Idaho: To, There and Back : The Picture Book

You Can Always Go Home Again

I’m coming to you from one of the quilt covered couches at the Red Ant Rancho (my aunt and uncle’s house) in Fairfield, Idaho. Even the leather ottoman coffeetable is covered in a quilt. I’m sipping a 20 oz. Breve from the Soldier Creek Brewing Company and listening to "She & Him" while my Mom and Barb (our family doesn’t really use "aunt" or "uncle" unless I’m using it to clarify who’s who in a blog or conversation) watch "Elizabeth: The Golden Age and read cooking magazines. At 2 pm they are going to go to Twin Falls with my uncle, Marshall and the contractor who is building my Mom’s house to look at house stuff. I’ll be making banana bread while they are gone.

On the way here, though, a few interesting things happened, not to mention leading up to today. I thought I’d share these moments with you.

Mr. Appliance
On our way out of Greeley, Mom and I grabbed a quick lunch at McDonald’s which we were eating in the parking lot and we saw a van with a grey-haired man wearing large spectacles in it marked "Mr. Appliance." For some reason we got it into our heads that we wanted his autograph. I can’t remember why except that we are often fascinated by such things. We did not think this was Mr. Appliance, however. We figured there was a fleet of Mr. Appliances. For instance, this might have been Bob Blender, Carl Cuisinart, Don Dryer, Doug Dishwasher and so on and so forth. We thought we could collect all of their autographs and someday complete the collection of autographs along with pictures of ourselves with each Mr. Appliance and think back fondly on our chance encounters with household celebrites.

Tumbleweed Teeth
While driving through Wyoming, which is notorious for its wind on a normal day, we were being battered by quite the wind and dust storms. Along with this, the highway seemed to be alive with tumbleweeds. They were rolling by is in sizes of large globes, human heads, footballs and even hackey sacks. As far as the eye could see, they were rolling. Occasionally, they would flip up in the air like acrobats or joyful children doing cartwheels. At one point, two men on motorcycles were in the other lane without helmets but ironically large beards resembling the tumbleweeds on the highway. Mom and I were waiting for one of the tumbleweeds to attach itself to the man’s beard like Velcro and then another tumbleweed attaching itself to that tumbleweed and so on and so forth until the beard and the chain of tumbleweeds were sticking straight out in front of him and his beard arrived to his destination an hour before he did.

His and Hearse
About an hour out of Twin Falls, Idaho my Mom and I ended up behind two identical hearses. According to the license plates, they were from Oklahoma. For the, pardon the pun, life of us, we could not figure out what two hearses from Oklahoma were doing, driving in tandem, in the middle of Wyoming. They would change lanes together at random and then get back in their original lane for no apparent reason. Naturally, I wanted a picture of this strange phenomenon more than anything. I wanted to get a photo of them, one in front of the other in the opposite lane with the tall, majestic clouds over the Wyoming prarie behind them and spent 48 minutes doing so. My Mom spent no small amount of time trying to force the slower, second hearse, (driven by a woman with tall, white hair that matched the clouds, who seemed to be cleaning her glasses every time we came dangerously close to passing her), closer in proximity to the front hearse so I could get them both in frame. No dice. Not only was she keeping the obligatory two car space between herself and her partner but she was also a very courteous driver. She read my Mom’s nudgings as impatience with her driving and was constantly pulling over and driving on the shoulder of the road so my Mom would have room to see past her and room to get around, as though hearses are incredibly hard to see over when you’re in a Jeep. We appreciated her courtesy but could she have just tailgated her partner who was a very solemn looking man with shoulders up to his ears and certainly the owner of an Ace comb, we would have been satisfied. Ironically, it was one of the most exhilirating moments I have had in a year chasing after a photo and it was brought to me in the vehicles of the dead. I couldn’t have felt more alive and I actually came out with a photo for my show in June.

