Day job at 6AM.
Pap smear at 2PM, and let's pray about that one.
Dentist at 3:30PM.

Don't lie. You so wish you were me ;)

Y'all all know that I'm a firm believer in the Big Ernie adage that tells about how if he leads you to it, he will lead you through it. To be downright honest, if I hadn't had that faith with me through the years I'd have said to hell with it a long time ago and hit the streets as a hooker or something. I remember when the first mention was made of divorce and from that point on we struggled not to hate each other for three months until the money was there for him to move out. One childhood friend gave me the money for a divorce and another loaned me some a few months later. My brother and parents have helped a LOT. I've never paid any of them back, but they know if I hit the lottery they'll be paid first off the top before I head for Fiji. They say you have to hit the wall and turn it over to him, and this has been a wall kind of week. It's in his hands.

One of the constant figures in my life at the Methodist church is a man who began years and years ago as the first "youth director" at the church. He was young and the kids adored him, especially the teenagers. Spending several years building a solid foundation for an on-going program involving parents, he chose later to become a minister. He left the year before BabyGirl got old enough to be in his group. She was devasatated, and church was never the same again for her. There was a succession of folks who did their best with an exceptionally rowdy and obnoxious bunch of teenagers. Years later, Wade came back to our church as the associate pastor, bringing a beautiful wife and 2 children to the ministry. This month, he will leave to become the pastor of another UMC in a nearby town. Taking his place, ironically(?) is the fellow who led the tiny country UMC in nearby Trimble that I attended right after my divorce. Dontcha just love it when that happens?

I don't go much anymore....only when there's a funeral of the spirit tells me it's time. Those faithful believers surround me every day in every area of my life and give me the courage to keep going...and to actually LAUGH about it! I saw one of 'em at the grocery store today, a guy that used to lick his fingers and turn the pages of the Bible right next to me while we talked about what it all meant. There's an occasional e-mail from a fellow alto who sang beside me for years. I sat through one annual conference of area churches as a delegate and stayed confused the whole time over the rules and rituals. I do better on a simplistic level like do unto others and such. I actually cry when I think about how folks suffer during the process of dying in a hospital with aggressive treatment marring their last days. Hospice is a passion in my life that will never go away and so many families could be spared pain and suffering if they were more knowledgeable about the concept. Like in the old days, ya know?

I'm to the point where every day counts twice as much as yesterday and how I spend it is my decision. First thing I ought to consider is practicin' what I preach which is let it go. And don't take it back.

There's something really peaceful about the spot AFTER the pain of smacking that wall. Keep the faith. ^j^

Don't get all excited about SugarDaddy and stuff. It's just Sam back at Casa Poopie with the rest of the zoo. It didn't work out with the grands so he's up here on the hill with Faith and Butterbean. Lookin' at the bright side...if it ever gets cold again, I'm all hooked up for a three dog night.

Two tries. The first one doesn't count.

^j^

Yes indeed, y'all. That is how Big Ernie works. You probably remember the untimely demise of poor Spence last week. A friend and daily reader remembered it as well when his oldest daughter came home for Memorial Day searching for a good home for a dog named Sam that she had adopted from the shelter in March. She lives in a third floor apartment and Sam turned out to be a little bigger than she had figured he would so she wanted to find a place where he could play outside.

As long as I can remember my Daddy has been an "outside dog only" kind of guy, preferably one who can herd cattle or something, but I fell in love with this little doggie and decided that if he didn't fit into HIS plans, I'd keep him myself. Yes...I know, I know. I already have two dogs and umpteen cats. Just call me sucker of the year. ANYHOO....I took him down to meet my parents and and he and my Mom immediately bonded. Daddy wasn't there so we waited for him to come home and meet the newcomer. The first thing out of his mouth was "he can't stay inside" to which Mom replied "I WANT him inside." Hmmm..Guess who won that one.

Sam will be an inside-the-cab rider with Daddy around the farm. All's well that ends well, huh?

^j^

I don't normally stay up too late prior to a 6AM day, especially a weekend one. Last night was an exception because, well. We had something to celebrate. BabyGirl whipped out a letter from the chancellor at UTM congratulating her for being on the honor roll this past semester. With one full-time night shift gig and a part-time catering job on top of all the studying to land on said roll. You go girl.

