The House Is Party-Clean!

I'm ready, ya'll. D and D are stopping by tomorrow-day. They just moved into their own apartment and they requested towels for a housewarming present.
This has an interesting story behind it. D and D are both young, She is 17 and he is 19. They are a great young couple, they are actually two of my favorite people, and they are learning about independence as we speak. They have decent work ethics, they are funny as can be, and I watched them grow up. That puts them in a special place in my heart.
The girl, D, and her sister T, when they were younger, came to visit me often, and I kept them on the payroll as they had chores. The three girls were latchkey kids with a single mom. One time, I found makeup smudges on my favorite Turkish towels. I was nice about it, I just asked the girls to please use one of a thousand washcloths to remove their makeup, DO Not wipe your mascara on my towels. It was something I felt they needed to learn. But I also understand why it upset them, they didn't know any better. Afterwards, they started showing almost obsessive reverence for my stuff. I also always had strict "rules" about borrowing stuff. If you borrow, you announce what time/what day you will return that item. If that item is not returned, you may not borrow anything else until said item is returned or explained or replaced. You know, the standard ettiquette. I taught them this. But they always thought the TOWEL issue was a little much.
D & D are setting up house now. They went to the store to get some essentials with their Christmas money. They saw the price of decent bathtowels. She calls me and reminds me of the towel incident and said she never realized how much towels cost, gosh, she always thought they were just... Towels! And that's what she wants for her housewarming present. (I told her to wait post-Christmas, then let me know what she really needs.)

I'm sooo doing the happy dance.

MsAmber

Thank Your Systems Administrator

The Blonde Antelope

This is just downright funny.
MsAmber

Annual O.C.D. Festival - At My House

Okay. Forgive me for not writing. I've been busy. I know, you are going to say you've heard that before, but truly: I have been busy. The end of December, my body gets these surges of hormones or something that makes me look like I'm on speed. All of a sudden: nothing is clean enough. I cleaned the stove and the ovens, I shampooed the entire house. I shampooed the couch even under the cushions. I moved ALL the furniture. Here's where it really gets creepy... I cleaned and reorganized the under sink areas in the house. I threw away all my saved bottles of shampoo and conditioner (after I mated them into one bottle of each). I re-organized the drawers in the bathroom. All the combs are laying in one direction. All Hair-do-dads are organized by type. The makeup drawer has everything layed out in one layer, organized by type. The kitchen has a ledge around the top all the way around, upon which sits 6 champagne flutes, 12 wine glasses, 5 hi-ball glasses and 5 shot glasses. I washed them all and hand dried them all and put them back up on a cleaned ledge. When I got home today, I had a strange compulsion to do the same with the silverware drawers. AAAAAAHHHHH!
Somebody Help!
I do this every damn year. When will it stop? My back hurts, my hands are raw, my nails are down to the quick, and I have the attention span of a chicken.
This is a severe hormone problem, I think. It's gotta be.
Anybody else feelin' it?

MsAmber

I hate being a blonde.

I burn easily. I always have a red sunburn stripe across my nose and cheeks, sometimes the top of my chin.

My hair is fine, so it gets oily easily. I just drive with the vent open in my car and my hair goes limp.

When I was pulling cable, I used to get in some pretty tight spaces,
sometimes my hair would get caught in stuff, I even had an adventure once where I was almost stuck with my hair under my knee.

Then, I bought a motorcycle. I got real good at throwing my hair up in a french braid. I didn't even look in the mirror. We would be leaving a bar and I would take about 15 seconds to pull up a french braid and I'm outta here.

One day, I got the idea to CUT it into a shag. Thinking: It won't tangle if it's a good shag, and it will give it more body. BIG mistake

Motorcycle riding was the worst. It would tangle sooo badly on the top,
I cried to brush it. What an awful experience.

Right at this time: the end of the shag phase, I was about to meet my future husband. He had seen a picture of me with the long blonde hair.

In preparation for our "Date", I went to the beauty parlor and asked them to cut my hair and feather it.
Rob was a little upset when we met. Especially when I told him that I had just cut it.

Well, he married me anyway, with one condition: that I let my hair grow long.

It's long again. It gets stuck in the drain if I try to wash it in a sink. It is hard to brush, I can't comb it when it's wet. It's shiny, but not very "healthy" (If there truly is such a thing.)

I must admit, I have either no imagination or too much imagination. I can't settle on a good unobtrusive modern hairstyle. Sometimes I may do the twist and clip in the back, but it's too long for that now. It doesn't look good unless I curl the ends of my hair.
Hairspray is out. I hate the stuff, it's poison, and I refuse to depend on it. It doesn't wash out of my hair, and it makes it tangle too badly. I only use hairspray on special occasions.

If anybody has any ideas, I would be happy to consider them. What can you do with long hair?

MsAmber

Honey, We Have To Talk.

Ok, I've been fighting a little cold, but still working. I have a sore throat and I talk like I've been eating chalk. Usually, I stay awake until my husband gets home after 10:00. But not last night. I went to bed about 9:15. Rob came in and shook me gently and said "Honey, We Have To Talk".

Oh no! I'm thinking, "What did I do? Is the car wrecked? Did somebody die?"

He said, "Remember when we said there would be no more dogs?"
(Huh?)
"Yeah, well, we have an opportunity to get a really great German Shepherd pup."
(How old is it?)
"Under a year-old."
(Why? Who's getting rid of it?)
"Nephew J. Remember? It's the dog he's been talking about."
(Where is the dog? In Florida?)
"No, it's out at the farm. They brought her with them."
(She been fixed?)
"No."
(What about Megabyte. We can't get him fixed now, he's too old?)
"We'll get her fixed."
(Okay, whatever, cool. Goodnight.)

So, the exchange has happened, and we have a 9 month old female German Shepherd, with a pedigree and all the accompanying bloodlines, outrageous name, and stack of vet bills and pills. Apparently, pedigree dogs go to the vet quite often.

But She is beautiful. Very smart. Right now, VERY restless. She's pacing in and out. The temperature today is in the 60's so I have the house opened up with the backdoor open. She is a very messy drinker, also. We have two big watering dishes, one inside and one out. She paws at them. Not cool. And then drools a lot like a labrador.

And she's already had her first obedience semester. This one is going to take a lot of strong handling at first, She doesn't listen unless you "Bark" commands at her.
She understood me just fine when I yelled "Out! Out! Out!" and pointed to the door.

She'll be a great dog when we're done. Rob and I have some good techniques when it comes to training our animals.
If we can just keep Megabyte off of her till we can get it handled. Unless anyone wants a Blue Merle Australian Cattle Dog with German Shepherd mixed puppies. They would make some awesome offspring.

MsAmber

What A Horrid Human I Am!

I should be ashamed of myself. What an awful thing I have done!
The little mouse game that I linked on December 17th has claimed another couple of victims. This time, here at my home.
My nephew J. and his wife L., and the three boys - 7, 3, and 1 year old, have been visiting us from 'out of town'. I told L about the trick I had played on the blogosphere and we browsed there. She paused and asked me if it was too scary for the kids, I said "Naw, it's not that bad."
Oh, how I regret that...
When we got to level three, the oldest boy was leaning on her shoulder, his middle brother was behind, with no real view of the monitor, and the volume was pretty high.
When the poltergeist popped up and screamed, everyone spazzed. They all screamed with it, the oldest boy flung himself backwards on his butt, his little brother belly flopped right on top of him. They were both shirtless. I swear, it took a half an hour to calm them down. I really tried to stifle myself, but dammit, it was funny as could be! I laughed so hard, I think I pulled a rib muscle.
Really, I didn't think they were too young for that, (the baby was in the bedroom taking a nap). And it was expected. Everyone knew something scary was going to happen.
I hope I didn't terrify them too badly.
Oh gosh, I feel just terrible about it.
I am such a horrid person because I'm still laughing!

