Posts from the ‘Crazy Things I See’ Category

Coulrophobia Is Real

I’ve never been one to have a Clown Phobia.  I don’t quite understand it but then again, I’m sure there’s people who suffer from such affliction that don’t understand my  strange fear of mice and rats. 

Anyhoo, today I had to get gas at the Hendersonville Mapco.  I’m putting the gas in my vehicle when an SUV pulls up to the pump next to us and I notice there’s a clown behind the wheel.  I didn’t think anything of it because of course, you see a clown getting gas everyday at the Mapco, yes?

While I’m pumping gas, one of the clowns walked over to my car and tapped on the window, promptly scaring my daughter out her wits.  Foster was along for the ride (it’s getting to become a habit that when we get in the car, Le Pup is with us) and I think Mr. Clown was tapping at him, maybe. 

 He said to me  ” I think I mighta scared her.”  Ya think, Homey??

I told them I had to get a picture and when I looked at it later, I realized that something about these two screams John Wayne Gacy


I shouldn’t be like that to the Shriner Clowns we saw at the Mapco.  Clowns need to gas up their cars, too, right?

That’s Hot


Internets, meet my crown.  Crown, meet the Internets.  The Crown wanted to “pop” out and say howdy so there it is. 

Vaseline IS a wondrous thing for holding crowns in place til the dentist opens on Monday.

Nobody Teaches Us How To Grow Old

I was driving down Gallatin Rd. yesterday during lunchtime.  That is one busy road.  It’s not exactly the kinda road one would want to purposely go out and stroll on, although that area has a lot of residents who have to either rely on public transportation or their own two feet to get around. 

I have frequented that part of town a lot over the last 20 years.  I lived off Gallatin Rd. for 5 1/2 years.  I’ve seen all sortsa types of folks crossing that road.  I’ve seen various shapes, sizes, colors, means of crossing, including a guy in a wheelchair with no legs more than once…I’d be scared to death to try to get from the Piccadilly side of Gallatin Rd. to Jenna’s Toybox, myself.

Anyway, I was driving down the road and I saw this older lady in one of those Hoveround things.  I assume this lady is a resident of that Senior apartment complex there behind what used to be Col. Tom Parker’s office.   She was probably at least 75-80 years old.  She was fairly well dressed, had her coif nicely done (betchya she sleeps with toilet paper on her head between her Friday Hair Washin’s). 

One look at the woman you could tell her health is probably not the best it’s ever been, but, considering her age, she’s not doing too bad.  I would imagine her kids probably took her wheels away from her at some point and if she decides she wants to run over to the bank or to the Piccadilly or wherever, she has to rely on the transportation from the complex in which she lives or one of her children has to drive her around.

So, here was this lady, in her Hoverround, waiting to cross Gallatin Rd. My first thought was “What in the world is that woman doing out here on Gallatin Rd. trying to cross this ridiculously busy street in one of those things for?  What is wrong with her??” I wondered if her children and grandchildren had any clue that Maw Maw was crossing Gallatin Rd., zig-zaggin in and out of traffic.  I had a vision of my mother (who will be 74 in a couple of months) doing such a thing.  My mother will barely leave her house in her own vehicle, much less a battery operated contraption like that.

As quick as I had that thought, the thought occurred to me that Hoveround Lady musta wanted to go somewhere and she decided that she wasn’t gonna let a silly little thing like not being able to drive stop her, no sirree.  Where’s my wheels?  Brang ’em here, I want some of that Carrot Souffle’ at the Piccadilly! I was suddenly in awe and admiration of this nameless woman for having lots of cajones. 

The whole scene also made me think about the fact that the good Lawd willin’, I’m going to be that Senior-aged woman (shut up, Much Younger Friends who haven’t even crossed into 30 yet).  I’m just stubborn enough that if I want something bad enough (not Carrot Souffle’ though) I will knock you down til I get whatever it is I’m after.  I don’t like the idea of carpooling to work in a gas shortage because that messes with my independence.  I sho nuff bet at that age, I will resent having to depend on somebody to haul me around.

