CRACK YOU WHIP

V

2013-03-31T17:31:00.001-07:00

I just got back from Wal-Mart.

Actually I wasn't sure if I was there at first.

But, once I got to the parking lot, I saw a trans-am and realized I was just in a Burt Reynolds movie.

Probably the worst part about WalMart is waiting in the checking out part.

Thankfully, I'm always armed with my razor-sharp wit in case anyone wants to mess with me. Or a weapon. We almost have to bring weapons into WalMart now. Just do not look directly into other people's carts and you will be OK.

Besides my weekly adventures at WalMart, which to date have included rabid raccoons, burst water pipes and a drunk man behind me screaming at the cashier for taking too long I have been busy researching.

Would you shoot this child?

Well, he is on a target practice poster that DHS (Department of Homeland Security) and several law enforcement agencies have been practicing on lately as part of a "No Hesitation" campaign.

They are "conditioning" them to shoot anyone, anywhere.

Keep in mind that DHS has ordered approximately 3000 light armored tanks (not for overseas, for USA soil) and enough ammunition to wipe out 1/7 of the world's population.

I am NOT trying to panic anyone, but educate you on some things and HOPE you do your own research and do something about this.

A few weeks ago, I passed some of these on an 18 wheeler in my town.

I GOOGLED them to see what they were.

Now, these are not my images, and also keep in mind that I have family that owns 6 funeral homes and these are considered "liners" but not the ones used by funeral homes as these "snap shut"and are stackable.

Sure, I understand having "mass coffins" for emergencies, but each one holds several bodies and some of the fields have hundreds of thousands of these things. These are in fields throughout the USA. I'll let you do the math but the bottom line is they sure are ready to bury a WHOLE bunch of people and the schools in our area can't afford text books but we can pay to store and ship millions of coffins...

There is MUCH, MUCH more. I have put in approximately 100+ hours into researching this (and other things) and think that we all need to take the time to at least question some things that are going on.

*Due to the large amounts of complaints from people like us, the company that sold the targets to DHS had to remove them from their website.

I have contacted my local Senator and Congressman asking for a Congressional Investigation into the mass amounts of ammunition, assault rifles, light armor trucks, etc. that DHS has been purchasing. Congress is already investigating this stockpile of ammo! I am encouraging you guys to PLEASE research this thoroughly and contact your Senator or Congressman asking the same. Let's not roll over and accept this as a norm! SHOOTING CHILDREN ON TARGETS IS NEVER ACCEPTABLE AND SHAME ON US IF WE AS A NATION ACCEPT THAT FOR ANY REASON! DHS is turning into a large domestic army and it is possible (no confirmation) that this may be training to remove our guns from our homes. Don't let this happen to us:

http://endoftheamericandream.com/archives/20-signs-that-the-nazification-of-america-is-almost-complete

Write. Call. Blog.

Repeat.

After your research, write a blog post or share with friends. It is time to take our country back.

I strongly encourage you to also Google the Denver Colorado Airport because these are just a few of the murals there:

Genocide and death are the messages on the walls. BTW, the dove being stabbed represents peace.

The last mural (not shown) shows all of the children from all over the world turning over their weapons to a German boy and they all live happily ever after (AFTER most of the world has been exterminated.)

The airport runway is shaped like a Swastika and it is said there is a city of underground bunkers beneath it. I did a Google Sky and found what looks like huge vents (for underground).

I will be posting about some other things I have discovered in future posts, but that is enough for this post on that.

And in a BLAZE of defiant glory I fly out with all of my superpowers:

AND don't forget to check out:

written by two of my favorite bloggers Marianne Walsh and Julie Harrison. This is a great book for moms everywhere and don't forget Mother's Day is coming up and any mom would love a copy!

P.S. Today is apparently Disney Theme Pajama Pants Day at Walmart in case you need to go shopping and don't know what to wear...

The Twitter Effect

2013-01-03T22:11:00.000-08:00

The universe always tries to balance out the negativity in my life with great and marvelous things that appear out of the middle of nowhere on the internet.

Do not eat my pie chart.

With ham-fisted jumbles of words, I scramble to save the Twitter world with my wit that is strongly composed of great observations and remarks. I have become, in essence, a professional Twitterer person. Here is Webster's definition of "professional."

I choose not to get paid.

By choice. They would totally pay me if I wanted money. I'm pretty sure.

I also need a nice guy who can fix a fence...anybody want to date me for an hour and a half?

CLICK HERE TO FOLLOW CRACK YOU WHIP ON TWITTER

Home Alone

2012-12-23T17:57:00.000-08:00

I can't say that my childhood wasn't full of encouragement and support.

At one point, a very specific thought in my head was, "I just want to be left alone!"

Which brings me to something I rarely, if ever, talk about. I was in fostercare.

It was OK if you like moving from place to place with no stability or cablevision.

It's not something that I talk about because I don't answer questions about it and because of liability.

I have tiny scars that dot the landscape of my soul. Events that have pummeled me with bull's-eye precision have tried to send me over the edge into a deep dark hole of despair I tend to call a bottomless pit.

One of my favorite movies of all time is Home Alone. I love how "Kevin" declared war on the "Wet Bandits." Their robbery attempt was thwarted by an eight-year old and it had a big comedy reveal, much like my dating life.

My last boyfriend hauled off some stuff off to the dump and came back with more than what he left with.

He compartmentalized his food like a boss.

It couldn't touch on his plate or in his mouth or he pushed the plate aside and refused to eat. No, I'm not sure what grade he was in.

He panicked once because his house had a flat tire (it's not like it was going anywhere), yet his car had a doublewide tire on it. He wasn't very good at doing the math. Yes, I date winners, obviously.

I had been living under the assumption that the "Wet Bandits" in my life would just go away on their own.

They didn't.

Then, one day, I declared WAR.

I was 40 years old and had had ENOUGH of all of this nonsense. I picked up my Hefty bag full of tolerance and tossed it into the BP spill.

I began to feel fairly confident that I could take out the Wet Bandits by doing a complete 180. I emerged from my cocoon of despair even as I got eighty-sixed by Mr. Flat Tire Bandit.

I have a hidden capacity to be highly intelligent and in those first few days, kept it hidden, but after tossing the Hefty bag, I tossed him, too.

Just like Kevin left the light on in his house for the "Wet Bandits" so they would think his parents were home, I leave my light on, too. No one is breaking in again without me at least putting up a fight. Also, I need the light to find my slippers quickly, like a gangster does.

No, I don't have parents. I don't have a boyfriend. I don't even have a cat.

But, I do have a plan.

I'm building a fortress of friends and preparing for the remainder of my life like some people prepare for a zombie attack or a bacon shortage. Actually, I could eat my own foot if it was wrapped in bacon and sauteed in butter. So, don't really want to even joke about a bacon shortage.

