Friday, August 27, 2010

Dear Diary,


Today my tooth broke.

When I asked for sympathy and a hug? WB's reaction was, "Buck up. Get tough. Be a man."

LOL, I'm tough. I'm a female.

(which makes that "...Be a man." part a bit tricky.)

There is good news. While I was waiting up last night to see if I was going to have an allergic reaction to the ant that I may have eatten due to it being in the chips bag? It occured that if the tooth did break, the filling might be gold. According to the comercial, all I have to do is send the filling part to the Gold Exchange and "Cha-ching" - I hit pay dirt.

Now all I have to do is find the hammer.


Happy weekend.



PS The video? Teeth.


On the other hand?


Well it's the next day and I'm not swelled up.

That's the good news.

ON the other hand?

My tooth broke.

When I asked for alittle sympathy? All I got was, "Buck up, Bozo. Life's tough."


Hurray! I'm not going to die from an allergic insect bite!!!


I'm going to live!!!

No thanks to you Gentle Reader or to the people in my household. They're all snoring. No, I owe my survival to the Internet, infomercials and really bad re runs of Highway Patrol.

And Paul McCartney karoke.

You know, I'd really love to have a Wanda Bar right about now.

Like on Wanda Sykes' show.

I really would love to have a Wanda Bar.

(No that's not one of those double entand- auntandr -- one of those things that's supposed to have a double meaning...)

Where else can you have a serious disscussion about Stripper Olympics... I may not drink but watching other folks get loopy and talk about pole dancing?

It's good.

It's been 20 minutes and I haven't swelled up from ant bites.

Lord help me please not to dream about those ants dressed up like WHAM singing,

"Wake me up before you go-g0..."





Being John Malcontent


You can't make folks laugh all the time.

I know that there are people who make a living at making folks laugh but lets be real. They usually have a staff of writers who's entire job it is to write words to make folks laugh.

Even they have off days.

In the event that you want to make someone happy but nothing is working.

There's always sex.

Sex and Barry White.

Sex and Barry White and the Beatles...

It's usually good for a laugh here at Casa 12 dots.

Well that and a the notion of a Wanda Bar.


Do they talk about this on WebMD???


I think I just ate ants.

No, I'm not drunk.

Remember how I wrote that I munched on stuff when I was pre occupied and otherwise distracted? I woke up looking for crunch and there was this open bag of Sunchips on the counter and well-- I got a handful out of the bag. (Yeah. Like you've never) So I was crunching and felt this tickling feeling on my hand. Looked down and yikes -- ants. On my hand. So I looked inside the bag and


Not lots and lots but there were one or two.

I'm not sure what happens if you eat an ant. I've been drinking milk and eatting bagels hoping that if there are any ants in my digestive tract they'll be washed away by the milk. To make me feel better someone just told me that we've all probably eatten a spider in our sleep. Then they told me (honest to Got) that if I ate healthy, got enough rest, and was careful any bites an ant bit on the way down should heal in no time. "Oh and that's why I turn on the kitchen lights when I eat." he tells me.

I'm really worried here. These ants that live around here are tough. I've seen them grab on and bite and bite and bite. What if it's tougher than my stomach acid. What if it's been grabbing hold of my esophogus with it's tough little ant feet. I feel something in my throat. What if it's that lone renegade ninja ant. Biting it's way out of my digestive track. Rambo of ants. That's if I'm lucky. I've got hemmoroids. I don't need any more irritations down there.

Anyway here I sit in the dark. Waiting to see if I have any kind of allergic reaction. There's no way I'm calling the emergency room or the 24 hour doctor about this. I'd rather sit here drinking Benadryl and wait it out than tell a receptionist, nurse, and then a doctor, "Well -- I woke up with a case of the munchies and there was this open bag of SunChips -- "

I'm not looking forward to going back to sleep. I'm worried that I'll start dreaming about ants dressed in white tshirts singing --


Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Mom knows best?


I've been thinking about Christmas this summer. It's been hot so the idea of anything cold is good. A diversion. This year is different. For the first time in years, I'm really looking forward to the holidays.




Sorry Sigmund. It's not all about the sex...


