Tag Archives: Old-Skool

When Hoody Ain’t Happy…

…ain’t NOOOOOBODY happy… So, in the interest of everyone’s happiness (it’s a public service, really), here’s a few things that have made me happy lately:

1.  These:

OH… MAH… GAWD…

Those right there are Archer Farms Lobster & Cheese Bites, available at yer local Target, and they are the best thing I have ever put in my mouth (SHUT UP).  And no, Target did not pay me for this endorsement, but if they DID want to pay me, a dump truck filled with these little balls of Elysium would not go amiss.

2.  This:

 

BATTLESTAR GALACTICA -- SCI FI Channel -- Pictured: (l-r) Jamie Bamber as Lee "Apollo" Adama -- SCI FI Photo: Justin Stephens

Oooooh, YEEEEAH…

As y’all may know, I’ve been holed up in my room watching Battlestar Galactica (2005 version) and this is why.  Jamie. Fucking. Bamber – best Apollo ever and not too shabby as a detective, neither!  But alas, he never writes, he never calls…

On a side note, I’ve been trying NOT to watch BSG over again (again) quite so back-to-back, so first I watched Caprica again, then I tried to watch BSG: ’78 again again again (but I just can’t — the hair, ye gods, THE HAIR!) (plus who can trust the actor who used to play Apollo now?  I ask you!).  So I was delighted to find…

3.  This:

OK… I can deal…

All 8 seasons, fo’ free on the OnDemand.  That should keep me busy for awhile, especially if I don’t fast-forward through the Paige episodes this time around.

I’ll be in my room if y’all need me.

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Filed under I Rule You, La Vida Loca, My Secret Shame(s)

Who’s “The Boss?”

It’s a bird!  It’s a plane!  No, it’s better!

IT’S AN ADVENTURE WITH DEAR SWEET MAMA!!!

SCENE:  A Local Restaurant Where We Are Usually the Only Customers.  You Will Soon See Why This Is a Good Thing.

PLAYERS:  Hoody Hoo and Dear Sweet Mama (With A Special Cameo by A Waitress)

(Hoody Hoo and Dear Sweet Mama are having lunch.  A strange “thwup-thwup-thwup” sound begins to resound throughout the dining area)

Hoody Hoo:  What the fuck is that?

Dear Sweet Mama:  I think it’s the heater.

HH:  Jesus, I feel like I’m in Vietnam in here.

DSM:  What?… Oh, like in “MASH?”

(Note to readers:  “MASH” was set in Korea.  DSM’s Daddy (my Dear Sweet Gramps) was IN Korea, so you’d think she’d know that…)

HH:  No, like in “Goodnight, Saigon.”  You know, (singing) “They heard the hum of our motors, they counted the rotors…”

DSM:  Oh, The Concubine saw that on Broadway.

HH: …. OHMYGAWD.  No, “Goodnight, Saigon.”  Not “MISS Saigon,” you dumbass.

Break while Hoody leans over out of her chair and puts her hands on the floor while laughing uncontrollably, all the while sputtering “I’m not laughing AT you, I’m laughing WITH you,” even though DSM isn’t laughing… but A Waitress certainly is as she passes by and pronounces that we are “so much fun.”

DSM:  Well, doesn’t it sound like it should be in it?

HH:  “Goodnight, Saigon.”  Billy Joel.  You know, Billy Joel?

DSM:  Oh, I don’t like Billy Joel.

HH:  You used to play his records all the time when I was little!

(Note again:  Yes, when Hoody was little, she and DSM listened to their music on records.  Unless we were in the car, in which case it was on 8-track.)

DSM:  I did?  I don’t think I did.  If I did, it was only because it was on my dance aerobics music.

HH:  “Allentown?”  “Allentown” was on your dance aerobics music??? (singing again) “And we’re living here in Allentown, and they’re closing all the factories down…”

DSM:  Oh, yeah, I like that.

HH:  “Tell Her About It?”  “We Didn’t Start the Fire?”  “In the River of the Night?”

DSM:  Those are some of my favorite songs!

HH:  THOSE ARE BILLY JOEL SONGS.  “Piano Man?”

DSM:  No, I don’t like that one, I get morose.

(Note yet again:  This is just one of many songs that makes Hoody and DSM morose.  See also “Downeaster Alexa”” and “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.”)

(‘Nother note:  “Downeaster Alexa!”  BILLY. FUCKIN’. JOEL.)

HH:  Okay, but I think we can safely say you like Billy Joel.  Maybe you didn’t know who he was.

DSM:  Maybe.

HH:  I think you may have thought he was Bruce Springsteen.

DSM:  Maybe.  But don’t say I don’t like Bruce Springsteen, we’re in New Jersey!

HH:  How can you not like Billy Joel, though?  He was married to Christie Brinkley!

DSM:  Not anymore, though.

HH:  No, not anymore.

DSM:  She probably figured out he wasn’t Bruce Springsteen.

