It's all about me right now

Received a call last week from my little sister Crystal. She can't concentrate on anything but Crystal right now. She has been talking about how she wants HOT pictures of herself on her motorcycle for some time now. She is recently divorced and loving herself again. She has lost all of her marriage weight and is looking good.



Crystal---"Hi Becky, I'm so excited. I got my pictures taken professionally with my bike. I look sooo hot. I had the photographer put them on a disc for me. I'm over at Chris's now and he is uploading them to send to you. You can pick out the one you like and I will give it to you for Christmas."






Me ---- "Hi. BTW, I'm doing fine. "

Crystal -- "Oh yeh, You're doing alright, huh? I want you to send these pictures to Lori so she can paint my picture."










Me --- "Crystal, Lori has been, and is a little busy. Her Dad has been ill, she has been driving up here every weekend to see him and take care of some of his business. And with Rachie and all plus all her other projects, she is pretty overwhelmed."

Crystal --- "Oh, How's Rachie doing? Is she alright? Has Lori found out anything?"

Me thinking ---"Well, I guess it's not all about her with Rachie. She is genuinenly concerned"

Me --- "Rachie is doing better. But Lori is still waiting to find out more."






Crystal --- "I'm praying for her....Anyway, Lori can get to it when she has time. I want her to paint the picture of me riding down the road with Angels around me. Did you get them yet? Are you at your computer?"


Me --- "No, not yet."

Crystal --- "How about now? Chris, are you sure you sent them to the right email address? "

Chris --- "Crystal, there are 12 proofs. It may take a while."

Crystal --- "How about now? Did you get them? Well, call me when you get them."





Our Crystal is not always so tunnel visioned. If anyone is causing you pain in your life and you let her know...She will hunt them down and kick their ass! Oh, yes, Crystal can kick some serious ass. She is a tough little momma and is protective as hell. DON'T mess with HER family!!! I'm scared to death to tell her about the crazy lady that Lori is trying to get out of her Dad's house. Believe me, she would go over and drag that woman out kicking and screaming by the hair.

When we were younger, I never got into any fights. Yes, my LITTLE sister would get her crazy on and whup some ass or make it perfectly clear she would. All, would back off scared as hell.

I would do the same for her. Crystal and I have bond no one can break. We have been through hell together and survived, back to back, fighting, fending off all the evil that came to us when we were children and well into early adulthood. We graduated with honors from the school of hard knocks and are now strong, independent women that can handle almost any boulders or road blocks that get in our way...ain't no mountain high enough, ain't no valley low enough.....

I love you Crissy... And sista, you DO look hot! Ride that motorcycle with your Angels above and around. Don't let anything get in your way. If they do, I GOT your back.

Flowers & Vortexes

I ordered a little artsy magazine called Flowers & Vortexes. I was inclined to do so because Lori turned me on to a fellow blogger's website. The Endless Saga. Welcome to a world of poetry, creative nonfiction, and occasional fiction as told by James Eric Watkins. http://endlesssaga.blogspot.com// I checked it out and found some the most mesmerizing poetry I've ever read. I haven't really been into poetry since college. I have discovered a renewed interest in it. So, I ask James, via his blog, if he has been published. He directed me to a website where I purchased the magazine. It was awesome. A collection of poetry and photography. Erin Monahan http://poetic-acceptance.blogspot.com/ even had a poem published in the magazine.

I can't sleep tonight, so I turn to one of my only forms of entertainment; the computer. I revisited the website, Promise of Light Publications http://www.promiseoflight.org/flowersvortexes.htm. There were options to click on located on the right side of the page. Once again, I was entertained. I clicked on the options, “Fluent” and "Below Morning's Edge” to find audio poems by Erin. Erin happens to be the co-editor. There were audio poems by James, the creator and editor, and others. It put me in a mindset of a beatnik coffee shop listening to artists reciting their poetry... Well, minus the coffee and bongo drums. It was very cool. They even have merchandise with the designs created by Erin. The stuff was really groovy.

You guys have to check it out.

Sos anyways...I've been entertained for the night. I think if I lay my head down, I'll be able to sleep now. Good night.

Me me me me - My things list

Zilla tagged me. Sorry it took so long Z. Here goes...

