caughtintheXfire

Guess what I got today...

Another caa-aaa-aaaT. (/whine)

Yes, I am the proud new Mom to yet another feline.
And, once again it was brought to me by Eric.

I didn't do this y'all.
He did.
Remember that, 'kay?
*rolls eyes*

In other news...

I have a lil' tip for ya's...

If you're gonna spray your brand new bottle of Renuzit Odor Destroyer shit (or whatever da hell it's called) around the freshly cleaned room, tis best to remove the stupid sticker from across the front of the sprayer, lest you waste 22 squeezes of it, wondering what ails it, as it blows back all over your hand and runs down your arm into your sleeve.

*siiigh*

But, my shirt shure smells good.

Anyway...

Off to finish.
This includes, but is NOT (unfortunately) limited to:

Doing the laundry
Finishing the dishes
Cleaning four semi-large critter cages
Vacuuming
Putting shit away we just got at the store
And...
Maybe baking a cake if the rest of this doesn't take too awful long

We shall see.

'Bout the only good thing about it all is that the kitty potties are already done.

Ah well...
Back later.

Peace y'all...

Oh yeah...
P.S....
Mike, where are you?

Michael P. Wilson...

No... alright, ya know what?

Now I get it.

I do not have a single problem in the world.
Nope, nuh-uh, shuuuure don't.

Holy shit.

*big ol' deep breath*

And another.

Okay.
I'm fine.
Or, at least... better.

Between Ric, Tena, Paul, my Dad and Eric, I was pretty much convinced that quitting wasn't really the answer.

Then, Rob lent his strength and gave a mighty tug and... I'm back outta the pit to hell I was being pushed/falling/jumping into.

Thank you all of you guys.

The way to do this is one thing at a time.

Okay...

Mikey is handled.

My period is outta my control. If I had any kinda control over that, I'd never have one again. Stupid, useless shit that it is.

The dog situation is not in my control either. Gonna hafta gut that one out.

Same with this one other situation I've been dealing with for over a week so far.

And, I at least got to talk to my Dad, which is at least part of the whole point.

The hardest part of four outta these five things is that I can only have however much is given, to hell with and with no thought about how much I may need.

Sucks, but what am I gonna do?
Only other thing I know to do is walk away.... far, far away, never to return... to FORCE myself not to need these things anymore and I don't really wanna do that... yet... either.

I just want this pressure, this being backed up against a wall, to fuck off.
And, it's gonna.
One way or another, it's gonna.

I promise me that.

It's okay... I just put it to "draft"...

I simply cannot deal with this anymore.
And, no, this isn't the only thing....

I don't know how Mikey is and finding out is gonna be more of a fustercluck than it's worth putting people through.

I can't see his smiling face everytime I come here and not know how he is.
I also can't find out without adding to everyone's already overwhelming burden.

So... I'm done.
WHEN, not if, Mikey gets back to his life and to blogging, I'll be there.
Just like he has been for me so very many times.

Until then... whatever.

Frankly, at this point, and not just because of this, I'm seriously considering being done with blogging.

On top of everything else, this used to be my one unfettered way of having contact with that guy who fathered me and he's not even here anymore. Haven't heard from him in ages.
Like that's anything new, I know, but still...

Here lately, this seems to be more about who's NOT here and what "used to be" that isn't anymore.

I've had enough losses in my life to last my 99 lifetimes and so I'm wondering what the point even is anymore.

Doesn't seem to be one, with the sole exception of Chablis telling me what that animal was the other day.

Which was cool as hell buuuut....

There's just too much pressure, horseshit, frustration and hurt in my life right now.
And, this isn't helping anymore, like it used to.

And, I do have to admit, finding out that knowing someone, and even coming to love them, through blogging doesn't count is the last straw.
And, I'm not even a camel.

Pft.

Anyway... I'm outta here.
And, no, it doesn't mean anything bad has happened to Mikey that the top post in no more.

It just means that "I get it".

All hail Chablis... she found out what that critter is from yesterday...

This is him....

Isn't he gorgeous?

Don't bother with the EP unless ya wanna see me get ugly about the whole hunting/trapping bullshit thing, m'kay?

One thing I will say out here is this: Yeah, I'll remove, destroy or otherwise fuck up any trap, even an empty one, in a heartbeat which is bad enough... BUT... let me find one with one of my cats, or anybody's pet of any kind, left in it for days to die a slow death and that'll be the last thing the owner of that trap does without a trap shoved so far up his ass that the chain from it hangs out his nose.

Bet me.

I just wanna know what this creature is, not look at stupid nekkid women and just what in the hell does a book about Viet Nam, especially this one, have to do with whatever this thing is, anyway?