It’s a scary thought, Old Age.  It’s scary to me that the same turd who left a smart alecky comment on my blog post about him (I told him I would not mention him again on here since he was so offended.  I removed his second comment ‘fo most of you had the chance to see it.)…that same kid, along with the help of the Drama Queen and #2 will someday be involved in major decisions about what old age home I will live out my days in. 

I envision the Drama Queen having to take me grocery shopping, to the doctor…lordy mercy…we will be just like Eunice and Mama. 

Just in 2008 alone, I’ve gotten calls from my mother in the middle of the night, in the middle of my workday, and other times, have had to abandon what I’m doing to go across town to where she lives and deal with a situation.  Hear me, I do not mind doing these things for my mother.  Not one bit.  This is the woman who gave birth to me, wiped my rear end (nevermind that I STILL remember the time she accidentally put toothpaste on my ass instead of Desitin for diaper rash.  Yeah, I have a good memory but you’d remember that one too.  Trust me, toothpaste on yer butt-ox doesn’t get rid of cavities.)  Lord knows the sacrifices Barbara Jean has made on my behalf.  I am quite thankful that I still have her around to do for (yes, I would be even more thankfuller if’n she’d move about 20 minutes closer!).

Do you ever think about your old age?  Is there going to be money for me to live on?  Are my boys going to marry awful women like the daughters in law in Driving Miss Daisy or A Trip To Bountiful?  Will my daughters in law only allow me to hum my hymns when they aren’t around?  I kid, but, ya know…stuff like seeing the old lady in the Hoveround on Gallatin Rd. makes me think about that sorta stuff.

All my life I’ve been taught how to die, but no one ever taught me how to grow old.

BILLY GRAHAM, Newsweek, Aug. 14, 2006

Public Service Announcment #2 For Leap Day

Listen up people…I’m only gonna say this once.  Please listen closely.

Grown up people that have stuffed animals sitting in the rear window of your vehicle?  It is not cute.  Besides being a potential hazard, it’s just weird.  This woman in my office who is 40 ish…sweet as can be….has a brand new, nice car, yet has stuffed animals all in the back window.  I want to shake her and say “Stop it!”

The one time I ever had to go to traffic school (moving violation..cutting off a police officer. Never had a speeding ticket)  the thing that stuck with me was the teacher saying how dangerous it is to have stuff in the back of your car.  This is so because they become moving projectiles in the event of an accident. 

I remember the guy telling of a Kleenex box in a rear window killing a woman.  So, if you have something like that in your back window, take it down.  We don’t want you to get kilt.

If you have stuffed animals…just take them down cause I said so. 

Christmas Shoes Are Wrong

I try not to tell untruths here.  I try.  However, I told a lie the other day when I said there was not a Christmas song I didn’t like.

I heard one last night and I swear to Bing Crosby….it is probably the most hideous Christmas song ever. It sounded sorta like Vanessa Williams (whose singing I really dig) singing it, but, it may not have been.  Something about “come sit here by the fire with me and have a cup of Christmas tea.”  Say what?  It’s painful.  I can’t imagine Bing or even Andy singing such crap.  That is because they wouldn’t. 

**Disclaimer….if this song touches your heart like no other, do accept sincere apologies from your Sista. It did not move me so much.

I don’t know that the Christmas tea song is half as bad as “Christmas Shoes” though.  That song makes me want to projectile vomit.  I HATE that song.  I mean, I hate it. Hate. It.  I know somebody out there’s saying “She hates ‘Christmas Shoes’ but loves ‘Same Old Lang Syne?'” 

Christmas Shoes….ok…there was this psycho that used to go to my church and we called him “The Amen Guy”.  The guy would holler Amen after everything.  You could say “I’ve got hemorroids the size of Cleveland” or “My ass carbuncle is hurting me” and he’d just Amen it.  Now, I’m known to say an Amen here and there but only if there’s a reason for it.  Some people Amen during church just cause they want to hear theyselves talk.

One Christmas Eve, somebody sang this horrendous piece of schlop.  There are praise and worship songs that you raise your hands to but Christmas Shoes is not one of them.  Amen Guy, of course, ended up sitting next to us and all through that dumb song, he was raising his hands and swaying back and forth.  It was wrong, I tell you. Wrawng.  Me and the Holy Tara didn’t even try to not laugh.  What was the point?  It was rich. 