Each day, I am starting my day off right and ending it better. Daily, I'm treating those around me golden and getting rid of all "Wet Bandits" who may bring me down.

Also, not to brag or anything, but I think I may have won the "Golden Duster" award in the Janitorial Olympics for my precision mopping skills.

D E C L A R E W A R on the Wet Bandits in your life.

Also, have a great Christmas with your families and be very thankful for them...even the In-Laws!

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Tim Tebow is Single Again!

2012-12-20T08:35:00.000-08:00

In unrelated news, my dog wants me to pour eggnog in the toilet for some reason.

He also wants to leave out for Santa a glass of warm milk and a dead cat.

Also, and most importantly the best worst news of the day (I am not happy about it, though it appears I am but I am not).

Tim Tebow is single again.

Repeat. I am not happy about this.

So here is my pathetic open letter to Tim Tebow:

So, Tim Tebow, the ball is in your court. To sweeten the deal, I do have connections to the Ragin' Cajuns if you want to play for them. Can't make any promises, though...

Did I mention that I am NOT happy about this?

Also, here is an open letter to that homeless guy I saw staring at me and my burger (mostly me) outside Checker Burgers.

7 Day World Forecast by Crack You Whip Storm Team

2012-12-15T22:14:00.000-08:00

I dated a guy once who broke up with me because I sprayed water guns, danced in the rain and tried to make every moment fun, even if I looked like a fool in the process.

If you've ever watched Hee-Haw and checked the cornfield closely, I'm probably in there somewhere.

Seems like I pull all of my life changing decisions out of a Fruity Pebbles box.

There was a time in my life when I ordered "Unhappy Meals" from McDonalds. Life in general was very depressing. Yes, I had a black belt in sadness. I was totally "Pro" at it...hence the black belt.

And then one day I woke up a butterfly

I found that when I wallowed in negativity, negative things happened. I made my own life turn around, though. My entire brain just needed to learn a lesson. Even the medula oblangata was in on it.

Armed with my razor sharp wit and my Backpack of Awesomeness, I set out to accomplish great things. My thought processing part of me said to be positive and be totally "Pro" about it. I earned my black belt in positivity.

While you are at it, spray someone with a water hose.

Also, here is a picture of a black-eyed pea because well, I love ya'll. You are welcome.

How to Fail at Sitting

2012-12-01T16:46:00.000-08:00

It's taking a bit longer than what I had originally planned. Don't get me wrong. I am not that picky and men have accomplished quite a bit more than me.

I haven't accomplished quite as much.

I'm starting to feel like I haven't accomplished very much in my life. I'm cleverly disguised as a responsible adult. It is all part of my trickery to graduate from adult school one day.

I went to a concert last night...Toby Mac. Well, I went because my son wanted to go, but I really wasn't expecting much. It worked out perfectly with my schedule of having no social life.

I loved it. It rekindled my lifelong love of rap music that I never loved. Ever. There was no foul language or I wouldn't have gone. So, I get there with my ticket and someone, a teenager, had taken my seat. I didn't want to ask her to move so I wandered the Complex looking for a seat. I became trapped in a neverending loop of looking for a seat.

I missed the entire first half of the concert. When I tried sneak into a "non-designated" seating area, someone in security for the Complex yelled at me and I slowly came to the realization that I am forty-one years old and don't understand seating or in general, how to sit. There is this relentless logic in my head that it should be a simple process for an adult.

I am handicapped by my own reluctance to disturb the lives of others. I would rather throw a brick at myself than ask someone to get up out of my seat. I like to think that I am really some sort of superhero when I do things like this.

If romantically challenged were a superpower, I would have saved the world by now, from something.

Yes, my thumbs are bendy.

I actually failed as a wanderer. There is a whole range of ways for me to fail and I nail them all.

The security guy who yelled at me saw me sitting in a corner bludgeoning myself in the face with Facebook.

He came over and apologized. I was cool with that. After all, I have lightning fast mood swings and switching over from one to another is my greatest power. I do have a hard time achieving spontaneous combustion, but at this time, that was not necessary.

I'm thinking about checking myself into kindness rehab. Surely there is help for me.

I am proud to say that I have a friend who is a superhero to me. She gave up everything and moved her family to Costa Rica (not the part with beaches!) to help those less fortuante. They moved to the jungle part. I think monkeys steal their stuff. Monkeys are tricky.

The economic situation there is pretty bad. She has started an initiative called Mercy Covers that enables the local women to make quilts for orphans or trafficking survivors. I hope that you check it out and possibly like and share the Facebook page. There are no pirates or monkeys.

So, there was this battle of epic proportions going on inside of me. I hate being a superhero and nobody knows about it. Honestly, is that selfish or what? But, I think the best credit to me, is that they don't know. I don't want to start doing things for credit, but just to store in my vault of goodness, which is running dangerously low.

My life is punctuated by unfortunate events.

My Dating Life--The Saga Continues

2012-11-04T12:22:00.000-08:00

I know this may come as a deep shock, but I don't have a lot of friends.

Aunt Sally stopped talking to me when she passed away, so now my "Friends List" is very limited. I do try to have a social life beyond Facebook.

This may be why I don't have any friends, because I talk to myself on Twitter. So, one day last week when this really cute guy I had briefly met years earlier "Facebooked" me out of the blue and asked if I would meet him at Starbucks "just to talk," I was elated.

I just knew that my life was finally turning around. Life was going to be good. I was finally going to get married. Probably.

I was cautiously optimistic as I prepared for my big Starbucks date. Of course, I had already done the word math in my own head.

I don't charge people for going out with me, though I should offer some type of written guarantee.

Not having a boyfriend is the one part of life I have completely mastered. My dating life has become nothing more than a desperate cry for help. Not to brag or anything, but I could easily win a trophy for being a failure at dating.

I tend to give myself false hope and that is what I really love about me. This time was no different. With lots and lots of makeup I tried desperately to look better than a moderately attractive zoo animal.

I've tried asking guys out myself, but they always look at me like I just asked them to donate a brain. Then, they try to run away from me like I am the electric bill or a crying baby.

So, a date that was not imaginary was a pretty big deal to me. The sheer volume of hope that I had injected into myself began to consume the inside of my own head. The pressure of the suffocation of my sanity and the reality of the situation became completely unbearable for me before I even made it to Starbucks.

As I pulled in, it glowed. Not my head...Starbucks.

I parked beside an old, old, old 1960's beat up Ford truck that had not one, but two buckets underneath it catching whatever comes out of old Ford trucks. My pathetic delusions of meeting Prince Charming tonight began to fade as I realized it was the only vehicle in the parking lot besides mine, which needed no buckets, just Prince Charming.

To make a short story long, I entered Starbucks with distinct uneasiness and spotted him right away. It had been years, but he was still great looking and had an amazing smile.