Christ Almighty.

I keep seeing this critter, or maybe it's "these critters" around here.
I don't know what they are, besides beautiful.

They're brown, long and low and are usually near some kinda water source.

I didn't, and still don't, know if they're ferrets, skinny muskrats, weasels or what.

Today, I found one dead along the side of the road. (I hate humans... ig'nernt basstids...)
SO... I scooped his ass up and showed Eric.

He says it's a weasel.

It's a boy, that's for sure. Big ol' cajones evident.
He's brown, a deep, dark luxuriant brown, with a white speck under his (mangled) chin and a splash of white on his belly.
He's about 16 inches long, 10" of body, 6" of tail, which is rather fluffy and soft.
So's his coat, by the way.
He's got a (bloody, flat) mouth fulla needle sharp teeth and a kinda small lookin' head for such a large body.
Or, maybe that has do to with being squashed by a car... I dunno.
Little, cute feet and very short legs and no smell about him whatsoever, so that kinda nixes the ferret idea.

I came on home, placed him gently in the dumpster (well, I thought that had a tad more diginity about it than being left along the road to be picked at by ugly-assed buzzards-n-shit...) and came in here to see if I could find a similar critter in an "images" search.

Pfft.

First page, I get this shit.
Not only do none of these weasels look like the poor lil guy I found, but JUST WHAT DA HELL DO NEKKID BIMBO WHORE-CHICKS HAVE TO DO WITH ANY OF IT?
Honestly....
Like I wanna see that crap.

So, one of the suggested search terms is "wild weasels".
I try that, figuring he wasn't a pet, right?

Again... pfft.

This time, I get this.
Y'okay.
This has a lot to do with it, too.
*rolling eyes*
However, this is a lot less offensive than nekkid stupidbitches, I suppose.
I scroll on down to see if there are any actual PICTURES OF A FRIGGIN' WEASEL and find this, which, by the way, has the longest "address" I've ever seen, Gawd.

Now, I have this book, Thud Ridge.
I have it because it tells what happened to my first father-in-law when he was captured during the war.
He spent seven years in the Hanoi Hilton.
The chapter about him is called The Longest Mission.
Very intense.

I can sum it up thusly...
He got shot down. He parachuted to a "safe" spot and his alert/signal was picked up by our guys.
Too bad HE wasn't.
One thing after another, shitty weather, shitty chopper engines, shitty everything kept them from going back for him for days.
When they finally did get a good shot at getting him back safely to base, they flew over where he'd been and still got the beeper signal.
They went to "voice" comm and when they got an answer, it was in Vietnamese.
So they knew he was pretty much fucked.
And he was for seven long years.
He's home, been home since the early 70's.
Yay that.

But, I ask again... da fuck does any of this have to do with weasels or whatever the hell the critter was that I found?

All I wanna know is what he is.

I mean, I'm glad to think of Joe and his happy ending and all.
It's just disconcerting to be looking for pictures of a wild animal and find Thud Ridge and it's downright nauseating to find nekkid bimbos.
Know what I'm sayin'?

I'm almost scared to look anymore.

And, I still wanna know if you can piss a rat off so bad his head'll explode.
'Cause, yeah, Rat Bastard is still at it, only now, it's only every other day he digs back through.
I don't know if I'm wearin' his ass out or he's just getting too fulla fresh, green horseshit to do this shit every day.
*shrugs*

It's amazing, the crap your brain will zero in on when yer trying to not go insane while you wait for (good) news about one of your most favoritest people, huh?

Durka-Durka-Muhammed-Jihad....

I have no idea what that means, but I've seen it so many times in the last few days that now I hear myself saying/muttering it about 500 times a day.

I mean, I know Muhammed is a name and jihad is war, right?
So, what's a durka?
Is it that that towel/diaper/head dress thing?
Or, is that a burka?
See?
I dunno...

It's what's on top at Mikey's.
That's all I really know.

That and that "Please, God... help Mike" is just about every other thought goin' through my head.

"Gotta go to work..."
"Please, God... help Mike."
"Need to go to the store."
"Please, God... help Mike.
"Aw man. This one's gonna hurt." (Said when I load up the shit bucket way too full to lift easily...)
"Please, God... help Mike."
"Gotta do this, gotta do that, gotta go here, gotta go there."
"PLEASE, please God... help Mike."

I mean, really, God... please don't take him, okay?
Let him stay here with us and with his family, his daughter.
They need him.
We need him.

He does so much good for so many people.
That huge, bright smile of his has helped me more than I ever said.