I went to the dentist today to have my teeth cleaned.  I was feeling good about myself cause I haven’t had any sensitivities or nothing like that, found my retainer, my teefuses are good.  Wrong!  Dr. G. said to the hygienist, “Let’s watch 14.”  I said “Lookie here, Pal….I don’t want any more crowns.”  He informed me that the tooth was already crowned and now it (I guess “it” is the teef funk that has taken up residence in my pie-hole) It is going into the root.  Praise!  That means 2008 will be the year of another Root Canal.  I’m so blessed. 

I had one Root Canal in 2001.  I went to Dr. G. (he has been my dentist now for over ten years.  He is good people) and he was going to do a crown.  He numbed me up, started drilling and hello!  I could still feel it.  He shot me up with more numb stuff, and started drilling again.  Was still feelin’ it.  He repeated this process a couple more times.  Still could feel the drill.

Dr. G. sent me down the street to Dr. K. the endodontist for a root canal.  I was scared to death.  Something about drilling a tooth and feeling it will make you a little jumpy.  Knowing I get to have another Root Canal this next year is enough to make me shout Ho Ho Ho.  Bleh.

Stink, Stank, Stunk

This is an explanation of this.grinch.jpg

It’s Wichita’s Fault

If you have ever emailed with me and received some sort of invite from me to some Facebook/My Space kinda thing, please ignore and forgive your Sista.  I have better sense than to send mass emails to anybody inviting them to anything. 

What happened was thus…I opened my email up the other morning.  It said “Wichita Rutherford has invited you to ….” I can’t even remember the name of the thing now.  I thought to myself, “If it’s good enough for Wichita (who I have known since before he was born), it’s good enough for me.”  I checked it out and signed up.  So, I sign up and it asked “Do you want us to see if any of your contacts are on Qechup?” (The name is something like that).  This is where I messed up. 

There was another email from Wichita (after I had already opened and done the other one) that said “Sorry about that…disregard.”  I wish I had read my emails in order.

The way Gmail works is, it puts anybody you ever email with in your Contacts list.  I’m getting some nasty replies back from people saying “I don’t even know you”  and one said “This is a business…take me off”.  Ooops.  Sorry folks. 

Take it up with Wichita. 

My other old pal, Web of Webslog sent me this.  Read it and beware. Apparently, me and Wich aren’t the only ones hit by it.  (Thanks for that, Web.)

Sista Has A Weird, Unsettling Experience

On the road in which I journey to work every morning (Vietnam Veterans Bypass or aka 386), since school has begun, the traffic has grown immensely.  This is not a surprise to me cause it always does this. 

Every single morning, when I get on the Bypass and go about a mile, it becomes all bottlenecked for the rest of the 4 miles or so until 65.  I finally figured out why it gets so clogged up and then eases up past Conference Dr.  You know what it is?
That stupid, electric sign that says “Air Quality Alert-It’s hotter than hell outside” or something like that. 

If the sign had an Amber Alert on it, ok, that’s worth slowing traffic down to look at.  But if there’s anybody in the State of Tennessee who doesn’t realize it’s hot and to take precautions, ain’t no electric sign going to help you understand that.

It’s sorta like that weirdo I bumped into at McDonalds the other day….I went into the Music Valley Dr. McDonalds, which should have a sign out front that says “We have the rudest workers in Nashville right here!”  It’s really no wonder the place was empty.

Sos anyway, there was nobody in McDonalds and it was lunchtime.  I stood.  And stood.  And stood waiting for Quanesha and her co-worker  to finish their conversation before I was waited on.  Finally, they took my order, I got it and went to the table.  The ketchup dispenser was out.  I left my food on the table, took my purse with me and went back up to the front and asked this woman who appeared to be a manager (she had on a different color top than everybody) if I could have some ketchup.  She never acknowledged my presence.  Didn’t say “Well, sure”, “No way” nothing.  I was about to ask her again when she picked up the ketchup box and threw it at me, never saying a word.  Good grief.