Last night I had a dream about my parents.

My mom comes down the hall to the conference room at work. There's nothing abnormal about it only she doesn't look anything like my mom.

"I -- your dad and I -- want to pay for a hotel room for you -- for Christmas. A present." It's sureal but then it's a dream so it's supposed to be. "Were going to be at your brothers and you know how you annoy him so we just thought that you'd be more comfortable at a hotel -- somewhere other than around your brother."

I'm looking at my dad. Magically he's sitting in a La-Z-Boy watching Fox News. There's a guy in a clown suit yelling. My dad's talking to his stock broker on the cell and saying that the clown on the tv yelling says to "Sell. Buy. Sell." So he's telling the stock broker to sell.

"We just think it's for the best." my mom is saying. She's watching my dad too.

That's when I woke up.

Mele Kalikimaka, imaginary not my mom. I know a great place in the BVI.




Well I needed that....


Was reading the Twitter when I came upon the tweets of Mark Tweddle. From there it was a hop, skip, and a jump to his blog on Blogspot, Damp Shorts...

Got me thinking about potty training....

So to Mark Tweddle

Hello. I enjoy reading your blog. It's been a while since I've had to potty or house train but

Uhmm... well it's kind of like house training puppies only you can't do the rolled up newspaper thing to the nose nor can you let them out in the back yard at 6am in sleep deprived daze. The good news is that you can hose them off and let them run round in the backyard in a diaper.

Which brings me to this comment.

A friend took her very young son to his grandparents for the summer. The grandparents lived out in the country on a farm. Lots of land to run on and not much in the way of neighbors. He, the grandson, wasn't "housebroke" yet and this kind of annoyed her father-in-law-- alot.
The kid has a fun stay with Gampa and comes back to the suburbs with the words that Gampa has taken car of the potty training thing.
And he had. Regular as clock work the little boy would say, "I must go poopie." and he did. Then one day they were outside when the tyke goes behind the bushes. My friend is a country girl so that didn't seem unusual until her friend says to her, "Did you know that your son is running round without pants?"
In horror, as this is unusual even to a oountry girl, my friend collects up her son and his pants. She asks him, "Why on Earth did you take off your pants? Her son's reply? Because Gampa told me that if I had to potty and couldn't make it to the house I should find a bush and do it 'cause he wasn't about to change another poopy pants. Then he growled. "

My mother in law claimed that she'd potty trained all 5 of her kids by the time they were one and 1/2 yo. Like my own mother she said it was easy. Soon as the weather was warm enough to play outside, take off the diapers and put on the training pants. Not the pull ups either. Then? Get out the water hose and then plan on spending the most of your time outside for about two weeks. I'm not kidding. The theory is that it doesn't take too many messy pants episodes to find out that "ickypants" is just that - icky. The water hose, not for torture, is for easy clean up of the resulting accidental mess. That, apparently is why you potty train in the summer.

Good luck. Think of this period as training for the teenager years. Plus you're a guy raising a son. You can both go into the same rest room. Once after standing outside of a men's bathroom waiting for my preschooler son to emerge, I finally had to ask an older fella on the way in if he could check and see if my young son was okay. In a minute or two the older guy came out laughing and told me that my son was fine. From what he could tell, he was in one of the stall waiting to poop. No complications and he was pretty sure that if he couldn't get the door unbolted that there was room enough for him to climb under the stall door.


LOL oh and there was the time in gymclass when one of the ladies hussled my son from one side of the gymnasium to otherside where I was sitting with the other moms.

"Is he okay?" I'm concerned because she looked so serious.

"He's okay but," she's whispering so I can't half hear her, "He's got an emergency."

"An emergency? I thought you said he was okay. What's the --" I'm really confused and now she was whispering something I couldn't understand, "Wha-?" I'm asking.

Then she said clear as day,

"He has to go to the potty."




Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Two trains left different stations at different times...


If you're lucky, some random act of Fate will kick you in the butt and say,"Get off your duff and out into the world." Thanks to Fate and the stranger who posted a beautiful diving photo. To me it said, "Look at the world. Why are you still sitting here in front of the computer trying to analyze what went wrong in the past when there is so much beauty to see in the "now". Thank you Ms Wayland. We don't know each other and more than likely won't meet, but thank you.