I sat down, though a bit nervous, as Starbucks was not this amazing fortress of romance I had dreamt it was. As he slurped on Green Tea (literally green) and talked incessantly about his recent ex-girlfriend, the conversation quickly began to hold a death-grip on me. His beautiful white teeth slowly turned putrid green.

I stared out the window at the truck, at the green tea and then his phone that kept beeping. He would stop mid-conversation and smile John Deere Green so he could return a text to whoever he was flirting with on the phone. The text messages were the only pauses between him going on and on (and on) about his ex-girlfriend.

Normally, my brain has an infinite capacity to bring itself back to life on its own after being pummeled with someone else's problems. I felt the conversational death-grip begin to kill it. Maybe I would need someone to donate a brain to me after all.

He finally stopped long enough to ask me about me. Before I had five words out, somehow, those few words reminded him of his "horrible" ex-girlfriend who had misjudged him. After all, he had tossed the woman's two year old daughter out of his recliner because that was HIS recliner so she should understand and stop being horrible.

I just sat there, my brain cells rapidly dying and hating me. The supply of kindness I had was completely exhausted. I wanted to make a break for it...and spill those buckets under the truck for HazMat to clean up.

My once friendly brain cells were screaming at me.

But, just as I was about to give up hope so I could go ahead and die by the condiments, he finished texting whoever he really wanted to go see and said he had to "go workout" at Planet Fitness. It was 10:00 p.m.

As he stood up, he gave me a hug and said that he wasn't ready for a relationship and that I was a great friend for listening. He said I deserved some special award for listening to all of his problems. Yep, I'll just put it right along beside my other awards.

This was his status a few days later on Facebook:

Ok, so I need to add a few more trophies to my collection:

What is at the End of the Rainbow

2012-09-27T20:08:00.000-07:00

I found out what is really at the end of that rainbow...

Golden Arches...
and cinnamon melts. Mostly cinnamon melts.

Miss you guys! Yes I have been on a short hiatus. I'm involved in lots of conspiracies and stuff which has taken up an unusual amount of time. Also, I'm back in flight school (yes, someone allows me in the sky), which takes up a lot of time and I don't care to fly exhausted and falling asleep in the plane, though when it starts to dive, the plane's alarm usually wakes me up. Things just get fun after that.

In addition, I have found myself watching Here Comes Honey Boo-Boo and my IQ has dropped about 10 or 5000 points because of that decision so that doesn't help my dating life either.

Even Facebook is working against me.

I actually think I saw the word "unstable" in there somewhere, but probably not so I left that out.

Don't worry, you are all still safe and can sleep sound at night without fear of me going crazy.

See ya'll when I'm done getting into trouble with my flight trickery and stuff! I'm anxious to start catching up on some of your adventures on your own blogs!

Lance Armstrong, Myself and I

2012-08-25T13:42:00.001-07:00

I wonder if Lance Armstrong is still single because we have so much in common now.

Don't worry Lance, you have a friend in me (friendship not guaranteed).

Also, in completely unrelated news, but still in France, you can buy canned air straight from Paris for the low, low price of $9.99 without ever having to step foot on a plane, in a hotel or Paris.

Apparently, love is in the air.

The End.

The Tracie Show

2012-08-20T11:24:00.000-07:00

My life this week has been completely scripted for me.

Ya'll will be happy to know that three cute guys asked me out this week.

It just didn't feel right, but this is my show, so...

Oh, I have a show now.

If you have not seen "The Truman show," geaux watch it and come back.

That is how my life has been this week.

Today, I was running late and I live in a town that has three gangs.

They only caught me at one spot today instead of one hundred spots.

While running late for an important appointment through town to take an important test I had not bothered studying for because it was a bother, I began to instantaneously develop this intense fear of good things happening to me. Then this happened...

I've always been at a unique disadvantage with the Red Light Gang as there are always dozens, if not millions of cars in front of me. Mostly millions. But, not this time. It was as if someone had just parted the Red Sea for me to cross over into the Promised Land.

I crept through wondering if there were land mines in that lane. Maybe the Red Light Gang had set a trap for me!

My apprehension transformed itself into a staggering amount of wonderment and joy as I reached the Red Light Gang. I sat there, though, developing a specific thought in my head that something horrible had to happen to me to balance out the equation of good things happening.

Within seconds, however, the Green Light Gang showed up and dashed them away to harass someone else.

Maybe, Someone "up there" is looking out for "little ol' me" because I made my appointment to take a test I had not studied for. My plans, actually, were to study at the red lights.

Scripted, I tell you.

Scripted.

Swipe My BMW Please

2012-08-04T08:20:00.000-07:00

Working out takes hard work and dedication. I usually go every morning, but no less than once a month. Something happened this last week, though, as I skipped dandily out of the gym ready for a good days work of doing nothing.

I became quickly befuddled when I saw what had become of my well-behaved car that had been sitting there minding its own business in a parking spot.

Someone had swiped my car and just left it! A friend who was following behind me noticed the suspicious car parked next to mine.

I immediately called the police and started to blog about it. Fortunately, the officer only took a few minutes to get there as he was working out at another gym next door.

As he and I walked around the other car examining it, I noticed all of the different colors and dents on the exterior. It looked as though a beautiful rainbow had brutally beaten the sweet, innocent car in a vengeance, possibly with a small unicorn.

The tires looked sad and badly in need of high dosages of Lortab. Ironically, the car was not that old. It was just too young to have a black belt in hitting every thing in the world.

The officer pulled up the license plate and went into the gym to find the dark-cloaked villain. I was a little upset that someone had just left my poor car in a state of confusion and ugliness to go into the gym to work on abs. All I knew was, he better be cute. Forgiveness is a little easier when he is cute, single and wants my number.

I stood by my car watching the door. Then, they came out. Forgiveness was gonna be tougher than I originally thought it would be. He was a she and not cute at all. I realized right off of the bat that the woman was obviously pretty smart as she was not morally opposed to looking like Yoda.

It turns out that she was a retired college professor in her 80's. I watched as she walked closer to my car shaking her head in denial. In my mind's head I stood there thinking to myself but thinking it at her, "Don't say it, don't say it..."

Then she started to speak.

And boom goes the dynamite.

Suddenly, she could only speak dementia. I stood there for a few moments basking in the rich tapestry of 1950's culture before walking over to her car and blowing off the newly made pixie dust all over the place. I sneezed as paint chips raced to my brain to eat away at what little was left.

She admitted the yellow paint on her car (underneath my paint on her car) was from a post she hit at Home Depot the week before. Also,she had the bumper replaced a month earlier because she had hit something else before that.

Venom slowly seeped from her throat as she denied hitting my car again, while she admitted to hitting everything else in the world including the Amazon and possibly Charlie Sheen. How could anyone hit the Amazon? Charlie Sheen is understandable...