Oy, You know you want to learn to play Dreidel...

Hanukkah falls on the 26th of December this year, so here is a little game that I know you've heard of, but probably never knew how to play.

I printed this dreidel on photo paper, and it was the perfect density. Then, I printed the instructions for play.

Traditionally, the children are given Hanukkah Geldt, which are foil-covered chocolate coins. They use these to play with. The candy section of the drugstore has the little bags of chocolate coins for .50 cents.

Anyway, just in case you want to try it, I think you will enjoy the game.

MsAmber

My Apologies, ha ha ha ha haaa.

First Off - I must tell you how much I enjoyed that last post. I don't think I could've planned it better. Every time I checked my comments, it just cracked me up. I sit here blogging, drinking my coffee and keeping an eye on the television via a mirror next to the monitor. All of a sudden I start cackling, having imagined the expression on the face of my latest victim. Usually I am alone when I have these 'episodes', but Saturday night was an exception. After I went to bed, I still had the giggles.

1st victim: Timmer. Reminds me of my father-in-law, you know the type: Ex military, gray hair, still walks on his treadmill for 50 miles a week. Reads the newspaper (in paper form), lives to drive a golf cart, and owns a nice Z-71 with OnStar and leather seats (total waste of a good truck). Still has his old Cadillac in the garage.

2nd victim: Fightin'MadMary. I've already seen a picture of her face while playing in traffic. She's kinda girly - not in a bad way, but manicured fingers and membership to the Triple-A. The look on her face in my mind was priceless. I'll betcha she swore.

3rd victim: Flubberwinkle. A really cool Greek techy lady. She probably rolled her eyes at it and me. Maybe emailed the link to a few of her antagonists.

4th victim: Crusher. He is working on a plot to get even. And that's like tickling my fanny with a feather. Ha ha.

Now, for the rest of you, I'm truly sorry you were put through that. It was worth it though, for the weeks' worth of giggles I've gotten out of it.

Thank you, Thank you very much.

MsAmber

Testing Your Mouse Prowess

I'm normally a keyboard person. I use my up arrows and down arrows. Ctrl+ C, X, V to copy, cut, or paste. The software package that I support is designed to be keyboard friendly. All the function keys are mapped and everything is hot-keyed. You can use the mouse also, if you need. The scheduler is not very navigable without the mouse. That's about the only limitation.

So I took this test to see how well I used the mouse. I can't draw a straight line in 'mspaint' to save my azz. I made it to level 4. See how far you can go:

http://www.winterrowd.com/maze.swf

MsAmber

I Stole This From Another Blog

I found this while reading around and I was impressed. It is reminiscent of Benjamin Franklin's writing. This is why I believe, although the social rules were completely different, the Men of the 1700's were definitely better educated. They appreciated books and good writing skills. I recently sought out and read "The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin and Other Writings". Did you know, among other accomplishments, Franklin was directly responsible for founding the first Library in the U.S. and the first newspaper?

George Washington, sometime before the age of 16, transcribed "Rules of Civility & Decent Behaviour In Company and Conversation".
(Original errors in numbering have been corrected; original spelling is unchanged.)

1st Every Action done in Company, ought to be with Some Sign of Respect, to those that are Present.
3d Shew Nothing to your Freind that may affright him.
14th Turn not your Back to others especially in Speaking, Jog not the Table or Desk on which Another reads or writes, lean not upon any one.
19th let your Countenance be pleasant but in Serious Matters Somewhat grave.
20th The Gestures of the Body must be Suited to the discourse you are upon.
21st: Reproach none for the Infirmaties of Nature, nor Delight to Put them that have in mind thereof.
22d Shew not yourself glad at the Misfortune of another though he were your enemy.
24th Do not laugh too loud or too much at any Publick Spectacle.
25th Superfluous Complements and all Affectation of Ceremonie are to be avoided, yet where due they are not to be Neglected.
39th In writing or Speaking, give to every Person his due Title According to his Degree & the Custom of the Place.
43d Do not express Joy before one sick or in pain for that contrary Passion will aggravate his Misery.
44th When a man does all he can though it Succeeds not well blame not him that did it.
45th Being to advise or reprehend any one, consider whether it ought to be in publick or in Private; presently, or at Some other time in what terms to do it & in reproving Shew no Sign of Cholar but do it with all Sweetness and Mildness.
49th Use no Reproachfull Language against any one neither Curse nor Revile.
56th Associate yourself with Men of good Quality if you Esteem your own Reputation; for 'tis better to be alone than in bad Company.
65th Speak not injurious Words neither in Jest nor Earnest Scoff at none although they give Occasion.
66th Be not forward but friendly and Courteous; the first to Salute hear and answer & be not Pensive when it's a time to Converse.
67th Detract not from others neither be excessive in Commanding.
73d Think before you Speak pronounce not imperfectly nor bring out your Words too hastily but orderly & distinctly.
79th Be not apt to relate News if you know not the truth thereof. In Discoursing of things you Have heard Name not your Author always A Secret Discover not.
80th Be not Tedious in Discourse or in reading unless you find the Company pleased therewith.
81st Be not Curious to Know the Affairs of Others neither approach those that Speak in Private.
82d undertake not what you cannot perform but be carefull to keep your promise.
83d when you deliver a matter do it without passion & with discretion, however mean the person be you do it too.
89th Speak not Evil of the absent for it is unjust.
110th Labour to keep alive in your Breast that Little Spark of Celestial fire Called Conscience.
Source: History.org

And it was very hard not to fix the spelling.

MsAmber

Trying To Explain My Mother

This is one of only two pictures I have of my Mother.