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Filed under Adventures with Dear Sweet Mama, La Vida Loca

The Ratventures Continue

As promised, I will now relate still more rat-based adventures involving members of the Hoo Family… strap on in, kids!

SCENE:  HOODY’S CHILDHOOD HOME: EXT: DRIVEWAY

Dear Sweet Mama is taking a dinner plate to Poor Ol’ Dad, who is working at Childhood Hometown Police Department.  Said dinner consists of the dinner itself and one of those big ol’ 12 oz. glass bottles of Pepsi (if you don’t remember soda in glass bottles, you’re probably too young to be reading this blog).  So, DSM is balancing plate and Pepsi, unlocking the door of the car… then it happened.

One of them big damn river rats had apparently been taking his ease under the car, and he chose that moment to poke his head out… directly between Dear Sweet Mama’s feet.  So DSM did the only thing she could do in self-defense:

She peed on it.

Of course, she also flung dinner and Pepsi high into the air and raced back into the house, so the rat probably thought it was a pretty good deal:  put up with a little pee and screaming, get a free dinner!  And DSM was only followin’ her raisin’, as we say.

SCENE: DSM’S PARENTS’ HOUSE: EXT: BACKYARD

Dear Sweet Mama’s Mama (my Dear Sweet Grandmama) is hanging clothes on the line to dry out back of their house.  The backyard has a little stream (or, in WBGV-ese, a “crick”) at the bottom of it, and it is from this area that the intruder most likely emerged.

Yes, a rat for some reason crept up on DSGM while she was hanging clothes, and when she happened to glance down, there it was, between her feet.

So she peed on it.

There was also a similar incident involving a black snake which also ended up peed on… and then there’s the time DSGM accidentally disturbed a bee/wasp/hornet/stinging death machine nest and had to run like hell for the house, stripping her clothes off as she went to divest herself of bees, in full view of the neighbors.

Which brings us to… something EVEN WORSE than a rat that can come up out of your terlet.

SCENE: EAST COAST AUNT’S HOUSE: INT: BATHROOM


East Coast Aunt had just had a new house built and had… shall we say… had some disagreements with the contractors, the builders, the workers, etc.  But the house was finally finished to her satisfaction, and they were finally able to move in.

A short time later, ECA notices a strange sound coming from the vicinity of one of the bathrooms. It isn’t a DRIPPING noise, like you might expect, or a THUMPING noise, like something might have come loose somewhere… it’s more of a… BUZZING.

Yes, East Coast Aunt tracked the sound to its source… only to find it was coming from the terlet… which was full of BEES.

BEES… in the TERLET

DSM and I still maintain this was the result of some evil contractor-voodoo in retaliation for ECA’s constant bitching, but still…

BEES… IN THE TERLET.

Sleep well, kiddies!

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Filed under Adventures with Dear Sweet Mama, Getchore LEARN on!, La Vida Loca, Only in Wes' BYGAWD Virginny, WTF???

Just a Little Off the Ends…

… of your fingers.  Yep, before I Shelby’d out at the hair salon, I learned something I never would have thought:  hairdressing is a dangerous damn job!

The gal cutting my hair had a big ol’ bandaid on one of her fingers and was considering going to get stitches… because she’d gashed her own hand open cutting somebody’s hair!  Apparently their professional-haircutting-scissors are sharper than Duncan McLeod’s katana, and they’ll cut right through your ass.  One of the other stylists came over and showed me all her little white scars all over her fingers, and then they got to talking about other Hideous Injuries in Hairdressing.

The WORST one was a girl my stylist went to beauty school with… who cut the EN-tire tip of her own damn finger off!  WTF?  How is it that I never knew this??? AND WHY THE FUCK DO THOSE SCISSORS HAVE TO BE SO SHARP???

Dear Sweet Mama used to cut my hair with the scissors from her sewing basket, and I don’t recall her having to press the handles down especially hard to cut through the hairs.  Seriously?  It’s just HAIR, how can it possibly necessitate scissors you could perform surgery with?

So next time you get your hairs cut, be sure you tip generously.  Not only is your hairdresser taking her life in her own hands every time she comes to work, but she’s also immune to pain and armed with some serious weapons!

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Filed under Getchore LEARN on!, I Rule You, La Vida Loca, Things I Don't Know, WTF???

Don’t Forget Your Barrel

The unending oddness that is my life continues with a call from Dear Sweet Mama:

Hoody Hoo:  I had the most terrifying dreams last night, I woke up shaking and sweating!  I think I had killed a dude and thought I killed his girlfriend but she wasn’t quite dead so she came after me…

Dear Sweet Mama:  That’s weird, I had terrible dreams, too!  I dreamed we were in Milwaukee with my parents (editor’s note:  DSM’s parents are quite dead) and we were running away from riots and we had to cross this bridge and everybody kept telling us to jump but it was like over Niagara Falls or something…

HH:  That dude survived that time he went over Niagara Falls in a barrel, right?  We mighta made it…

DSM:  Well, HE had a barrel, WE did not… we were sans barrel!  You don’t jump off a bridge sans barrel!