I have shared, in some form or fashion, the struggles that we been through over the past few years. More often than not, we were on the same page...in survivalist mode finding our way out of a fractured family and into a new life. So many times, I've wished for the money to take her to lunch or buy her something personal but the realities of providing shelter and food with a luxury here and there like internet and TV coupled with old debt shackled me to the daily grind just to pay the bills. The last time that either of us went on vacation was four years ago when we did a girl trip to Gulf Shores...a spur of the moment thing. I have one payment left on that charged off loan and lots of good memories.

Since then, she has watched her father go to jail, then to the rehab community where he remains because it's the safest place for him to be to stay healthy. His addictive tendencies are much better served by being a workaholic. I look at other people and how easy some of them have it while others struggle to survive, and I wonder once again how capitalism can be what what Big Ernie wants for his kids. Americans pay three + bucks a gallon for gas to travel on a long weekend instead of honoring the fallen soldiers who fought and died for the oil that affords the luxury to do so. My gas tank contains precisely enough petrol to get me to and from the day job until next payday. Rinse, lather and repeat.

Lest you think I'm having a pity party here, fear not. Just a perspective check for all of us in these fast paced designer times when being "somebody" seems to where it's at. I never was anybody but plain old Poopie and never will be. My faith tells me that will be enough when the sheep and goats get separated.

But dang, y'all. Can't I just have ONE SugarDaddy here on earth before I claim my heavenly rewards and commence to playing the harp? If Big Ernie is really good, there will be sex breaks between harp recitals and rock concerts at night.

^j^

I reckon somebody's gotta do it, huh? People still get sick and need blood after normal business hours. I keep trying to believe that there's a purpose in all of it, but after thirty years I'm beginning to wonder about the whole deal. Maybe I should just get me a job selling gas and chicken. "Pump five is on and ready for a fillup!"

As I said earlier, the two ho-kitties delivered a week apart. Ho #2 had six and they were dispatched to the front porch in a pet carrier quickly. After Ho#1 had the next four on my bed, I fixed them a nice little place to bond on the other side of the porch. Everybody has their space, right?
Nah. Y'all know how critters are with their young. Little Girl dragged her four over to the pet carrier with Chunk and her six and there you go...a family tradition with enough nipples to go all around. Sheesh. These cats have gotten a lot more action than me lately. I guess they're not as picky as me when it comes to sperm donors.

I might be busy for a few days knockin' the dust off of my resume. There's bound to be something I can do to make a decent living close to Pecan Lane. Don't be surprised if you find me settin' up a farmer's market at the end of the road when the produce comes in. Maybe a lemonade stand?

Keepin' the faith. Hope you are doing the same. ^j^

Daddy ain't never had much luck with dawgs. Poor old Spence is gone to doggie heaven with a busted up tailbone and a belly full of hushpuppies. I reckon we might oughta go to the pound and adopt a more mature sort of woof to keep him and Mama company.

While I was sleeping last night, four new kittens got born on my bed and I never even knew it until I woke up and there they were nursing right next to my feet. That puts the kitten tally at ten with only one who looks any sort of different. Not sure of the sex, but it's a cat of color in a sea of yellow striped clones.

The news is all bad on the teevee so I will be terming that service shortly to save money here at Casa Poops. I never much watched it anyway.

Over and out y'all. Keep the faith. ^j^

They're still a mess but at least there's no cellulitis yet :) Spence, on the other hand, seems to be having a bit of trouble walking. Prolly a few broken ribs from hittin' the asphalt at 65 MPH. I gotta hand it to the young dog....sucker landed on his feet like so many of us have when in crisis. He's lickin' his wounds and will be good to go soon.

I'm totally pissed off at America's voters for kicking Melinda to the curb last week. Jordan and Blake are talented and young, but neither has shown the diversity and Yo factor that she did. In honor of her, I won't watch tomorrow night. Somebody at work will tell me how it all goes down, I feel sure. Big ass production companies don't hold a candle to musicians who love what they do and work hard at pleasing a crowd. LIVE.