Then, I go back to my table with the food (remember, nobody was in the place) and there’s a man sitting at my table, with my food.  He was somewhat scruffy looking so I’m assuming (I know, profiling…sue me) he was homeless or something.  I didn’t say anything, I just glared at him and he said “Oh…is this your table?”  Did he not see the tray of food?  He didn’t mess with it or nothing.  He asked me if it was my table and I gave him a Holy Tara, half-eye roll, half nod as if to say “Der-duh-dee” and he said “Oh.” Then he got up and moved to the next table. Like I was going to sit there.  I moved to the other side of the place. That was so odd.

Take it from your Sista….stay away from McDonalds on Music Valley Dr.  Heck, stay away from McDonalds.

A Community Service?

I stopped by the post office in East Nashville today to send Vol State my stuff that proves I am cootie free and my GED transcript. (I find it funny that they call it a “transcript.”)  The Jere Baxter Station Post Office is like a throwback to about 1958.  It’s a cute little post office, as far as post offices go.  Most of the people I saw in there were older folks who have probably lived over there since God was a boy. (Ok, there was a Mexican sister in there with a dress on who has hairier legs than the Manchild.  Trust me…that’s hairy)

There was one thing that took away from the quaintness and Bedford Falls-ness of this cute, neighborhood post office.  The building is right next to the former home of Rick’s (Or is it Nick’s) Flicks.  Rick (or Nick) did not deal in the business of Disney movies.  No, Nick’s thing was more along the lines of “Snow White and the Seven Sailors.”

Nick/Rick may be gone from the neighborhood, however, this lovely reminder remains of what used to be…It blessed my heart.


Now, maybe I’m a little naive, but, is this perhaps an informative sign directing the girls where to do their thing on Gallatin Rd?  Is it a dance move?  Kinda like the Electric Slide?  The Two-Step?  Remember that song Tanya Tucker did about the “San Antonio Stroll?”  Something like that, maybe?  Anybody?

TLC, Are You Listening?

What was that guy’s name that invented the reality show as we know it, that addressed us at the Blogging thing back in September?  Somebody give him a holler.  I’ve got the best idea for a special for TLC.  They will have the highest ratings that they ever had…dig if you will…

Michelle Duggar, the  lunatic nice lady in Arkansas who is expecting her 17th child.  They have their own show now on TLC sos why don’t we pair her with the  Stacy and Clinton on What Not To Wear people and do “Michelle’s Makeovee?”  They usually do these makeovers for some sort of big event, so they could do something with that God-awful hair of Michelle’s, give her a wardrobe and the cause for celebration could be Jim Bob’s vasectomy!!! Yeah, that’s the ticket.

Thing is…ok if you want to keep popping out babies til michelleshair02.jpgyour uterus falls out (that pretty much happened to my cousin Vicki after having four right in a row), but, must you dress your pretty daughters as heinously as you dress and insist they have horrible hair just like yours? Michelle is not an ugly woman and their girls are lovely.   I like to watch their show because it’s another one of those car wrecks.

I also want to see Michelle have a Sista moment.  One of those days I’ve forgotten to take my Prozac and I get on a yelling, cussing, I-hate-my-life tirade.  I want to hear Michelle cuss Jim Bob out and tell Jessa and Jemima to get out of her face and then tell Josiah to go get her a beer.  They can show that footage during the Makeover episode if they want.   I want to see her call Jinger a sorry little tramp and that she better not ever catch Jedediah with porn again!  That’s what we need to see.

They really seem like nice people and they seem to have a sense of humor.  Jim Bob is sorta like Matt Roloff in that he’s figured out how to get his house furnished nicely and other little perks.

You know what would be good tv? Have the Little People Vs. The Duggars in a wrestling match or something.  Endless possibilities here.  They could have Zach whup Joshua’s ass with Danny Bonaduce as the referee.

And My Kids Think I’m Embarrassing…

Since Friday, it’s been me and the Manchild.  Mr. Smiff took #2 and the Drama Queen with him to Silver Dollar City til Wednesday.  Oooh, the DQ is in MAJOR trouble when she returns from the Hillbilly Vegas Strip.  Lordy me is she in trouble.  Without telling exactly what she did to get me extremely upset, just know it has to do with MySpace.   Her days on My Space are o-vuh.  Done.  I’m sure I’ll get no backup from the Mr. on this and she can hate me til she’s 90, but, she is so done with My Space.  I was patient last week when she went through her “I think I might be an atheist” phase.  I handled that very well.  This latest stunt, however, is way worse than that and she is in truhhhhh-bul.

