millysdaughter

Vampire Load
The word “Vampire” first brings to mind the Vampire Lestat, Interview with a Vampire by Anne Rice in 1976. Then it returns me to Barnabas Collins from Dark Shadows in 1968…but he had absolutely no appeal for ten-year-old me, while Quentin Collins was sooooo cute. Years later, my smallbear and her pals were drooling over Stephanie Meyer’s modern vampires, attending midnight book releases at Barnes and Noble to purchase the latest volume in the series.
I tried to read Twilight. I tried to like it. I really did. My personal verdict was good plotting, bad editing. I had always made a point to read what my kids were reading, not to block but to be able to discuss. It was a very rare and damaging book that would cause me to tell any young child they could not read that book. There was nothing about the Twilight book that was going to damage my kid or her friends, as proved by her graduating college with honors and going forth to teach high school English. Those vampires did not suck out her brain.
Which brings us to my current efforts to get all the holiday decorations out. We single-handedly keep the local electric company in business from October first to December thirty-first. Somewhere in the middle of February, I always expect to open the mail and find a tearstained note, asking “Where did you go? Why did you leave me? I love you! I miss you!” from Xcel Energy.
Yes. I **am** “that house.” It is me. The house you mock with all the inflatables. The place the party busses charge innocent people to come over and see the lights and take advantage of the photo ops. That place with the short-range radio broadcast. No, the party bus does not share the wealth, but we counted five different bus tours operating during the holiday season last year.
We have enough extension cords and timers and three-way-plugs to keep things lit and exciting. Because we are the people that move stuff every year, my connections change from holiday to holiday and from year to year. If you are going to maintain the same display placement every year, life becomes much easier when you introduce the Vampire Plug. When you use the Vampire Plugs, you can have all of the outlets in the exact spot for your holiday display.
“Slide-on vampire plugs — also known as Gilbert plugs — are the standard connectors for building and extending custom Christmas light runs on SPT wire. The metal teeth pierce the wire insulation and make contact with the copper conductors inside, creating a secure connection without cutting or stripping the wire.“
Which is still not exactly answering the prompt…but all the juice my display is pulling while it is “not lit” certainly proves the existence of the Vampire Load. (As does my electric bill, but we are not gonna go there!!)

Once upon a time, I had an imaginary friend named Kate. She was participating in a contest and wanted me to join the community and vote for her. So I joined this community and hung out in the Green Room and some crazy weirdo kept kicking me and calling me a hippie. I suspect that is because I still have the same hairdo that Marcia Brady copied, but you never know...might just be because he is nuts.
So...I'm in.

If the Creek Don't Rise...
Where I come from, this translates to : I've made my decision, and only actual force from God Himself will get me to change my mind.