She was brilliant. A career student, but she always quit before she got a degree or certificate. She liked learning, and was always on the Dean's list. Straight 4.0, Word.
She had a photographic memory. She blamed it for her mental problems, said she could never forget.
This was Easter Sunday, 1983.
See the poster on the wall beside the front door? We hung it there to cover up a hole. She shot from the top of the stairs one night, when she thought someone was breaking in our house. When we woke up at the gunshot, she accused us of having put one in the chamber. I promise, we didn't, but she always had to blame mistakes on anyone else but herself.
It left a tiny hole in the wall inside the house, but the outside of the house had a huge exit hole, so we covered it up with a poster. We would change out the poster when it started looking faded. Didn't want the landlord to know she shot a hole in the wall, and it was unmistakably from a gun.
Mother had mental problems. As long as I had known her, she had always sported evidence of a drastic slashing to her wrists. These weren't little unsure scars, they were deep and there were perhaps 20 on each wrist. I asked her once if she ever considered suicide. She looked me right in the eyes and said she was too mean for that, she would just as soon kill everybody else than to try to kill herself. I believed her.
Growing up with her was always an adventure. We ran from place to place. Always afraid of the Social Services coming to get us. We lived for a while on a commune in Summertown Tennessee. It was vegetarian food, homespun clothes, kids working in the fields, and brainwashing. She couldn't take too much of that. We left in our stolen stationwagon and went to the first Burger Hut we could find and ate the BEST hamburgers of our lives.
We lived in the woods in Harts Run State Park. I remember a certain Mother's Day, the weather turned bad and some other campers decided to pack it in. They gave Mom the steaks that were in their cooler. She proudly brought them to our camp. We cooked them with the frog-gig that was in the toolbox, and ate them with our pocketknives on the end of a stump. She said it was the best Mother's day present ever.
We abandoned the stolen stationwagon there in the park.
We moved into a little apartment above an apothecary shop in White Sulphur Springs, WV. Mom made a deal with a little antique shop to pay $5.00 a week for an old sewing machine. Then she hitchhiked to Lewisburg and got a whole bunch of scrap linen and scrap lace.
She sewed all day and night. She made cuptowels and pillowcases out of the linen with lace borders. She sent my brother and I out to sell them. We went door-to-door and sold every single set for $7.00 each. We had our pathetic little faces and we told everybody that our mom made them so we could pay rent. We could sell as many as she could make.
We stayed in White Sulphur Springs for about a year. Meanwhile, she was applying for student loans at colleges all over.
We went to Bluefield and they rejected her because she wasn't black. They assumed by her name that she was black and were ready to take her.
We went to Elkins to the Davis & Elkins College. Mom made my brother and I be a part of her entrance interview. She wrote about our experiences at the Commune, and let the people interview us for our particular opinions. She got in.
So, we disappeared in the middle of the night from White Sulphur Springs, and started a new life in Elkins.
Now, the next maneuver was pure genius. I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't lived it.
We got a room at a nice little room and board in an affluent neighborhood. The blue house in this picture was directly across the street. Mom made great efforts to make us all look presentable. She wore pretty skirt-suits and put her hair up in the bee-hive (which I hadn't seen her do since the '70s). And started shmoozing with all the old ladies. She inquired about the big blue house and found out that the president of the bank was taking care of it for his sister. So she unbuttoned one of her top buttons and made her appointment with him. She negotiated the house for $500.00 per month. We moved in.
It was HUGE. Wood floors, three stories, fireplace, sunroom. And us, we didn't have a pot to piss in. The old ladies that mom made it a point to gossip with, were told that our furniture was being moved and would arrive on a certain date. My brother and I were always to back mom up in any of her lies, and I wondered how she would pull this off. Finally, the day came and went and we had no furniture. Mom put on quite a show. She cried and went into hysterics. The moving men had stolen all our stuff, her babies' christening gowns, her baby grand piano, all her pictures and family heirlooms, everything was gone. Boo Hoo.
They bought the story lock, stock and barrel. The donations were incredible. We got two couches, two refrigerators, washer and dryer, beds, clothes, drapes, money, more stuff than we knew what to do with. When we were done picking out what we wanted, there were garbage bags full we stored in one of the spare bedrooms.
Some of you are going to raise an eyebrow and say: That was wrong.
Some of you are going to say, "Wow, wish I'd have thought of that."
My mother and I began a war after this. She didn't tolerate disloyalty. As long as I was under her care, I was to do as I was told and never contradict her.
I had to be taught that lesson over and over, and it only got worse as I got older and had a mind of my own. Especially when she would let me take the rap for something she did, or blame me when she got caught in a lie. I grew to hate being her kid. I wished I belonged to any other family but mine.
This little story covers the years 1981-1983.

When I was 10...

Wow, look what I found.

This was when I was 10 years old. My school picture from Chattanooga, Tennessee.
It was the year 1980.My mother had us approaching people on the corner and telling them to vote for Ronald Reagan. Uncle Ronnie, we called him.
We didn't live there very long, but I do remember getting enrolled for a few months in jazz/tap/gymnastics.
I fell off the balance beam and got a nosebleed, and my mom had to hitchhike to the gym to see if I was alright. (That was the end of my gymnastics career.)
She came right away, and checked me out, and told them I would be fine and she was taking me home.
We left the gym, and walked up the street. Meanwhile we were talking; I had a birthday coming up and she wanted to know what I wanted. I told her that I wanted a REAL watch. Small and silver, with hands and a wind-up dial. I remember the look of surprise on her face, like she was impressed. Then she hitched us a ride home.
I don't know HOW she did it, but she managed to buy (and pay dearly, I'm sure) a beautiful Timex. When I opened the box, I started crying. It was exactly what I dreamt of. It was a ladies' watch. It was silver and oval and it had a silver band. I was so proud of that watch. The band broke a few years later and it went into that bottomless pit called: "I'll keep it for you."
But I really loved that watch.
And I never completely knew how, but I always appreciated the effort it must've taken my mother to get that for me.

Most of you are going to think this is a sweet story, but there is much that is left unsaid.

March 23rd, 2003. My mother shot herself in the head with a .38 thus robbing us all of the opportunity to make peace with her.

I can't believe I've written something about my mother...

MsAmber

HA! When I was 19...

I-could-kick-everybody's-azz!
I worked on my own truck. The one behind me I paid $600.00 for it. 3speed standard on the column, manual steering, tool-bed with ladder racks.
I'd been on my own for over three years and I knew what I was doing.
I was in Control.
I dipped Copenhagen.
I rode horses.
I hated authority.
I hated drunks and drug addicts.
I carried a gun in my jeans.
I could lift anything, Do anything,
Go anywhere I pleased.
I had hillbilly sensibilities:
I could kill it, clean it, cook it, and eat it.
I could live in the woods and survive off the land.

I saved seeds and put them in labelled envelopes.

I would steal any animal that was being abused, and find a better home for it.
I was certain that I would have occasion to use my gun if anybody tried to hurt me.
I traded my Bear Whitetail Left-handed compound bow for a new set of brakes.
I almost shot a guy for saying I looked like I got my clothes out of a dumpster.
When my truck was broke down, I used my thumb to get around.
I went to jail for 72 hours each 5 times for hitchhiking. Three were in Texas - they kept my gun.

I could get a job simply by walking up to a construction site and asking to be a laborer, promising that I could outwork the slobs they got leaning on brooms outside, and I always did.
My favorite T-Shirt was black with a skull on the front wearing a confederate flag headband.
I wore a bandana around my left thigh.
I always wore workboots, and I LOVED camo pants. I had a real appreciation for good workgloves also.
I always carried a very good pocketknife- sharp.
I always had extra shirts on. Two or three anyway.
I could really hustle the drunks at a pool-table. I hated drunks anyway.
My favorite denim jacket had battery acid holes and smelled like used engine oil and smoke from a woodburning stove. It weighed about 5 pounds.
I thought electricity is something that you get turned on for the winter, and let it get shut off in the summer.
I drained the old oil out of the truck to put in the chainsaw, because you never waste new oil on a chainsaw.
I always pulled over and changed old-folks' tires on the side of the road. 'Cuz I got a system and I'm done in less than 10 minutes. (more like 7 minutes)
I always kept a 2 ton floor jack in my truck because I don't like, understand, or trust the (bottle jack, scissor jack, bumper jack) contraptions that come standard in most cars.
I'd never had air conditioning in my life. Not in a vehicle or house. But I always had a CB.
I understood heating very well. Oil burners, Gas, Coal, Wood, coal-fired boilers. I could light them and troubleshoot problems. Blower motors, thermocouplings, air in the lines, etc.
I could lay roofing, hang siding, rewire electrical outlets or fixtures, I knew torque, plumb/flush/level, and balls-on-top-dead-center. I "collected" Snap-On tools. (It weren't my fault if YOU left them laying around.)
I could create some variation of Biscuits and Gravy (gravy with anything else: biscuits, crackers, whitebread, noodles) out of any empty and destitute kitchen.
I washed my hair in Ivory bar soap, and brushed my teeth with salt or baking soda. I had no cavities.

I thought insurance was a government conspiracy to keep us poor. If you don't have insurance, then you can't drive, if you can't drive, you can't work... I wrote "Farm Use Only" on the side of my truck to get around having to buy insurance.

I am an Appalachian-American!

I'm sure glad I survived my teenage years and lived to tell about it.
But I'm also sure that I've gotten dumber as I've gotten older.