1. Things that scare me

*public speaking (my biggest fear)
*heights
*falling down stairs
*spiders
*snakes
*walking around with a booger hanging out my nose
*walking around with something stuck in my teeth
*toilet paper stuck to my shoe

2.People who make me laugh

*Lori
*Holly
*My son
*My husband
*My friends at work
*Oh hell, I laugh all the time, it gets me through

3.Things I hate the most

*Mean people
*bigots
*bitchy people who take it out on others (mean people)
*rules that are stupid
*pee on a toilet seat
*doing dishes
*dusting

4.Things I don't understand

*Suicide
*mean people
*religious fanatics
*murder
*people who do the same stupid things over and over expecting different results and whining about it
*people with pointless agendas
*the stock market

5.Things I'm doing right now

*Typing
*smoking
*drinking a coke
*thinking about taking a pain pill
*wondering what the hell to write

6.Things I want to do before I die

*Have a grand baby
*Go to Europe
*win the lottery
*retire
*lose 30 pounds
*quit smoking
*exercise regularly
*learn how to belly dance

7. Things I can do

*Ride a motorcycle
*talk to the animals
*raise hell
*have fun
*multi task
*pop my hips in and out of joint
*love and laugh
*I can bring home the bacon, fry it up in a pan

8.Ways to describe my personality

*Over bearing
*anal
*obsessive
*bitchy
*frickin' sweet and don't you forget it!
*Loving
*bleeding heart liberal
*fun
* a little crazy

9.Things I can't do

*Change the oil in my car
*sing
*lie
*keep my mouth shut
*crafts

10.Things I think you should listen to

*A storm
*your kids
*all laughter
*jokes
*stories
*advice (take it or leave it)
*Rock
*The Blues

11.Things you should never listen to

*Country music
*drunks
*drug addicts asking for money
*Rush Limbaugh (spelling?)
*Religious fanatics
*Jehovah's Witnesses

12.Things I'd like to learn

*knitting
*landscaping
*how to back a trailer
*patience
*belly dancing
*the stock market

13.Favorite foods

*All vegetables except hominy
*Chinese
*Mexican

14.Beverages I drink regularly

*Water
*Coke
*Coffee
*Vodka and cranberry juice (maybe once a week)

15.Shows I watched as a kid

*Dark Shadows
*The Sixth Sense
*Scooby Doo (love Scooby, he makes me smile)
*Gilligan's Island
*The Munsters
*The Partridge Family
*The Brady Bunch
*All in the Family

On a scale of 1 to 10, was this mildly entertaining?

I tag, Ariel, Pearl, and Kelley Bell

No work until October 17th, rest, relaxation, and recuperation

I had surgery 09/05/06 to have Utie and the girls removed. Before I went under the knife, Randy and I and our friends, Doug and Leann rode our bikes down to Eureka Springs, Arkansas. It was a beautiful ride. There were rolling hills, hollers, forests, rivers, lakes, treacherous roads, curves, and the best shopping ever. Utie and the girls never did me any good anyway, but I took them out for their last ride and adventure anyhow.

While Leann and I were shopping, we really bonded. We got henna tattoos together in the park from a local artist. Leann got a tribal design and I got a cheesy sailor tattoo of a heart with a ribbon that read Randy. I also got a corset. (You know I got lucky that night with the tattoo and corset and all.) The tattoo was supposed to last for a week. It only lasted three days from all the hot tubbing. Oh yes, we had a hot tub in our room. It was very romantic. (Watch out, I'm on drugs and giving waaay too much info.)

We rode through some of the most remote areas, Beaver Lake and Hobb's Wildlife Reserve. We even went to an old working flour mill, built in 1838 (War Eagle Mill) that is powered by the War Eagle River. It had a huge water wheel that powered the large stone grinding wheels.


Downtown Eureka Springs was built in the late 1800s. There are shops, restaurants, artists and musicians on the street corners. Very artsy fartsy. The homes and buildings were beautiful.

The only bummer of our trip is we received tickets outside of town for excessive noise. Some redneck-bastard cop said our pipes were too loud. We just got into town. Randy, Leann and I went to the hotel and waited for Doug. He got stuck behind traffic. We waited about 5 minutes. Randy hopped on my bike to see where Doug was. We were worried. Doug had been pulled over. The cop said when Doug rode by, the sound of his pipes scared him. He said if he was an old lady it would have scared her so bad she would have wrecked. He then went onto say, “The local residents don't like “ you people” in their town. He added, there were going to be a lot of “you people” in town this weekend and there would be a lot of tickets written.”... Come on, Doug is 56 years old, he wasn't even rapping his pipes, he was just riding. I swear this prick just pulled him over at random. Anyways... Randy sees him and pulls into the restaurant parking lot. Doug explained to the idiot, his friend was just coming back to check on him. The officer walked to Randy and demanded his paperwork. He told Randy his bike was too loud and issued him a ticket for exhaust noise as well. Again, come on, Randy just pulled into the parking lot. The punk officer then lectured them both on modified exhaust systems. He then closed by telling them if we were staying in town we could be ticketed again, so if we did ride be sure to “just putt around”. The ticket will cost us $125.