The virgin mother of all these cats around here is circling the house whining to high heaven because she's in labor. Again. Wherever she drops 'em is good with me. They'll all be out in the barn soon anyhow.

How about this weather y'all..dry as a bone. Being the faithful sort, I count my blessings on not having to buy gas for the mower. Who the hell can afford it besides oil execs anyway. I bet they get their gas comped and drive Hummers. There's another conspiracy theory for you to ponder. Throw in the biodiesel and you've got a novel worth a big fat honkin' chapter in the next edition of American History 2006/7.

Perhaps you're in an Italian frame of mind? Lori has just the experience for those in need of a virtual vacation. That will be about the extent of mine until SugarDaddy shows up with some bucks. Ciao, RG. Tell the train Nazi to stuff ravioli up her nose next time she wails on you for talking too much. Preferably the toasted kind. With marinara on the side.

Thirty four years ago, I graduated from Dyersburg High School, class of 1973. That can only mean that we're due for a reunion next year which requires a lot of networking to find out who's alive and kicking interested in catching up on life in the 'burg. It's not half bad when you consider the traffic and all.

Really.

For some odd reason, Cindy Sheehan has been on my mind today. I know...I know. She oughta just get over it, but if I were her, I'd have a hard time doing that considering how the whole thing has gone down over yonder. The body count continues to escalate in a "war" that will never be won. Depressing as shit if you ask me. Some say that those who serve there signed up for it knowing that the money was decent and the risk was great, so whatever happens is their choice. Others say that those who signed up for homeland security never imagined that it would take them straight to Jihad in a handbasket. I remember my Daddy, a veteran of the Cold War, asking all us hippies just exactly what we had against the whole Vietnam thing. It was a whole different ball game then. Or was it?

We have six new identical kitties on Mama's tits out on the porch. Yellow + yellow = boring, but spaying ain't in the budget. Gotta have my AC for summer in Tennessee. The humidity is a bitch, y'all. This weekend has mighty nice..a gift of sorts from Big Ernie straight to the Poopster when she needed it most. Daddy's hand looks like a trainwreck, and Spence is still under the bushes but accepting head pats and drinkin' a little water.

As for that guy..I dunno. He turned up when I least expected it and hasn't called me back. Been there, done that...gotta t-shirt. Cynical? Nah. Just realistic.

^j^

I've played around with the idea of being a traveling contract kind of med tech. At fifty bucks an hour, it looks like the answer to all of my financial problems and I could see the far corners of our country in the process, while living in an apartment without a view. No thanks, y'all.

The reason for my inertia is that Mom and Daddy live down the road, and...well. They're slowing down a bit. I don't care how old you get to be. Your parents are precious all the way to heaven no matter how bad it seemed when you were a sheltered teenager thinking of nothing but yourself. Daddy goes to the Co-op a few miles south of here and Spence usually rides on the top of his toolbox in the back of the truck. They took off this morning on a road trip to buy some shit down at Halls. The sun was shining and the breeze was good. Great day to be out on Hwy 51 South with the windows down.

News reports are sketchy as to how the whole thing went down. According to Bubba, Daddy turned the wheel on a tilt, and Spence went skiing on the asphalt at 65 MPH. Daddy realized right quick what was going on and stopped the truck to check on him. While he was takin' off the collar, Spence chomped down on his hand real good. Reflex tells ya to yank back hard when it hurts, and that's exactly what he did. Several stiches later, he's good to go. Spence, however, is hiding under the bushes. Sucks to be him.

Ran into a guy the other night I haven't seen in 35 years. Dude looked a lot different from the long haired hippie drummer that I had a crush on back in the day. All I can say is that he's aged well and had something to do with airplanes for ten years. There's 4 daughters strung out over the country doing their own thing and an elderly mom to be tended to. Did I mention how I knew who he was by lookin' at his eyes?

Tomorrow will be all about me. I'll call ya when I wake up.

Love ya...mean it. ^j^

My friend Mary in North Carolina has added this cool little thing to her sidebar where she briefly describes the characters that she blogs about in her day to day life. Many times around here, I make reference to folks that you might not have a clue about. Soooooooo.....let's flesh up those personalities a bit shall we? After all I WILL wrote a book someday, and you will all be in it. Note to Hoss: I'll send your part of the royalties to wherever you get blasted off to for eternity.