When I was a very young person, this was years ago, we had math word problems to solve. In Calculus there was the problem of a ladder sliding down the side of a wall. We were supposed to calculate where the top and the bottom rung would be at various times during it's travel downward. In Physics, there was a monkey cavorting in a tree to be caught. They were abstract questions of time and space that were no more to me than arbitrary hurdles to climb. A gradepoint on a report card.

Then there was the problem of the two trains. You know this one:

If two trains left from different sides of the country and Train A was traveling at one speed and Train B traveling twice as fast - blah blah blah blah blah blah blah - you know - those trains. I never really cared where those trains ended up. No matter where they came from or what time they arrived, they where never going to stop at my door.

Until today when two Internet "trains", one on Twitter and the other on Yahoo, stopped at my virtual door. On Train A, someone I've never met posted the fact that she had no idea what time zone she was in but she had photos of where she was. Her train of thought arrived from a scuba dive in Maui. I came upon the photo by accident but I'm glad that I found it because of the second train. It came from a man who's wife had died. From Martin Short:

"... if you have wonderful moments, don't second-guess them, just enjoy them."

"Be here now." The words from someone when I was 16 were beginning to sink in.

"Be here now."

Seems simple but it's not.

If that wasn't enough to think about, there was a third train yet to arrive.

Today's horoscope said that there were people in my life that I'd lost touch with. It said that I should find them again. When I read the words I thought it would be Billy, IrishDavid, and Writing Buddy who I'd lost touch with.

I had no idea that the person I'd left behind was me.

"... if you have wonderful moments, don't second-guess them, just enjoy them."

said Martin Short.

"Be here now."

said the girl at 16.

Today is a good day to find the people who you've lost touch with."

said my horoscope.

(Who for once got it right.)

For the life of me, I couldn't calculate, for you or anyoneelse, the rate at which those "trains" arrived at my door. I just know, that when they did, a door appeared. A little like the one for Alice but without all that very long fall downward.

I opened the door and walked outside.


"Lucky me."


I still haven't named the boat.

Got the water from the Pacific, Atlantic, and on July 4th, the Gulf of Mexico. That we got the water from the Gulf on the 4th was important. It was the last of the water that I needed and it to me it was my liberty. There are folks here who are still trying to get me to go to the river. I know that they love it. I'm glad to have access to such beautiful water but they don't understand yet. It's time. The longer I stay here the more I come to resemble an old suitcase full of letters in storage. I'm tired of being custodian of other peoples memories while they go off in the world. Who pre-ordained me to sit quietly here with hands folded in my lap. There are adventures to be had on my small boat. I looked at that photo with is beautiful colors and thought, "It's time. No more people yelling and blaming me for the problems in their life. No more hearing about my short comings and failures. No more getting dumped on just to make other folks feel better about themselves. They'll do it no matter if I stay or go. I'd hoped to have a companion to go with me but what if I don't?

What is the worst thing that could happen?

Well, for one? I could grow old waiting to live young.



I've read this to WB and Pup.

For some reason this is bothering WB. He's trying to feed me. He does that when he doesn't know whatelse to do with me. I'm glad he's here but I think it's been difficult for WB.



Note photo credit, Tim York (Tryork5ifp)

Yeah, that Tryork, the one from ebay.



Twelve days but who's counting...


Talked to WB and to Pup.

No matter how far along I am here at the farm?

I'm back writing.



(now if I can just figure out how to set the font size and how to link between blog posts. Oh, and how to post vids within comments.)


Monday, August 23, 2010

But your honor....(or how I actually got out of jury duty honestly -- kind a)


The funniest jury duty story that I've ever heard.

Young mother gets a notice of jury duty. She calls the person in charge and tells them that she'd love to do jury duty but she'd have to bring her baby along because didn't have a sitter. "Not to worry," the young mother says, "He only gets fussy when he's humgry but since I'm breast feeding that shouldn't be a problem. I'll bring a blanket. I don't think the sight of a breast feeding mom should disrupt the court proceedings. Of course, I do have a tendency to fall asleep. If I start snoring? Tell the juror sitting next to me to do what everyoneelse does. Just poke me in the ribs then shout in my ear, "Wake the feck up!" I'll be awake in no time"

She was excused and hasn't heard back from the court since.

