One Year or Eighteen...

This week marks the one year anniversary of my exit from main stream corporate america. It was one year ago today that I found out that I no longer had employment, insurance, income or security. I'm sure I was scared and freaked out, but looking back I honestly don't recall it.

This week also marks what would have been my 18 year anniversary if I'd have stayed on the merry-go-round to hell that was my first marriage. I remember more about my "feelings" from that day, I would classify it as dead between "You can't fucking tell me what to do" and "RUN!!!" Hind sight says I should have gone with Door#2, but alas I was much more of a rebel at the time vs. an intuitive decision maker. Still having a strong streak of both I am happy to inform that they have pretty much flip flopped as of late.

Daddy's birthday is next week. He would have been 64. Seems hard to believe that he's missed his last two. Time marches on...and at an alarming pace. It doesn't feel like I've been "getting by" for a year nor does it feel like I am old enough to have been old enough 18 years ago to make dumbass matrimony choices.

Looking back life is made up of warm and cold spots. The warm spots are the people and times and things that make you smile every time your thoughts drift their way. The cold spots are the idiots and stupid ass crap you cross paths with that make you seriously question if maybe your mom smoked crack when she was pregnant with you...because there's really no other logical explanation to why you subjected yourself to the shit. Fortunately and unfortunately I have a lot of both. I have to admit the cold spots only make the warm spots feel warmer. And I'm a stronger person for having survived and made my way through the tough and not so smart times.

Fast forward one year?? It feels good to know I've found a travel partner to venture down the road with, but where that will be...I have absolutely no clue...and that's Awesome. Right now?...the water is warm come on in.

It's My Own Damn Fault

To borrow a Buffett line. If it's not some one's already shitty marriage falling apart or some one's devastated broken heart, it's someone all alone and martyring over everything...and some how it's all interrelated and has a common axis. It's all my fault. I'm one important center of all blame, all powerful muthafucker. How is it that one damn person has that kind of impact? For once everyone stand up and be fucking accountable. Your marriage falling apart might have more to do with never working, cooking, cleaning or putting out. Your devastated broken heart may have something to do with jerking off to Internet porn and soliciting strangers for a good discreet fuck and the ignoring of me in the meanwhile. And all alone may be exactly what I have been the majority of my life, so don't be surprised when I stay in the shell when dealing with death and family. I obviously could rule the world, if according to all of them, my magic wasn't being wasted on evil. WTF. Leave me alone.

Enter stage Cold Bitch.

The Great Mayo Bust

Very similar to the 55 pack of oatmeal conquest, I recently won the battle with 3 jars of mayonnaise that Mr Man had in the fridge... Duke's regular, Duke's light and Miracle Whip. Who needs a different mayonnaise for different applications and situations...really now. You have to know me and if you do, you know that I am the kind to share my progress any and every time I find myself standing in the refrigerator door. So finally after much ado I/we manage to finish off all 3 jars...to be replaced by ONE jar of Duke's Light. Only because its stupid to exercise and take 45 vitamin and supplements a day to keep cholesterol down then just shoot it in the ass with the mayo...you don't have to agree cause I know I'm right. Much grumbling ensued from one Mr. Man to which I reply something along the lines of "Really..shut up you'll get use to it."

So then it happened, busted. I picked up a grocery receipt that was lying on the counter just to see how much was spent (I try to keep up with my turn/his turn on groceries and stuff). There is was in black and white...proof of condiment betrayal behind my back. Duke's Regular artery clogging mayonnaise. I shriek, of course, because its what I do and yell "OMG you bought regular mayo!!!" Mr. Man says nothing, turns and runs full out to the laundry room, slams the door and makes his best 2 year old attempt at hiding. So as I'm beating on the body blocked door yelling "I can't believe you...where is it??" I hear snorting from the other side. It took a while but I found it...and yes he had actually hidden the mayonnaise from me. His response to all this, "Well if you weren't being so nosey I would have gotten away with it". I am obviously some Hitler like kitchen tyrant. Some where along the line he has also snuck another jar of Miracle Whip into the scene. So here we are back at square 1 with 3 jars of mayo in the fridge. Completely goes against my minimalist way of life. Let it be known there are also 3 jars of the same kind of pickles in there too. Anyone care for a pickle coated in mayo and oatmeal??