BABYGIRL
The lovely( when not PMS'ing) only child of Poops and the ex. Her sense of humor is as wicked as mine yet she retains the childlike wonder that comes with being in your twenties and having your whole life ahead of you. A social work major, she works the graveyard shift at a local hotel and has plenty of interesting stories to prove it. There's a bar right by her desk, if that tells you anything.

FAITH
Chocolate lab extraordinaire...smartest dog that ever lived :) The story of how she came to us four years ago is an amazing one, thus the appropriate name. She can say "I Love You" if there's food involved

BUTTERBEAN
Rat terrier mix diva/bitch. Breaks into a big toothy grin when she's excited to see you. If she's not, she barks her fool head off until she checks you out. It's as simple as that.

YAYA
Our mothers have been lifelong friends, as we have. She knows everything about everybody and whenever we go somewhere together she's real handy to have around to explain who's doing who and who their mama is. Yaya has a shoe and purse fetish and is always on the prowl for clothes to match them. And she can wear ANYTHING...even gold boots, and pull it off with style. *A charter Kudzu Kween member*

REDNECK FRIEND
As the name implies, RF has a rather broad streak of whoopass in her and is dying to shoot somebody if they cross her the wrong way. Also handy to have around when going somewhere in case somebody decides to act the fool. She knows lots of law enforcement people and, as I said, is just itchin' for a reason to kick somebody's ass. Next to ass kickin', her favorite thing in this world is basketball....anything at all to do with the sport just hypes her up royally. *A charter Kudzu Kween member*

WORK GUY
A generic term for any number of charming, very married guys at the day job who get their jollies toying with my affections for sport. Work Guy is a favorite topic of conversation among Kudzu Kweens after the first few beers. All I can say is he better watch out or I'll put a hit out on him and "you know who" will do the job just for the fun of it.

THE PUSSY PATROL
Y'all know this place always has one cat too many. So far we've managed to give them all names, but we're about to run out and Little Girl and Chunk are pregnant. It all started with one cute little calico that I rescued from the parking lot at the day job. Sheesh. Rabbits ain't got nothing on cats.

MOM
Bless her heart! She worked full-time and raised three kids that (so far) aren't serial killers or psychopaths. Her nights and weekends were spent cooking and worrying about Daddy out in the snow delivering calves with a chain. Now she takes it easy and orders him around from her recliner. She gets great pleasure from reading, playing on the 'puter and watching TV, simple pleasures that she has earned the hard way. My southern belle side was a gift from her. You WILL get a thank you note, thankyouverymuch.

DADDY
A farmer through and through. Why, just last week I sat and watched from the porch as he rounded up the cattle IN HIS PICKUP TRUCK tearing around the corn field like Dale Jr. at Talladega. It took him about thirty minutes of dirt slinging and hollering, but they all went back through that one little gap. Lucky for him the corn was only about three inches tall. The "smartass" in smartass country girl came directly from him. Dominant gene.

SUGARDADDY
Well, y'all know I've been on the lookout for this dude for some time now. His character traits are still rather vague, but definitely include a wild passionate desire to please me in *many* ways and to relieve me from the burdens of being a single mother with a kid struggling to make it through college on student loans while we try to keep the creditors offa our asses. However, at any given moment I'd settle for somebody who likes the arts, four-wheelers, beer and/or my family and friends. And is well hung ;)

THE BROTHERHOOD
They are three and seven years younger than me and as different as night and day, and I adore them both. Bubba ( what, you don't have a Bubba???? ) owns that nightclub where I have had the opportunity to listen to live music and meet the people who make it. He also partners with Daddy on the farm thing. Babyboy Harold lives far away in the mountains and publishes, with his wife and partner, a newsmagazine that is a big hit in his rural community.


Glad to clarify that for all y'all. Remind me to tell you about the cat who went for a walk jog with me and the dogs today. Her name is Cracker and we lost her somewhere around the time the hay baler chugged up Pecan Lane. Got claw marks on my chest to show for that little adventure.