We did tell several business owners what happened. They said a large percentage of their customers were bikers and they would bring it up a the city counsel meeting. We have written a letter to the police chief also. Hey, ya can't blame us for tryin'.

We didn't let it spoil our vacation. We had a blast.

Of course, blogger will not upload pix...

Ok, sat for too long, abdomen, pain, more pain pills...gotta go....

Patriot Gaurd Riders mission pix

Patriot Gaurd Riders, riding in.



I love this guy.

Protesters/fuckwads, whatever.

Another PGR Funeral Ride

Randy and I went to another funeral of a fallen soldier with the PGR (Patriot Guard Riders http://patriotguard.org/ ). He was 31 years old. He had a wife, a three year old son, and an nine year old daughter. There were 150 of us. We formed a human barrier around the funeral home with our 3'x5' American flags on 8 foot tall poles. And yes, the Westboro Baptist Church and their infamous leader, Reverend Phelps, were there. They were not protesting the war, only the fact that our government is tolerant of homosexuality in the armed forces. The new law is, they must stay 500 feet away and can only protest the funeral 1 hour before it starts and 1 hour after it starts. All businesses surrounding the funeral home had security to block the crazies from protesting on their property.

They stayed there on a median in the street for the full 2 hours. There were about 15 of them. Men, women, and children holding their signs that read, “GOD HATES FAGS, FAGS HATE GOD, AIDS CURES FAGS, THANK GOD FOR AIDS, FAGS BURN IN HELL, FAGS ARE NATURE FREAKS, GOD GAVE FAGS UP, NO SPECIAL LAWS FOR FAGS”, and a new one, “SOLDIERS ARE FAGS.” It broke my heart. The adults stand in the center with the children surrounding them. They were singing a song to the melody of “As the Casons (spelling?) Go Rolling Along”. I can't remember all the words, but they were singing words like, as the fag soldiers' arms, legs are thrown in the air from explosions...I don't know, I had to go to another place in my head to block them out. The guard pulled 30 of us to form 3 lines deep about 50 feet in front of them so the family could not see them. We totally blocked them from their view. Vehicles were driving by flipping the protesters off, laying scratch in front of them and so on. They finally left.

We all road to the grave sight and gathered in a U shape around the tent. There was a 21 gun solute and the ritual of the folding of the flag. The soldiers, men and women, as soldiers do, stood strong with complete emotionless faces at attention. I know they had to go somewhere else in their head as I did. I was standing way to close to the family. The mother and her daughter were sobbing. I was standing there trying to hold back tears. I looked at the trees, the clouds, tried to think of other things. I held my flag in front of my face hoping no one would notice the tears that finally came rolling down my face. I finally composed myself when the 9 year old daughter came a shook our hands and thanked us for being there. It took everything I had not to let go the pain and empathy I felt. I will never stand so close again. However, after it was all over, I felt as if I did a good thing. I enjoyed the ride and all of my fellow riders.

A phenomenal poet and fellow blogger, Sir James E. Watkins wrote a poem that truly fit the entire experience, the war, the protesters... A poem called “Listen”. He posted it on 08/04/06. Check it out. It helped me through... http://endlesssaga.blogspot.com/2006_08_01_endlesssaga_archive.html

Now, on a lighter note....There was a business close by. The building was probably about 15 stories tall. Apparently the president of the company watched everything from his window. He came over and invited all of us to his employee cafeteria for lunch. Randy arrived late because he was one of the riders who escorted the mourning family to a restaurant they were all meeting. He also escorted the hearst to the grave sight. My husband exudes strength. He is always chosen to do special duty.

I only took a few photos at the staging area before the ride...If they don't upload, I will post them later.

My Walmart Visit and pickles

Okay, I got nothin'. I can't think of anything to write about. Then, I thought about the highlight of my day.

Devin and I went to Walmart. We are checking out. The cashier was a middle aged man, kind of nerdy, he had very thick glasses, a 1920's haircut and a plaid shirt on. Something was amiss about him. He was a little different, kinda special, if ya know what I mean. The plaid shirt wasn't the big plaid squares, it was fine lined small squared plaid. I hope that makes sense because the plaid shirt is what made my day.

I ask the cashier, “How are you doing.” He says with a very puzzled but concerned tone, “I'm having a weird day.” I say, “Oh, you've had a lot of strange customers today, huh?” He said, “No, a weird day. Every time I lean to close to the scanner,” as he points at his plaid shirt, “my shirt rings up dill pickles. It took me half the day to figure it out why I kept ringing up dill pickles.”