Big Little America
Little America, the amazing magical chain, with their $.50 ice cream cones, 24 hour coffee shop that offers doughnuts not donuts and milk from stainless steel dispensers with bladders full of moo juice, cold and delicious, served "ice cold" and with a lovely smattering of bubbles, decor that is both modern and yet oddly lost in time, hotel rooms that feel like small apartments and beg you to nail pictures of family on the walls and put orchids on the window sill in the bathroom with its towels properly sized and piled high on a rack inside the shower so they are not wet but toasty warm and not taking up room in the rest of the bathroom. Did I mention they’d mounted plasma televisions on the walls of each room since I last stayed at Little America? No? They did. I watched "Family Guy" in style and then passed out from my day’s adventures under the perfect weight of bedclothes on th perfect pillows. I wasn’t sure, as part of the remodeling, handmaidens appeared to dress you in the morning so I went ahead and did all of that myself. Apparently, I was also super organized because before my Mom was fully dressed and ready to go I was packing the car and as she finished using a bag it was in a car. I was hopping. I told my Mom if I’d had a whistle it probably would have been hanging from my mouth wheeting as we did the obligatory room sweep and shut the door to drive over to the main building and check out where we also had an amazing breakfast, sitting at the counter in the coffee shop. I had french toast with thick cut bacon. That’s the thing with Little America. You always get more than enough butter for your french toast and it comes whipped in a cup. You don’t have to pry it out of little packages that reveal cold, hard pats of unspreadable butter. The salad dressing? You automatically get two portions. They get that one is not enough. It’s part of the deal. They offer to rinse out your travel mug before they fill it with coffee and leave just the right amount of room for cream, which I did not have to add sugar to because the coffee was that good. Daaaaamn. This is why Little America is a tradition in my family. Even going back to when my Mom, Aunt and Uncle were kids. My Granddad had a saying. "Always go first class." It just so happened to be my Mom’s birthday when we landed at Little America. My Granddad loved Little America and had he been there, he would have gone first class and no doubt have said, "Order a steak, Anita!" So, she did. When she was a kid, my grandparents used to eat shrimp cocktails at restaurants and I egged her on to get one, saying "Go first class, Mom!" She ordered a shrimp cocktail, a salad (two salad dressing portions--natch) and a t-bone steak dinner, complete with baked potato and peas and carrots. I had poached salmon because I’d never had poached salmon. I found out I love poached salmon. The next morning we found a couple things in the gift shop, including a charm bracelet for me. I picked out a charm that had the famous Little America penguin holding a ribbon that said "Little America." Mom found a clock for the new house she was building and a t-shirt. We went first class.

6:30
We rolled into Fairfield that day around 6 pm. It would have been slightly earlier had we not stopped a couple times to search for a coin changing machine and then abandoning our search in lieu of a bank where normally they have machines that will count the change and the teller will give you some cash. However, we found the one bank that did not have that machine and the one set of tellers who were actually delighted to count the thirty dollars in change my Mom had that she wanted to switch and give to me. Apparently, they were all, What the heck! It’s Friday! Let’s let our hair down and count some change! Woot!! *insert puzzled face here* Whatever gets the job done. I had a nap in the car in the parking lot.

Once we checked in and said hello to the owners’ dog, Buddy, we headed up to Marshall and Barb’s house on the outskirts of town, technically what is known as Soldier but well, trying to explain what Soldier is or was is like trying to find humor in a Family Circus cartoon. When explaining how to get to their house, you just say, "Turn in the opposite direction of the Methodist Camp," which is just a natural reaction so it’s pretty easy to find.

It’s been Old Home Week for the past two days, with various activities including massive consumption of a huge red velvet cake for most meals including breakfast, duplication of my Grandmother’s salad dressing, finishing crocheting my awesome scarf, talking, laughing, forming a committee to screen the single men of Fairfield who are already inquiring as to my Mom’s marital status (I like the one who is inadvertently growing a mohawk), making my smooth as glass shards attempts at flirting with the guy working at the local coffee shop, making banana bread, watching "Revenge of the Nerds" and "Once Bitten" and realizing some things never ever get old and basking in my family and the gorgeous Idaho countryside.

It seems like so much more has happened that is funny and important but those things I suppose will pop up in moments in conversation or other blogs when something else reminds me of said times that currently escape me momentarily.

To Be Continued (There is the ride home)...

Portfolio

Virtual Nature Walk

These are some photos I have taken in my travels to Idaho, Rhode Island and what I call my "weekenders," where I just get away locally. I am posting them as I get ready to go on a road trip to see my family in Idaho and will most surely return with more. Also a very lovely person requested to see some of these so this virtual nature walk is dedicated to K.

As Long As The Horse Is Not Made of Milk

There is a milk fairy!

Note: This happened approximately a year and a half ago. I would never do this now. Unless I hadn't already done it.

Fact: It is scientifically impossible for your stomach to hold a gallon of any substance.