We're baling hay about middle ways down the road...planning ahead for the winter months when the cows and horses need a bite to eat. Butterbean has barked from the porch non-stop for the entire hour of American Idol at the lights and activity. Girl needs a chill pill...I'm just sayin'. Is it just me, or do you feel incredibly OLD watching Barry Gibb with long silver locks and false teeth singing falsetto? That was a very unusual genre for the top four. If it was me I'd throw 'em some Hank Jr. or Sugarland. Then again, I'm a redneck at heart. No WAIT! How about James Taylor night on AI! Or maybe AC/DC.

Seems as though I spend more and more time at the cemetary lately. I'm not much on turning out for the lines at visitation and signing the book to show I was "present." I'm a show up at the graveside kind of friend. My life has changed with the earthly passing of this fine lady who talked like a parrot on crack and loved with all of her heart. Her obituary lists one of her accomplishments as being an avid bridge player. I can say Amen! to that one.

I just can't say enough good things about having a guy friend like Scott. He's listened to me cry drunk and explained the finer points of men to me. It turns out they're pretty simple. As a member of the Born Again Virgin club, it is indeed refreshing to be able to discuss the opposite sex with one of their own card-carrying members and feel safe about the whole deal. Sex. Food. Fun. Guns'n'Ammo. Cool cars. Sex. Music. Food. Rinse, lather and repeat. That's the man thing.

BabyGirl's daddy came up with some bucks so she could keep herself on schedule with her plan to become a bonafide social work graduate sometime in the next couple of years. Lots and lots of kids would have given up long ago, and I'm mighty proud she has stayed the course thus far. It ain't been easy for her, or for me either. According to federal guidelines for financial aid, you must be 24 OR married OR have a kid OR from an abusive home to qualify for aid as an independent student. Tennessee has lottery scholarships that missed her by one year. Talk about bad timing! I should've gotten pregnant at 30 instead of 29. My bad. We discussed the option of me becoming an abusive parent but with our luck, they'd come pick me up and put me smooth under the jail and the poor thing wouldn't have a place to sleep.

The day job is always a challenge. Thank God for SRUI's is all I can say. I'm a bottomfeeder in the scheme of things and I like it that way. Do what I do well to the best of my ability...go home..and forget about it. CEOS and other O's get paid the big bucks to deal with it after hours. If there's one thing I learned in therapy it is to draw the line and not cross it when it comes to being used. Suckers may not miss me when I'm gone, but the productivity will.

Becky and Tiger took one cat offa my hands the other day but there's plenty left to go around...especially considering the fact that two of 'em are knocked up. We're about to have plenty of barn kitties mousing for their supper. As for the dogs...they'll be sleeping with me..Faith on the other pillow and Butterbean up next to my butt. They are Momma's girls, no doubt.

I swear, my Mom gave me a bumper sticker one time that said that. Gotta love a Mother with a good sense of humor :) She told me exactly what she wanted for Mother's Day and I ordered it online because that's what I do these days...listen well. What are ya'll doing to honor your mother this weekend? Tradition has it that if your mother is alive you wear a red rose and if she's passed on you wear a white one. Nobody loves ya like she does. Nobody.

I get occasional email dispatches from Michael Yon telling me what it's like to be one of the allies fighting in Iraq. In my humble opinion the problem seems to be that there will be no WIN. It is a civil war that has been raging for generations which became a political football a few years ago. If our homeland security had been "secure" and our government had been paying attention, the suckers would have never made it past the radar on our East Coast. Complacency, thy name is America. Use that night vision technology to protect the citizens of your own country as they work to support your fat lifestyle and weak leadership. 'Nuf said on that subject. We all know it's time to move on. Another hurricane season looms and Lord knows we need the National Guard here. *see Hurricane Katrina*

Now and then you meet somebody online who makes an impression with the intensity of their mission. John Ruskey has been one of those people for me. Though I've never met him in person, we have shared a lot of adventures on the Big Muddy and other rivers during the past few years. When he's not busy carving canoes or exploring the water there is the after-school apprentice program for at-risk Clarksdale MS youth who stay busy following in his footsteps.

Don't bother to call tommorrow. I'll be sleeping in and playin' in the yard later.

Love ya...mean it.

^j^

Walk the walk, girl. You've earned it the hard way.

^j^

Lord, give us strength.