Jod bless him, he looked so serious and didn't even crack a smile when he said it. Devin and I looked at each other and a delayed laughter hit us. We couldn't help it. I said, “That's kinda funny”. He didn't respond. He just kept his head down, scanning and sacking, scanning and sacking. So, of course, Devin and I starting laughing again, but we quickly stifled it because the cashier was seriously stressed about it.

All I could think about after I left was, “How many people paid for dill pickles today that didn't buy any?” I kept picturing him ringing up dill pickles and freaking out, two, three times in row as he moved to and fro in front of the scanner. “What, what's going on?” (hee hee)

When I got home, I checked my receipt. If I would have seen dill pickles on it, I swear, I would have died..

Five - Breakin' the rule of the shoe meme

I was tagged to do the shoe meme by Zilla. Here goes...

Ok. I hate shoes. I'm certainly not one of those women who has 50 pair. If I had my druthers, I would go barefoot. Rocks, hot black top, and the fact I have to, keep me from doing so. I had to use 5 pairs because these are the shoes I wear.

The two pair of sandals I have, I love and wear the most. Those little black hippie sandals are my very favoritist. Love 'em, love 'em, love 'em. They are so comfortable. I love shoes that you can just slip on and off whenever. GOT to be able to relax when you need to. I kick 'em off in the car, at home, and at work when I'm at my desk. This is a MUST in a pair of Becky shoes. I suppose it's because I always feel lazy. However, this does not apply for my Adidas tennis shoes and Harley boots. Sometimes you have to have shoes for utility purposes only. Need my boots for riding and my Adidas for walking.

My Eastlands clogs, I wear them the least. I suppose I may wear them more this winter. I bought them because, of course, they looked comfortable, felt comfortable, and they slip on and off (a must), and were on sale. This is another must for me because I'm cheap, I mean frugal. Oh how I enjoy gettin' a bargain. It's a great feeling.

The most secret part of me revealed by my shoes? I guess that I'm lazy and I feel a little euphoric when I find a bargain.

Truly, I have no secret self, my life is an open book! I'm going to tag Lori for the shoe meme. Do not get this confused with the Champion Tag Team psychedelic, tie die, ribbon winning Lori and Becky tag, this is a shoe meme tag. I think Lori will play.

I'm going to see Lori!

Ahhhh! Devin and I are leaving to go see Lori tomorrow. I can't wait to see Sammy, Mike, Mitch, Milesy, Rachel, and Jordie! We'll be leaving tomorrow evening. Lori and I are going to blog together, so look out, we will be a tag team. I miss all of them sooo much!

Here we come sis! Wooo, woo. Randy said if I break my leg, get food poisoning, or drunk and have a hang-over...Don't even bother to come home.

I must be very careful. I must not eat at the Chinese restuarant in Buffalo, and only one drinky for me.

We must go flee marketing again! I promise I will not run out to my car to get anything as to not hurt myself... I'll send Devin. It will be a boo boo free weekend.

I can't wait!

How I Met My Husband

I can't sleep tonight. I usually don't have a problem with this. The last two weeks have been an exception. I don't know if it is the heat or what...Anyways...Sassy inspired me to share the story of how Randy and I met.

I had been single for about two years after a sad break up with, who I just knew was Mr. Right. I was 29 years old. I was going college, working, and didn't have a lot of time for dating. Now that I look back, I guess I was working at becoming the person I wanted to be. Yeah sure, I met some men. None of which interested me in the least; not even a spark.

I was living in a basement apartment I rented from a wonderful lady. She was like a second mother to me. Marcia was a beautician. Located right next to my apartment was her shop. I was always complaining, “When am I going to meet a good man. Are there even any out there? I want children. When was the last time I had sex?” (Maybe I should have left the last comment out...Naaahhh).

A woman, Joyce (my future mother-in-law), would come to get her hair done occasionally. She brought her grandson (Devin) a couple of times. He was the cutest little, fat, bald headed baby you ever saw. Marcia would yell, “Becky, come see the baby!” I would hold Devin while she had her hair done. What a sweet and mellow child. He always had a smile on his face.

Apparently, Marcia and Joyce decided they were going to fix me up with Joyce's newly divorced son, Randy. Marcia yelled at me from her shop, “Becky, come here. I have something I want to ask you.” Joyce and Marcia made their proposition. The first thing I thought was, “This guy must be ugly and a geek if his mother is trying to fix him up.” Then Joyce whipped out a picture. There was Randy leaned up against some lockers in an Army barracks. He had the bottom of his right foot propped on the locker, with his right knee slightly protruding. What a pose. He was shirtless with his hands in the pockets of his fatigues. Lookin' fine! Mmmm, Mmm, Mmm. ( I swear, about 5 years ago, I saw that picture. Randy was just standing next to some lockers in a T-shirt and fatigues, smiling. What ever. That is not he way I remembered it.) I accepted.