slim chikn

The good, the bad, the ugly.
The lines have been insane since it opened, so we waited to try the new Slim Chickens until today. (13 Jan 2020, 1214hrs)
The cute guy ordered a Classic Meal and I ordered a Bacon Ranch Chicken Sandwich Meal.
$18.79. Spendy for a fast food lunch - about five bucks more than eating at McD's or our usual order at Subway. I pay at the counter, they give me a number and two glasses, and we go into the dining room to look for a seat.
The cute guy spotted the row of tiny tables for two. I could not see them, as they were hidden behind the bar-high tables for six. These tables for two are tiny, but we sit down and stand up the number. On the table is a cardboard corral, holding a roll of paper towels and a ketchup bottle. The table is a bit wobbly, so the corral is needed to keep the paper towels on the table. The cute guy raises his eyebrows at the roll of paper towels instead of a napkin dispenser. We laughed, assuming the need for a roll of paper towels was a good sign and promised us amazingly juicy fried chicken.
We filled our sodas from the dispenser and the server brought out our meals. The tabletop was completely filled when she set down the meal bowls. My sandwich was dry. I had expected it to be juicy chicken, dripping with gooey ranch dressing. It needed salt. The cute guy also needed salt for his meal, so he went up to get some from the rack. He brought back packets of pepper. There was no salt in the holder marked "S & P," just pepper.
"I'll go to the counter and ask," I said as I stood up. The table rocked, and my cup hit the floor. It exploded. It had a "spillproof" lid on the cup, which was still secure, but the side was split out.
I picked up the cup and went up to the counter. I waited as several other people were waited on. Each of the two people working the counter took several new food orders as I stood there. Finally somebody noticed me. "What can I get for you?"
I smiled. "I need salt, a new cup, sauce for my sandwich, and a mop."
The lady working the counter handed me a cup and tossed the broken one. She called to a young man in the back to bring out salt, and went back to the front counter to take orders. He brought two salt packets and four pepper packets. I shook my head. "I don't need any pepper -- just salt." He took back the pepper packets and brought out salt.
Half a loaf is better than none. No sauce for my sandwich, no mop...but I did get the salt and a cup. The cute guy used the roll of paper towels to mop up the floor. He didn't like the garlic parmesan sauce he had got, so he offered it to me to try. It was more of an oil-vinegar salad dressing with garlic and parmesan - more oily than creamy. I was not impressed either.
I nibbled on a few fries. Then I picked up a French fry and saw the hair attached to it. Not a long hair of mine sitting on top, but embedded into the fry - short, black and curly. I showed it to the lady wiping the table next to us, and she was horrified. She quickly grabbed it, grabbed my bowl, and whisked it away.
A short while later, she returned with a new meal. Beaming proudly, she said "I had them remake the meal for you!"
She meant well. I wished she had not done that, as my appetite was gone. It is actually hard to destroy my appetite -- I didn't get this girlish figure by missing many meals -- but I was not able to eat the replacement meal.
To be honest, I'm not sure what Slim Chicken could have done to make me happy at that point. I do know I won't ever go back there, and I cannot give them a good review.

idol 9

Milkshake Duck - Milkshake Duck is an Internet meme that describes phenomena that are initially perceived as positive but later revealed to be flawed

How's That New Girl Working Out For You, Anyway?

Once upon a time, when I was young and cute and wore a size five, I applied for a job at the Workshop. At the time, I was doing daycare in my house. (I regularly decided I was frustrated with babysitting, and applied for all these big-bucks {1} jobs that looked like I could do...)
On paper, I did have all the requested qualifications. I didn't bother applying for any jobs if I did not meet the listed minimums, so that was not the weird part. The strange part was that I actually got called in for an interview this time.
I showed up in my best clothes, with my best manners on display. I thought the interview was going well. She showed me around the facility, and made what I thought was polite small talk. {2} "What will you do with your kids while you are at work?"
"I will take them to the babysitter."
At the end of the tour, we went back to her office. She said she still had more people to interview, and although I was very well qualified, she really didn't want to hire a military wife. "They don't make great employees, because as soon as we get them trained, they get transferred away from here."
I am not British, and I don't have a stiff upper lip. Luckily, I do subscribe to the theory of "don't let the bastards see you cry." I did not cry until I was safely in my car and headed home.
I whimpered my way home, and went back to babysitting. Picked up a new little boy the following week -- his mom was starting a new job at the workshop. Sounded like a great job to me. Oddly enough, it didn't really make her very happy...she quit about two weeks after she finished the training program, and went to work for Wendy's.


{1} otherwise known as entry-level jobs, paying minimum wage
{2} illegal as all get-out

idol 7 feckless

Every school has "that kid."
The teachers wait for the class roster to come out, hoping the computer gives "that kid" to someone else. Middle grade teachers watch the younger classes zealously, hoping the behaviors of "that kid" can be corrected by the lower grade teachers before that kid reaches their class.
Maybe that kid will move? A girl can dream, anyway...


Janet was shocked the first time she met Woody. She was guiding a kindergarten class down to the gymnasium, trying to keep all her ducklings in a reasonably straight, reasonably quiet line. Walking in line is one of the very hardest things for new kindergartners to learn, as there are very rarely any times when any family grouping walks single file. There are times in almost every home where young kids are expected to sit down and be quiet, times children are reminded to pay attention, times the rules are explained -- again and again, to be honest. The one "school thing" that is almost never taught at home is how to walk in a single file line.
The class that was returning from the gym passed by her group, with one boy bouncing around like a ping-pong ball. He was careening across the hallway, not just on the right side of the hallway where his class was walking, but bouncing all the way across the hallway from wall to wall.
He bumped into one of the little girls in Janet's group, and she accidentally stepped on his foot. Woody drew back his fist like a prizefighter, and slugged the little girl. She collapsed into a sobbing heap. Janet rushed over to comfort her.
Several adults had witnessed this action. All were stunned.
Finally, his teacher spoke. "Woody, why did you do that?"
Woody put his hands on his hips. He was defiant, not at all apologetic. "My dad told me when somebody does something bad to you, you gotta hurt them worser!"
"Woody, you ran into her. She did not do anything to you," his teacher explained.
"She did too!" Woody yelled, "She stepped on my foot!"