I just wanted her to admit to hitting my car. Tell the truth. I glared at her with my beady eyes as she stood there steadily denying what she had done. Oh, I thought...

Then, what really hurt my feelings was that even though the po-po said that there was no doubt that she hit my car, (and she had selective memory) he couldn't cite her because it was private property so all he could do was give me her insurance information.

UPDATE: I am currently working with her insurance company and hoping that they pay to fix my damages with no problem. Meanwhile, I have found out that there have been other hit and runs in the same parking lot by a white car. Stay tuned for the next episode of...

Also, let me say that I know people well into their nineties who are driving with no problems, so I am not bashing older drivers, she just needs to give it up if she is not going to pay for the damages incurred as a result of her driving skills. Speaking to people who know her well, she does not have any type of memory loss or dementia.

I still forgive her one-hundred percent even though she is not cute at all! My car may be damaged, but I'm not going to let it damage me. I'm not here for any car...

The Universe and Me

2012-07-29T08:10:00.000-07:00

I recently joined a gym.

Sometimes, a cute guy will happen along.

Then, the inevitable happens.

The universe begins to hatch a distinct plan.

Things were going too well for me for 30 seconds of my life.

Life will then begin to go into direct contrast to what I hoped it would.

The universe is definitely out to get me.

Jump ropes are in on it.

Got Choco-Choco Chips?

2012-07-23T13:35:00.000-07:00

For those of you who aren't satisfied with free water, New York City has now tapped into that market with a water cafe. It is right next door to the saltine cracker cafe and the pretzel cafe so make sure you hit those up first, not second.

It should be a crime how hot I am with a water mustache.

Personally, I suck down Coke Zero like it is water, but my Coke mustache looks like a real one, just with more bubbles. I'm not as hot with that 'stache, though. I look more like a cab driver.

I wonder if New York is ready for a Coke Zero cafe.

Also, in other news, I have created a new chip.

Lays has a contest open to see who can come up with a new flavor. This is my flavor and my bag (don't touch!). Did I mention that first prize is $1,000,000.00? My other flavor is cow chips. They haven't made me a bag for that one, yet. I am sure they are working on it as we speak.

Yesterday, I bought a bag of air and someone was kind enough to put 3 or 4 chips in the bag.

Yes, I am one step ahead of you. New York needs an air cafe...and chocolate air.

War-Machine Hero Sandwiches

2012-07-19T21:53:00.000-07:00

In the interest of full-disclosure I must disclose the fact that I am not in the new Spiderman movie. I am certainly not bitter about this. To my millions of fans, please do not be too disappointed. I am taking it well.

Actually, though it is not obvious because of my sweet Adobe skills, I edited that picture just a bit. This is the real image.

There is an actual sniper tower in the background. In the interest of me living longer, I don't drive down this road. Ever.

Is there a baby parade going on around that corner?

You will be happy to know that I really have been trying to stay out of trouble.

Yes, I am a professional fly botherer. I do get bored easily, but I don't want to be one of those desperate people who talks to flies. I just help bring them to their full potential.

I did get a globe as a gift once. Still have it.

I actually enjoy animals. I take them all in without hesitation.

It doesn't make me a hero, though. Sandwich shops make heroes. I would be an amazing sandwich if a sandwich I were.

My goal is to travel. I am going to Costa Rica at the end of the year and will share that in another post.

There is, however, one place that I will never go. It is not because of the people. They are really great people. The blame falls on just a small handful that do not represent the ones who live there.

On September 1 of this year, "dolphin hunting" starts in Taiji.

Image taken from savejapandolphins.org

This picture was not edited. The water is that red. Thousands upon thousands of dolphins and whales are slaughtered in the water. Though some people do eat dolphin meat, it is believed the fishermen actually kill the dolphins because they eat the fish and it affects their own catches.

Some dolphins are sold to aquariums and zoos. Over 50% of them die once they reach captivity.

I am horrified by this every year.

As ham-fisted jumbles of words toss themselves about chaotically in my mind, I have not much to say.

I find myself wanting to morph into some sort of rabid hurricane ready to pick up an entire continent and spew my foaming anger all over anything that threatens to come near me.

I don't want to fight. That never solves anything.

Instead, I am just a helpless wanderer traveling in this shell of my mind hoping that people stand together, fight and become raging war-machines against people like this. Raging.

I always hope that I can have more potential as a hero than a sandwich does.

I have also joined Pinterest and am trying to make my images more "Pinterest friendly" so that ones like the dolphins can be shared. Anyone is welcome to follow me and share my images in a positive manner. If you feel inclined and I hope you do, you can check out savejapandolphins.org and maybe write some letters and sign petitions. We need to stop encouraging aquariums and zoos, also.

Whatever you decide to do with your life, be raging.

P.S. just don't be like these people. This is a different kind of rage that is in guise as misery.

Adventures in Being Complicated in Wal-Mart

2012-07-13T22:38:00.000-07:00

My life can be particularly complicated, like when I am trying to give birth in Wal-Mart or in a barn with no medical or adult supervision and either a small child or a large baby monkey keeps throwing bananas at me.

My water broke in Wal-Mart. Yes, the birthing water stuff, not the bottled water stuff. I have popped a water bottle in Wal-Mart. Two different spills.

It began in the back of the store, in Sporting Goods. I knew that I was having a boy, so I was just a little eager to buy him a football. When my water broke, I didn't know what was happening, so I nonchalantly walked from department to department hiding in the aisles. I had "wet pants syndrome."

I singlehandedly turned the entire store into a lake. Ducks and everything.

The store employees actually would not let me leave. I think they were afraid I would flood my town and cause mass chaos. I was held hostage. I think they also wanted my baby because he was going to be awesome. You know what it feels like after you have been wading around in the swamp all day and you just want dry, warm clothing while not standing around in Wal-Mart? Yeah, I felt like that.

Facebook wasn't around then or I would have gotten ALL of the "likes" that day. Yep, they were as good as mine. I feel old now just thinking that Mark Zuckerberg was probably in Kindergarden at the time. He was busy drawing thumbs.

Now, he is old enough to go to Wal-Mart himself.

I worked as a radio personality at a radio station before I had my son. I had to be funny on air whether I was funny or not. There was no time to think. Being funny is an art, like dancing, except there is no music (ever), no choreography and no combination of me ever shall be a comedian. My handle was "Foxy T."

Besides the fact that my last name was "Fox" at the time, I was very foxy, but mostly my last name was "Fox." When I am nervous, my comedy skills come out, like skunks and possums do at night, only with my comedy the mange and rabies are usually not involved.

I always thought that comedy would be my ticket out of the flophouse. It wasn't.

So, there I stood trapped in Wal-Mart...battered, wet and million-dollarless hiding in the women's bathroom because the people greeter was blocking the door. I had only one prayer.

