Mooner Johnson Productions Presents- Melanie


So. I’m finally catching up with my stuff and am almost finished doing all the stuff I agreed to do for others. And I’ve already started this bloggie posting with a lie because I haven’t caught up with shit—mine nor that of others either one. Something about this particular holiday season makes me a co-dependent people pleaser who has no problems of his own, because it’s your problems that are mine. Said another way, I become the crazy neighbor lady who tries to make everyone else happy and solve everyone else’s problems because her world is problem free. Then she’s found in an alcoholic coma with her panty hose bunched at her ankles over to the ally behind the Stephen F. Austin Hotel.

I offer to do errands that I hate to do, I offer to do the fucking dishes after spending three days slaving at the hot stove cooking the Xmas meal, and I offer to assist anyone down on their luck with whatever it might be that I can do to help.

OK, I lied again. I love to cook, and big holiday meals are my specialties.

Dr. Sam I. Am-Johnson, my first-of-ten ex-wives and long time psycho therapist, tells me that it is my guilty conscience that drives me to co-dependency. I don’t know why I do it the other fifty weeks of the year, but I do know why I do it at Xmas. And by-the- bye, I’m only saying “Xmas” because I know it offends some persons who are too fucking stupid to learn why Xmas is not a sacrilegious word. I have found in my personal observations that those offended by the word Xmas are assholes.

And nothing pleases me more than offending assholes. Xmas, Xmas, Xmas!!!

As a child, Xmas was a magical time for me. While we weren’t yet wealthy we had way plenty, so my Xmas days were filled with toys and food and glad tidings. They were also filled with visits to the Baptist church for spacial Xmas lectures by Pastor Browningwell. But I’m speaking of my pre-rape childhood here, so I almost enjoyed church. Almost.

Anyway, as a kid I led a bountiful existence—I was loved, well fed and had plenty of toys and shit. This one Xmas eve, Granddad and Daddy took Sister and me to the hardware store to get something Gram and Mother needed. I think it was a bundt cake pan and all they had was a metal ring pan dealie, and the same one I used to make the buttermilk cake that Melanie found for me.

On our way to the store, there was an old pick-up truck stalled on the side of the Farm-to-Market road, and there were a dozen or so Hispanics standing around it. The hood was open and steaming, and the Hispanic men were all standing with their heads under the hood.

“Looks like those Mezkins need help,” Sister said. Sister had a slight speech problem with long words as a child so she shortened her big words. She meant no disrespect.

“Yep,” Granddad said. “Looks like we’ve got a Mexakin truck to tow this morning.” My grandfather grew up with the word Mexakin because he was a redneck. He meant no disrespect either, and these people took none.

We chained their truck to ours—an old flatbed that I still use—and we towed them to town to the repair shop. Three of the things about my father and grandfather that are ingrained in my soul happened that morning. The first was when Granddad told Mike, the mechanic, that, “Yes, you will fix the Mexakin’s truck this morning.”

Mike blanched at Granddad’s words but did the work. The second thing that became a deep impression on me was when Daddy pulled the wad of bills he had secreted inside his coveralls and gave several to Mike. Daddy always kept a personal stash hidden from Mother’s eyes. When I asked my father why he kept a wad of money hidden from his wife, he said to me, he said, “You’ll be learning soon enough, Mooner.”

The third of the three things I can still remember vividly from that Xmas eve was that nothing else was said about it. I mean other than saying, “I hope that old truck makes it to California,” the paternal units of my family didn’t mention a thing to a soul about their good deed.

Sister and I, of course, carried on and on about the sweet pecan candy we were given by the little girl on her way to California. She had a little patch of cloth wrapped around several cookie-sized discs of the homemade candy that is a traditional Mexican sweet. I could tell that her little stash was as prized as my father’s, and she gave of it to us as freely as Daddy gave of his.

OK, look. I’m way off the reservation. This was supposed to be where I announce to you the next award to my Bloggie Roller. I’m installing Melanie over there ====}}}}}} to the Bloggie Roller today. I was going to do this several weeks ago but I decided I needed to try the buttermilk cake recipe she gave me before doing so. See, Melanie posts a recipe with every installment over there, and what if her recipes turned out to be shitty?