So anyway, I’ve had lots of one on one with the Manchild the last few days.  I swear, don’t tell anybody this, but, I think he likes me ok.  I may be stretching to say that, but, I’m thinking he might.

We were on our way to my mom’s today and my sister texted me to tell me to stop and get ice.  I stopped at one of those little markets on Robertson Rd. and asked the MC to go get the ice.  Diva that he is, he was engrossed in Bob Seger’s “Turn The Page.” I went in the store and they had no ice.  So I went to the other store across the road.  MC still was not really hip on wanting to go get the ice and I figured instead of arguing with him, I’d just go get it.  In a way, I’m glad he didn’t go in, but, then in a way, I felt as though I had hit the jackpot.

This was a teeny, old convenience store.  They kept their soft drinks and ice practically in a closet.  I saw this man, this huge man of about 6’6 and a boy of about 12 come in and they sorta had the drink closet taken over so I waited.  I heard the Large Man making noises and I realized he was talking and that he must be deaf.

Ok, I take no joy in those who have a hearing loss.  That is tragic to think someone would never be able to hear Ella Fitzgerald sing or hear the sound of your own child’s laughter.  If I had to choose what I would give up, hearing or vision, I’d lose the vision way before I’d lose the hearing.  We take being able to hear for granted.

So, I’ve got my deaf people disclaimer out of the way, I can get into the nitty gritty and the point of this experience.  Large Deaf Man was attempting to bark orders to this boy.  He was just a’pointin and ranting and raving.  I assume the boy knew what the heck he was saying.  I sure enough did not, but, I will say this….this Large Deaf Man was L-O-U-D.   I mean, piercing loud.  I wish I could adequately describe how loud and piercing these grunts were. 

I get up to the checkout and Large Deaf Man and Boy were next to me.  LDF decided he wanted something else and screamed something illegible and the poor boy signed something to him.  I bet it was “Shut the hell up.”  I wanted to get my ice and get the heck out of dodge cause I was so scared I was going to lose it right there.  The Indian checkout guy tried to insist I put my ice in a bag and I was like “No, no, really, I’m fine!”  LDF was still hollering as I left.

I get to the car and tell the Manchild, “You are so going to wish you’d have done me that favor.”  I bet next time I ask him to do me a small favor like that, he’ll jump on it because he might see something wonderful like that.

Then, on the drive home this afternoon, a speeding car full of nuns passed us on the Vietnam Veterans Bypass.  Lordy if that didn’t make us both howl.  We are so not right.  It doesn’t take much to entertain us. 

Just Sayin….

I may be crazy, but, has anybody else noticed how John Dwyer and Julie Kroenig color coordinate their clothes?  I never even saw Heather and Neil do that. Pay attention…most days, his tie matches whatever she has on.  Not every single day, but,  most days.

Oh Seeesta…You Got Some ‘Splainin’ To Do

As I sit here in my stately, brick ranch, circa 1975 style abode, Dancing With The Stars on the teevee, the Manchild serenading us with Sunshine of Your Love, I am pondering something and laughing at something else…both having to do with Mr. Smiff.

I’ve told you about Mr. Smiff’s newly grown goatee.  It’s looking good, however, I’m thinking perhaps the Smiffster Mister should perhaps invest in a little Just For Men and consider a Billy Ray type of trim on the ol’ goat’.  (I must clarify here that I have not now, nor ever had any sort of hawts for Mr. Cyrus.  Say what you will about him, but, I think he seems like a nice feller)billyraycyrus1_e.jpg

I love that style of goatee.  I think if Mr. Smiff trimmed his up that way, it would make me giggle less when I wake up at midnight and find him sitting up in bed, with his drugstore glasses on, sawin’ away on the Soduku.  It also would not remind me that I’m married to somebody closer to 50 than 40, even when he talks about “enjoying” the fruit he had earlier today.  He hasn’t yet started watching “Murder She Wrote” reruns on the A & E, but, I expect that any day now.  Hee.