Idol 4
Impossible

Once upon a time, Katie was really excited about getting the new house. Her apartment was no longer working out. It had sounded so good on paper -- and the city had made such a big production about the amazing "artspace" apartments. As part of some grant program, the city had built these new rent-controlled apartments for artists to live downtown. You had to be an artist, but it did not matter if you drew pictures or danced ballet. It did not even matter if you made actual money from your art. The requirement was that you were actively producing "art." The rent was less than market rate, and there was studio space available to use for doing different artistic ventures.
What they did not tell you was that the apartment building manager was a crazy lady, who did extreme white-glove inspections on tenants she did not like. CL was cheerfully writing Katie up several times a month for her petty crimes: laundry on the floor, dirty refrigerator seals, dishes in the sink, cluttered living spaces. The basics of any struggling single mother's hectic lifestyle with three growing kids in a too-small apartment.
She had moved into the brand new apartment with two tiny children - Ryan was barely past the toddler stage and Bethy was barely starting to stand on her own. Bethy was not a mistake, but the relationship with her abusive father had been - he was such a jerk! After watching his taillights vanish down the highway, Katie dusted her life off and found the apartment.
Katie gazed up at the unfinished house and shook her head. It was supposed to have been finished a long time ago. She was supposed to be living here. This was **HER** house, dammit!
Some people have a magnet to attract mosquitoes. Some people seem to attract cats. Katie managed to attract Crazy Ladies with the power to ruin her life in their hands.
It was not ever Katie's plan to put her future into Bambi's hands. Considering the way Bambi hated her, that could never have happened. Shortly after Katie had been approved for the Habitat home, Lenny had a heart attack, retired, and Bambi was hired to take his place.
Lenny had suggested that a Habitat home would be the perfect answer to Katie's problems, when Katie was picking up her life once again. Katie had now sworn off men after escaping her abusive relationship with Kevin -- another relationship that had left her in tears, with multi-colored bruises and a new baby to raise.
Larry had been passionate about the mission of Habitat. Bambi was not particularly interested in the mission of the group, just the paycheck. She was paid for 20 hours a week, and that was all she worked. She was good at finding ways to schedule at least half on those 20 hours in "meetings." As many meetings as possible were held in bars or restaurants, because Bambi seemed quite fond of her beer. The only day she was willing to let anyone actually work on the house was Saturday, which slowed the building progress to a crawl. Katie's house had been "under construction" for over two years now, with no end in sight.