Fact: It most definitely will not accommodate a gallon of milk in the span of an hour.

These are two tidbits of information I wish I had digested before I attempted to digest a gallon of Vitamin D milk in an hour's time. I had been curious about what I considered a little rumor going around that you couldn't possibly accomplish this task and frankly just absorbed it as "You, Wendy Liddell, cannot do this. I mean, we have a lot of faith in you in general, but despite your bizarre relationship with and fantasies about milk, we just don't think you can hack a gallon of milk in an hour."

To myself: Didn't my brother and I go through at least a gallon of milk an hour when we were kids? I know for sure we did because I think I recall my mother hooking our fridge directly up to a milk truck and just inserting dairy i.v.'s into us. Why would she do that if you couldn't digest a gallon of milk in an hour's time? My mother is not a wasteful woman.

To my friends: I can totally do this! I am so not kidding! In fact, I've offered several times but you never take me up on it and I'm beginning to think you're just scared I can do it, thus showing you up and taking your manhood from you. Let's go to the store, now! I know we just got to the bar, but I am on a mission. I haven't even been drinking so you know I've put some credible thought into it. Let's even stake some cash on it! This is literally a cash cow for me! And I'm pretty sure I can roll around in some milk cash for an hour straight!

My friend (despite my stubbornness) Ryan to me, en route to the store for a gallon of milk: All I'm saying is that I have faith in you, just not the human body. No. It's not possible. You're going to throw up and you're going to be sick and you aren't going to want to hang out because you're so sick.

Me to Ryan: Ryan, seriously, I have trained all my life for this. I'm not a stupid "Bro-Huh?" (So nicknamed by Kelly for the phrase they repeatedly vomit out of their mouth as much as they do beer and shots of Jaeger) frat boy with a fat head. I don't think I've told you about the direct line into the milk truck my mother arranged.

Ryan to me:

Me to Ryan: Don't look at me like that.

Ryan to me:

Me to Ryan: Just think of how proud you'll be of me.

Ryan to me: I'm already proud of you. I'm telling you it won't happen.

Me to myself: Did a guy just say the phrase: "It won't happen" to me? Again? Fuck this. I'm on it.

Me to Ryan: Well I'm getting Vitamin D milk so when I do it, you guys won't say, "If it hadn't been skim, you would have thrown up all over the place. Didn't you also tell us your mom calls skim milk blue water?"

Skip to the part where I am taking over Linda Blair's record of projectile vomiting whilst in the bathroom of the Study Hall. Skip to the part where Jana is asking me why I ate leaves for lunch as she is helping my clean the stall and everything else in a five mile radius. (I explain to her those are chilies from some nachos I had).

Truly, you know your friends love you when they still think you're an intelligent human being after an event such as this. The lesson to be learned here is even if you make a really stupid decision, despite all of your friends' advice against it, be thankful you still have them around, telling you that you should get back up on the horse (translation: go back to the bar and hang out after changing and brushing so hard you no longer have enamel on your teeth), as long as it is not made of milk.

The Fly Entourage

The flies were fat and slow as they buzzed and hopped seemingly everywhere the Woman chose to put every part of her body. They buzzed slowly past her ear and she could almost decipher what they were always going on about as she waggled her fingers constantly to shoo them away. In fact, it seemed, they would have landed on her eyes if they could have, but even if this were physically possible, today they would have only room to peer through the slits her eyes had become as she stared back at them, the fly's kaleidoscope of vision seeing only a rainbow of dents, dings and slippage in her normally bright soul. If the fly blinked, which they rapidly did, it would create a fantastic slide show of what was stuck in her throat, sinking in her heart and creating a slow anesthetic around her otherwise compulsive optimism.

It was beautifully horrible and just the thing a fly would enjoy.

It was for this reason, deep down, that each of her co-workers, family members and a few acquaintances secretly were happy to see her. The flies followed the Woman and they saved small pittances on fly swatters, not to mention the energy it took to wave their hands about. They lived around the woman uninterrupted by the flies. However, no one said anything about it to each other. It was not something that came up on the phone, over coffee or as a subject in the sentence starting with "Did you happen to notice?" No, it was such a strange phenomenon that no one brought up what was on the tip of their tongue because surely it was not something worth speaking of. Especially since the woman happened to smell of spiced oranges and had beautiful dark hair that seemed to grow with the changing of the seasons. She was not dirty. Actually, she was quite attractive and was it not for the fly entourage; she would have had several suitors.