Except for the "... Wake the feck up!..." part? This is a true story of how I actually got out of jury duty. I wasn't lying or trying to get out of it. Honest. I was just worn out. When I was summonded, my Pup was nursing every two hours just about round the clock. I got no sleep and when I was awake was so sleepy that wake time was a blur. Thank goodness that the person in charge was a nice person.)

Hugs. Hope if you are selected it's a short but interesting case that you can vote on with clear concience.


Because it can't be said too much....


Welcome to The Slacker Chronicles.

(a writer's journal)

Fact and fiction co-exist here.

If you don't know which is which?

Don't ASSume.


Thanks and welcome Gentle Readers.

Happy, happy day.




Until Twitter...


I never realized how big and how smalll the world really is.



Come home to me...

Note to self...

Work in progress. Subject to edit. Have folks here who are of the opinion that this writing thing is a lovely hobby but the stuff here, washing dishes and feeding the animals, is more important. Lucky me. There's always the refuge of a short story.


(PS. sorry about the "romance novel" aspect of this story. I'm going to try hard to make it not so much. ")

Here's the short story and other posts that I did write today. Don't have much time. I'm fixing to be lectured on my lack of responsibility and those dishes. LOL

To begin?

You must remember that the sea is made of romance and is full of stories that begin with the words,

"Once upon a time...".



"Dear "Husband of My Heart",

I remember.

The letter you sent that said for the first time the words, "Dear" and my name.

I remember.

Some memories are hard,

but they are our saving grace and now my refuge.

I sit here in this quiet house and I pray. A person can't help who they love. It is like the Sun breaking from Heaven. A gift. But the world and the responsibilities that we know, they divide us. They contrive to make us enemies in this world and the next. For days and months and years, I've prayed. Surely there was some way that my love, my friend, would come back to me. I never knew just how wide this ocean was until now.

I'm sorry. For what I have done to separate us, I am deeply and truly sorry. There's rarely a second that I don't remember.

Until the day that the good Lord is merciful and grants me rest, I will petition for our friendship. Perhaps this is just a test of our good and faithful hearts. That the will of our hearts be just out of reach of our grasp will be like that of Job, only a season. Surely the God who made love and mercy will look down from Heaven. See our steadfast hearts. Give usmercy. Since the time on Earth is short and our time in Heaven eternal, I'll keep this faith.

Til then, hold tight to the joys of this world.

Even in our sorrow, there is still Love.

Hold on to the ship's wheel. Make tight the sail.

I'll see you on the shore.

When you come home to me.

Your wife,

The Northern Star."

From the Log of the Northern Star, 23 August.

Dear wife,

The clouds on the eastern horizon are red tonight. We're restless and loaded with goods. Should we make it home, we'll be rich in silver and gold. No more worries. Still there's much to do. At the last port there was talk of pirates and now these red skies. I'll rest easy tomorrow or we'll have headed right into the eye of God. Only one hurricane I've seen. This ship is tight. She'll sail like a bottle on the troubled seas but with us loaded down in the hull, I'm worried.

I keep the ships log in a keg inside a bottle with a waxed cork. An address for you is inside. Each entry another letter I would send should I be able. I promise that I'll read it to you myself but if not someone on will find it and send it to you. Rest now and listen like I told you. When you go to the sea and your whole self is immersed in the water? You'll hear my heart beating for you there.

The Husband of Your Heart,"

Later, 23 August...

Wife, I have only alittle time to write this. The red clouds we saw are indeed a hurricane. We've joined up with the Ephemeral Sea in hopes of finding safe passage. Michael is in a state. Something about the captain being St Peter's emmisary.

Remember what I said. The heart beat you hear in the ocean is mine.

Your husband."