*Break for maniacal laughter and plans to make t-shirts that say “Leave me alone, I’m sans barrel,” etc.*

HH:  Callie Jean is loving that piece of wicker she tore out of the paper plate holder.

DSM:  Of course, she does, it was free.  If you had spent money on it, none of them would be interested.  Like when you buy your kid a $300 whatever and they play with the box!

HH:  You remember the time me and Childhood Friend built that robot out of a box?  And we put a tape player in the box so it could talk!

DSM:  You girls were…

HH (interrupting):  GIFTED, Mama.  The word is GIFTED.

DSM:  Yeah, that’s it.

HH:  Although we did also try to get our fool selves killed trying to “rappel” down the riverbank on a clothesline… Of course, YOU actually did slide down the riverbank smack into some fornicating ducks…

DSM:  It wasn’t on purpose!  They should have had a barrel!

*More maniacal laughter including plans to create jobs by appointing someone to go around putting out barrels for ducks to fuck in so they won’t scare the children.*

Conclusion:  There are 2 types of people in the world — those who have their barrel, and those who are sans barrel.  If you have your barrel, life is cool and you’ve pretty much got things under control.  If you’re sans barrel, you’re fairly fucked.

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Filed under Adventures with Dear Sweet Mama, Calpurnia Jean, Getchore LEARN on!, I Rule You, Kittehs!, La Vida Loca

We Interrupt This Important Message

As promised, I have plenty of other tales to relate of my strained relationship with “As Seen on TV” products… but Dear Sweet Mama reminded me of my very first foray into the world of retail lies… the 100 Little Dolls.

Imagine, if you will, Little Hoody (maybe 10 or so?), sitting in her room, reading her comic books.  Now, back in the day, the very back page of comic books was always a veritable cornucopia of crap you could get through the mail: X-ray Specs, Postage Stamps of the World, Cigar Loads, etc… and one day, 100 Little Dolls.

100… Little… Dolls…

“MAMA!!!!”

“What?”

“Can I have $14.95 for 100 Little Dolls?”

And so, despite DSM’s desperate attempts to convince me that “you get what you pay for,” and “if it sounds too good to be true, it usually is,” I diligently filled out the little card and sent in $14.95 (plus shipping and handling) of my hard-earned allowance money (and remember, this is back in the days when your allowance MIGHT get as high as $5 a week if you were especially useful and good) and sat down to await the arrival of my 100 Little Dolls.

Six to Eight Weeks Later…

A tiny box arrives on the porch, addressed to me.  It’s about the size of the box you would use to wrap a coffee mug as a present, so I’m perplexed.  What could it possibly be?  I haven’t ordered anything except my 100 Little Dolls, and the box is FAR too small to contain them!

It did.

My $15 worth of 100 Little Dolls was, in fact, 100 little plastic figures (like little green army men, but not as high-quality).  They were dressed in what I assume were meant to be “costumes of all nations,” but you couldn’t really tell, because they were all unpainted Dollar-Store-Barbie-doll pink.  AND while there were indeed 100, some of them were DOUBLES!  I’d been TRICKED!

That’s when DSM imparted to me the great P.T. Barnum’s theory regarding suckers and the rate at which they are born, and a family legend began.  Now, whenever one of us is considering an unwise purchase, all the other has to say is… “One HUN-dred Little Dolls…” and order is restored.

Still pissed about those dolls, though.

UPDATE:  There have been some additions to the Royal Court!  See, kids, dreams CAN come true!

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Filed under Adventures with Dear Sweet Mama, I'm Confused, My Secret Shame(s), The Royal Court, WTF???, Youse Guys

Fun With White-Out

With almost everything being done on computers nowadays, I often worry about the good folks at the White-Out factory (I really do, I worry about some really strange shit).  I’m sure there’s had to be some belt-tightening around White-Out, Inc., but I’m here to tell you — it’s still a very valuable product!

Case in point:

Shut up, it worked, didn't it?

Even though I write for a living, I am not what you’d call a “good” typist.  I type fast, but I only use 2 fingers and the occasional thumb, and I MUST MUST MUST look at the keys.  So when the “N” and the “M” wore off the keyboard at work, I was in a pickle.  And I got tired of writing scripts about people getting arrested for selling “marcotics” or being  on trial for “nurder.” Enter:  White-Out.

Also, I remain childishly fascinated by that White-Out Correction Tape stuff — I always have to put my finger on it and be amazed that it’s instantly dry.  Plus, it makes an excellent scuff-and-nail-hole cover-upper if your landlord is not too observant and you’re too cheap to buy spackle.  Toothpaste also works, but only the white kind.

Unless your paint color is Minty Fresh, I guess…

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Filed under GENIUS!, Getchore LEARN on!, I Rule You, La Vida Loca, SCIENCE!