I actually had a different vision about where my baby's birth was to take place.

I don't always hit a homerun with comedy and I am OK with that. There have even been times where I have walked into a room, tried to be funny and the room became completely bereft of laughter.

I had sucked any and all life sources even remotely related to happiness or laughter out of the room.

Crickets didn't even bother chirping. I can't swear by it, but I think a mouse shot me the finger once. Not a good finger. The bad one.

At least I try and if I fail, I try again. I know people who won't even post on Facebook because they are afraid that their "friends" will laugh at them. Well, either they aren't really your "friends" or you are afraid to try. Maybe both.

If I had lived in medieval France they would probably have had one of those people reading a scroll to me. A scroll reader person.

I can't say that my shopping trip that day rekindled my lifelong love affair of laying on a wet bathroom floor, though.

It's not nearly as fun as you think it would be. I did have the capacity to be like a normal person and get to the hospital when my water broke instead of being in a Mexican Standoff in the bathroom of Wal-Mart with the Wal-Mart employees.

As I lay on the floor and no one around me was laughing, I knew then, that this was serious.

Even the spiders crawling around on the floor were unusually well-behaved.

I metaphorically began to make a "deal with the devil." By "devil," I mean the manager and by "metaphorically" I mean I sat there and cried like a baby and begged and pleaded for them to let me go. Finally, they got a hold of someone who would come and pick me up. I had to leave my car there.

Life doesn't always seem to go into the direction I would like it to go into, but I had my beautiful baby boy. I know that he is here just to replace me. Out with the old and in with the new.

And I'm OK with that, too. Things do get better.

I am in this continual state of remote disbelief that the supply of well-behaved parents was exhausted and Someone made a bet on me that I would do a good job as a parent.

I admit that my comedy skills and my parenting skills can always be called into question, but the fact that my son is an amazing person and I am the luckiest person on the face of this Earth never will be.

My son never did play football.

GPS

2012-07-04T17:48:00.000-07:00

I have this distinct tendency to occasionally get lost in life. Sometimes I feel like fate brought me there. Fate can be much like a football field in which you are sitting on the wrong side next to strange, unpopular people cheering for the wrong team and wondering how you got there.

I invested in a GPS.

There are many different settings. You can set them to male or female voices and they can scream or speak softly to you. I have my own variations.

My driving skills are very advanced and I am usually on my way to a Mensa meeting or to a secret meeting of the Underground Extraordinary Women's Club somewhere when I need to use my GPS.

I notice at times during my Mensa or Club travels that there are people who are very distracted while driving.

It is really difficult to put my citizen involvement into action at this point. I can only become very disgruntled at seeing this. Watching someone else's car veer into three different lanes while that person texts makes me often wonder where the cops are.

Texting only reminds me of several things that never made it as a sport in the Olympics.

At times I drive too fast and have some wicked sweet car passing skills that may or may not put me in the category of amateur stuntwoman.

Getting lost is a lot like changing a diaper. You don't always know what you are going to find and usually it is the unexpected.

One time, during my lostness, I pulled my car over to the side of the road and got out. I strained to see if I could hear those beautiful words in the distance that were not only my first words, but could possibly guide me home or at least near a high-class civilization.

We once loaded our buggy with about fifty 300-page trivia books that were on clearance really cheap. They were all the same book, but we had fifty of them in case a hurricane came along and blew forty-nine of them away. We were set on trivia knowledge for years.

You would be very surprised at the amount of useless knowledge that takes up space in my head.

Our car was so old and loud at the time, though, that it gave our competitor clearance shoppers notice that we were on our way with our clearance money. They could hear our car from a few miles away, so that gave them about a five minute jump on the good clearance.

My job was to just grab as much as I could as fast as I could. It was cheap enough that it didn't matter what it was.

I don't always make the right decisions in life. Sometimes I wish that I could just plug that GPS up to my brain and let it guide the way. I know that I have a brain because I was in a serious accident when I was 22 and everyone told me how relieved they were when the doctor did a brain scan and said I had a brain. I knew I did. How else would I know important information?

I have gotten a few speeding tickets (ahhh...that's where the cops are--watching me) because I don't know how to use my cruise control and because I speed. Take this as a word of advice:

Whatever you do, don't tell them you are friends with the A-Team. That just doesn't go in the direction you think it would. They also don't like it when you ask them, "What is the option where I don't get a ticket?" I have found out the hard way that a cop's "happy face," his "I'm gonna give you a ticket face" and his "I'm about to throw you into my squad car face" are eerily similar.

But whatever you do, don't abandon humor altogether. Humor is your friend. Mostly not in the back of a squad car.

I do pay a hefty price for my actions. I need a Global Positioning System to guide me and to help me make the right decisions. Don't get me wrong. I'm not out there robbing banks, lately.

But I'm also not perfect.

At the end of the day, if I take a wrong turn somewhere, I would like for people to be there to say it is OK and realize that just because I accidentally rerouted myself that I am worth reprogramming and guiding in the right direction. I know where I am going.

Getting there is the hard part.

Everything we do has a consequence, just like me and my collection of traffic tickets that may be actual collectibles one day. I hope to never justify my wrongs and maybe slow down a bit (a lot) in my wrongness of things. Most importantly, I hope the fact that people give up on me doesn't affect my ability to believe or never give up on them. I don't want their weaknesses to lead me down the same road. Give up on me, I still won't give up on you.

If I did, I would just be lost, again.

Note to self:

Stop at cookie factory...num, num, num!

Crack is Back!

2012-06-26T19:25:00.000-07:00

I suppose some of you have noticed that I have been "AWOL." Let me give you a sample of what is going on in my life and when I am done I will give you a "high five" for putting up with me.

First, I have been trying really hard getting into inventing.

Actually, it looks more round like a pancake and is made of flour. I am still working out some bumps in the road because it tastes more like a pancake and not as much like bacon. Minor details.

There is a project on my board that I am very excited about and has nothing to do with bacon (I just threw bacon in here because I will get one billion hits from it). Thank you Google.

Inventing is my stupid human trick that I do when my life is not as much high definition as I want it to be. Yes, my TV is one of those high definition plasmas that can hang on the wall, but my life is usually way more high definitioner!

When I present my new invention to the public, you are all going to hit yourself on your own head and say

Also, Hurricane Debby missed my area so I have been busy eating the 25 cans of spinach I had stockpiled for the event. The 5-day forecast put it hitting us dead on with torrential rain.

I really believe that it should be called a fivecast instead of a forecast, but what do I know, I live in a swamp.

Torrential? I looked up the definition of torrential on dictionary.com.

Then I took it upon myself to look up "impassioned." I didn't look up vehement. It just sounds gross and violent, much like Lindsay Lohan on a Friday night or a Saturday through Thursday night.