MsAmber

Two Techies in the Same House... Run For Your Lives!

Answer: Yes, you can. Just call Rob-N-MsAmber.

Ok. A little background is needed.

Any time I put two pieces of technology together in this house, it is fondly nicknamed: MsAmber's Frankenstein.

In 2001, I networked this entire house, bathrooms included, to a central closet which houses our cable modem, router, a 10/100 Mbps switch, and our patch panel. I put up a distribution block for telephone also.
Then, we decided we wanted a way to control all the speakers in the house. So I put speaker faceplates all over the house, running to the closet with a speaker switch, then a feed to the amp.
Then we decided we wanted a way to play the MP3s on the computer in the backroom through the amp, so I ran a special cable that converts from a soundcard to an RCA input into the amp.
Then we decided we wanted to use the old laptop (the monitor screen went kaput), as a component in our entertainment center. So we got a converter that allows the video out to go into the amp and thus to the TV. Now we can play MP3s on the laptop, blast it through all the speakers in the house, and watch the visualizations or screensaver on our TV. I can start a NetMeeting from here to control the laptop, start my songlist, set the visualization, go full screen, and it's good.
Now, we are getting a wireless keyboard to control the laptop, which will use the usb hub.
So the components are: Amp, DVR, DVD/VCR combo, laptop, video converter, usb hub, card reader, mini-disk player, TV and 6 speakers.
My current challenge is trying to get everything to utilize the S-video. We are buying a 52 inch DLP Television in the Spring, and I will have to reconfigure it all to take the composite video outputs then.
Will this ever end?

MsAmber

Wisdom From Granny Clampett

Ms. Daisy Moses aka: Granny Clampett, real name Irene Ryan.

She was a woman 'way ahead of her time and a really cool old bird, at that.

Born in 1902 in San Antonio Texas, and died in Los Angeles in 1982.

There were a few verbal gems that were uttered by her character on "The Beverly Hillbillies" that I would like to share with you.

Wisdom By Granny...
"If ya can't sleep, it's cuz yer kitchen floor ain't clean. Git up and scrub that kitchen floor, you'll sleep like a baby when yer through."

"Elly May! Don't spit from a moving vehicle. You gotta wait till it's stopped."

Granny: "Remember what William Jennings Bryan said, "fight hard but fight clean!"
Jethro: "But you ain't fightin' clean Granny!"
Granny: "Course I ain't, William Jennings Bryan was a loser!"

She thinks she's talkin' to someone....ain't even a cord there..hee hee hee...

MsAmber

My Husband - Romeo Whiskey

This is my wonderful, handsome, loving, caring, adoring, funny, smart, tall, wheelie-ridin', sky-diving, bar-b-que-ing, airplane flying Husband.

He's my FlyBoy. (wink wink)

His handle is Romeo-Whiskey, and the little blue biotch he's with is Juliet.

Seriously though. From the time I met my husband, he told me how he loves to fly. He also said that everyone had discouraged it in the past, and that if he knew then what he knows now he would have taken lessons and gotten his license.

I told him to go for it, man.
He tried to give me a bunch of "but,.. but,.. buts".
I told him it was OK. We can afford it; we aren't wealthy by any stretch of the imagination, but we're doing fine.

So he did. I've never seen such dedication. He has read day and night, he hangs out with the old-timers at the airport whenever he can. I am just so impressed. For the last two years he has done this. He has worked at the airport to get extra hours of airtime, so it doesn't come out of the budget. He built the website for the airport. It's at: http://www.Av8terservices.com You should check it out, he has really put some work into it.
I'm the navigator. He just bought me a new headset. He has an airport radio in his bathroom so he can hear the pilots' dialogue with the tower nearby. He is a very safe pilot. And CFI Bob keeps his planes maintained very well.
If we hit the lottery tomorrow, we would buy a home with a landing strip.
We've also considered getting a plane with water-pontoons, so we could have lakefront property.

We can dream with our heads in the clouds.
That's what Love is.

MsAmber

WHICH WARRIOR ANGEL ARE YOU?

Light Bearer
Class: Cherub
Alliance: Light

You are blessed with a heart of gold. You are a
kind, sweet, gentle person who believes very
strongly in doing the right thing. You tend to
be very emotional and very sensitive to other
people's feelings. You are so gentle that you
would not be suited to an active role in the
fight, but more of a passive one. You would be
a Light Bearer. As a Light Bearer, you would be
a source of inspiration to others. A reminder
of what they were fighting for.
Your Angelic Name: Alida (means "little winged
one" ^_^ )
Which Warrior Angel are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

Ok, I found a cute little quiz I liked. My new name is Alida from now on. (I wonder how that would be pronounced?) "AhhLeeda", "AyLYda", hmmm. Nah. I'll stick with MsAmber; everyone calls me that, anyway - and it is much nicer than just 'Amber'.

I've never been fond of my name - Amber. It is one of those names that evokes strange connotations about the person. I think of the blonde stereotype of "Girls Named Bambi and Amber"(wink wink).

I was given two justifications for my name by my mother. The first being "Forever Amber" by Kathleen Winsor. The heroine of this very long novel is a 16th century Royal whore, who has many conquests but can never seem to impress the man she pseudo-loves.

(O.K.)

The second reason: It's one of the Seven Precious Elements. Also it was the first name for electricity, see. If you rub silk over amber it creates static so the (ancient Greeks?) named it amber.

(All righty then.)

I think the REAL reason was that it sounded good when you screamed it out the back door: AAAMMMMBBBEEERR LEEEEEE!!!! Gitcherazz back in here!

Yes, ma'am.

MsAmber

Children's Rights

I have an issue in mind that I would like to know my readers' point of view on. Tell me if I'm right or wrong. Really, I want to know.
I have witnessed a phenomenon amongst the poorer/single parent households whereas the parent, having run up phone/electric/gas/cable bills and are unable to pay them, they will let the utilities be shut off, then have the utility turned back on using their child's name and SSN.
Despite what I might think is wrong with this, I also understand financially the reasons for it.
The utility now demands payment and a large deposit, or they could just provide a new, clean SSN and get the utilities turned back on for free.
Something needs to be done to prevent irresponsible parents from ruining the future credit for their children.
BUT THEN...
I have spent a considerable amount of time with these children, and I work with them and teach them how to work and how to save money, and how to achieve goals. I used to be able to open a Visa Buxx account so that I could load their money on it when they earn it, and it promotes saving and keeping their own accounting. There is a limit of $500.00 they can have on their card, and they cannot spend more than they have. Which is a good thing. But the system became cumbersome: It cost me too much in annual fees and transfer fees, it became a very expensive deal - when I have three kids on the payroll.
So, I'm looking for another method. I have a girl who is saving her money for Horse Camp. In the last 7 months she has saved $302.49. I opened a savings account attached to my checking account. HOWEVER, I found out that I am not allowed to put her name on it. Even with her SSN, she is under 18 and her LEGAL guardian must be on the account. I asked the banks, there is no loophole that I can use. She cannot have her very own savings account. WHY NOT?
I don't want her parents to have access to her money, she earned it herself. I want her name on her own savings account. I thought kids could have their own Christmas accounts. We aren't asking for a visa card or anything, but I'm sure if I filled out an application for a Visa card with her info, I would forever be getting offers in the mail for secured cards. But it's a Federal law that a kid can't have their own savings account? What's up with that?
I have run into this problem time and time again. I had a 16 year old girl working for me two summers ago, and she saved up enough money to pay cash for a used car and 6 months worth of insurance. As soon as her insurance ran out, her mother took over the car. They lied to me and said the mom got insurance on it. Then 1 year exactly, she calls and wants me to put it back on my policy so they can get license plates. Sorry charlie, don't like being lied to, and I'm sorry you lost your car.
Another 14 year old girl: the parent would "Borrow" her money to spend on drugs.
I know I sound a little hostile, I'm just not impressed by some of the parents I've known. Which is why I think a kid should be able to have their OWN savings account. I brought this subject up at work and a response that I got was: When you carry a kid in your body for 9 months, then you get to make those decisions.
Humph!

