Those of you who remember the story of my last trip involving said airport (last July???) will be relieved to hear that I'm actually getting out the door ON TIME. I located the offending garment last night and hung it on the bedpost so that we would have none of that nonsense this go round.

All of you pray that I not kill my boss and co-workers during this "we must have face-time because we don't believe that you REALLY work 12 - 14 hour days from home" trip. I honestly don't have time to go to jail at this point in my life...but perhaps you had better start saving up cigarette money just in case. The upside is that on this excursion I'm only going to spend my off time with the people that actually showed me true hospitality last time. That narrows down my list considerably. The rest of those damn Yankees can kiss my ever-loving wide elbow.

Did I mention that I'm traveling with two kittens?

Angel, Christine and Kevin: Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to entertain me on the way to and whilst in Hartfield Internat'l. So answer your stinkin' phones. I hope that it's not cloudy or we will have a 5-hour delay. *sigh*

Tom and Vickster: I will call you tomorrow or Sunday.

Y'all be good. And if you can't be good, then be good at it! Later, freaks.

*The opinions voiced here are those of one frazzled Princess and do not necessarily represent those of the rest of her personalities.

how deeply I abhor Allstate?

that I'm becoming quite proficient with a Skilsaw?

Oh yes, spring...when homeowners' thoughts turn to home improvement.  Or should that be reconstruction?  *sigh*

I have spent the last few weeks beating my contractor into submission, wrangling with the insurance company, patching what I could by myself and smoking.  A lot.  It goes without saying that all the stockholders at Parrot Bay are going to be very happy next quarter.

I lost my home insurance a few months back and finally found someone to insure the stupid house.  After months of kissing The Fate Sistas' collective asses, I was finally breathing easily.  

Until I got my latest cancellation notice in the mail, that is.

Good gravy, will it never end?  I haven't even done anything karma-worthy lately, I swan.  And I'm here to tell you that Allstate will friggin' nitpick you to death. My letter came May 5^th (dated May 1st) and they gave me until yesterday to get all the repairs done or I got the boot.  21 days total.  Mighty white of them.  Fortunately, I quasi-date the aforementioned contractor, so I mascaraed my eyelashes to the hilt in order to flutter them shamelessly, made rash promises of lasagna dinners and spent my whole tax return on a new porch roof, porch floor patching and dry rot rotoring.  (If I don't eat for the entire summer and manage to elude the siren song of new shoes, I still may be able to pay for the vacation we already have booked in August.)  We got 'er all done with 3 hours to spare.

I still don't know if they are going to reverse the cancellation.  My agent assures me that it should be a done deal, but this is the same bimbo who told me I would have at least 45 days to get all this work done.  I did, however, plan ahead. (A novel idea for me!)  I have an appointment today with a different insurance agent who understands that old homes, especially fixer-uppers, fall into no certain category; and therefore, are harder to insure.

Anyway, I wrote the following last summer and because I am more of a reader than a writer, never posted it.  In light of the last couple of weeks and the fact that it is soon that time of year again, I present for your chortling pleasure Chapter 1 of oh, I don't know...a million?

HELL HOUSE

Has anyone ever seen that movie The Money Pit?

That's my abode.

Unfortunately, I have very shallow pockets, so I have to deal with all the problems that an old house has as the cash flow allows.

My whole adult life has been spent in 100+ year old huge farmhouses; so when I relocated back down South, I was dismayed to find myself in a 1000 square foot dwelling.  Have you ever tried to squish 2500 square feet worth of stuff into a shoebox?  The place looked like a country store inside.  Somehow, it had looked bigger in the pictures. Time was an issue, so I had rented it based on faxes, emails and my ex-boyfriend's lousy opinion.

Whenever I had company over, we bumped butts in the living room.  Not in a pleasant way.  And forget about having any parties.  The limit that minuscule place could hold was like, um, 4 people.  Standing sidewise. I swore last year that if I had to stay in that house one more day, I was going to slit my wrists.

The area is which I live is one of the fastest growing in the state right now.  Everyone wants to be here...it's country, but still close to civilization, good schools, decent jobs, etc; therefore, property values are through the roof. Rent is prohibitive.  So, I decided that if I was going to shell out big money, it may as well be on a mortgage.