The fly entourage had no explanation to the naked or even the human eye. To the fat fly's eye, which fed on garbage and mated with the discarded, the cinematic kaleidoscope they saw in the Woman's eyes was dinner and an ever rotating porn flick.

In such mundane moments when they turned off the light to go to sleep at night or when they lifted a spoon of cream soup to their mouth and blew on it, they did stop and wonder why the Woman didn't do something about the fly entourage. On the other hand, maybe she was trying so hard to do something this was the minimal amount of flies she could keep from invading her space as a time. Maybe if she did nothing at all, she would be lost inside a cloud of flies and meet an unfortunate end by the hand of a cloud of pest control chemicals. When the cloud cleared and they came back to sweep up the fly carcasses, they would find her bloated body covered in flies, like family weeping over her in still-life, kissing her eyes.

They didn't think about it for long.

Even the strangest things become less so the longer they are a part of your life. They develop a purpose. The woman and the fly entourage were no different. She'd had the flies since she was three years of age and yes, had spent increasing amounts of effort to deter them, until it had consumed her life and there was room for nothing else as a result as she approached the third decade of her life.

That was exactly what the flies could see and why they were the only creatures with the ability to see the gorgeous tragedy she fed they and their winged libidinous love of her now numb irony.

The Returnable Heart

"Where is your little heart, my friend?" the Man asked the Stray Creature. The creature, looking up at him with big eyes, was surprised to hear anyone mention his heart. It had been decades, maybe longer, since such a subject was broached.

"It was stolen," was the only explanation the Stray could mutter. The question was big, but the answer was a juggernaut. Its response was the only place it could think to start in such a mess.

"Stolen?" The Man smiled. "Have you fallen in love?"

The Stray Creature looked away from The Man. It appeared to be examining its nails intently, but was actually counting on its digits the amount of times it thought it had met love. The Creature took off its boots and poked through its socks. It appeared to be playing with its toes, but actually needed more digits to count on. It, in fact, was also pondering how one could fall in love. The Stray Creature, as it counted, listed to itself the ways it had falsely met love: 1-struck by it, 2-fallen ill with it, 3-thrown by it, 4-tricked by it (and so on and so forth it went until, with a sigh, the Creature put its shoes back on and turned back to The Man, who had been watching it with some perplexity).

"No," said the Creature, "I don't believe I have ever fallen in love."

"Never? Then where is your heart? The only way your heart can be stolen is by someone who loves you."

The Stray Creature was surprised at the Man's words, for this was simply not true. It was not sure where the Man came from that stealing hearts was a gesture of love.

"That is simply not true," replied the Stray Creature with some irritability. "There are many ways your heart can be stolen, but that is not one of them. Here, the story goes that, if someone loves you, they treat your heart as a home, not a posession or a trinket to be collected and put on a shelf with other shiny things. My heart was stolen, yes, but the one way I have never met love is by falling in it."

"How was it stolen, then?" The Man asked, confused by The Stray Creatures animosity toward love. The Creature pulled itself up to full height, which was not much more than it had been before the conversation. After all, it is impossible to attain your true height without your heart.

"My heart has been a source of many attempted thefts in my lifetime. I once was much taller and held on tight to my heart, but each time it was almost stolen, I became a little weaker. One day, the biggest Thief I had ever met, befriended me and used tactics I had never before experienced to attempt to steal my heart. He did not just simply walk up and try to pry it away from me. No, the Thief acted as a new companion, a confidante, someone I could trust. It was an inside job. By the time my heart was gone, so was the Thief. I looked and looked for my heart, for I thought I had simply misplaced it. This has happened before. I searched my pockets, looked under every stone, opened every drawer. I became frantic when, one day, I went to meet with the Thief, as we usually did, and he was not there. I was going to ask him if he had seen my heart because he had said he wanted to share it with me. If anyone knew where it was, it would be The Thief. But when I could not find him, I knew he had taken it. My prized posession was gone, whisked out from under my nose in the false spirit of kindness, honesty, loyalty and..." The Stray Creature trailed off just then, unable to add the word love at the end. It is a small word but a heavy one and The Creature's tongue could no longer lift it.