MsAmber

I Have No Life Outside Of Computing

My Winter Schedule:
I get up about 6:20, let the dog out, pour a cup of coffee and sit down to check my email. Smoke a cig and drink my coffee. At 6:35 I get up and make my bed, shower, brush my teeth, dress and I'm out the door at 7:05. I don't comb my hair when it's wet, so my hair is wet and tangled.
I stop by the 7-11 and get my "NoFear", and drive to work.
I listen to the radio, loudly, changing the station whenever a commercial comes on. Singing at the top of my voice and drinking my caffeine drink.
When I get to work, I B.S. with Terrie for a minute or so, put my WonderWoman lunchbox in the fridge, then I go turn on my lamps, light a candle, put on my headset and sit at my computer. I have two computers there, so I can be uploading files on one and still open logs on the other. Or I can have both computers uploading at once. Around 10:00 I go brush my hair because it's finally dry.
I check my blog when I have time, and read others. Mostly, I go through my queue and start calling customers and testing problems in the program. I log into their computers using GoToMyPc, Remote Desktop Connection, UltraVnc, or PCAnywhere. Then I will help them with their issues. Sometimes I just show them how to do something, othertimes I will have to manipulate data in the SQL tables, or work on their Electronic Claims Submission scripts, or troubleshoot their modems. Whatever it takes to get them working. I will sometimes have them install GoToMyPc so that I can get into their routers to make PCAnywhere work(forwarding ports 5631 tcp and 5632 udp). Sometimes I have to fuss with them that they can't install those stupid free screensavers and junk because it hoses up their computers, *especially* those offices that use their server as a workstation.
I get yelled at a lot. There are a couple of customers that I've learned how to yell back at them because it's the only method of communication that they can understand.
I have customers who know nothing, and don't want to know- "Just fix it!" they say.
I have customers who know enough to be dangerous, so I change the password to SQL so they can't start experimenting.
I have customers who know more than I do, and I wonder why they bother to call me.
I have customers who adore me and send presents in the mail - it makes my day.
I have customers who HATE me and send emails to my boss trying to circumvent me.
I work on platforms from Win95 through Server2000 and XPpro. But my ECS processors are all DOS-based, which keeps me in DOS practice.
I instant-messenger my Dad and a few customers during the day, and read my favorite comic strips, respond to a few emails, and read some blogs.
At 5:00 I go home.
I let the dog out again and do the dishes, feed the critters and change their water, put on my nightclothes and light a candle, then I sit at my computer and build webpages or write my blog entry. I have a mirror next to my monitor so I can watch the TV behind me when Little House On The Prairie comes on at 7:00.
I'm still on the computer when my husband comes home at 10:18. Then I log off and visit with him for a few minutes and go to bed.
The next morning, it starts all over again.
The above picture is what I look like in the Summer when I have a real life.

*Yawn* I'm so boring.

MsAmber

Couldn't Help Myself - Had To Redecorate

It's not like I want to show off the newest, coolest Avatars. I generally represent myself with the same old webcam picture. But I don't like using the pre-built templates too much. Same with web page authoring. I hate the standard templates, and they interfere when I want to do something original.
This blog interface was too boring. I like pink (obviously) but I don't like the rectangles that they make me put stuff into. I would rather have any other shapes.
Wish they would let me type into a diamond shape, or a heart. And splash color here or there, maybe insert pictures and resize them at will... Yeah, that would be nice.
But then, I may as well buy a Mac.
Not in this lifetime.
MsAmber

Ok, I Give Up. I Dyed It Brown.

Malfunction:
After 13 months of sitting behind a desk, in a dark hole, never being seen by anyone except my co-workers; I dyed my hair pink, and guess what? I had to drive to a customer's site and install a modem!

AH HA! I KNEW there was a conspiracy.

I am tech support, so I get to hide behind a telephone, the anonymity of my position can be a good thing or a bad thing.

Having a female voice typically makes the female customers doubt what you say. I know that sounds like a cop-out, but it's true. One of the guys at work can say the exact same thing and it is totally believed. When I say it: the female customers usually try to argue. Then, when the customer meets me, they see that I'm a brainiac and from then on, I'm the hero. Well, this time I go to a customer's site and I have long bright PINK hair.
Talk about a credibility-buster. I was almost self-conscious.
I pulled it off with little damage to my ego. The install and the test of her ECS was complete in less than 15 minutes, they showed me around and introduced me to all their staff. I turned off a couple of windows firewalls because it interfered with enterprise applications using sql server.
They were genuinely glad to meet me.
I think I'm just a little too conservative to pull off the Punk Rocker look.
I haven't even gotten up the nerve to have my belly-button pierced, and doubt I ever will.

MsAmber 

A LEAP OF FAITH

The day after Rob and I got married. We went skydiving.

The Place: Las Vegas
Altitude: 15,000 feet

I absolutely love this picture, because it looks like I'm praying, in the next photo, we're gone.
The most amazing part of skydiving is actually getting out of the plane. No matter how much you prepare your mind, it screams "NOOOO!" When you are trying to exit face first.

I had one whole knee out of the plane, and I felt like I was totally out of control, and a little panicky. Then, I had 50 seconds of free-fall. It goes by quickly.

(You feel the skin on your face being stretched, you dare not open your mouth for fear that it will balloon. Your depth perception leaves you wondering if the Earth is going to stop before it collides with you. You are falling at approximately 110 mph. The jumpmaster taps you on the shoulder to tell you to arch your arms back, but your brain processes the input very slowly. Compared to how fast everything is happenning, you feel like your brain is molasses in January.)

Then, blessedly, the parachute opens. The overwhelming noise and rushing air just stops. I didn't even realize there was noise and rushing air until it stopped.
I was still hyperventilating. And laughing hysterically, it took me so long to stop laughing, I wondered if I even COULD stop laughing.
My jumpmaster took me for a couple of loops around the landing site, then he flared the parachute and we touched down lightly. My knees still came out from under me, because I think I was still in shock.

Then I went into the hangar to take off the safety gear. The most memorable part of the entire experience was still hanging with me. My brain was still screaming "NOOOO", I realize it never stopped screaming from the moment I forced myself out of the plane.

For an entire week I relived the feeling of going out of the plane. In my dreams, in my daydreams, it was a vertigo of sorts. Finally the feeling has faded from my frontal neurons and I don't feel it as keenly as I did. Thank Goodness.

MsAmber 

Why I Can't Be President - Reason #2

They won't let me raise chickens on the White House lawn.

