Because bad taste is better than no taste at all.....

Thursday, January 26, 2012

#225 ramblings of many sorts

So here I sit and suffer the sin many folks have, at least from the doctor's perspective: no insurance. So for the last week or so I've been on the receiving end of the "hard to get" game the doctor's office is playing: call, leave a message. No reply. Dent calls, asks will they PLEASE call the house. Sure, they tell him. I've yet to hear from any of them. I've come to the end of the antibiotics I was prescribed (damn horsepills, every one o'them). I've only had to take one of the pain killers so far (which I guess is a good thing, maybe). So now, like so much else in my life, it's hurry up and wait.

Got a call Monday morning from someone wanting a job interview. THIS time I got the location and time straight; and so today I arrived at the place, talked to a really nice guy named Chris for all of 10 minutes, and was told they had a couple more people to talk to, and they would have someone "by the beginning of February". Which is next Wednesday. Hurry up and wait, once again.

Yesterday morning I decided it was time to not be at the house, and if I was burning gas, I may as well go somewhere I hadn't been before. So I drove the 20 or so miles to a little town called Shelby. Which looks like most of the small towns around here. It has a central square with an old-ass courthouse, more antiques stores than you can shake a stick at, a few cafes here and there, and more traffic than should be allowed. The courthouse was temporarily closed while some workmen slapped some paint up. I spent a couple of hours wandering through the stores, nothing of which I could really afford at the moment, but was nice to look at anyhow. The folks were real friendly, saying "hi" as you pass them on the street--all in all, a nice "countrified" kind of town. They even had a store that sells musical instruments...including banjos....

Maybe I can talk Dent into going out there with me sometime.


After that, it was off to a place I HAD been to, but it had been a while. South Mountains State Park is about 10 miles or so from the house. They have camping, both the kind you set your shit up on a concrete pad (tent, RV, whatever), and the kind you hike 5 miles to get to (primitive style). Of course, I wasn't set up for that really. My interest was down by the Jacob Fork River. They have a little trail down down there, the Hemlock Trail. It's set up so the folks in wheelchairs can look at all the plants and critters down by the river. Meaning that unlike the other 99% of the trails there, it's fairly level and even. I thought the curve would make a good shot, and so here you are.

And now, for something a bit unrelated to the above stuff, but which desperately needed addressing. First, a bit of background: Being at a community college means you get folks of all ages, from the 18 year olds fresh out of high school, to the older folks who are biding their time till the government lets them retire. The first couple of semesters I was attending, there was this fellow in a few of my classes. I'll call him "Bob" here, partially to protect the perverted, and partially because I really don't remember what his real name was. My nickname for him was "Geeber", although I didn't call him this to his face of course. Why Geeber? Because he looked like someone's 80 year old grandpa. Geeber was nice enough. Problem was, he was a tad TOO nice. All I am going to say is that having someone old enough to be your grandfather telling you that you're a "mighty purty girl" is, to put it mildly, creepy. He only lasted a couple of semesters before the funding ran out (he kept flunking classes).

So why am I telling you all this?

Because one of my readers is apparently throwing a fit because I don't publish his comments.

I know. "Huh?" Let me elaborate. If you try to post crap implying I should "put out" to get the doctors to operate (not to mention all the "tits" comments you have been attempting to post over the past few months), damn skippy I am rejecting your posts. It's my prerogative.

Now, if you want to stop posting shit that sounds like a grandpa telling me I'm a "mighty purty girl", I might post some things you write. Or not; go ahead and throw a fit. Obviously it bothers you when people don't like you or you wouldn't be coming back for more. Me, I learned a long time ago most people's opinion don't matter.

Or, as I tell asshole drivers on the road:
"By the way: Fuck you. Have a nice day!"



Aye,
Scratch

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