Yes, that is exactly how I like my rain. Filled with intense feelings and passionate. Why can't men be raindrops? Six BILLION people on this planet and I can't find one man. I don't need more than one. How many men does it take to change a lightbulb, cut my grass, paint my walls or pressure wash my house? Just one.

Lately, I have been focusing on getting more beauty sleep. I used to only get about 5 hours a night...maybe. Now, I get about 8 hours, 9 if I am feeling extra ugly.

I haven't had Nutella in a while (and have lost 10 lbs.) but found myself in a (withdrawal) bind a few days ago and out of sheer desperation called the Nutella Hotline.

For a while there I was starting to feel like a parade balloon. It required six or more people to navigate me to my couch. I would have to spray myself with a can of Pam to make it easier to pry myself up from any chair.

I joined a gym, but I am saving that one for an entire post! Let's just say the "working out" stuff is working! I don't lick the screen anymore when a Hershey commercial comes on, well, not as much. I am even thinking about signing up for Karate (at the age of 41).

Seriously, between internet not working in the middle of this lovely swamp I call home and me being a famous inventor AND working out I have neglected my blog and I apologize. I hope that you guys will continue to put up with me. I miss reading your blogs and love reading your lovely comments! Also, to those of you who have given me awards, please do not think that I have forgotten you. I get about 10 awards a month, so it is difficult for me to post them since I only get to do a few posts a month, but I do appreciate the recognition and remember who they are from!

Nutella--even the word tastes good!

How to Be Professionally Rejected

2012-06-12T11:40:00.000-07:00

Most of you may have read my post about how I was born allergic to myself. If you didn't, you may want to read this first. My blood supply came from this guy:

This was in the early '70's . Blood didn't go through a hundred types of testing back then, nor did they care who it came from. All they knew is that it came.

Because of my exposure to every disease known to mankind, I cannot donate blood.

I am a walking, talking epitome of rejection. Rejection's poster child.

I actually have tried to donate, but received my rejection letter in the mail that my services would no longer be needed under any circumstances.

I was really bummed because I was counting on having a lifetime supply of free t-shirts as my wardrobe. Also, it hurts just a bit to know that the United Blood Services hasn't completely dismissed me as a threat.

The year 1971 was an eventful year for me. I expected birth and I got it. After a lifetime of feeling inadequate in my shared cave of hope (someone was in there with me cramping my space, but that is another story) I expected party balloons or some type of reception like a fancy dress gala upon my grand entrance into the world. Instead, I received the Constitutional right to bear weapons of mass destruction.

I had these mad "being born" skills that seemed to be such a waste. I only got to use them once. I may have done a bit better being born in the monkey world. I was on a gazillion year waiting list for being birthed and thought I would be totally professional about it.

Over the years, I have perfected the art of rejection. It doesn't take much. My secret is simple.

Being different severely reduced my pay-all award of having an easy life. I was never in the "easy life" line, though I know a few people who swear by it.

Besides a few bathroom bloopers and my fevered dreams of being the world's greatest superhero not coming to pass, overall I am very satisfied. People tell me that I can be a "kick in the teeth" sometimes. I'm thinking that is a good thing.

Most of you know me well enough by now to know that I am a full die-hard fan of doing good in the world. I'm not really notorious...or are I?

My gut tells me to keep going.

It is OK to be different. My problem is I want to improve on everything I look at, whether it is a pair of shoes, a cheesecake or a person.

I always see things better. Some people see things in a negative light. I don't. Some people don't understand that. I don't understand why people are negative. It blows my mind. But, once again, that would make them "different" so I try not to judge.

I'm not great with advice, but I have a million sarcastic comments to offer. This is my own personal advice that I offer to myself and for the first time ever I am making available to the public.

Being like everyone else is as cheap as a gang tattoo.

Be amazing.

Oh, and while you are busy being amazing donate blood on my behalf.

Craigslist: Concussion Man Wanted

2012-06-02T21:35:00.000-07:00

Some people are just surpassingly wrong.

My greatest wish is for people to stop doing wrong. I've often thought about being a superhero. Of course, you know, I'm still gonna fight crime in my pajama pants. My superheroism will be just like "The Avengers" movie--minus Robert Downey, jr, the other stars (I don't know their names but that doesn't matter as Robert Downey, jr. was the only one that mattered), special effects and safety regulations.

I will need a sidekick.

I realize that in order to curb my truly impressive powers that I will have to have some type of flaw or weakness that is small, hidden and rarely encountered, much like Kryptonite is to Superman.

I have thought about being a Substitute Teacher instead of a Superhero.

My superpowers tend to come out when I walk into a spiderweb. Every kind of ninja known to mankind surfaces from me in those moments. A spiderweb grabbed me once like I owed it a hundred bucks. What I hate about spiderwebs is that other people can't see them because they are virtually invisible, so to any people watching me, it looks like I "just snapped."

Snakes and spiders are my other kryptonites. I fainted once in front of a spider. People rushed to my rescue and at first I felt good about that, but I am pretty sure I heard someone saying this:

Ironically, that was one of my closest friends who said that to me. Whether she was joking or not, it hurt at the time, plus, I still remember it.

Even though over the years I have built fame (hmmm...) and fortune, my best bowls still say Kool-Whip on the side and I haven't forgotten where I have come from or where I am going. Where I came from, I will never go back. Where I am going is in a positive direction. I hope to never hurt my friends so I tend to say only uplifting things.

Also for wedding gifts, they get a really nice set of matching Kool-Whip bowls from me.

I've often thought of playing the game "Let's See How Crazy I Am Now," but I am a bit afraid of what the answer may be for me.

In the budget category of "free," I would like to be the best superhero I can be. I hope to one day have my "Concussion Man" at my side fighting crime with me, but for right now I feel that the best that I can do (once again "free") is to build up those around me and hope to make their day just a bit brighter.

Did I mention free? My said skills don't seem to pay the bills.

I promise to you, as my beloved reader, to make your day just a bit better and that is my greatest superhero power.

HAVE A GREAT WEEK!

P.S. I need to brag on a GREAT friend of mine who was just featured in a magazine for a book that she wrote. PLEASE PLEASE check her blog out and show her some Crack You Whip love! The book is one of the funniest I have ever read and wouldn't recommend it if it weren't. CLICK HERE to check out her site. And thanks for all of the amazing comments week after week, you guys mean the world to me!

The Continuum

2012-05-19T21:22:00.000-07:00

As a child I was completely consumed with building and inventing things. Building an impenetrable fortress of protection for myself surrounded by a city of bridges and tunnels was nothing more than a pathetic delusion I had that would ultimately implode on itself as the realization came that anything that connects would eventually disconnect, like internet when I'm lost in a desert. My world would fall every time.

I started early.

