Wimps...all of them....

I'll be damned if everyone who was going to go with me to Trooper Yummy's party tonight has wimped out. Pansies. A co-worker of mine who's married to a trooper said her husband wouldn't let her go because he told her the parties were way too wild.

Are you kidding me??? That's the best reason TO go!

Sheesh...

So, I will be making the party alone. Me and my bodacious ta-tas in my Wench's costume. Hell, I might even shave my legs for the experience.

Half-Nekkid Thursday!

Ok, Be nice...this is my first HNT!

Rosa Parks 1913-2005

It's a sad day here in Southeast Michigan. And I'll bet, it's a sad day across America.

Rosa Parks has passed away.

Such a sweet and gentle soul.

Goodnight, Mrs. Parks.

Vegan parents

So there are these parents that are on trial right now for the death of their six month old baby. She died from malnutrition. The mother stopped breastfeeding her at six months because it hurt her nipple.

I think they should be battered and deep fried in oil.

And served with a side of coleslaw and some beef jerky.

Morons.

Cribs

Please, I beg you, put your babies in cribs to sleep.

I'm on-call again tonight. And I got a call from the service earlier about a baby that will probably not live through the night.

The story the mother gave the police was that she fell asleep with her five month old baby in the bed with her and smothered her as she slept.

The problem with the story is that the mother has a history of cocaine and heroin use. So, if she was using at the time, and the baby dies, it's manslaughter. She will be charged with her baby's death.

I took the call, but couldn't take the case. I used to work with the mom. I worked with her every day for five years. And I really like her. She's sweet, kind, has a great sense of humor.

I can't imagine the pain she is going through right now, knowing that something she did might have done, caused her child's death. Even if she wasn't using, her baby might still die. If the baby lives, the doctors say that she will be mentally devastated.

As many children die each year from being smothered in bed with someone as die from SIDS.

I can't tell you how many friends I have that sleep with their babies in bed with them. I warn them all about the dangers, and they all scoff and say 'please, I think I would know if I rolled over on my child'.

I'm thinking not.

Red Rover, Red Rover....

I had to make a visit to an elementary school today to see a kid.

And while I was there, the little kids, probably 2nd or 3rd grade were outside during recess. They were playing Red Rover.

Oh man, did that bring back memories.

I can remember being in kindergarten and I had broken my arm around Easter. I broke my arm just below the shoulder so I had a body cast that went down my arm, completely around my chest and down to my hips. There was a support bar under my left arm to keep the arm at a 75 degree angle from my body. Not the most comfortable experience, sleeping like that.

I broke my arm in school. We used to play Little Red Riding Hood. Someone was Red, and someone else was the Big Bad Wolf. Wolfie would chase Red until they were caught, and then Red became the wolf. There was one particular day when I was Red, and Tommy Morgan was the Wolf. I can remember him chasing me all around the playground and to get away from him, I climbed the stairs to the slide. When I got to the top, he tagged me, but accidentally pushed me when he did. I teased him about that all the way through high school.

I tumbled down the slide, head first. I landed on the ground and hit my head on a rock and I was out cold. I still have the scar on my forehead.

Back in those days, the school didn't call an ambulance, they called your mom. My mom came and picked me up, and the first thing I remember after being pushed, is sitting in the front seat of the car(sans seatbelt) and holding my arm. I think my mom cried harder than I did.

When we got to the hospital, they had to cut my clothes off because I was freaking out about having to take them off. I clearly remember not wanting anyone to see me naked. I was very modest...a trait that has since worn off.

They had to put me to sleep to take my clothes off and to xray my arm and set it. I remember them asking me to count backward from ten, and me telling them we hadn't learned that yet. The nurse laughed and told me to count to ten then. I remember getting to two, and then nothing until I woke up in my hospital room.

My roommate in the hospital was a boy a couple years older than me. He was so cute. And back then, you could actually spend a couple days in the hospital for something like a broken arm! I can't remember his name, but he was in the hospital because some farm machine tore his elbow and they had to sew his arm back on. He wanted to show me, but I was too scared.

That was the first time I slept away from home, and I couldn't sleep at night. One of the nights, I remember crying and the nurse coming in and asking me what was wrong. I told her I was scared and couldn't sleep. She wanted to give me a suppository and I freaked out! What the hell are you doing back there??? And once again, I have gotten over that trait as well.

I had long blond hair, and it used to get tangled down in my body cast. My mom had my hair cut off because it was too hard to take care of. Of course, it also didn't help that the anesthesia made me sick and I puked all down my cast too. My mom used to have to pour powder down in my cast every day to keep it from smelling. It was gross. I cried for days over my ugly short hair. When it grew back, it was brown. I still blame my mom for that.

I wasn't allowed to play outside at recess until my cast came off and I remember being so bummed the first day it was off and the teacher wouldn't let me play Red Rover, for fear of re-injuring my arm.

So today, while watching the kids play Red Rover, that whole memory came back. I tried to remember the rules of Red Rover, but I don't know that I remember them correctly.

I think the rules were, two teams, and one team would call out-"Red Rover, Red Rover, send ________ right over". Then that kid would have to run across the grass and try to break through the clasped hands of the other team players. If he broke through, he could come back to his team, bringing one of the other team's players. If he couldn't break through, he had to stay. This went on until there were only two players left on a team. And then....those two would try their hardest to keep their little hands clasped together. If they didn't, the game was over.