I have this 'thing' about store bought chicken. The chicken you buy at your local grocery store does not resemble MY chickens in any way.
It's too small to be fully grown.
They feed the chickens marigold seeds to make them yellow. (the only thing yellow on a dead chicken is the feet and the beak)
Sometimes the bones are broken, and you can tell by the bruising that it was done before they died.
The gizzard, heart, and liver did not come from THAT exact chicken.
I can see the bird flu hitting the US poultry industry pretty hard. That's because they use no common sense when raising chickens.
The industrial chickens never get to play in the sun.
The mass chicken farmers know nothing about the health of a chicken, they treat them all like rats.
MY chickens get hatched, then kept warm in a box on top of the refrigerator (that's the BEST place to keep your little biddies.) I take them out and let them play in the grass. Yes, herding little chicks is fun, I usually assign a kid to do it. My mortality rate is very low.
Then, when they are big enough, I move them to their nesting place. Their collective size determines what kind of nesting place I move them to. Usually I put the group in a rabbit hutch with a ramp for a month before sending them into the coop.
On pretty days, I open the door and let them out for the day. When it gets dark, they will ALL return to their nesting place. (and people think chickens aren't smart)
When they get their adult feathers, I can start culling them based on their attitudes, or habits.
A bad chicken will:
Pick on the speckled chickens.
Get all up in my face when I go to feed them.
Have an unnatural pink around their eyes (that means they eat eggs)
Have small combs (they don't build up enough blood pressure like my good laying hens)
A rooster who is too rough on my hens and tears up their feathers.
Of course you will want to cull out the roosters first. You only want one (maybe two) or they will wear the hens out.
Besides giving them an outdoor pen to play in, it is helpful to let them out completely on days that you will be home. Like on the weekends, or after you have harvested. They get to peck around and eat bugs and fallen tomatoes and such.
Feed: I give my laying hens some laying mash, cracked oyster shells for calcium, and good old sand for their gizzards. My young chickens make do with cracked corn and sand.
As a result: My chickens are BIG, healthy, beautiful, and happy, and my incidence of double-yolk eggs are very high.
Years ago, when I was fresh-off-the-farm, I went to the grocery store to get some chicken leg quarters. The only chicken I could find was frozen, jaundiced, yellow looking crap. I called the butcher out. I said, "Don't you have any FRESH chicken?" (because fresh isn't frozen), he said "Technically, ma'am, this is fresh, because it's quick-frozen, which means it's not frozen all the way through." I grabbed that package of chicken and started beating it against the edge of the freezer and said "If this ain't frozen, I'll kiss your ass." I told him that I don't know what he fed his family, but I wasn't feeding this jaundiced yellow baby leg chicken to MY family. He called the manager. I had a come-a-part and was yelling at the both of them. The manager asked the butcher to go see what they have in the back. He put me together a package of chicken that looked slightly better than the one I was having a fit over, but at least it wasn't frozen. I was temporarily sated, and I bought my chicken and left.
When I look at store bought chicken, it breaks my heart. These chickens aren't big enough to even have grown all their adult feathers. The incidence of broken bones is about 1:3, and I'm still bugged out by the giblets. I want the gizzard that came with THAT chicken.
So if I were President, I would still want to raise my own chickens. Build a Presidential chicken coop right on the White House lawn. Start my brood right on top of the Presidential refrigerator, and serve big baked chickens for Presidential dinners. Everybody would think they were turkeys, only better and without those annoying tendons.
I'll only be President if they will let me do this.
MsAmber

My Tribute to Flamingo1

This is my bright flamingo colored hair.
Last night I was soaking my very blonde hair in Henna, when I got involved in reading Flamingo's blog. Next thing I know, a whole hour has passed.
I rinsed it out and my hair was this color.
I thought Rob was going to Kill me.
Instead he says he likes it, it is a very (um) unique color, and it does something for my complexion. It also makes my eyes bluer.
What do you think? Should I keep it?

MsAmber
www.wildernessgirl.com 

Why I Can't Be President - Reason #1

I can't control my face.
Yep, that's what I said.

When I see news reports about G.W.Bush, everybody is picking on his facial expressions. I realize that I HAVE A PROBLEM. It's not like I would roll my eyes at the Leader of China or anything, I just have a very expressionable face. I'm a clown when I get nervous.

This is serious.

The media would tear me up. My face would be photoshopped and plastered all over the comic strips.

The political cartoons would make a mockery of my beautiful nose, which would give me a complex and I would be forced to have rhinoplasty, which would then start a whole new line of jokes. Gee, I can't win.

I hear there is a treatment that might help me control my facial expressions.
Botox injections.
Botulism, as I have always understood it, is caused by not removing the blossom end from green beans when you can them, and also, not getting the beans up to temperature for enough time. My mother told me that it was the biggest danger facing young mothers who are canning for the first time.
That, and cooking dried peas in a pressure canner, when the Gunk clogs the steamer spout, too much pressure builds up and it blows out the sides of the seal with green pea sauce.
Anyway, most of you aren't interested in a lesson in canning your own food right now, you are here to find out why *I* can't be your President someday.

(You're disappointed, I know.)
Well, botulism is a toxic nerve agent. So the big brains in some laboratory somewhere figured out which exact toxin in botulism and how much of it, can be injected shallowly in your face to paralyze the little muscles that make expressions. They named it Botox.
See, if you go long enough without expressions, your wrinkles will fill in with hydration. Puffy face, kinda.
Voila' A younger you.
Ok, I now know that I might can get around the facial expression thing with Botox injections. I can claim it's for migraines and America just might go for it.
I didn't think about Tom Cruise. He might start something. Hmmm. (Note to self: Have Tom Cruise eliminated before running for Office.)
Hey, It's possible. I COULD run for President after all!
Okay, first excuse eliminated.
But I have several more...

My Beautiful Dog (with the big heart)

This is my beautiful, big hearted dog. His name is Megabyte.
He is exceptionally well behaved, and has been since day 1.
I found him on the highway in June of 2001. He was about 4 months old and was nearly dead. He had millions of seed ticks all over his ears and face, he was anemic, wormy, and dizzy.
I was heading west into the sunset, could barely see, and I saw a little pile in the road. When I got close enough to see it was a dog, I veered sharply to the right and skid off the road into the ditch. I was driving a 1976 Pontiac Ventura, so it wasn't a big deal to swing myself back out of the ditch.

I got out of my car and went over to see if the puppy had been hit. He was scared and confused. I picked him up and he piddled all over me. I grabbed a blanket out of the trunk and put him in the front seat. After that, I couldn't get him to get out of the car. He was staying with me for good. I noticed that he had some nerve damage. He couldn't focus his eyes, and he would get dizzy when he closed his eyes. He was miserable. And the worms - Oh it made me cry to hear him whining when he went poo. There were thousands of worms. I thought for sure he was going to die. And I couldn't afford all the vet bills it would take to fix him up RIGHT NOW. I took him home, but I couldn't bring him inside with all those fleas and ticks. I put the blanket on the ground in the front yard and brought him food and water. The next day he was still there. I bathed him over and over until it was like torture, but I HAD to. I used my nails and just scraped the ticks off his ears. He had heart, though. I took him to the vet and asked him to JUST take care of the worms for now, I would bring him back for shots and stuff later. I have lost dogs to parvo, and I'm not spending that kind of money for a mutt that I just found in the middle of the road.
Well, Megabyte got steadily better. I got his shots. I discovered all kinds of things that he is afraid of. Scissors, pocketknives, flyswatters. I can't help but wonder how he could know what those things are. He also hates being on a leash. I was frustrated by that for a while, but Megabyte showed me that he will heel just fine and he always minds me. I can walk him anywhere and he stays right by my side. Everyone who meets him just adores him, I can't keep people from trying to spoil him. He also doesn't like for you to raise your voice. He minds all commands even if you whisper them or just use the hand gestures. Such a sensitive soul.
He knows I'm talking about him now, and he is looking up at me. Oh wait, no, he just wants to go out. He is also a very patient dog. He allows the cat to pounce on him and steal his food.
We take him everywhere with us. He goes canoeing, camping, I take him out to the farm while I muck out the sheep pens, there is a little ram that he plays with. I took him out shooting, thinking he would run, but he didn't . He just stepped back a few feet and hunkered down and waited for me to call him. He has learned all his tricks: sit, stay, lay-down, catch, and my favorite - spin. Rob calls him "Twistie" because he does this funny twisting-thing when he's excited. Nearly every day we look at him and say: "That's the best dog I've ever had." We are really going to be traumatized if anything happens to Megabyte.
He's very perceptive, loving, meek. His face makes every expression that a human's face makes. He even sighs when he's bummed. He can 'hold it' forever, not that I let that happen, but it's been proven.
There are some neighborhood dogs that come by the fence and Megabyte gets all prancy and gets his hackles up, we laugh because he looks like such a badass. Then one day, he went to meet a chihuahua. That little shit started a fight and jumped on Megabyte. I opened the door and he came running in with this little rat-dog hanging off the back of his neck. Megabyte looked panicked, like "What is it Mom? Get it off, Get it off!" It was the funniest thing I've ever seen. I'm cracking up now, just remembering.
Rob said that Megabyte will never live it down, getting beat up by a chihuahua.
Another thing, I had heard that Blue Heelers will herd cows out of instinct, so I took him to a friend's house that has cows. Megabyte and I went for a walk. We were within mere feet of the cows and what does my dog do? He started chasing butterflies. He didn't even notice the cows. That was so funny to see a dog playing with butterflies while surrounded by cows watching. I wish I had taken my camera for that.
I love my Dog.