Without fail, however, there was always an older cousin or an angry sheriff to come along and knock down everything I spent time building.

This is a common phenomenon among the evil. Tear down. Destroy. I began to feel trapped in this permanent state of uneasiness as I flailed helplessly in my own sea of self-doubt and sadness. I just wanted my bridges built. I wanted them to stand. Why were people so determined to knock down everything I built?

I would always rebuild.

The cycle would start over again.

Then, eventually, I would need some type of cake and a nap.

Some of you know that I was an above average student. I was reading at a college level by the age of eight. However, as skilled as I was at reading and building bridges, I could never figure out how to keep other people from knocking them down.

Once, though, I was so consumed in building cities with trading cards (I had thousands of them) that the child I was supposed to be watching fell and hit her head in a place she wasn't supposed to be. She was only a year old and blood gushed out of an open wound on her forehead.

I panicked. I wanted to frantically take off at lightning speed for help, but that would have been so obvious.

I casually went into another room where the adults were, which happened to be in the kitchen. I slowly opened the freezer, peered in and started to speak in my Sesame Street voice.

I may as well have been standing there wearing a wife-beater shirt holding a machete covered in child blood.

That did not go as well as I had planned it would. The baby did end up going to the Emergency Room, but do you know that nobody thought to bring back ice-cream?

I have to admit that my heart is in the right place, but my mind is always somewhere special.

Over the years, my bridge building techniques extended far beyond blocks and trading cards. I wanted people to be my bridges. That became very important to me. Sometimes I look back and wish that I hadn't "burned a bridge or two" quite so quickly.

Even at 40 years old, there are still people who are out to destroy what I have worked so hard at achieving. Ironically, the people destroying my bridges are supposed to be building their own. I noticed that pattern a while back.

They don't want to connect. They want to disconnect and then take what they can from me. Then destroy.

After an entire lifetime of building bridges, I wanted to stop. I had lost faith.

Some have spread malicious lies about me. I have wanted desperately to defend myself and have often thought of what I can do. I can't just run up to every person with my wife-beater shirt on clinging to a can of hydrogen bomb and force them to listen to my side.

Then, a friend said something to me that set off that little lightbulb in my head.

If you really want to know who I am, then watch me.

I realized that anyone who truly knows me will not participate in all of that drama and if they do then I really don't want those bridges in my beautiful fortress I am building. My bridges are a little more narrow now and maybe a little longer, but if you want in my fortress of protection and to be a part of my world domination, you have to do me good enough to at least watch my walk. Don't judge me.

I admit that I don't have a cookie cutter life. My life is a seamless continuum of abstract craziness and I often find myself turning back to extend my hand to those who have done me wrong. Every bridge deserves a second chance at being a bridge in my world of paradise.

Ok, it is that time again where I need some type of pastry and a nap.

Knight Writer

2012-05-15T01:08:00.000-07:00

A few days ago my driving attempt to a town about a hundred miles away was thwarted by a series of events that may or may not have a big comedy reveal.

I was driving along, minding my own business passing a few 18 wheelers with my twin turbos (whatever that is) when my rear tire decided to be a rice krispie and go "pop" ( the snap and crackle came later).

A message came up on my little tv screen in my car.

I was in the middle of nowhere on a highway, but nearing a town that was decent sized (10 or more people) so I quickly googled the nearest BMW dealership. There aren't a lot of places that carry the same brand tire and there are only about three or four BMW dealerships in all of Louisiana.

I called the dealership to tell them I was on my way.

Two minutes and two miles later (not fifty) came the snap and the crackle.

I love it when my car speaks to me.

I pulled over and surveyed the damage.

I surveyed where I was.

Things didn't look good. Since when did they start making exits 3 miles long?

I called the tow trucker people.

The tow trucker guy got lost and called me six times before he found me.

Six times.

The sun tried to make me melt. I began to think I would be on Fox News by midnight. I am Republican, after all. They always look for us.

Sometimes I wish my last name was "Fox."

Nah...

I would say I wish my last name was CNN but I'm not even sure what the letters stand for, however I have to give a shout out for CNN because I know some great producers there who actually read my crazy blog stuff!

I lay on the grass baking in the sun, hallucinating Big Macs, thinking about all of my McProblems and I wasn't lovin' it. Somehow, I was going to survive. I was going to make it. Two shady guys stopped and I wanted to panic, but kept my cool . I used to carry mace (until I maced myself) and also a gun (until...oh, never mind) but I may or may not be in the witness protection program and may or may not have given up firearms. And my last name probably or probably isn't Knight...anymore.

Two hours later, tow trucker guy arrives.

Yes, I drive one of the fastest cars in the world. When I buckle my seatbelt, it is for maximum buckling, not any of that minimum stuff. Maybe that is why my tires pop?

Things weren't always this way.

On the way to the dealership, the tow truck almost hit a carload of Justin Beiber fans. My day was slipping away from me in tiny fragments that wasn't my imagination. I just wanted to get to civilization.

And there it was.

Twelve Superbowls didn't have as much coverage as I did walking into that dealership. I was starving, having survived two and a half hours in the wild without food, water or internet, so I ran through the crowd for the nearest vending machine.

I put in a dollar. Five times. Nothing.

I asked to use one of the BMW's on the lot to go get a hamburger. They called the shuttle driver instead. He was having problems and would be an hour. Of course. Why would things be any different?

I decided to walk. There was a fast food restaurant in the distance across a few football fields. I could do that.

I finally made it there and saw this:

I was so excited to eat and took a giant bite of my food. I don't know if they accidentally dropped it into a salt mine, but it was the saltiest thing I have ever eaten in my life and I have eaten a big heaping pile of salt.

I left with great distrust for their food making skills.

On the way back I took a picture of this sign. I felt it was fitting for my day.

There was only one mudhole on the way back in that entire field.

Sometimes you just need that coffee and donut and you need it now...

Pajama Pants Day

2012-05-08T22:57:00.000-07:00

I recently gained 30 pounds.

Yes, I said recently, not over a time period. Like, last week. I basically took my hotness, laughed at it and shoved it forcefully down the stairs.

Inside of me is that thin person struggling to get out...fighting, clawing and biting. Fortunately, she can be easily sedated with a spoonful of Nutella and Peanut Butter .

I have tried many forms of exercise. I have started sleeping with ankle weights on and hope to see the benefits of that soon. Just a few months ago, I was looking so hot that the butter in my pocket would melt right away. I started putting butter on everything, even skittles. I traded my hotness for that little luxury and now I feel like I have been bludgeoned repeatedly all over my entire body with a large bag of cellulite, butter and rocks.

I used to eat healthy cereal, you know the kind that tastes like the inside of your pockets. Then, a few months ago, I started mixing it in with the fun cereals...the ones with the free toys. Gradually, it became more "Choco Choco" and less "pockets." Realistically, the only thing that is free is the 10 pounds you gain from eating it.