My fantastically, sweet sister Lori, and her two kids, Rachel (12) and Mitch (10) were visiting. Randy came over to meet me. Marcia, me, Lori, and the kids were in Marcia's kitchen when Randy arrived. He was about 5' 9”, about 145 pounds, thin, but well per portioned. (Thin was good. I've always liked my men built for speed, not for comfort.) He had the nicest smile I've ever seen. Mitch elbowed me in the side and said, “Aunt Becky, he the one, I can feel it.”

A ready made family. Randy was 35 and Devin was 10 months old. We have been together ever since. Devin's birth mother, who I always refer to as “the incubator”, never came around. Apparently, she moved out of state. I still have never met her or heard from her. If I did, I would shake her hand and thank her.

Pics of my significant others

Finally!!! Picture download!!!! This is a picture of my handsome son and beautiful animals. Molly shaking Devin's hand. Snowball sleeping at my feet under the computer desk. (Need to clean those baseboards under the desk). Bogart waiting for his food. Snowball sitting next to Devin while he is on his computer. Molly looking a little annoyed for some reason.

Two Stories for Zilla

Warning...This is grody, grody, gross.

It was my first year working telecommunications for residential service. It was very busy. My headset just quit on me. I have to log out of the phone. This threw up a red flag to my supervisor. We needed all people on the phone.

I worked nights; no access to the storage closet. I needed a headset. My supervisor suggested, " Why don't you use, Tammy's headset. She's not working tonight." I didn't think a thing about it. I said, " Sure".

The next day my ear was hurting. Still didn't think anything of it. The next day, my ear was really sore. There was a frapping zit in my ear canal. I could't get to it. The following day it was so swollen, I couldn't hear out of my zit ear. I had to go to the doctor's and have the monster lanced.

The moral of the story. Do not ever use anybodies headset! God only knows what kind of DNA and cooties are floating around on the sombitch! End of story...next


Dumpster Diving

The other night it was semi-cool outside. I thought, maybe I should take the dog for a walk.... Nah, I'm gonna blog instead. I read Zilla's post and it suggested excersise. Oh, the power of suggestion...

I was walking the dog past a neighbor's house. They had some of the nicest things on the curb. I could not help myself, I was drawn to it. There was a tent, a sleeping bag, two very nice coolers, and a pet taxi. I have never dumpster dived in my life. Surely they had it sitting there to load up in their truck to go camping. Went up, knocked on the door. They told me they had cleaned out their shed and wanted to get rid of it. They thought if they put it out on the curb, someone may want it. I was all over it. I walked home faster than I've ever walked. Grabbed the car, went, and loaded up the trunk.

I gave the tent and sleeping bag to my son. Devin was so excited, we washed the sleeping bag, set up the tent, and camped out in the back yard. Yes, me, Devin, and the dog. It was great!

Thanks Zilla!

Needed to burn another vacation day today...

I woke up this morning. I drag my ass out of bed, brew some coffee, and let my dog out. My neck and shoulders ache. I feel a bit foggy. Okay, I'm not feeling it today. As my younger sister would say, “I'm sick and I'm old”. Yes, that's how I feel.

I call into work to see if any vacation days are available... Eureka, there is one! Give it to me, give it to me! Yeah, I got it!

I can hardly stand my job most days. I work in telecommunications in large business, or as my company would say, “The world wide customer service center”. Yes, they selected 30 people out of our center to be on-line reps taking non-stop calls for customer service.
“Thank you for calling blah blah blah Worldwide customer service center, this is Becky blah blah blah, how may I help you today?”

Customer...”I am the telecommunication technician at blah blah blah Incorporated. I have a T.1 circuit, it comes into my building from the the d-marc, through the PBX. I need to know how to configure my equipment to have the 24 channels route to my , PRI lines, my BRI lines, my ISDN lines, and my DID's.”

Me thinking....”What the fuck are you talking about!!?? Don't you have a billing question? I handle billing for God's sake. If you are a fucking techy, why don't YOU know how to do this?
My response, “ Why yes, I CAN assist you with that. May I get some information from you. Your name, your can be reached number, and account number?”

Customer... “Well I don't know my account number, can't you look it up by the name of the company? It's a business account.”

Me thinking... "Of course it's a business account you idiot. Fuck no, I can't! You are a large business! Don't you even know the account number you're calling in about? I have thirty-one different systems, offer 8 different kinds of business service, and you don't know!!!!”