And I didn't want a new house, or a young one.  Nope, give me those old, old houses...I would really like a country estate someday, but that will have to wait until I win the Mega-Millions.

So, I started looking.  You know how you want something, but you just can't find it?  You'll just know it when you see it?  Finally after months of searching...Eureka!!  Read the ad and it included the words "1900's farmhouse; handyman's dream".  I didn't care, even though the boyfriend said, "More like a handyman's nightmare."  I fell in love with it.  Huge rooms.  Tall ceilings.  Wraparound porches.  An actual kitchen, again!   Tin roof...rrruuusstty.  An acre of land for the kiddo to play in.  Did what I had to do, got the financing and bought my dream.

The reality was the man who owned it before me jury-rigged everything. E-V-E-R-D-A-M-N-T-H-I-N-G.  Plus, let every animal he owned whizz all over the house.  Eau de stinky pervaded the whole joint. We ripped up carpet, fumigated, painted...got it at least livable before Babyboy and I moved in.

And then, the real trouble started.

The central air ducts started dripping through the living room ceiling.  The garden tub's hot water pipe sprung a leak. I came home one day and the master bath was just like the jungle...steamy, dank and smelly.  By fall, the hall bathroom started spouting water through the tub faucet somewhat like Niagara Falls. The doo-flinky that kept the chimney blocked off fell out and birds invaded the living room. Not to mention the winds from Katrina that peeled up part of the porch roof. Insurance wouldn't pay for it because it had been loose to begin with. Winter arrived and something went kaflooey with the central heat. 'Tis the day before Noel, my folks are on their way, my house looks like Christmas threw up in it and there's NO HEAT!!  Thank goodness for my friend Jody; he saved the entire holiday by installing new gas heaters.  Except for some of the ceramic tile breaking up in the kitchen and part of the dining room floor buckling (thanks to that idiot not laying sub floors), things were pretty quiet.  Progress was being made.

Until last week.  The central unit spat out its last blast of blessedly cold air and noisily expired; this time there is no reviving it.

Did I mention that it's still summertime?

In ALABAMA?

Ugh.

I'm fixin' to take a cold shower, stand in front of the fan and eat a Peppermint Patty.

*addendum 5:30 a.m.: Apparently, during the night, the wee people cracked the toilet seat.  In my stupor, I sat down, the gap grabbed my behind and pinched it.  Hard.  Since I screamed loud enough to wake the dead, I'm sure our local finest are now on the way.  I'm sporting marks all over back there and didn't even have any fun getting them. Anyone have a spare Xanax?

Anyway, I was watching a story on the news last night that made me see red. I am sure that you all saw reports in your areas also.

The whole illegal immigrants and their right to benefits et al thing.

I have definite opinions about this topic. And don't bother sending me hate mail. I do not have a racist bone in my body. That is not what this is about.

I have nothing against anyone who is in this country legally. You do note the key word in that sentence, don't you?

Except for the Native Americans, everyone in the US is an immigrant in some form or another.

I am third generation on my mother's side. Both of her parents were the first of their families to be born in this country. My great grandparents came over on the boat, went through Ellis Island, did what they had to do to become citizens and paid their dues.

One of my dearest friends is not a natural citizen. Again, she migrated here, went through all the rigmarole and became a US citizen.

They followed the rules.

On the other hand, we have a whole underground nation demanding rights that, in my not so humble opinion, they are not entitled to.

My son, who is a natural born citizen, still cannot get SSI benefits at this point in time. Insurance would not pay for many of the therapies that he needed when he was small.

When those with disabilities get the benefits that they so desperately need, when the elderly are taken care of properly, when the people of New Orleans get what they deserve...in short, when our country starts taking care of its own...then I will consider changing my stance.

Now, in comments, everyone is entitled to their opinion. Just keep it respectful. No hitting below the belt. And no hating.

*Ding, ding*

I was searching for a local ghost legend last night and ran across a website that had an interesting entry under "Mysteries". I was so incensed that I was compelled to send these people an email.