Wait. That would be an unfair assessment if a recipe turned to shit under my care. Following a recipe is one of the things I do worst. But the Squirt helped me with the recipe and Gram gave me one of her, “Will you fucking pay attention, Mooner” mushroom potions. The cake was incredible.

Melanie is a working mom who home-schools her kids. She pulls a night shift in a hospital up in Michigan, schools and raises children, blogs like mad, and cooks like a maniac. She has the sharp wit, big heart and the twisted sense of humor that attract me to a woman. And the recipes she posts will make your mouth water.

Please go give her a look. You’ll be glad you did. Mel’s got kidney stones in addition to her regularly-scheduled life, so she can use your distractions.

Kisses and hugs, Mel.

Me, I’m headed to deliver that last slice of Mel’s cake to a sick buddy, drop Mr. Dave’s laundry at the cleaners for dry cleaning, and then I’ve got a shopping list of shit to purchase from Victoria’s Secret. I’m just glad Victoria’s Secret is having a half-off sale for all the naughties the half-off old women placed on the list.

I’m in serious need of a Carta Blanca beer, so let me go get my shopping done and get back here to drink. Manana, y’all.

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9 Responses to “Mooner Johnson Productions Presents- Melanie”

  1. squatlo says:

    Like you, I grew up with plenty of “toys and shit”, but always seemed to be lacking whatever it was that other kids were bragging about. Took me a long time to figure out that a lot of them were envious of our situation, so I guess it works out. Greener grass on the other side, that kind of thing.

    I enjoyed your truck towing story. Sounds like you come from good stock. And I’m off to see Mel’s site now, just cause you recommended it. Always interested in a recipe sharin’ woman’s blog.

    Hey, Don, toss back a Carta Blanca with me at about 4PM Central time. I’m planning on draining a few. It’s a fridge cleaning thing I promised to do. I’m pretty sure my lovely (and god! is she dangerous!) wife meant for me to wipe down the spills and stains, but the way I see it, if I make more room by emptying bottles I’ve done some cleaning. Perspective’s a bitch if you don’t see things from the right angle.

    Gotta go. maybe Mel’s got a good carrot cake recipe over there…

  2. Mooner, you are one rad dude! I admire people who do a lot for others around the holidays – wish I could be more like that, but I always end up suffering from the “holiday pissies.” And I agree with Squat – you’re descended from good stock (too bad more people didn’t have examples like the ones your grampy set!).

    And WOOT!! Shout out to my girl Mel!! Totally excellent choice for your bloggie roller (that I still cannot see)! She is also a rad chick! And you know – she’s my “people” – the Michigan connection! Go Mel!!

  3. admin says:

    Squat. I hit a bottle for you, then one for Melanie, a third for the Reckster, and a fourth for BJ. I’m now working on Patricia’s. Melanie will either have it or can find it on any recipe. She found the lost buttermilk recipe for me.

    Reck. Maybe you and Mel could make me a Mooner Pie one of these days. I love Mooner Pies. For some reason it’s the Johnson side of the family tree with all the important values. Mother’s side… But like Gram always says when she’ll say, “Who gives a shit, Mooner. Git me a beer while yer up.”

  4. mel says:

    oh the love i get online! thank you so much for the honor mooner! i feel so special! for real! i look at it as starting the new year off right! and thanks for having one for me…since i really shouldn’t what with the kidney stones and all…

  5. squatlo says:

    Ya’ll be careful… I don’t think this “Mooner Pie” thing has anything at all to do with food…

  6. squatlo says:

    Is there such a thing as a menage-a-twit?

  7. admin says:

    Mel. Welcome aboard. Like my grandfather said when was passing his kidney stones when he said, “The hardest part is getting started.”

    Squat, and Squat once more. Look, I like you and all, but do I try to cod lock you? And second, if the three of did get together it would be a menage-a-WIT!


  8. Congrats to Melanie for making it into the Looney Bin. Mooner’s the best warden out there… sometimes we get cotton candy!

    And Merry Xmas to all. I told my inlaws “A merry ‘ex’ mas” and they cringed. It started a fun debate on religious Dogma. Once again, the holier than thou aren’t as well-versed as they assumed…

    Boy oh boy I love the holidays…

  9. admin says:

    Brandini. Cotton candy is on its way. How do you like the new look of things here?

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