My response...”I would need more information. Many corporations have several accounts under the same name.. Do you know the main phone number associated with your account and CAN cross reference it.”

Customer...” I'm a technician, I don't have access to that information. Can't YOU people do anything. I been transferred 3 times. I have been on the phone for 20 minutes. "

Me thinking...”You've been transferred around because you don't know shit about your own company and don't even know your account fucking number! Well, that me pull that out of my ass.”

Yada, yada, yada, yada, yada.

I end the call after searching 15 systems and basically pulling the information out of my ass, “I located your account. Let me get you to the correct department so we CAN better assist you. The number there is 888-888-8888. Is there anything else I can assist you with? Do you mind holding while I transfer you? You have a great day, and thank you for calling blah blah blah World wide customer service center, have a great day.”

Sorry for boring all of you with my rant and my ass kissing job. It was very cathartic. You didn't sense any hostility, did you? (This is why I take anti-depressants.) Thank goodness for all of the wonderful people I work with, the great pay, and the benefits or I would be outta there!

Yeah, I got a vacation day! Now that I got that out, I can enjoy it.


If you made it through my whole post.....I took some pictures of my animals surrounding me this morning. How they calm me.... Molly., Snowball, and bogart. I must warn you, I'm no photographer. But of course, blogger will not post my pics... I'll try later.

Skunk piss?

I came home one evening from a date. I was met at the door by my roomy Theresa all in a thither. "Becky! You've got to help me. You've got to talk to Mark. He is going to kill the neighbors!"

As mentioned in my previous post, Mark adored his animals. Especially his stud pittbull, Toes. Toes was a sweety, peetie pie. I don't think I ever heard him growl, just lovable as hell. Some how Toes got loose. Apparently, he caught a scent of something he could not resist.

Mark heard a gunshot and in his paranoid, discrete manner looked out the window. Toes was scampering home from the neighbor's whimpering. Mark saw his prize dog and ran to the door to find Toes bleeding from his ass. That's right, Toes had buck shot peppered across his doggy behind.

Mark marched over to next door, which was, oh about 1/8 of a mile away. It seemed Toes, being the horny stud dog he was, wondered over to the neighbor's, jumped the fence, and raped his pure bread poodle. And according to the neighbor, tried to pillage his village too. He claimed he attempted to break up this horrible violation and Toes tried to attack him. Only to defend himself, he shot Toes with his shotgun.

Mark was enraged, incensed, infuriated! Knowing Toes, you knew this was bullshit. He asked, as calmly as he could to the man, "If Toes was trying to attack you, why does he have buckshot in his ass?" I'm not sure what, but the man stammered some poor excuse. Rather than react, Mark walked away quietly plotting how he would respond.

He was going to "kill the mother fucker". He knew he could rip his head off or shoot him but he would be arrested for this. So after contemplating all of his options, he decided he would pour mercury in the man's well. This, of course, with the amount Mark wanted to use, would poison the man and his family to death.

Theresa and I pleaded with him, "Mark, it was that bastard that did it. He has small children and a wife, you can't possibly do this!" After about 30 minutes, Mark agreed it would be a deadly mistake.

Mark, crazy as he was, devised his plan of attack. He waited patiently for about two weeks. He had soaked rags in paint thinner in a large coffee can and placed the lid on. He had a small bottle of skunk urine,(somehow used for hunting to throw off the scent of a human), and drew it into a large syringe. The first night....Mark slipped into his camouflage, he even painted his face just like a soldier. He crept over to the house and placed all of the rags strategically on the man's car. The second night....camouflaged, he lurked over to the house. It was a nice breezy summer evening and the neighbor had his windows open. Mark ejected a stream of skunk urine across the man's living room. Do you know how difficult it is to rid a house of skunk scent?

Mark had completed his maneuvers and avenged Toes without killing anyone. We very seldom saw the neighbor after that and when we did, he went out of his way not to make eye contact. Oh, that brilliantly crazy Mark, ya gotta love him.

Saved by an old biker

I was 22 years young and in a horribly abusive relationship. He was a worthless, non-working, drug addicted alcoholic. Oh yes, I knew how to pick 'em. I can not even begin to tell you the things this puke did. He always said he would rather see me dead that with another man. I knew I had to escape to survive.

I went to work and never came home. I got out with one change of clothes, my make-up, and my purse. Puke, of course, gave all of my belongings away. I moved in with my friend Carolyn that I worked with at the bar. Puke started stalking me. The bouncers protected me at work. They were off duty police officers and when Puke was around, would even give me a ride home. I awoke one morning with Puke sleeping next to me in my bed. The freak broke into Carolyn's house through a window. It was time to move again.