I tried "Tofu."

I now understand "Pajama Pants Day" at Wal-Mart. Pajama pants are so much more comfortable than my size 3 jeans that dangle on the hangers in my closet, laughing and taunting me with their tightness.

Most of you know by now that I am famous for making lists. This is my latest one:

Well, I guess I need to go to Wal-Mart. Thankfully, my wardrobe is up to date.

The Talent Show

2012-05-03T21:36:00.000-07:00

If eating fudge were a talent, I would have 5 trillion trophies for it.

I found out that technically it isn't a talent, but I still choose to disagree.

I have so little talent that if I could take all of it and place it uncarefully into my right eye, I would still not suffer from any vision impairment.

My athletic talents were never recognized, either. I played softball for a few years. We were so bad that the coach would always leave before the game was over so that he could beat the traffic. The other teams would have talent and size going for them and the only thing we had going for us was headbands. Still, he could have encouraged us more.

I will never forget the day he won the lottery.

Then one day at school, I saw this poster (or a poster like it):

I desperately wanted to enter the contest. Somehow, I felt, this could be my ticket. My gut, however, had mixed emotions.

Existing is basically all I do. I tried to convince myself at the time that existing was a talent, but in the end I lost that argument. I just wanted to endlessly run through a talent sprinkler so that I could be dripping in it. More than anything, I wanted my body to be assaulted, invaded and possibly destroyed with fresh talent. I sadly realized that I had not conformed to my expectations.

There are actually a few things I am good at, maybe even great. Don't get me wrong...great can be Ok, but I wanted to be AMAZING because amazing is great.

I have this amazing ability to "sniff out a deal" when shopping.

Having a childhood crush on Ricky Shroeder: not a talent.

Having an adult crush on Ricky Shroeder: not a talent, but I still do. That is a secret the entire world probably didn't need to know. Yes, I know he is married. Leave me alone. Some things are hard to let go.

People told me I wrote well and had good messages and that was pretty much all I had.

Ok. I am a messenger. Like a homing pigeon only better and homelier.

In the end, I decided that talent shows weren't for me. But I'm a pigeon and I won't EVER stop flying, I can promise you that.

I may even be amazing at it or better yet, great.

Ruckus

2012-04-25T12:21:00.000-07:00

Success at raising a child has somehow qualified me to advance to the next level of raising things.

I bought a puppy.

My parenting skills can be called into question at any given moment. My son broke his two small toes once. I laughed so hard all of the way to the hospital, I had to pull the car over so he could find something to cover his foot so I couldn't see it anymore. When we arrived at the Emergency Room, they had to tend to me first because I was hyperventilating from laughing so much at my son's foot.

Dog raising, however, is actually my skillset and I take that very seriously.

His name is Ruckus. I thought of buying a cat, but honestly, I believe that cats have a hidden agenda that I haven't quite figured out yet.

It might appear that I have an anti-cat view and I do. Have you ever noticed that cats lick themselves a lot after you pet them?

They are desperately trying to remove our smell.

I noticed that cats take deep advantage of their kittenhood. They lull us into their graces and then set us up to be torn to shreds by their sly ninja reflexes. They are nothing more than conduits of a little something I like to call:

I really am a "dog person," though. I hope my dog likes me. The other day, I left him outside too long . I noticed that he had whittled a knife out of a milkbone...and he left a wet chew toy at the top of the stairs...and the other day when I was taking a bath he fetched me the hairdryer. Overall we are getting along just fine. My son didn't start whittling weapons until he was at least two, so I am a tad concerned.

My son wants the dog to stay inside so I am housetraining it. I am NOT understanding why he eats so little, yet so much comes out.

Ruckus is always in search of a new thrill. Yesterday, he slept behind my chair instead of under it. I am not one of those "dog whisperers," but I can read his thoughts.

Sometimes we go for a walk.

He is still adjusting to the leash. At times, it looks like I am dragging him, but he just likes to slide, that is all.

Ruckus has been transplanted to this strange, beautiful wonderland called my home. I am already behind on everything there is to be behind on, but sitting here watching him chase his tail over and over again in an endless loop of tail-chasing, stopping only to kill his chicken themed squeaky toy I realize that my home will never again be the same and I think I'm gonna like it that way.

Crabs in a Bucket

2012-04-13T22:44:00.000-07:00

I live in Louisiana. I love the state that I live in, however, I still managed to find a reason to crawl to the state line as an infant.

Louisiana is a rich tapestry of political history.

Well, at least the politicians are rich.

The nightlife in Louisiana is a wonderland of excitement.

The most exciting thing I have been doing lately is cheering for my bug light. "Geaux" is pronounced "go" in Louisiana. Fortunately, we are able to take words, create our own variations and no one questions anything that we do. It is just one of the many perks of being a Cajun.

I often sit out at night on my back patio watching bugs get bumped off by the electric mafia thinking that surely there is something better than this.

I do this alone.

I am not unlike a crab in a bucket.

One interesting thing that I like to do here in Louisiana is to go crabbing.

There are some great brackish (salt and freshwater mix) areas along the coast of Louisiana to go crabbing. If you decide to go crabbing here, make sure you bring along a big stick to push away the alligators that try to take the bait that you put out. On second thought, leave the stick at home and let them keep that chicken leg you put out.

I don't like to go by myself, though, because afterwards I need someone to season and boil the crabs for me. My cooking skills are very limited. I know how to boil water and melt butter.

There is something about crabs, though, that honestly makes me laugh.

When you put one crab in a bucket and there is a way out, that crab will get out. However, if you put two or more crabs in the same bucket, no crabs will get out. They will continually pull each other down.

Much like people.

Sadly, I find the people closest to me are the ones who pull me down. Usually, it is the confluence of miscommunication and many unremarkable vexations that torpidly spiral out of control that brings them to this point. I feel like we should be working with each other instead of against each other. No one wins that way. The sum of all of the frustrations of being pulled down begins to eclipse my capacity for patience and lucid thought. Over time, I have developed this hard exterior shell that keeps people from getting close to me. I get tired of being pulled down into a bottomless pit of tribulation.

I often sit back and wonder why some people aren't better than crabs in a bucket. Why do we pull each other down instead of lifting each other up? I do have people in my life who are desperately trying to pull me down right now. My bloodstream has become a thick brew of betrayal and sadness. It runs straight to my heart. Fortunately, I carry something that keeps me from fighting back. I carry it at all times.

It is very difficult at times to maintain a level of dignity and integrity, but I still do it. Maintaining direction is very important to me. I still forgive those who are out to destroy me for some reason. I just wish that they would stop. I really just want out of the bucket and to get where I need to go. That will be my reward.

My compass guides me and I will never be without it. They can't take that away from me. No one can.