I don’t know if I should tell the funny story.  I better not.  Let’s just say it had to do with unexpected mail and me having some ‘splainin’ to do.  Any aspiring fiction writers want to try to write the story of Sista’s Splainin?

Oh and remind me to take pictures of the Pornographic Potatoes I ran across this evening.  I think I could get as much publicity as the Nun Bun did with these babies.

Sista Rants

Of late, it’s not unusual to see kids from the ages of about 7 to about 11 wearing those shoes with the wheels on the bottom of them.  I believe they are called “Heelies.” 

I understand kids in this age group.  I understand them very well.  I understand the Manchild’s need to engage in hardcore dancing.  I understand the Drama Queen’s eye rolls and general “eat shit” attitude she gives me the majority of the time.  I understand #2 taking a piece of wood, drawing a face on it, calling it “Plank” and taking him to the movies with him.  I understand chilluns.  Is there any way I can express how aggravated I get when I see a kid in a store, walking along and then they roll a few inches?  No, I can’t express to you how or why that makes my butt want to chew tobacco.  It just does.  I’ll be glad when that fad goes away.

I know you’re saying “What if #2 wants some Heelies?”  He’ll have to ask Mr. Smiff, aka “I’m Just A Dad Who Cain’t Say No.” 

Wimmin Boss People and Various Sundry Other Memories From Sista’s Memory Book…

Day #2 at the ol’ Salt Mine was not so bad.  I actually got in the building by myself.  I was sure I’d have to stand there and wait on somebody to come along who isn’t a dumdadink, but, lo and behold, I walked in by myself.

So my work is not in the best part of town.  Never mind I saw tv news cameras at Jere Baxter School, which is down the street when I went out during lunch to Walgreens.  Lordy me, don’t tell my mother.  She will be telling me that I should stay indoors at all times and never peek out of the building, except to go to my car and then  run like wildfire, with mace in hand,  because there just might be some drunk, lesbian, juvenile delinquents in the area. 

My 3-hole punch skills are VERY rusty.  I haven’t lost my touch with a copy machine though (praise!) and I think I’m going to like my boss.  And she’s a girl.  I know it’s early yet, but, from what I see so far and from what everybody tells me, I think she’s ok.

I’ve always been somewhat leery of female bosses.  Ooh, now I don’t work at the former company, I can trash talk a former female boss, can’t I?  Yee haw.  What a bee-yatch.  She hated my guts from the get-go.  She didn’t hire me, but, came in a few weeks after I started.  She H-A-T-E-D me.  I never could figure out why.  I think a lot of it had to do with the fact I smoked at that time and would go outside to engage in my former nasty habit and she thought that was un-godly.  She lectured me one time on how divorce was against God’s law (I was divorced at the time) and SURPRISE….she was divorced.  She did everything she possibly could to get me fired, everything from writing me up for being 60 seconds late (that is no joke, y’all) to having my email monitored.  I don’t know what she was hoping to find.  She’d threaten to fire me and say “You’re one of my best people, I really don’t want to lose you.”  Bull. Shit. 

My last glorious day with her, she said “I know you think I didn’t like you.  That is not true.”   I let her talk (she sho’ loved to talk) and all I said was “If that makes you feel better to believe that and helps you sleep at night, that’s great.”  And I left! 

This woman was the only holier-than-the-Lord Himself boss I had there, I can honestly say.  My other female boss at the same company wasn’t holier than thou but she worked me to death.  I still think it’s her fault I got gray headed so quickly.  She was a great person, but, a workhorse.  She finally retired.  I still wonder what she was trying to prove.  Every single one of us that worked for her had to go have stress-related medical tests run while we worked for her.  A couple of them had chest pains.  What a blessing.

Then, there was the famous Baby Talk WadyShe wasn’t technically my boss, but, I had to answer to her.  Lord help us…some of us could be gathered in a group chatting and she couldn’t stand it.  She’d holler at us.  Then if SHE had something to say, well, by gosh, by golly, that was different.  I yelled at her one time and made her cry and my boss (a most UN-holier than thou feller) made me apologize.  Sawwy.