They found her on the coast. A keg tied to a rope wound round her waist. Her hair like seaweed. Her face serene but ghostly white. Inside the keg, they found the ships log and her letters to him, and a telegram to his wife ,

"Northern Star, lost at sea, found. Stop. Crew missing. Stop. Captain found tied to this keg. Stop. He's alive but barely. Stop. Instruction to send the keg to his wife. Stop. And to send his "...tired old carcass and the ships hold to "the Wife of His Heart" Stop

Because the words should be said..."

From the story, "Love Letters From the Ephemeral Sea" 23August, 2010, All rights reserved by the author. (Ironchassis/AuthorAnn/WriterAnn)

LOL We're all on a bit of a rough voyage, this life.

Note to self..

This passage

"...They found her on the coast. A keg tied to a rope wound round her waist. Her hair like seaweed. Her face serene but ghostly white. Inside the keg, they found the ships log and her letters to him, and a telegram to his wife ,..."

subject to revision. Honestly I'm not sure how to word this. In my story, I want this to be the reveal that the captain's wife in the letters isn't his real wife, it's actually the "wife of his heart". She's someone that he loves. She loves him too but circumstances beyond their control keep them separate. He married his partner's daughter to change him from "indentured servant" to equal. At the time he was all about the money and the "wife of his heart" was someone from his youth. As the marriage grew cold, his memories of this other woman grew warm. Before this voyage he went to her and told her that he was "undone" with sadness. She told him to go back home to his wife. "There is no way, " she told him, " to circumvent the will of God. Only the good Lord in heaven, could grant them mercy." Until then she would pray everyday that they would find some peace.

I'm just not sure how to word it so that this will be self evident in the passage above.

Just sayin.

I just read this story to WB. When he went outside he was full of, "you are responsible for more than just writing words on paper." He came back into where I was reading aloud this story. First, he made light of it. It's called "fly catching" in the theater. LOL When he bent over to get something out of the cabinet, all I could see was his rear end. I laughed out loud and told him that I finally could see his best side. He laughed and then grew quiet.

"Did you write that?" he asked.

"I did."

"That's sad."

Then he left the kitchen without the expected lecture. Left me alone to write.

Hugs, Gentle Reader.

It would seem that I am writing again.

This time with WB's blessings.

the lyrics by Al Stewart

"Oh you slipped away from the harbour side
In the morning bright and clear
And your sails were filled with the rising wind
And you laughed for all to hear
But you never glanced at the ragged dance
Of your lovers on the quay
Don't call on them when the winds rise high
On the dark and the rolling sea

Oh you set your course for the furthest shores
And you never once looked back
And the flag you flew was a pirate cross
On a field of velvet black
And those landsmen who you but lately knew
Were left stranded on the lea
Don't call on them when the storm clouds rise
On the dark and the rolling sea

Oh I have no need of a chart or creed
You told your waiting crew
For the winds of chance, they will bear us straight
And you spoke as though you knew
So you paid no mind to the warning signs
As you gave your words so free
Don't change your tack when the timbers crack
On the dark and the rolling sea

Now the thunder rails in the great mainsails
And the stars desert the skies
And the rigging strains as the hands of rain
Reach down to wash your eyes
And your oarsmen stands with his knife in hand
And his eyes spell mutiny
Don't call my name when your ship goes down
On the dark and the rolling sea"

LOL, look folks, I'm a writer. Okay. Before anyone starts trying to overlay their own bias onto this post? Please, this is a writer's blog. Fact and fiction coexist here. If you don't know which is which? Don't assume. Ask. Thanks.

Ironchassis aka Author Ann or as Saenz calls me?

Writter Ann.

all rights owned by the author.




"...The vessel is crystal clear.



The contents opaque.

The color of piss.

She poured the words like beer.

Slowly at first down the side of the glass. She was trying to fool the stuff that it was benign. Three quarters of the way she lost her control of it and it showed it's true self.

"Lucky me." she said.

For even though it was fizzing there was still more of that upright vessel to contain it so that while you could enjoy the spark of it, you were spared the mess.

"Lucky. Lucky me."



from MtnDew
23 August, 2010


all rights reserved by the author.

note I don't want confusion so I'll say that this is aka ironChassis.

No onfussion there.