The Man looked at The Creature in disbelief and shock. He looked at the Stray Creature, once tall like The Man, once able to lift small words like The Man, once able to love like The Man. He realized this could happen to him and clutched at his chest as though, right now, some unseen force was attempting to take his heart, too. And then he thought of something that terrified him even more than the possibility of having his heart stolen.

"If your heart was somehow returned to you, would you want it back?" he asked The Stray Creature.

"I don't know. It has been gone so long, I may not recognize it enough to know it was my heart. And what about the Thief? He will not return it. Even if I thought I could bear the weight of it in my chest again, I do not know what I would do with it. It was stolen so effortlessly, how could I let anyone share it again?"

The Man looked upon the Stray Creature. "I do not know this Thief. But, as reckless as he was with you, I am sure the hunt is what he longs for. The difficulty would not be in getting the heart from him because he obviously would not have stolen it had he known its true value. The difficulty would be in its return. You would have to be willing to recognize it and to know that there is always a chance it could be stolen again."

"You are not making me feel any better about my heart, sir," The Stray Creature muttered.

"No, no. Let me finish," said The Man. " If what you are saying is true, then by that logic, if it was found and successfully returned, the only way it would be impossible to steal was if someone lived in it."

"You say these things as though it were just a matter of decision. I have looked everywhere for my heart and it is gone. Gone!" the Stray Creature shouted at The Man.

The Man remained calm. He walked over to where the Stray Creature was sitting on a rock, head in hand. The Stray Creature did not look up but noticed The Man smelled of ink and paper. This made The Creature more amenable.

"If I found your heart and returned it, could I live in it and you live in mine? This way, no one would steal our hearts," The Man said softly, hoping to get The Stray Creature to look up at him. After many minutes passed, the Stray Creature did look up. When it did, it had a request.

"May I touch your chest?" The Creature asked The Man. The Man nodded and closed his eyes as this seemed such a private thing. The Stray Creature extended an arm that had once been longer and placed its palm directly over The Man's heart, pressing firmly but gently.

"You have a very large heart," The Stray Creature said, tears welling in the rims of its eyes. "You would trust me to live in there?"

"Yes I would," said The Man, smelling more and more of ink and paper. "Would you trust me to live in yours?"

The Stray Creature wiped at its eyes. "If ever I find my heart, you will have to ask me again. In my head, I imagine I could. However, my trust is in my heart and, as you know, it is gone."

The Man stood up from his kneeling position. "Then I will find the Thief and take your heart back from him. And when I return your heart, I will ask you again."

The Stray Creature sighed. "I will think about you. That is all I can do."

The Man replied, "I know. Soon we will both have homes, though."

The sun was going down and The Stray Creature had been sitting on its rock all day to warm it. It was time to go to sleep.

"I will be under this rock if you return with my heart and need to find me." The Creature went on to explain, "It is the only way I can stay warm."

The Man nodded. "One day you will be tall again. One day you will be a woman again."

"I will think of you," said the Stray Creature as it crawled under its rock to stay warm, disappearing from the Man's sight, but not his mind.

The Man stayed just after sunset, looking at the rock. Then, as the sun completely disappeared, he walked away, shame in his heart. There were many Men where he lived. He did not have it in his heart to tell the Stray Creature the Thief was a Man. The only thing he could do was to find which Man was the Thief and return the heart to The Stray Creature.

And if luck was with him, the Stray Creature would still be thinking of him.