Idol 3
Everything looks like a Nail

The house was brand new, built to "order" as part of a builder's development. The back wall of the yard was cinderblock, and beyond the wall was the school yard. Milly liked the idea of looking over the back wall and watching her children walk up to the doors of the school.
One of the big "selling points" for Macon Builders was the school. They were not in charge of building the school, but Macon could point to the brand-new school as an enticement to prospective buyers.
The school was supposed to be completed and open in the fall of 1964. Assorted strikes slowed the construction. Not only were there strikes involving different groups of workers on the project, but the supply chain was in disarray. Some materials were in short supply because of different disputes with union workers.
Even though the construction was slow, the school attracted more families with small children to the area, and other subdivisions sprang up around it. When the school was finally completed and open in 1967, it was already far too small for the number of children in the area.
Two years later, they brought in portable classrooms. These portable classrooms were called "barracks buildings" by the community. No Army surplus was involved in the purchase, but the name stuck.
Barracks buildings provided extra classroom space at many schools in the district. Bringing in these fully-built units did not require the years of construction and cost-overrun it would take to add on to all of the schools. Everybody won with this arrangement -- several of the school board members owned the company that provided the portable buildings.
These barracks buildings provided another purpose. Blocked from view with a cinderblock wall on one side and a square metal building on the other, an alley market sprang to life. Local preteens found it to be the perfect smoking section, free of prying adult eyes. Older teenagers bought, sold, and traded pot, pills, and pilferage.
Neighbors called the city to complain. The police were not interested in these petty complaints, as they were never able to catch any drug sales in the act. Due to the layout of the school yard, the teens could scatter before the cops could reach them. The school system shrugged it off. These problems were not happening during school hours, and the culprits were not their students. This is an elementary school, for goodness sake!
Summer dragged on. The neighborhood was losing patience with the situation. Now piles of trash were building up in the alleyway. As school was not in session, the school system did not have any groundskeepers actively policing the corners of the schoolyard.
Preteens smokers are careless. Being children, they don't think consequences through very well. When they heard a noise and scattered quickly, their discarded butts were tossed into a pile of trash to hide the evidence.
The garbage smoldered quietly, spreading lazily from pile to pile, until a stray breeze fanned it into flames.
As flames licked up the wooden steps, the neighbors saw the smoke. Several neighbors had called the Fire Department to report the fire, and were impatiently waiting for the fire trucks to arrive.
Flames were now dancing against the side of the building. "This is bullshit!" Dave yelled, he grabbed his garden hose from his back yard. Herb and Johnson quickly followed suit. The three men aimed their water hoses at the building, stopping the fire from engulfing it. The steps and landing were a total loss, but the quick action by the neighbors meant the building did not catch fire.
The Fire Chief was not amused. "What the hell did you think you were doing?" he shouted at the bewildered neighbors. They had expected a word of thanks. Possibly a pat on the back for a job well done. Wildfire is a problem in dry desert areas - an untended spark can rapidly blow up into an inferno - and the neighbors had no intention of losing their homes without a fight.
Red faced and blustering, the Fire Chief harangued the men. "I oughta have you all arrested! Interfering with the Fire Department!
Shame on them for saving their homes...

Idol 1 - Resolution

Dirty Linens
I make resolutions constantly. Being reactionary, the woulda/coulda/shoulda nonsense drives me up the wall, so my response is to go forth and do better. Learn from my mistakes, don't make the same mistake twice, and all that cliché rot.
I do try to correct my mistakes when I discover them. Many of my most spectacular crash-and-burn explosions came about when I was trying to FIX my original mistake.
I was recently informed of a mistake I made long ago. I did not know about it at the time, and the information came as a shock. I was blindsided, and have still not quite adjusted, in fact. Sadly, it is too late for me to do anything to fix this problem or repair the damage.
Long ago, when I was a kid and dinosaurs roamed the earth, there was a television commercial starring the lonely Maytag repairman. He was the world's greatest repairman. He could fix anything, from a toaster to a rocket ship. The storyline of the commercial series was that he was sad and lonely because Maytag washers were so good that he did not have anything he needed to fix.
Today our friendly Maytag repairman has a washer to fix. It was not a defective machine. It did not wear out. Sadly, this particular washer had a powerful bomb hidden inside the tub. Can you fix a washer after it blows up? Where do you start?
What about the poor Maytag man, who was wounded by the flying shrapnel of the explosion? Can he heal? Does he have any right to complain about his shrapnel wounds, since he never searched that row of gleaming new washers for hidden explosives? He totally failed to anticipate this bomb.
Our friendly Maytag man was not the type to turn over all his silver linings to look for dark clouds lurking. He never braced for impact at loud noises, never gazed fearfully at shadowed alleys in anticipation of attack. Our Maytag guy is the one who grabbed the shovel upon entering to room filled with manure, cheerfully exclaiming, "There has to be a pony in here somewhere!"
Maybe the pessimists among us are the happiest people of all. Every time bad things happen, the pessimist is proved correct. When the world explodes, the pessimist can sit there and laugh, chanting "I told you so" in a sing-song voice.
I cannot -- I will not -- take up the pessimist mantle. While I do adore Eeyore with every fiber of my being, I refuse to walk around moaning about the dark cloud over my head.
All I can do is grab a roll (or a case) of duct tape and start searching out the scattered pieces of the exploded appliances.

I need to have my head examined

Dear brad,
Thank you for creating this wonderful place - it helped me find my little corner of the internet!