I didn't have anywhere to go. I didn't want to expose anyone else to Puke slithering around their homes or families.

I had another friend I worked with, Theresa. Not really an exceptional person, but she had a bad ass boyfriend. A few months prior, Puke and I met Mark, via Theresa, after the bar closed and was invited to his motorcycle gang's clubhouse to party. Mark despised him and told me Puke was never welcome at the clubhouse again. Mark was exceptional.

Mark and Theresa invited me to move in with them. We lived on the outskirts of town in an old rental house on 240 acres. Mark protectively stated, "Let the son-of-a-bitch come out here. I'll shoot him, bury him out in the north forty, and no one will ever know". He was serious. Puke knew this. Puke never bothered me again.

Mark was crazy. He would tell you, "I'm crazy. I have papers to prove it. Ya want to see 'em?" He was on permanent disability. He was a little paranoid and had a gun by every window. He adored his animals. He had a pitbull names Toes, and a basset hound named Sammy Dog. Toes was breeding stock and before breeding, Mark would always say, "Toes won't fuck unless I read him Penthouse Forum", and he would. Sammy Dog could talk. He would only do it if you had food. "Sammy, say hello". "Herro. Herro". You had better give him his snack.

Mark was probably around 45. I never knew his last name. I went out of my way to avoid learning too much for fear of being questioned by the police. He taught me how to take care of myself, how to shoot, how to change a tire, and freed me. I had many adventures living there. He may have been a bit of an outlaw, but he was an angel to me.

I often wonder how old Mark is doin'. Bless you baby, where ever you are.

Pics of our PGH Mission

On our first PGH mission, Randy was asked to be a blocker. I was proud of him. He would ride to the front of the procession and block the intersections so we could stay in a group. I was the tail gunner (the very last one in the procession). It was nice. The family was so greatful and kind. They invited all of us back to thier home.

The Patriot Guard Riders against Freak Reverend Phelps

We have a complete idiot living in Topeka, Kansas. This man has completely disgusted me for years. His name is Reverend Fred Phelps; his church, The Westboro Baptist Church (WBC). The majority of his congregants are related to him by blood. His wife, several of his children and dozens of his grandchildren frequent the church. The man is a complete freak who has, as far as I'm concerned, tortured mourning families since 1991. If you would like to see how twisted his clan is, check out his website.

http://www.adl.org/special_reports/wbc/default.asp


The group was known for picketing the funerals of gay people or those they thought to be gay. In 1998, WBC congregants set off an angry reaction when they showed up at the funeral of gay murder victim Matthew Shepard, and held up signs reading "No Fags in Heaven" and "God Hates Fags." According to the WBC Web site, they have staged "over 22,000" protests across the nation and around the world since 1991.

Since the summer of 2005, they began picketing the funerals of U.S. soldiers who have died in Iraq and Afghanistan as a way of venting rage at a government that they believe is tolerant of homosexuality.

This is how the Patriot guard Riders came about. The WBC was at a funeral of a fallen soldier, picketing. They were holding signs and screaming, "GOD HATES FAGS, FAGS HATE GOD, AIDS CURES FAGS, THANK GOD FOR AIDS, FAGS BURN IN HELL, NO NOT MOCKED, FAGS ARE NATURE FREAKS, GOD GAVE FAGS UP, NO SPECIAL LAWS FOR FAGS, etc...
They were yelling at the mourning family how their son was a fag.

Some veterans went to that funeral and stood firm to guard the family from the crazed idiots. The Patriot guard Website:

http://test.patriotguard.org/AboutUs/OurHistory/tabid/145/Default.aspx

Randy and I have joined. Since 2005 the Patriot guard Riders are 43, 414 strong. We will ride on our first mission to St. Joseph, Missouri for the services for a fallen soldier and then ride to Whitecloud, KS for the funeral on July 7th. We are expecting 300 riders. I certainly hope the WBC does not show up. If they do, I'll look that son-of-bitch Phelps dead in the eye, and lip, "I love fags!". Cuz I do.

My warrant

I want all of you to keep in mind, I was only eighteen...

I used to have a boyfriend Lowell, who was very charismatic and handsome (not as handsome as my man now. Oh, how I love that man of mine. That's another story). Any way, Lowell had a group of friends that would follow him everywhere he went (if they could find him). He came over to my house on his motorcycle, and of course, eventually his clan followed. All were drunk and feelin' a little rowdy. (I wasn't). Yeah! What fun.