That was a great team sport. You really felt part of the group. Occasionally, you didn't break through on purpose, if the really cute boys were on the other team. It was a thrill just to hold their hands.

Man, I wish grownups played this game.

Glutton for punishment

Several months ago, I wanna say, May?, there was 'an internet guy'. Way too young for me. Ten years younger, in fact. He was impatient to meet, obnoxious, and immature, but cute, so I gave him two chances.

He fucked them both up. There are previous posts about these, so I won't ramble on...

The last time, I told him I wasn't interested, he was hurt and offended, and I thought that was the end of it.

So WHY WHY WHY did he instant message me tonight??

Telling me he missed talking to me, and he's attracted to me, and he still wants to meet.

What part of HELL NO didn't he get the last time?? Does he really think that's going to happen??

How do I let this poor thing know that I'm not interested without going all crazy-biotch on him?

The last time I talked to him was in the beginning of August. I think there's a pattern here...every two months, I hear from him. Crap. Kind of like a re-occurring rash.

On a completely separate topic...Trooper Yum called today. He's having a Halloween party on the 28th and invited me to come. I told him a few weeks ago about a wench's costume I bought at a renaissance fair and he told me that I could only come if I came as the wench...he just wants to see my bodacious ta-tas. He's going to be a roman soldier, with a skirt and everything. Of course, he had to tease and tell me that he's going to wear it the way they did back then...commando style(hope you know what that means...). Sigh...I doubt I will be able to keep my hands to myself.

I think I'll need a cockblocker...any takers?

Mustard Greens, or aka greens

My family is originally from the south. Tennessee to be exact. My grandmother, whom we called Ginky, moved to Michigan with my grandfather to work in the automobile industry in the thirties. (The story behind her nickname is that when I was little, I couldn't say grandma, so I called her Ginky, and the name stuck. Of course, most Southerners have nicknames, so it wasn't a problem for everyone to call her Ginky.)

Being from the south, our family is very big on food. And on Sunday dinners. Growing up, we had Sunday dinner every Sunday either at Ginky's house, or my other grandmother's house.(We just called her Grandma.) A typical dinner would be fried chicken, mashed potatoes with grasshopper gravy(another word I couldn't pronounce, Bra'hopper), corn, green beans cooked southern style(cooked to death with saltpork), corn bread, or biscuits, and greens. Some folks these days call this soul food, but to me, it's just good old fashioned country cooking.

I loved greens! I would pass the potatoes and gravy just to get more greens. My grandmother would handwash them in the sink, fry up some saltpork or bacon, and add the greens with a bit of water. They would steam/cook for a while, the house smelling so green.

Of course, I didn't know what kind of greens they were or that there were even different kinds of greens. I just knew they were so tender and would melt in your mouth. It wasn't until recently that I found out that they were Mustard Greens. I've made Collard Greens, but the texture wasn't the same. Kinda tough, no matter how long you cooked them. I finally thought to ask my mom why my greens didn't taste like Ginky's. She informed me that Ginky preferred Mustard or Turnip Greens. Huh. Who knew.

So today, I was taking the carpet cleaner back to Ace Hardware(probably the only Ace out in the country) and there it was....the sign...'Greens for sale'. With a phone number. As I'm driving by, I call, and asked the little old lady who answered the phone what kind of greens she was selling. 'Why Mustard Greens, of course, that and Turnip Greens.' I asked her if I could stop to get some and she said, in her southern way, 'come on along then'.

I hurried along, dropping off the cleaner and hightailing it back to the Greens house. The little old lady was indeed just that...about 80 years old and looking very much like a grandmother. She tells me her husband is out and I could just go back to the field and get what I like. She pointed to the shed, and told me that I would find bushel baskets in there to load up and then bring them back to the porch and she'd give me a bag. Huh?? Pick my own? They aren't nicely bundled like they are in the grocery store?

So I traipse(another southern word) out to the shed, get the basket, and head out to the field. Imagine acres and acres of bright green leaves with tiny yellow flowers blooming above them. Mustard is just now going to seed here in my area...and the view was lovely. It was still early enough for there to be a bit of fog hovering over the field as the sun was shining. I could picture my grandmother heading out to the field to pick some greens for dinner.

I've never picked greens before...so I wandered around for a while, looking at the greens, and decided that the younger leaves looked the greenest, and started picking. Oh....over there! More young plants! Pick pick pick. Before I knew it, the basket was almost full, and I was 30 or 40 feet into the field.

I mosey'd back to the house and Granny's husband, 'ole Grandad, was waiting for me. He chastised me for not picking a whole bushel. I laughed and told him it was just me these days and that I didn't want to pick what I wouldn't eat.

He charged me two dollars.

I came home, went to the grocery store for some pork, and cleaned a nice mess 'o greens. They are on the stove cooking as I type...and the house smells so green. I can't wait to get a bowl and fill it up with all that green tenderness. I should have made a pan of cornbread, but I don't have any buttermilk. Dang.

Two dollars sure is a bargain for a trip down memory lane.