uh oh

Aw hell....

You know the neighborhood thugs? The ones I've been sorta kinda taunting? Turns out those gunshots I heard in the wee hours last Wednesday actually went INTO someone. In the house right behind mine.

That shit ain't cool.

I'm starting a calvary. Bring your horses, spears, legions (not lesions, please leave those at home), minions, and canteens to my house at oh-8 hundred Saturday. The crack should be wearing off by that hour, we'll catch 'em drowsy.

Maybe I'll recruit Patio Man. I haven't seen him lately, not since the rain got his chairs all wet. At least he's not a crack-slingin', ass-cappin' thug.

I was going to paint over their tags on the sidewalk this week. Maybe I'll wait till shit cools down.

sweet as sorghum

Friday night, on my way out of town, my neighbor down the street said to me, "You're a special kind of crazy. I like that."

He said that as I was parked outside of his house, 1/2 block away from my own, sitting in my rather distinctive vehicle (not too many on this street have a "Dog is my copilot" bumper sticker) watching the thugs. They kept looking at me like, "what is this crazy bitch doing?" I actually saw a real live drug deal!

Anyway, then I left town, which probably wasn't the worst idea ever.

I headed south to meet up with my sister and a couple of her friends. After some great directions, we found the Hancock County Fairgrounds just outside Hawesville, Kentucky, which calls itself the Sorghum Capital of the World.

There we sampled a lot of sorghum (yummy) and learned much about this plant, which comes in somewhere far behind tobacco and marijuana on the list of Kentucky's largest cash crops.

At the sorghum festival, a mule named Molly walked around in a circle to squish the sorghum juice out of the cane:

That is, until my sister and her friend told Molly she was a pretty girl, at which point the whole operation ground to a halt. Molly is such a slut.

The Kentucky Department of Ag trotted out Kentucky Kate for the event. Here you can see some young men developing their teat know-how by pulling the hell out of them and trying to squirt each other. Someday, some poor girl is going to have to spend hours un-learning that behavior.

And although I haven't milked a cow (R.I.P., Girly) since I was about 4, I found it's kinda like riding a bike, only ickier. For the record, Ky. Kate was giving only water, not milk.

Because I have more work to do than is humanly possible, I procrastinated by taking the scenic route home to Indy, which effectively stretched a 2-1/2 hour trip into 4 hours. Bought some mums, though, and wandered Indiana. It really is a lovely state.

Got home and used the rest of the daylight to work in the yard. The trip must have done some good--one of the thugs made fun of my car and I just laughed. But seriously, is "I don't know who would drive that thing" supposed to scare me? I scoff at you, thugs!