There were 8 motorcycles parked in my front yard. Suddenly, a fight breaks out. It is Lowell's brother and one of his buddies. Oh how they loved to fight when they were drunk. Weeee. How stupid was I when I was younger...

The neighbors called the police. I guess when the cops heard there were 8 bikers, they came in full force. There were 5 cop cars and then came another. The last cop get out of his car in full riot gear. He had his helmut on and his shotgun in his hand. My little dog Cocoa, half Chihuahua and half rat terrier was petrified. She started barking at him. The cop points his gun at my baby and said, "You had better shut that dog up, or I'll shoot it". (The fucktard! Great word!) So I respond, " You better ya pussy or she may bike your leg off!"

That son of a bitch grabbed me, swung me around on to the hood of his car head first and handcuffed me!!! I about pooped my panties. I had never really been in trouble before and was totally caught off guard. Lowell pipes in and yells not to arrest his girlfriend and he was cuffed too.

We went to jail together. Oh, how romantical. We were in the holding cage together smooching and laughing, having a good time. The clerks were asking us our names, ages, and so on and so forth. They asked, "Okay, the big question. Are you married?" Hell no or we would be fightin' instead of smoochin'. My mom came and bailed both of us out. She didn't mind at all. She loved Lowell. (Hmmm, how messed up is that?)

I was arrested for obstruction of justice. Whatever... There was a court date and a $50 fine attached. Whoops! I missed it. Later, of course they caught up with me.

The guy got shot! It was like a movie.

In my younger days....On one of my many adventures with one of my best friends Chris.....

We were out and gettin' drunk for about the third day in a row, we saw one of Chris's friends at the bar (Tony). We were havin' a great time dancin', singin', and jokin'. Tony, felt like a third wheel because Chris my friend, is a dude. Tony wanted to see if one of his old girl friends was home.

It was about one in the morning and we pulled up to this chick's apartment in Tony's '55 Chevy convertable (bad ass car!). Chris and I were waiting in the car when we heard a loud pop. Chris being my protective man friend yells, "Get down!" He grabs my head and shoves it down towards the floor of the car.

Suddenly Tony comes staggering from behind the apartment house (ya know, kinda like Fred Sanford during a fake heart attack). He says, very dramatically, "I've been shot!" He is holding the back of his neck to stop the blood where he had been shot. Chris said very dramatically, "Get in the car and I'll drive ya to the hospital!" Tony said, "Hell no, nobody's drivin' my car!" Yes, he did say that! Thank god, the hospital was only about four blocks away and with the exception of Tony's gunshot wound, we arrived safely.

Finally, Chris did drive Tony's car away because he had warrants and would not go in. So, I go in at Tony's side. He's bleeding and the medical staff rushes out and gets him on a gurny and puts in him a room to await a doctor. In the mean time, the cops come into the room to interigate. Damn, it turned out I had a waurrent out for my arrest (that's another story) and they drug me away in hand cuffs from Tony's bed.

It turns out Tony's old girlfriend had a new boyfriend. I never saw Tony again, but I knew he survived.

......................Several years later, about 22 years later, my husband was over visiting one of his friends. A man named tony was talking about the time he was shot and a girl named Becky was at his side and was arrested, whatever. Randy, my husband said, "That was my wife", and shot him again! .....Just kiddin'.

It turns out Tony was shot with a shotgun and had buck shot in his neck and still does. However, he is doing fine.

Becky - Lori's sister

Alright, I'm going to tell you the real story of my broken leg, damn it!

So's anyways.....I've cooked the potatoes...I ran out to my car to get my antique strainer I had purchased at the flee market that day with Lori (that's where I got the damned strainer). How could Lori have forgotten my great find that day, I don't know. My heal caught the end of the last stair and down I went. I jumped up as fast as I could and looked around to see if anyone saw (ya know, like you do when you do a graceful move like that, and had a hard time trying to stand. I tried to get to my car and realized I couldn't. I made it back in the house and got one hell of a head rush. Told everyone I fell. My ex brother-in-law Mike (that son of a bitch) said, "Well, I don't have to rake my yard, you have the leaves on your sweater". He did not belive anything was wrong with my leg. It didn't hurt, it was numb. (I say all of this with love). By the time I got back in the house Mike had already strained the potatoes and it was all done in vain.

When I found out I broke my leg, I called and told them, " You son of bitches, I broke my leg!" I had to make them feel the guilt.

Sorry I use son of bitches so much. These are my words. Lori's words are "cock suckers", and our sister Crystal's word is bastards. This is when we are in a bitch fest talking about our men. We cuss like truck drivers in our family. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck.

Well, that's the real story! Lori wasn't even there! Just kiddin'.