Greetings,

April is Autism Awareness Month and I'm just trying to do my
part. :)

I know that I have been falling down on the job and have not posted half of the things that I wanted to about autism. Nigel has exactly 4 ½ weeks left until he goes to Grammy's for his summer trip and I am trying to spend as much time as possible with him. I have also been working 12 - 14 hour days, my grass is growing at the rate of ten inches a day and I'm not sure I sent my kiddo off to school today wearing clean underwear. I can't keep up...which means that I haven't even been signing into MyHell. And honestly, I don't think I want to limit my "stories" to one month. This is a 24/7 x 365 thing. So, although it won't be the only thing that I blog about, it will be more prevalent.

It's our life.

My youngest son, as you all know, is autistic. His particular place on this spectrum condition falls under "Asperger's Syndrome". It is also known as high-functioning autism. Autistics are a minority group, but the way the diagnoses are going, that may not be true for much longer. The newest statistics are that 1 in 150 people are diagnosed every year.

Or to break it down, approximately one every 20 minutes.

The main traits of aspies are being obsessively interested in certain things, engaging in logical, literal and spatial/visual thinking and difficulties in relationships. They are also able to focus more intently on projects, think in unusual patterns and don't worry about fitting in so much. Gee, come to think of it, doesn't that describe an awful lot of the people that you may know?

People with autism are so misunderstood and face prejudice in many forms. Because they communicate in ways that may seem foreign to some, they are viewed as weird or unusual. Personally, I consider myself and my close friends to be weird, unusual and eclectic, so I don't think that these are such bad traits to have. In living with this spectacular child of mine, I am realizing just how autistic I am. In fact, I think that we may all be a little autistic.

I think that we are finally over the weekend, but we are still adjusting.

We hopped up the Dogwood Trail Thursday for the holiday. Between the storms last week, full moon hangover and achievement tests, I had a very keyed up young man. After at least three meltdowns involving screaming, slamming doors and abject sobbing (and that was just ME, haha), we finally got on the road.

Well, at least to the end of ours.

I had forgotten to pray.

Rituals and routines are extremely important to Babyboy. He is also very religious, so in honor of that, we always say a prayer for safe travel before pulling out of our drive.

And I forgot.

So we had to turn around.

Once on the highway, Nigel started navigating. I'm lost without him. Figuratively and literally. I depend on that amazing head of his to make sure we are headed the right direction.

The child carries maps in his head of every place we have ever been. Even though we make the trip to Momma's fairly often, I still get mixed up. I'm quite thoroughly country and traffic makes me nervous. 18 wheelers in particular inspire terror. But I can't show my fear for they also petrify Nigel. And not only does he navigate, but he backseat drives as well. "Mom, watch that truck!! The speed limit here is 60, you are going 70. You're going to get a ticket." At one point, he told me that he hates the way I drive. (He's not alone in that sentiment.)

Anyway, we FINALLY made it to Grammy's. At 1:00 am. Nigel had really not wanted to go (which I didn't know until one of the meltdowns); he was worried that we would have a "crowded" time.

Too many places to go.

Too many people around.

Too much stress.

He wanted to cocoon. So that's what we did. No egg hunts, except the one we had at the house for just him. If Mom and I needed to go somewhere, Nigel stayed at the house with Pappy.

And my mom really cracks me up. We were having a conversation Friday morning during breakfast. The same woman who once argued with me as to whether my oldest son's birthday was March 3^rd or 4^th, looked at me and asked, "Did you know that April is Autism Awareness Month?" 

She went on to tell me about an Oprah show and also a news story that she found inspiring. Since she was the second person to tell me about this story in the space of 6 hours, I checked it out.

I don't know if anyone else has linked it, because I am dreadfully behind in blog-reads.

Just to get started, I wanted to post the lyrics to a song that I call in and request from our local country station every year. I dedicate it not only to him, but to every child, everywhere. He doesn't like me to sing to him anymore; but I sing this song to him daily in my mind.

I hope you never lose your sense of wonder
You get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger
May you never take one single breath for granted
God forbid love ever leave you empty handed
I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens
Promise me that you'll give fate the fighting chance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance

I hope you dance
I hope you dance

I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance
Never settle for the path of least resistance
Living might mean taking chances but they're worth taking
Lovin' might be a mistake but it's worth making
Don't let some hell bent heart leave you bitter
When you come close to selling out reconsider
Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance

I hope you dance
(Time is a wheel in constant motion always)
I hope you dance
(Rolling us along)
I hope you dance
(Tell me who wants to look back on their years and wonder)
I hope you dance
(Where those years have gone)

I hope you still feel small when you stand by the ocean
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens
Promise me that you'll give faith the fighting chance
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance

Dance...