Back in Time

This is my chicken-killing stump.
When I was about 13 we bought a little farm in West Virginia. It had a little droopy house, a pond, a well, a chicken coop, a shed, 9.53 acres wooded, a grape arbor, a jasmine bush, wild horseradish, and a big old apple tree. Oh yeah, and wild elderberry shrubs everywhere.
My mother spent all our money on purchasing the farm, and a few tools that we would need, and then we were broke. That's it. Make it or break it. We got four nanny goats, about 50 chickens, and a dozen rabbits.
There was no man around. Just my mother, myself, and my little brother. We had to cut our own wood, kill our own meat, and grow or gather our own food. It was a matter of pride to us. If somebody shot a couple of squirrels, we got to eat. I learned about wild foods. We ate everything that the books said was edible. We ate cattail shoots, mushrooms, ramps, elderberries. I discovered sassafras root for tea. My mother would look up different herbs to tell what they were good for, and we wasted nothing.
That first year, we didn't have the money to pay anyone to disc our field, so we were making do. The three of us hanging on the back of a huge rear-tine-tiller trying to bust up the clods. A friendly farmer from up the road went and got his disc and drove up, we were so busy we didn't even hear him. I'm sure he was laughing at the three of us being dragged around by that monster-tiller. He was kind enough to disc our field for us for nothing. We started all our seeds indoors. Every inch of the house had seedlings. We had brussel sprouts, beans, tomatoes, peppers (of every kind), cabbage, okra, - you name it, I'm sure we planted it. We cut strips of plastic to lay down between the rows to keep the weeding down somewhat.
I milked the goats twice a day and measured, strained and recorded production. My brother was given the job of making nesting boxes for the hens. I culled the roosters as soon as they started fighting. I used a bail of hay every two days in the winter. I saved the strings that they were baled with.
When spring came around, we put all the seedlings in the ground. I birthed the new kids (baby goats), and hatched the new biddies. Which brought the count up to: 9 goats, 152 chickens, and 7 rabbits.
All throughout that first summer, my new kids followed me around like puppies. I killed two chickens a day – one for the pot and one for the freezer, weeded the garden, did the laundry in a wringer washer and hung it on a line to dry, and cooked supper. My Mother ran the chainsaw. It takes 9 ½ cords of wood and two tons of lumpy coal to make it through the winter. She cut all that. My brother had to haul it, split it by hand, and stack it. He also had to haul the water while I milked.
Back to the stump. Every day I would put two pieces of baling twine in my back pocket and pick out two chickens. I would pick a mean rooster if I had one, otherwise I would pick the hens with pink around their eyes (means they eat eggs) or small combs (bad layers), or just the bullies who picked on my favorite hens. I would loop the twine around their feet and take them to the stump. I chopped their heads off, and hooked the twine on a nail protruding from the stump. Let them bleed on the rock below while I waited for the water to boil.
My husband found the chicken killing stump fascinating, so he made me pose beside it while he took the picture.

Doing my part to force crackheads underground.

I live in a pleasant little neighborhood. It's not the best neighborhood, but I like it.
There are lots of children, which I make it a habit to get to know them and from which houses they belong. I live on a corner lot and I kinda keep an eye out. When a stray dog attacked a little girl on a bike, I was the first one out there with my stick to beat the dog away.
I'm a country girl and that's just the way we do things.
I hire the children to unload my groceries.
They come to me for help on their homework, or sewing a costume, or just to watch Little House on the Prairie with me at 7:00 in the evenings.
I went to the neighborhood convenience store one evening last Summer, and was shocked to see a display case full of crack pipes, and some kids on tippie-toes looking in. I said to the manager: "You can't sell those. Drugs are illegal!". He got all excited and started waving his arms around and said "If I had to remove everything from my store that could be used to do drugs, I couldn't sell anything!".
I doubted the Icee machine could make an effective crack pipe, and I engaged him in a brief arguement, he got so shook up that he couldn't even count my change back.
So. I went home and called the police. They wouldn't help, I called my district representative, he agreed that it was a travesty, but couldn't help. So I made a sign and went back. I walked up and down the sidewalk with my sign and showed it to every car and customer.
The manager of "Mr. C's" quickly boxed up his merchandise and called the police. The first Norman police officer went in and took the complaint. The manager told him that I was lying, that he didn't sell crack pipes, I was disturbing his customers and being dangerous to traffic.
The officer walked out to me. He had mirrored glasses on. He got up in my face and told me that I could be in trouble for defaming "Mr.C.", I told him that they sold crack pipes. He got real close to my face and said: "How do you know they're crack pipes ma'am - Do You Smoke Crack?" I got a little indignant on him and said: "I most certainly do not! and would you please remove your glasses? You're giving me the creeps!"
He lifted his glasses, and I could see that he was slightly amused. He said he was going to go talk to the manager to see what he wanted to do about me. (Like what, press charges?)
As he was walking back to the store, another officer pulled up. As he stopped briefly to talk to the other officer, a customer who was pumping gas hollered "Right on, Sister." Then he hung up the gas pump and walked over to the officers. He told them that the store did indeed sell crack pipes, and that the manager had boxed them up.
So... Both officers and that nice man went into the store and told the manager to show them the box of merchandise. Sure enough there were lots of crack pipes.
The officer had an entirely different tone when he came back out. He ALMOST apologised to me. He told me I was right, I was within my rights, just stay off their property and don't cause any wrecks. Have a nice day ma'am.
OOOH the manager was pissed! He was watching out the window.
I kept on picketing. A few neighbors drove by and waved.
After about another half-hour, a big new Lincoln Navigator pulled up. It was the owner of 7 convenience stores all named "Mr. C's". Shawn Islam. He asked me to come inside. I refused, thinking it would give him an opportunity to have me arrested. The negotiations began. I got a signed and notarized affidavit that says they will never sell crack pipes or drug paraphernalia in any of their stores. AND that it was all a misunderstanding because the "Vendor represented the merchandise as Indian Incense Burners". Yeah right!
Anyway. Mission accomplished. The manager of that store HATES ME, HATES ME, HATES ME.
My point is, I don't think crack pipes are something that should be on display at the local quickie mart. Put them in a room behind a black curtain, or in a shop that only allows adults in. Not in a place where children buy their Icees. And If there is a market for crack pipes in my neighborhood, I want to know. This isn't a store in a mainstream area. No interstate traffic. Not inbetween here and there. It services my neighborhood only.
That manager can kiss my azz.
I won!