While I'm on the subject...remember that refrigerator that I cleaned remnants of a dead body or something out of? Well lets just say I shoulda left it dirty. The freshly fully remodeled rental/for sale house got broken into last week. Ok, the house was empty...wtf? Let me clarify...its EMPTY NOW...they jacked my fucking refrigerator. Bet they would've left it if it still had body parts and kool aid all in the bottom of it. Just a note to anyone who's thinking of a possible career in fridge jacking...do me a favor and bring some damn hand trucks with you so you don't f-up my new floor next time. And btw just so you are fully informed, there's no insurance for thievery on rental policies thankyouverymuch.

Now for the visual update portion of the show.

Obviously miss priss needed an unobstructed view...

He no doubt knows who rules the roost.

"Alright you stupid biped...put that damn camera down...you're screwing with my chi"

Dwight Yoakam, Hermit Life and Alligator Shoes

Big happenings here in the small town to report. Last week I took Rogo dog out for his morning poo and across the street from the house there was a car haphazardly pulled off the side of the road and a golf cart. The chick from the car was on the phone and I figured, had broken down. She kept trying to make eye contact but me being the hermit in training that I am and master eye contact diverted avoided it. After poo success and return to the house, Mr. Man asked what was going on across the street, to which I replied "Dunno, think the car is dick down". And he was all like "well why's the law out there?" Upon nosey inspections I realize that we now have the previously assumed dick down car, a golf cart, two unmarked and one marked police cars and a small gathering of bored neighbors. Several dudes with guns were tromping around in the high weeds looking for something. Still we remained inside. Then we see that the chunky eye contact girl has a small audience and is pointing up at our house and reliving some sort of a story. I give the all clear for Mr Man to go get into the mix, so he does.
After he hears what the pointing is about he comes back to get me. It seems that an ALLIGATOR CAME OUT FROM UNDER MY SHU!! (Note to the unknowings - The Shu is what we all lovingly refer to my sticker ridden Toyota Matrix as.) So I join the party from a distance and just hangout in the driveway to watch the master alligator captors. They used one of those loop on a stick thingys and got him around the neck. He was maybe 3 foot long-ish. The really high tech portion of the capture and relocation process was when they rolled the neighbors trashcan down and chunked the alligator in for a ride. An old guy drug the can into the back of a pickup and off they go with the old dude sitting on the tool box behind the cab and one Mr Alligator taking his, what I would assume, first car ride.
The chunky girl left and the neighbors went in and life resumed normal. It just never would have occurred to me to call 911 over seeing an alligator...but that's why we're all different I suppose. I figured he had some where he was going and could handle it on his own. Beaver had a whole different story about Alvin the Alligator which is just too bizarre to share, but I am seriously considering writing a series of children's books...clean talk and all.

Country music's 50 sexiest videos were on way too late and I was on rum number 40something and got sucked in. Can you believe that a back in the day Dwight Yoakam video is still in the mix? I saw him on something recently and he's still wearing the same damn jeans...number one how does he get them on and number two does he buy them in the little boys department at Sears or what? I have a Dwight Yoakam story that I still tell. Back in my previous life when I was married the first time for about a minute and a half...I really can't explain that one AT ALL. I was 18 and I'd recently been granted my I can do anything I want card and I intended to play it. And play it I did. Unfortunately I had no prior gambling experience and wound up the loser with a loser in a Chevette and a 2nd shift cotton mill job knocking down about $120 a week. There's a lesson that my parents never taught me that would have come in kick ass handy on this one. It's called classes. There are different classes of people and you do best to stick within your class. Not that I don't think that we are all human and put our undies on the same way and should be treated with respect and all. Just that maybe you shouldn't marry say a 30 year old that sleeps on a mattress in the floor in a room with all of his old enough to be outta mama's house siblings. (Including one over 500 pounder...how that one got up and down to that floor sleeping arrangement is still beyond me) For a while his daddy did a stint as his uncle and vice versa. But I was firmly squatted directly in the center of my rebellious years and tended to do more things based on what I was told that I would not do than anything else. At least that's what I'm going to blame it on and I'm sticking with my answer. Did I mention that I was wife number 3!!!
But I digress...Somehow ole Dwight got lost in the fruckus there didn't he? I don't remember much about X round one but I do know he hated country music. So when the Dwight Yoakam concert was scheduled me and my friend Phyllis bought us 2 tickets for girls night out. This went over like a terd in a punch bowl...there may have been a few jealousy issues...along with a loose marble or two. So about a week or so later he announced that he and his younger brother had tickets and wanted to bum a ride..."Umm no...get your own way...its a girls night". We were near the bitter end of this train ride folks. Before the concert could roll around that bitter end showed its ugly face. But shit happens and we carry on. Phyllis and I were sitting in our seats awaiting our skinny man in tight jeans when I hear someone say "fuck" and look up to see none other than little brother with thank god someone else in tow. Yep...their seats were RIGHT BESIDE OURS!! I'm pretty sure that would have been a violation of the restraining order in any state. Needless to say we went for drinks and wound up way far away bogarting seats in another section. Still...freaky right? And still I prove that my life on paper looks like ass.