Ms. Lee Ann Womack wrote this song for her daughters. I have the same hopes for Nigel. Doesn't every parent?

  *I strongly urge all of you to go here and become a part of this project.  You don't have to be a parent to be involved in this!  If autism has touched your life in any way, we want you to share with us.          

Not willing to risk yet another meltdown, I slowly backed out of the room and whispered furtively into the phone...(The kid has ears like a hawk and is very sensitive about being talked about. Well, aren't we all?)

"OH. MY. GOD. Angel, I think he was looking at pictures of girls! I swear that I saw girls. Oh, if any of those J.D. wannabees at school has corrupted my baby..."

I was trying to stay calm. We had The Talk a while ago, but I'm not ready for this teenage boy stuff just yet. He's growing up so fast. Let me tell you a secret, men...Mommas always want to remember that thing as the way it looked when we were changing your diddies. It doesn't matter if you bring your significant other home for a visit and we can hear suspicious noises emanating from your childhood bedroom or if we have five grandbabies hanging off our aprons. Our boys don't have sex and those children were immaculately conceived.

Anyway, after Nigel went to bed, I did a history check. It turns out this is what he was looking at:

I have no idea why. He has been obsessed with turtleneck shirts lately, so perhaps he's trying to find his fashion sense. I also have no clue as to why he was so weird about me seeing what was on the screen. He's also becoming very private and starting to exclude me from certain things. Suffice to say, I installed parental controls immediately. There's never been a need to, but I'm not taking any chances. He's not very social; and although he's not into IM or anything like that, I blocked those also.

So, no crisis this time. My baby is still an innocent. *Whew*

Fast forward to this past Sunday. We were indulging in B movies and on a commercial I went to fetch drinks and popcorn. As I was coming back into the living room, he looked at me and asked,

"Mom, what's male enhancement?"

Oh boy.

I've lost some friends - oh ye of little faith! And I wish that I could figure out who these big ole red X's belong to.  I'm sure that I've lost subscribers too...not that I ever had that many...but to be honest I'm too scared to go look at just who may have disappeared in my unplanned absence.

Thank you to those of you who have kept stopping by to say hey, wish me happy holidays and most especially, send birthday greetings! All those comments have sure meant a lot to my heart. I've missed you all so very, very much.

Most of it's my own fault though...I got nervous over the so-called hackers, changed my p/w and never wrote it down, cos ya know, who ever forgets their damn password? *sigh* Then a whole bunch of stuff happened in "real life" and when I was finally ready to get back on right before New Year's, the sieve that I call a brain couldn't remember what I had changed it to. I ran through every password combination that I could come up with. It finally got to the point that I couldn't even try to sign in without getting a message saying that I had too many failed login attempts and I had to try again and enter one of those squiggly confirmation codes. (I can't even read those things when I haven't been imbibing!) I know that I could have just made another page...but then I would have to go back-n-forth, send out new invites, blah, blah, blah...sorry, that's just too much like WORK!

In frustration, I gave things a rest and thought I'd try again late Friday night...after all, it had been almost a week since my last tearful missive* to MySpace's administrative offices. I dutifully clicked the "forgot your password" tab, entered my email addy, let out a huge sigh and hit "find". Up until now, I have never received a timely message back. Most of the time, I was not getting answers at all, or the replies I did get back were so off base that I wondered just HOW strong the ganja was that these people were smoking (and where the hell could I get some?). They certainly weren't sending my password to me either. This time though, immediately after hitting "find", Microsoft sounded a soft little "bing" to let me know I had new mail. Crossing my fingers, I changed screens and almost had an orgasm when I saw the message was from MyHell WITH MY PASSWORD! I know I scared my kid half to death with the rebel yell I let loose with...and I'm quite sure that I broke Angel's eardrum. Sorry, girl! It's okay; you have another on the other side of your head.

Anyway, when I can get it together enough to make everything that's been happening in the last few months sound funny or even interesting, I'll tell yall aaaallll about it. In the meantime, I have a ton o'mail to answer, pages to visit and blogs to read! CHEERS!!

*strictly for your amusement, here are some of the emails that I've sent these jokers: