. ( another silly little southern ditty) I wanted to whack him with my pole! But instead, made him jump (pushed him) in after it. Ha! That'll teach him. ....Ya think? NOT! He had too much fun wading through the water, mocking, calling here fishy fishy. All the while looking back over his shoulder looking at me and grinning. I wanted to sell him to the Mexicans, but knew, Id have to pay some one to take him, and I just don't have "THAT MUCH" money! I need to win the lottery before he gets much older
And my personal fav, a rant about my wonderful (and you know I mean that) husband.
I have a headache tonight. A friend tried to give me her suggestion about how to rid myself of it, something about rolling around on the floor wrapped up in a peanut blanket?? There are few things I roll about on the floor for, and that certainly isn't one of them. I told her I thought it was probably more from lack of sleep than anything, and before any of you degenerates start thinking perverse things, I'll set you straight right now. I only WISH that would have been the reason, but as it was, I didn't even have a moment to dream about such things. My husband works days, but works in the maint. department in a place that works round the clock. 3 shifts. Some times, he has to go into work, at odd hours. Last night, it was midnight. So, like a good wife, I stay up to see him off to work. Then, just as I shove him out the door, I realize ...Its Sunday night! Yea!! British comedy night on the local PBS station! And me, with the remote all to myself for the remainder if the night. And, I am off work tomorrow! ( husband is suppose to work till 9am) So, I get myself a soda, and proceed to sit down and watch some purple haired Brit, and a few old codgers try to get a giggle out of me. May be harder than you think, as they are always re-runs and Ive seen them all a hundred times already. Why then, do you ask, do I continue to watch them?? Beats the hell outta me, but I do.Wanna make some thing of it!? I warned you I was cranky to start with. Anyway, I finally turn the TV off about 2:30am. Crawl my butt in the bed, ahhh. the whole bed to myself! How lovely. And fall directly hard and fast asleep. Mind you, I had to be up at 5:30am that same morning, and worked all day too, so sleep is well deserved at this point. So here I am, sleeping like a puppy, and in my dreams I seem to be hearing some thing. And I keep hearing it until I become fully awake. Its my phone. I look at the received list on it, and there are 12 calls in the last 5 minuets! All, from my husband! It is 3:15am! Of course, being "the good wife" I am concerned, so I answer the 13th call politely. Do ya want to know why he called me at 3:15 in the morning??!! To tell me he was coming home early! Oh, like I wouldn't have figured that one out about the time I no longer had the whole bed to myself. Let me tell ya some thing. I have a 110lb German Shepherd that sleeps beside my bed, and worships the ground I walk on, not to mention protects the room I sleep in. If some one other then my husband would have come into my room at 4:00 in the morning, there wouldn't be much left of them by 4:05. And my husband knows that, so his lame excuse of wanting to "just let cha know" kinda pissed me off. So now, I got him on the phone telling me all about the work he had been doing, ( like I care) I don't even want to hear about it when the sun "is" shining, and he knows this! But he insists that I listen to him drone on about nuts and blots and clamps and screws while he's driving home. Well, I didn't put up with that for about 10 minuets, and promptly reminded him of the hour, and warned him that I was going back to sleep. The drive took him about....well, about enough time for me to fall fitfully back into sleepy land. At 4:00am, I am awakened again! By my husband, again! I ask,(whine) why are you waking me up!? He says, "just wanted to let ya know I'm home." Well lets have a freakin celebration!! Jeez! So, as he is telling me that he is home, the dog, (who hasn't been feeling so good for a day or two, cause he ate his and everyone Else's rawhide bones the other day,) decides to have runny poop all over the bedroom carpet. Again, as I am drifting back off to la la land, my husband feels the need to announce to me what the dog has done. BFD. Clean it up ya big baby! Which I should have gotten up and cleaned it myself, but at this point, I'm really tired and about half pissed off at the world, so it wouldn't have done him or that dog any good for me to have to get up. It just wouldn't have been pretty. So he cleans it up. Well, all gets quiet. My husband, for reasons unbeknownst to me at the moment, decides to sleep on the couch. Fine with me, I still get the whole bed to myself. Ahhhh, sleep, wonderful glorious, so wanted, so needed, back to the wonderful abyss of sleep........ But whats that smell!?? Awe, its nothing, go back to sleep I tell myself. And then I agree with myself. And I do.... for about a minuet. Cause.... whats that smell?? Its awful. And yet pleasant too all at the same time...... No, no its not. Its horrible! My husband, in his infinate wisdom, cleaned up the dog poop, took the poopy bag outside, but then cleaned up the spot where the poop was, with Peppermint scented soap!! So Im trying to get back to sleep and all I can smell is peppermint and dog shit! A combination that should never ever be duplicated I assure you! UGH! Gag me! And it was! So I get up out of the bed, go into the living room, and low and behold, there lays my husband fitfully snoring away on the couch! Oh yes, I do want to kick him. So since theres no room on the couch, I slink/ stomp ( hoping to wake HIM up in the process) back to the bed room, turn on the bath room fan and open a window in hopes that it will some how eradicate the putrid scent, pull the covers up over my head, and once yet again try to find that oh so elusive thing called slumber. At this point, it is 4:30am. At 5:30am, I hear my son somewhere in my dreams? calling "mom?...Mom?...MOM!!! He now seems to need me to see him off to school. His bus picks him up at 6:20am. I am, at this juncture, understandably, undeniably, cranky and a bit difficult to awaken, so it takes several tries. Each with which, I become more and progressivly more volitle. Finally, I make my apperaence at 6:00am. Look him over, critisize his choice of putting on yesterdays clothes, make him change, hand him a cold poptart, and dont let the door hit you on the........kiss him good bye, and shove him out the door to catch the bus. 6:20am. I have had a total of ...what?, maybe 2 hours sleep? Im going back to bed. Husband is still drooling and snoring all over the couch, but the smell in the bedroom seems to have made its escape. So back to bed I go. 7:30am. Guess who's awake now? Its the husband again, waking me again! "WHAT THE *!* DO YOU WANT NOW!!" I ask in my oh so lovingly wifely way, and you know I did. "Oh," he says, "I just wanted to let you know that Im goin to go back to work this morning." And this means what!?! to me?? Like you dont go to work every morning!! "Please do!" ( well,close enough to what I said, sorta)Ok, so I lied, but you, nor he at this point really wanted to hear what I had to say in that instance. ( again, however I say this to him in my ever so loving way, and you know I did) and close my eyes to try to find just one hour of pure unadulterated, undisturbed, unscented sleep. 8:30am. Its him again. The man I married. Why, at this point I am wondering, exactly DID I marry him??!! The word widow is one I am swiftly considering, warming to, thinking about, and becoming rather fond of. This time he feels the need to wake me to announce to me WHILE IM SLEEPING that he is indeed now, going to work. Where is my gun! Now this, is the reason the keys to the gun safe have been taken away from me. I wondered why he called it self preservation when I asked him why he took them from me. "Go, go now please, before I ".....theres a cast iron frying pan on the stove....he see's me eyeing it and makes a hasty retreat out the door. Ahhh, alone at last. Now I may get some sleep. Usually, while my husband drives to work in the morning, he calls me from his cell to "talk" to me while he is driving to work. Why? I dont know, but he does. I figure that with the send off he got, that probably I wont be getting that call. So I head back to bed, secure in the knowledge that this is the moment Ive been yearning for all night, and am finally about to recieve. I fall into the bed and am not there 5 minuets and Im out like a light. 9:00am. Theres that damn noise I heard last night. And there it is again. I open one eye. Its the damn phone again! If I aim it just right, I'll bet I can make 2 points with a rim shot into the toliet. No, I answer it. Who do you think it is,.. I implore you? It is,... yes, the soon to be divorced, decapitated, denutted, deactivated, decomposing out in the southern most regions of the world husband. Just letting me know he got to work alright. Amused, I am not..... "and you have a nice day too Honey" I sweetly coo into the phone to him. And you know I did. 9:05. Im gonna get me some sleep come hell or high water! I get up, unplug every phone in the house. Rip out the doorbell,(just in case some well meaning Jehova witness doesnt have to make an untimely, un scedualed visit to the energency room or worse) and leap into bed knowing in my inner most heart of hearts, that NOW, no one can bother me till I get some, oh God please let me get some sleep. 9:30am. Remember those 2 dogs I was telling you about? Well, there are 6 more of them in crates down the hall. They have been in those crates since last potty call last night. First it starts out as a whine. Then, the odd bark here and there. Within 20 minuets it sounds as if some one has deposited a whole pack of howling wolves in the room where those crates are. Creschendo rising. Along with my boiling point. I give up. I just give up. I get up, get dressed, and let out the dogs. That was yesterday, as it is now 2:00am today, and I sit here exausted hammering out my frustrations, sleep deprived. And I still have the headache. And you have a wonderful day too sweetheart. And you know I mean it. Good night.