In other happenings my unemployed partner in crime has gone back to school (I still don't know why I call myself unemployed...I've never worked so damn much in my life). Nanner's going to learn to do facials and skin treatment and rip hair out of nether regions. On the second day of class they were banned from using razors (on anything) so that in 3 weeks there would be plenty to practice on in Hair Removal 101. Can you say lap cat?? I did tell her we may have the answer to my "if left unattended would my armpit hair crest my elbow?" question. http://earthyedgyunfiltered.blogspot.com/2008/09/i-am-possibly-weirdest-person-i-know.html
Since her classes are all day and I work the night shift (at least not in a cotton mill) my circle of communication is down to one Mr Man. Which officially makes me one step away from hermitism. Speaking of hermitism...while watching the rolling channel guide on mute I see a show call The 650lb virgin...wow...ya reckon.

Permanent Change

This week I went online and completed my permanent change of address. The temporary one is running out and they only allow you to be of temporary status for 6 months. Six months...twice as long as I lived in the little apartment. It seems like forever ago that I hoofed it to the laundry room but in actuality its only been 3 of these six month things. When choosing between temporary or permanent in parentheses it says "most moves are permanent". Is anything ever permanent?? I guess that was my act of accepting that I won't ever live in my house again. I've started changing the colors here to what I had in the other house. I'm not calling it home anymore. I think its a little uneasy admitting that you have no idea where you are going and as long as I was temporary, I felt like my life might return to any form of normal. I'm not complaining for sure, but it feels more like I'm on hiatus than life. Not sure if that's from years of doing stuff you hate for money that buys you only things that tether you. You can't exactly shake the feeling that you should be doing something more. I guess that's why I've never really been an underachiever.
So as I sit here under the buzz of the ceiling fans and reggae music at the new bartending gig I wonder...where will life go from here? As long as I have my Mr Man traveling companion, my trusty Roger dog, finicky Carletta Cat and the ever helpful insight of the Beav.....I'm good to go.

Catch Up

First I need to start by saying that the cable network is largely in need of the Earthy Edgy Unfiltered channel. It would consist of back to back episodes of the only my favorite stuff. Ace of Cakes, Deadliest Catch, LA Ink, Diners Drive-ins & Dives, Survivorman, Man vs Food and of course some Law & Order and a little Sex in the City to balance everything out. Why doesn't anyone just do as I say and put everything I like on the same channel at a time when I can watch it?? I know what you're going to say...that's what tivo is for. I'm just refuse to succumb to that much technology in my life. Hell, I still deal with the rolling channel guide.

Lately I've been doing a lot of reading and when I do, I tend to get lost in the figment of someone else's imagination and their stories. Thus I don't have the pressing need to express so much. It's not that I haven't had plenty of exciting to shit to pass along, it just hasn't materialized into words. Couple that with my intermittent at best internet service...whichever neighbor I bootleg from has either the shittiest ever wireless router or I live approximately 5.8 miles from the signal source. Either way I average 1 day on for every 3 days off normally. So as of right now my journal officially has sand in it. I can't lie...I brought my book too, just in case "sharing" got boring.

To back up and start with the beginning of what you've missed. Last year for my 35th birthday Mr Man gave me the means to put a check beside one of my bucket list items for reasons that are too lame in retrospect to rehash, I didn't get around to skydiving until April 30th...of this year. With a year of taking the proverbial ass kicking from the Universe or getting myself in vibrational alignment as I prefer to call it...I was due to make that check mark. It wasn't as big of a rush as I anticipated. Actually the reality and coolness of it didn't sink in until I saw the pictures and video. At which point I realized I was just hanging out and free falling where airplanes fly with no tethers to this earth or anything at all (with exception to the dudero that was strapped to my back). Pretty freaking awesome. And apparently there are tons of folks that have no desire to experience this at all. To you I can honestly say ...I don't get you.

Key West was a work / semi-vacation. Work for Mr Man - Vacation for me - Semi in the sense that it went by ENTIRELY too fast. We rented bikes and tooled about the island without a care that the A&M Bike Rental tag zipped tied to the basket just screamed tourist. We only considered ourselves part tourist since we live on an island and deal with idiot tourist constantly, we can fully relate to the locals. That being said we REALLY try to not be like those that drive us nuts. We had breakfast at Harpoon Harry's on Caroline St...that's a little tradition of my own...not something that can be skipped. I managed to take in Eating at Pepe's...this is now on my list of things not to skip. The place has been there since 1890 something and has a tree as the roof. Old mismatched chandeliers hand down form the branches to light the little tables. I ate at the bar which is covered with a little tin roof. I had homemade granola with plain yogurt with strawberries, kiwi, bananas and melons. It was beyond good descriptive words. I would have loved to see what they had for dinner...next trip.

True to character we laid low and just enjoyed our time there and together. On the drive back to Islamorada we were starving and pulled into the first little dive we came upon. It was Mile Marker 20 Mangrove Mama's. Those impromptu roadside stops always prove to be our best finds. I ate the best clams and garlic bread of my life. The waitress was Missy - to her friends and Bitch to the people who really knew her. I did something different on this trip....I memorized faces of the people. I normally never pay much attention to people and I didn't even realize I'd done it but thinking back I have the faces of chance meaningless encounters frozen in time.

I even found the cove to do my boat living tucked away on the Gulf side of Islamorada.

This is the Lorelei...we wandered around in the rain and found the cove and docks where I plan on practacing my transceint skills.
This guy and his dog were hauling folks back and forth from the moring fields. Roger put in his application already.

Ran into this piece of work angling on the tourists for tips...

Things I didn't know....that Mr Man can do a mean horny hen impersonation...I saw some of the Keys chickens wondering about in a parking lot and went to get a few pictures. Mr Man proceeds to start bocking and we were rushed by no less than 6 roosters with woodys. Interesting hidden talent.

The one on the right was my favorite. He crowed and strutted and puffed up and shuck feathers.

As you can see...he was obviously the porn star of the group.

Actually I would allow the cats and dogs...to the list though I would add ex-wives and their felon boyfriends....

As I lay here in the sand and look around at the tourites I have to be in awe of my current situation and just how unjealous I am of anyone. I guess being happy in the now is the whole trick to life. Sure there are things that just haven't quite fallen into place and materialized in the physical world just yet, but they are already there in my mind. I can't help but think "Wow, how great is this!"

The Felon The Whore & new character enters scene

So I missed my birthday post yesterday. Mainly because I had planned an awesome post about skydiving and turning 36 @ 120 mph, but it wound up being cancelled due to low cloud cover. True to form, I had no back up plan and layed around all day nursing a sore throat and a semi-hangover (Nothing to do with each other - Note to self - build drinking muscle back up before Key West trip).

Last weekend Nanner brought the new man down for intro and inspection. There has been much, much debate about how to spell the name I gave him. (Of which I am just glad he didn't rip my tail off for calling him.) He didn't want any weird gay french spelling and try as we might we couldn't work cajun in without looking french so Boodrow (redneck as it looks, does not look gay) was agreed upon. So anyhow, Boodrow made it through the introductions and hellos and promptly rips Cow's ass off. I guess he wanted to go ahead and let us know up front what we were dealing with and that he was not to be f-ed with....kinda like in prison. As I held poor mangled Cow Rogo dog looks up and me with the look of "Dude...that guys is bad ass". Cow will recover with a few plastic surgery stitches but we all got his point...maniac.

Roger cradling poor injured Cow.

A close up of the carnage.

I think the most excitement came the next morning when she realized that he had not ran out of the house in the middle of the night....even after Beaver came out and went over the house rules. (I blocked his car in...limiting his fleeing options). Boodrow is officially approved of by all us crazies. Pretty much because he says "WDF...wet deck furniture" His forewarning to us about the possible butt wettedness on the deck. I can like a person looking out for my butt comfort (lets not talk about Cow right now).

Random - Is mosquito sex good? And exactly how long does it last? I lost interest and wandered off (for those who know me...know that doesn't take much) I figured it was just better to ask the question as to sit and watch it...seemed intrusive.

In other news - Mr Man's X has finally ventured onto the dating field. This in itself is AWESOME news. I hope it means that she's letting go of bad feelings and moving on to a happier place. Like maybe she'll possibly not call me a whore more than twice in a sentence now. Dude that she went out with is an acquaintance and cool guy. I ran into him recently and birthdays came up (I tell everyone hoping to get a present or at least a drink). Something he said didn't add up right to the age he had earlier claimed and I asked again. With no more provocation the WHOLE story came out. Without details I will only say felony was mentioned.

I've decided to let Beaver and all of his infinite wisdom have a chance to speak at the end of all of my blogs...you know, he can get by with saying so much more than I can...Beaver's quote for today "Felon trumps Whore any day".