Before I get into the subject matter of the title, let me just say I’ve decided to go with the flow.

In general, I am NOT a ‘go with the flow’ person. I am a ‘battle upstream and crush the will of anyone trying to oppose my agenda’ person…not that I’m proud of that.

At the same time, I am a true believer in nature/nurture, and – as near as I can tell – it’s all nature, baby.

My mother tells a story that I was 18 months old and playpen-bound, when my father and she started some minor remodeling. Apparently they were repainting the living room, and put me (in said playpen) in the room while they worked. (And Dad, feel free to chime in if this is nonsense, as this is not a story where I come out looking like Ms. Awesome Toddler 1974.)

And by day two I was throwing every toy in the pen at them and screaming at the top of my lungs.

This may or may not be true.

However, when I imagine having to sit in a small, enclosed space and watch two people paint and ignore me, the thought of having stuff to throw at them is strangely calming. So I don’t rule it out.

What I’m saying is that I am wired to be HIGHLY STRESSED by the current f-ed up state of the blog (appearance -wise. I am, in fact, cogently aware and grateful that it’s up and visible and more or less intact despite it all, and I’m willfully focusing on that fact. Actually, the last time the blog went nuts I suggested moving to a ‘generic’ format: Black on white, non-de-script font, and UPC codes here and there . Zen and non-committed blog, if you will).

Anyway, nature aside, I’ve decided to embrace the chaos and go with it and trust that it will work out (via the excellent feedback of my genius readers or some other measure) one way or another.

Make it so.

MEANWHILE…the oysters of the world are onto me.

Word has spread.

So if you have an oyster serial killer streak, I suggest that you do not start a blog and commence bragging about it. Never mention the words ‘oyster’ and ‘it puts the cocktail sauce in the basket’ in the same sentence.

‘So, what’s happened?,’ you ask.

Well, I discovered that the even more local grocery store will sell you SIX monster great-great-grandfather oysters for $.20 each (six for $1.25…whatever that works out to) and those oysters are trying to kill me.

Seriously, I am skilled and I am determine, but those bastards will not budge.

So I was working on a dandy that was at least 2″ by 7″ (a monster! The oysters inside border on unmanageable and – this coming from me – unappetizing. Ron Jeremy is fascinating in theory, but not on the half-shell), and I had my typical towel/oyster knife/hand protection stance going, and I got in under the joint and wedged the knife deep and twisted…and felt the cold spray of mud and the hard impact of calcium as the shell shattered and hit me like a bullet.

Seriously.

It split my lip.

And covered my face in mud, but that was secondary.

In short, egg on your face is nothing next to oyster in your lip.

And watch your back, fellow oyster killers.

They’re reading the blogs, and they’re pissed.

Hello again from Alabama, where I was pretty sure that the world was ending around 6:00am this morning.

I couldn't find any pictures from Poltergeist with the tree, but this reminds me that somewhere in the garage is a Bozo the Clown Ventriloquist doll.

I’m down on the gulf, across the bay from Mississippi, and stormy weather is nothing unusual. My mother’s home has been hit by lightening no less than a half-dozen times, each time destroying her stove or phone lines or some other electrical appliance. This strikes me as extremely unfortunate luck, if nothing else, and I’m not sure that everyone else around here is having the same troubles. Apparently it has to do with some tree in the yard (which one I’m not sure), and in my mind it conjures up images from Poltergeist.

Now that I think about it, I can only hope the thing doesn’t decide to eat me as punishment for talking about it.

At any rate, early this morning I heard the torrential rains coming down, and was glad I went for my long run yesterday. Then the lightening started. Then came thunder so loud, I wouldn’t have been surprised if god himself had spoken to me immediately preceding or following the racket.

I was never afraid of my doll until I saw this movie. Then I would throw a coat over him at night. Sometimes in the morning the coat would be on the floor, which would totally flip me out.

I’ve never felt like I was ‘inside’ thunder, but this literally made the bed shake. I leapt up in a panic and started unplugging everything in the room, first to see to it that my laptop and cell phone weren’t destroyed, and second to make sure some kind of wanton electrical lightening pulse didn’t come through the lamp on the night stand and kill me.

Then I just lay here and waited for it to quiet down, which eventually – maybe an hour later – it did do.

To my utter shock?

When I talked to my mother a few hours later, she hadn’t even heard it. Wha….???

How do you sleep through Armageddon?

In other news, I have been hitting every happy hour in town. Did you know that you can get raw oysters on the halfshell for $.25 EACH down here!? $.25!?!?

This is exactly the Bozo doll I had. What was so sad is that I tried for years and years to do ventriloquist acts with him. It came with a little 45 record that supposedly would teach you how, although I refute those claims. My dad had a song he made up for Bozo called "Stinky feet, bad breath, and arm pits." If you're enjoying all these Bozo memories, let me know, and I could lay a whole blog about my nerdy youth on you!

Yesterday, I had a dozen oysters, six Buffalo wings, and two beers for (are you ready for this?) $6.50. You read that right: SIX DOLLARS AND FIFTY CENTS!!!

The day before, I got a slightly less sweet deal of $4.50 for my dozen oysters, but still…

Speaking of which, happy hour at yet another $.25 per oyster establishment starts up in 38 minutes, so I’d better wind this up and mentally prepare to get my wing and oyster on.

However, before I go, let me answer the burning question that I’m sure has been on your mind: I am here to tell you that twenty years later, Strawberry Shortcake, Raspberry Tart, and Lemon Meringue Pie smell…the same plus musty. But seriously, they smell THE SAME. And this is with 20 years storage in a moist deep south environment. Just imagine the Strawberry Shortcake and friends stored in Palm Springs!

Of them all, Apple Dumpling held her own (smell-wise) the most.

Color me truly shocked.