Monthly Archives: July 2008

Just Me - AmeliaJake

aha . . .

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Well, yes, I think I know one of the things that has been driving me totally crazy for the past few years: it is the obsessiveness of someone asking the very first thing in the morning, “Oh, what would be a good time to go to Wal-Mart?” I have had it hanging then over my head and get irritated enough to traipse out in the mid to late morning.

Wrong, that is not how I am designed. I like to get up and look at what has happened, work a puzzle maybe, actually use my brain to get whatever needs IQ points worked on, then do grubby work . . . and then clean up and go out for the NECESSARY errands and  come back to relax.

Or better yet, I see no need to go to the store everyday. No. NO.

Wow, this getting close to 60 stuff is empowering . . . and maybe a little obnoxious to others. I guess I’ll have to get devious about it – heeheeeheeheeheeeheeeeheeeheee . . . getting maniacal here.

This and That at The Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse

okay, I’m better

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The CheerWine worked. I feel better. I had a good heart-to-heart with my friend Spikey

and she got me listening to upbeat hymns. Well, I guess they aren’t hymns – they are more like religions songs: That Old Time Religion, Standing in the Need of Prayer, Count your Blessings.

I can see my husband’s grandmother and two-great aunts – they would be Liddy, Cuba and Venda – standing in the kitchen drying dishes singing Count your Blessings. . . . See what the Lord hath done. Perky religious songs.

Oh, by the way, Spikey was first mentioned at the RED PIANO.

This and That at The Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse

I find I am very irritable

I have not been in a good mood lately, and this early afternoon exclaimed, “I am not going to be your patsy, anymore.” Whoa, big talk for a short, fat, getting older woman. In fact, maybe I should start carrying an old-fashioned Margaret Thatcher type of handbag so I can whop people over the head or in the solar plexus.

How do you spell “whop” as in “to hit”  – It doesn’t look right. Maybe I should say wallop.

Oh, what the heck.

I think I will apply for a drill sergeant job so I can yell at someone up one side and down the other, give them a good dressing down and make them run five miles real fast right after having fed them spaghetti – spicy spaghetti . . . and then I will run over and perform the Peter Finch role is the post’s play . . . I’m mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore.

Perhaps I need drugs . . . I kid.

I am going to shower and then drink a Diet Cheer Wine.

Just Me - AmeliaJake, The Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse

My shirt is dirty . . .

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Today is a work day, inside and out, though I don’t know what jobs I will be tackling. Well, painting the fence, I think and maybe the deck floor – the little one right outside the porch door to the back yard. It’s an old-fashioned deck, grey, dontcha know, and one I put together myself because I was tired of the mud.

I need to declutter this porch, get it down to the bare bone – my kind of bare bones . . . in other words the clutter is hidden away. I don’t know what else I will be doing, but I suspect it will be dirty stuff, so I am glad my shirt is already dirty.

Cameron has got me reading The Idiot; I think again. But the first time was so long ago, I just don’t remember. I am not a fan of Russian literature. I keep thinking, “Will you get on with it . . . ” I have no idea how much the factor of translation influences my opinion, but I suspect it is significant. Of course, I often confuse literature and writing, the latter being, in the end, the words, the words that first linked you to others and thoughts. I guess the literature is the story and the symbolism – and crap – I sure do hate symbolism. Why don’t these high level authors write their own Cliff Notes: this is what I meant in three sentences instead of 500 pages? Essay exams would be so much easier.

Ha! Maybe an honest one would say, oh, it was just a story and people are drawing conclusions or hey, I was free associating.

Got to go – here comes Frank for his morning cola and foldover.

Just Me - AmeliaJake, The Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse

The way it is at the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse

Okay, if your bowl, plate, and/or glass is not returned to the kitchen by you – YOU wash it or I will throw it out even if you are a really regular patron, here. If I find you wander out of one of the approved dining areas of the Cafe and EAT, you will get a demerit . . . a big one and not on a just any board, on my grudge board –  and most people know how long demerits stay chalked there.

We feel we have been quite lenient over the passing decades and we not appreciate patrons who do not show basic respect.

Yes, we know one of the Roadhouse habitues has been classified on the autistic spectrum and functionally is not up to speed. We in no way see that as a reason to not live to standards of respectable civility and grammatical use. Communication and English are a gift and we will not show any disrespect for them. We also expect voices to be of a normal conversational level . . . and if you want to speak to a person in another area, go there – do not yell. Non-compliance with the above will result in demerits.

Carry on . . . for now.

This and That at The Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse

A horrible nightmare

It was a long one – this nightmare I had – but one part was so terrible and it wasn’t the part about me on a large bicycle on the highway having all sorts of problems. It was the part where I was in a taxi – an old boxy yellow one – and Sydney was somehow didn’t get in and was racing after the cab as it went faster and faster.

I screamed at the driver to stop, but he was driving from the back seat looked like a sadistic KGB thug . . . not that I have knowingly seen any. I started banging on the windshield and it began giving way like an odd sugar glass concoction. But all the time, Sydney was running harder and harder. It was awful, just awful.

I am still in that period of getting my emotions out of that after dream state that sometimes leaves you vowing you will never close your eyes again.

Just Me - AmeliaJake, The Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse

It’s a rainy day at the Peanut Butter Cafe & Roadhouse

The rain is coming down not too hard outside and the temperature is in the mid-70’s. It’s restful and I think maybe I will take this as a symbolic day: I think I am going to let the rain wash away the current rules and write myself some news ones based on my experiences. For instance, I think I will myself to employ the “I don’t want to” reason when people ask me to do favors. You see, the PBC & R is not some idyllic place where all the kids are perfect and everyone is always having a great time. We get sloppy with the peanut butter knife, splash a few drinks on the floor and we bicker.

Heck, Friday, our dog, sometimes leaves because everyone is in a loud agumentative confrontation. today I pulled into the parking area and met Friday standing in the rain. I went in and asked, “Hey, who was arguing about what so acrimoniously that the dog went out and stood in the rain.  Two young voices answered, “We don’t know; we were playing poker.”

Oh, God. I know those poker conversations . . . sometimes they have evolved into one chasing another with a broom. Cool, huh?

So this AmeliaJake is putting a little jackboot in her attitude.