Nine Snakes

Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:11:11 AM): sorry i was making flapjacks
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:11:19 AM): its cool
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:11:22 AM): what can i do for you
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:11:43 AM): was just going to bs before i went to work i am in greeley 2
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:12:03 AM): where is bs?
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:12:11 AM): bullshit?
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:12:13 AM): lol
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:12:13 AM): there is a greeley 2?
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:12:17 AM): lol
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:12:39 AM): man i need to learn geography better
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:12:57 AM): smart ass writer lol
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:13:29 AM): um. what?
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:13:46 AM): i said writers are smart asses
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:14:02 AM): wow that's random
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:14:26 AM): no u were being a smart ass and arnt u a writer your pro says so
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:15:20 AM): my pro? i'm not a golfer. far from it. oh! you mean my lumberjack mentor
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:15:37 AM): lol or profile
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:15:44 AM): i'm not sure what you mean by the writer thing
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:15:55 AM): you might have clicked on someone else
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:16:08 AM): and thought it was u maybe
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:16:32 AM): sorry i'm really paranoid
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:16:35 AM): why
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:16:51 AM): well i can't tell you. i'm paranoid
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:17:04 AM): what u stoned?
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:18:00 AM): no
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:18:14 AM): i'm for hugs not drugs
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:18:18 AM): ok
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:18:27 AM): well u said u were parinoid
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:18:37 AM): would u want to chill sometime
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:18:56 AM): i would! i hate being paranoid
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:19:26 AM): when could u chill
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:19:42 AM): i don't know! if i knew i wouldn't be paranoid!
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:20:00 AM): why r u paranoid
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:20:11 AM): what do u want to do
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:20:34 AM): number one on my list=stop being paranoid
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:20:47 AM): ok
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:21:13 AM): i've been paranoid for 3 years 45 days 7 hours and 20 mins
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:21:20 AM): of what
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:21:27 AM): my life!
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:21:30 AM): why
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:21:46 AM): i'm afraid of snakes
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:21:48 AM): would u meet someone for completly random sex
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:22:06 AM): jesus no! that would remind me of snakes!
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:22:49 AM): how old are you
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:22:56 AM): 18
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:23:06 AM): oh god. that adds up to nine
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:23:15 AM): which is how many snakes i'm afraid of
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:23:26 AM): whatever u are crazy lol
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:23:55 AM): no way. i'm completely normal in every other way
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:24:14 AM): i'm just scared that nine snakes will get me
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:24:22 AM): they wont
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:24:29 AM): clearly!
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:24:35 AM): but i'm scared they will
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:24:47 AM): ok
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:24:50 AM): i know it's not rational
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:25:13 AM): i bet its fun acting all crazy to people
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:25:46 AM): i'm not acting, man!
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:25:52 AM): don't make fun of me!
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:26:04 AM): what kind of horrible person does that?
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:26:13 AM): im not makin fun or u
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:26:45 AM): what if i made fun of your grammar?
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:26:49 AM): would you like that?
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:26:52 AM): no!
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:26:55 AM): i wouldnt care
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:27:15 AM): well it's a lot different than making fun of my fear of nine snakes coming after me!
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:27:25 AM): like i don't know is sounds nuts
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:27:48 AM): ok do u want to chill sometime
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:27:53 AM): YES!
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:28:02 AM): dear god! i do!
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:28:12 AM): then lets chill
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:28:33 AM): i wish i co--oh god
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:28:41 AM): your name
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:28:48 AM): Al
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:28:56 AM): no your screenname
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:29:07 AM): crazycongo
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:29:22 AM): is someone sending you to mess with me?
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:29:32 AM): no
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:29:35 AM): they have at LEAST nine snakes in the congo!
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:29:41 AM): r u messin with me
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:29:45 AM): NO!
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:29:48 AM): well i am not from the congo
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:30:03 AM): why would you have that name?
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:30:10 AM): with crazy in front of it?
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:30:16 AM): you're making fun of me!
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:30:21 AM): no
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:30:28 AM): did brian send you?
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:30:37 AM): oh you guys are soooo funny
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:30:43 AM): ?
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:30:46 AM): whos brian
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:30:53 AM): RIGHT
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:31:02 AM): like anyone is named AL
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:31:21 AM): you tell brian he can shove it
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:31:27 AM): i think u are smokin crack
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:31:39 AM): hugs NOT drugs!
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:31:49 AM): your crazy
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:31:54 AM): no i'm not!
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:32:04 AM): i'm just on edge
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:32:13 AM): otherwise i'm normal
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:32:22 AM): i go to the store
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:32:33 AM): i'm an artist
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:32:38 AM): yeah thats it
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:32:50 AM): i have a normal life
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:32:51 AM): writing is a form of art as well tho
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:33:08 AM): i can't write worth crap!
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:33:14 AM): i cant either
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:33:18 AM): i flunked writing in college!
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:33:29 AM): lol
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:33:33 AM): i have to redo that damn class
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:33:53 AM): why are you laughing?
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:34:13 AM): i should be laughing at YOU
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:34:23 AM): its funny and ok
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:34:25 AM): you're the one asking 30 year olds for sex
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:34:37 AM): what's funny?
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:34:53 AM): i don't see anyone telling jokes
crazycongo123 (3/2/2008 9:34:57 AM): ok
Wendy Liddell (3/2/2008 9:35:22 AM): listen you little perv, don't ever talk to me again!