A Bedtime Story - As I Remember It.

This is a bedtime story that was told to me by my mother. I memorized it when I was about 6 or 7 and would say it with her. I still think it's important to remember some poetry. It's good exercise for the brain muscle.
Well here goes.

Little Orphan Annie

Little Orphan Annie come to our house to stay,
to wash the cups and saucers up
and brush the crumbs away.
To shoo the chickens off the porch,
and brush the hearth and sweep.
To make the fires and bake the bread
and earn her board-n-keep.
All us other children, when the
supper things were done.
We'd set around the kitchen-fire
and have the mostest fun.
A'listenin' to them witches' tales
that Annie tells about.
'Bout them goblins who'll getcha
If you... Don't ....Watch ....Out.
(enter dramatic tone and a little tickle poke)
Well,
Once't there was this little boy,
who never said his prayers.
and when he went to bed one night,
'waaay upstairs.
Why! His momma heard him holler.
and his Poppa heard him bawl.
But when they went upstairs to check...
(ooh!) He wasn't there AT ALL.
They seeked him up the chimney flu,
in the cubby-holes and press.
They seeked him in the rafter room,
and everywheres I guess.
But all they ever found was this:
His pants and roundabout.
(pinch the pajama leg and tummy)
See, them goblins Will getcha,
If you don't ... watch ... out!
(tickle)
And Once't there was this little girl,
who'd always laugh and grin.
She made fun of everyone,
even her blood-and-kin.
And once, when there was company,
and the old folks was there.
She mocked them, and she
shocked them.
And she said she didn't care.
At this she kicked her heels and
she turned to run and hide but...
(OOOH!)
Two Great-Big Black things
were standin' by her side.
And they snatched her through the ceiling
'for she knowed what it was about.
See, them goblins WILL getcha,
If you Don't ... Watch ... Out!
(need I say - tickle?)
Little Orphan Annie says:
When the blaze is blue,
and the lamp-wick sputters,
and the wind goes "Whoooooooooo".
When you hear the crickets quit,
and the moon turns gray.
and the lightnin' bugs and dew
are all squinched away.
Why, you'd better mind yer parents,
and your teachers - fond and dear.
Cherish them that loves you,
and dry the orphan's tear.
And Help the poor and needy ones,
who clusters all about.
Else them goblins'll getcha,
If you Don't ... Watch ... Out!
(Tickle Fest! Tickle Fest!)
Forehead kiss, sweet dreams, Lights out.

MsAmber
www.wildernessgirl.com

My Entry for Half-nekked Thursday

Is it too soon to put in my entry for Half-Nekked Thursday?
Lula told me it is THE thing to do.
The good bloggers all do that.
I know it's only Wednesday night, but I'm just so enthusiastic. If I don't put it up now, I might not get home in time to post it tomorrow.
If you like this leg, you should see the OTHER one. It's much nicer.
Chubby chicks ROCK!

MsAmber 

My Vintage Appliance(s)

This is my 1961 Frigidaire Flair Custom Imperial stove. My mother in law gave it to me when the burners and wiring started going bad. I brought it home and went through it with the schematics and fixed most everything. I still need the clock mechanism. But it's not an ordinary clock. No sir. It's got 4 connectors and it does a multitude of functions. The right oven has a plug-in meat thermometer. You can set the oven to shut off when the internal temperature of a roast (or whatever) reaches 180. You can tell the oven to turn itself on at 4:00 and cook for up to 4 hours.
The large, right front burner has a thermostat in it. For precise temperatures. Wanna make pancakes at 325, or hashed browns at 400?
The left front burner is a speed heat burner, for the tea kettle, the rear burners are normal. There is a fluorescent light over the stove area, and two bulbs in the ovens. The ovens, due to their stainless steel interiors, cook like convection ovens, they run a little hot.


When you are done cooking, you simply close the drawer and the burners go away. The stove sits on it's original pedestal. There is no rust, no funky smells. This stove is really my pride and joy. I like to put something in my aluminum pressure cooker and cook on the stove. It gives you a warm fuzzy.

Another little interesting note. 1961 Frigidaire was owned by General Motors.

This stove had a lot of features that were simply unheard of at the time. They marketed this to the new working woman as a time-saving device. Kinda like a personal chef/robot thing.






Well, I figure since I introduced you to my stove, you might want to meet my microwave too. This is a 15th century microwave, complete with a 'defrost' mode. No turntable, nope. Back in my day we had to turn the food ourselves. A simple burrito could be scalding hot and frozen at the SAME TIME. Yeah, truly.
This is a family heirloom, I will be leaving it to some lucky heir someday. With the matching dishwasher. It's from like 1492, and you still had to wash the dishes by hand first, BEFORE you put them in the dishwasher. But the timesaving part of it is that you don't have to hand-dry them anymore.

I'm SUCH an old-fashioned kinda gal.
(sigh)

Moping from a bad day

Nobody likes my hat. I think it's cute. It's like a knitted straw hat. It's old-fashioned, but I can put all my hair up in it, without worrying about it falling back out.

And yes, I garden in a skirt. It's my way of being in touch with nature... I like stirring the dirt with my bare hands. No gloves for me. Oklahoma isn't exactly known for it's soil quality, so I have started a compost. I traded a pickup load of willow branches and grass clippings for a pickup load of well mixed and partially rotten compost.

I know I'm rambling, but I had such an awful day at work today, and I'm finding it hard to write anything upbeat. I cruised through my Picasa gallery and saw this picture. It called to me. Share me. Share me.

When this picture was taken, I was planting Sunflowers. I hosted the first annual sunflower contest. I planted over 150 sunflower seeds all around the inside of the 8' stockade fence. I dug each spot out and planted them in compost AND cow manure. Then all the neighborhood children and adult friends alike, made little wooden plaques with their flower's name. There was: Calliope, Beauty, Harjos, Kandelyn, Grace, MsAmber, NormanKnight, the Dorks, the Nerds, Danielle & Danny, Mustangs, and others which I cannot remember just now.

The sunflowers grew to enormous heights, some were over 10 feet tall. I had a bumper harvest of sunflower seeds. It was magnificent. I live on a corner lot, so I have a lot of fence facing the street. People would slow down and point as they drove by. When we harvested, I soaked and toasted about 20 heads, I gave about 20 more away, and I shucked and fed the rest to the birds. It was a very successful competition. I watered every day that I could, and I made everyone weed their own little plots.

I'm not kidding when I say that it was really something.
Maybe I'll dig those pictures up next and make another page for my site. The great sunflower contest.
Yeah, that's what I'll do. TTFN
MsAmber
www.wildernessgirl.com 

To help increase the Dork factor

Apparently I haven't proven my dorkiness to SOME people. So, here is my post to show the world what a DORK! I confess to be.

I hereby certify and allege that I am the dorkiest nerd person on the planet.
I don't brush my hair. (often enough, because it hurts)
I don't match my clothes.
I paint everything.
I spend 'way too much time on webpages and blogging.
I get excited when I steal somebody's cool code, and make it my own.
I get excited when I successfully eliminate a pesky virus from the registries of a computer.
I like crawling through ceilings and poking around in crawlspaces. Especially if it's an old, downtown building.
My two favorite comic-strips which I check every day are: Helen-Sweetheart of the Internet, and Calvin-and-Hobbes. I also like "Rhymes with Orange" but she doesn't update a lot.
I hate fluorescent lighting, and I install lamps around my office so I don't have to turn on the overhead. (It has become a trend)

See! There! You happy now?

MsAmber
www.wildernessgirl.com