I mean, he knows, 'cause I've told him more than once.
I've told him how utterly heroic he is and several times, when I've just wanted to lay down and die under all the pressure and all the bullshit, he's gone out of his way to lift me back up, set me on my feet and keep me going.

His way of dealing with and living his life impressed me so very much that, as a surprise, I told Pixy about him and Pixy made a space for him at Munu.
Man, that was awesome when Mikey found out!
He loved it...
And, ran with it.

I've got pictures of him.
I've got pictures he sent me of his cats.
Did you know he calls the treats he gives them "nummies"?
He does and that, right there, is more than enough to make me fall apart.
He is so sweet and so goodhearted, so smart- engineering- so... Mikey.
God... please, man.
Don't do it.

You took Stevie Ray, Jim, Jimi, Janis, my Grandpop, Storm, Terry, over 100 of my friends, loves, teachers and acquaintences in high school alone... please don't do it again.
Not this time.

Look man... that mean woman from the restaurant back in Bucks, Joanie... remember her, God? Well, she's had MULTIPLE strokes/aneurysms- whatever- and she's still here, being all mean and nasty to just everybody for no reason at all.

If you can let her go on... how can you not let Mike?

This world NEEDS guys like him.
Not s'much bitches like her.
Know what I mean?

So, how about it?
Please help him.
Please don't take him.

Please?
Just this once?

Gotta go to work now.
Please, God.. help Mike.
Back later.
Please, God.. help Mike.

Peace, y'all
Please, God.. help Mike.

A battle of wills....

I'm having an almost daily battle of formidable wills... with a wise-assed RAT.
You know...
The brown fur covered things with bald tails that live on farms?

No, not the guys and not those bald tails...

The FOUR-legged brown fur covered things with bald tails on their hineies, twitchy noses, beady lil eyes and ATTITUDES?
Dig holes, chew shit and are a general pain in the ass...

Yeah.
Them.

Well, this one particular one, anyway...
Lil shit.

In one of the corner stalls I clean every day in the "little" barn there is a "ratway", apparently.
Not just yer regular, run-of-the-mill, rat-made hole, mind you.
This must be some kinda vital trail what with the shit this rat is going through to keep it open.
Not to mention the shit I'm going through trying to keep it CLOSED.

This shit's been going on since the first week I started there, too, whenever that was. (By the way and jes' fer the record, I have yet to take even one day off so far... **grin**)
Anyway... it's been going on for weeks, this shit with this rat.

His name is now officially "Rat Bastard", in case you're wondering.
Yes.
It's come to that.
Not only have I named the little fucker, it's getting to the point I wanna meet him, just so's I can shake his persistant little paw, ya know?
Then, kick him square in his ass.
The prick.

He started it.
He haaaas to have this hole dug into this one baby's stall. Like I said, it's a corner stall and so it's a pretty short dig to the outside. Apparently.

And, Rat Bastard can't just have an access hole big enough for him, oh nooooo.
He has to have a hole big enough for the baby to fall into and get sucked into another dimension. (Okay, so maybe I need to lay offa the King novels for a while... still.)

Everydamned day, there's his ever bigger hole and everydamned day I fill it the fuck in again.
I start with fresh, green horseshit. I get a coupla nice sized piles and dump them in. I even tamp 'em down with the non-business end of my fork.
Then, I kick in all the crap RB has dug out.
Stomp on that a coupla times.
Drag over some fresh sawdust, quite a pile, stomp that flat.
Finish stall, while eyeing the hole and giggling like the loon that I am... now... thanks to this asshole rodent.

Finish the other 9200 goddamned, arm muscle murderin', horses-havin'-a-contest-in-to-see-which-one-
can-fuck-'em-up-the-best STALLS and go home and promptly die.

Go back the next day and THERE IT IS AGAIN... only BIGGER.

There'll be at least 25 lbs. of sawdust/dirt strewn a good foot out from the new el hu-MUNGO hole.
Then, there'll be small rocks all the way across the stall, like the little fartbag stands on his hind legs, literally throwing the fuckin' rocks with his front feet, probably cussing me the whole time.

Every day, this shit is... EVERY DAY.

I keep expecting to see him come strolling out the hole, wearing a fedora, cigarette dangling off his lip, flippin' a coin.
He walks over to me and just stands there, flippin' his coin til I look at him.
Then, he'll say, "Listen bitch... da fucks yer problem, anyway? Why you gotta keep doin' this shit? Every day. It's gettin' old and if ya keep it up, I'mina bite ya, see? I'll make a hole that'll make the Lincoln Tunnel look about as impressive as a pee hole drilled in a snowbank, see? Knock it da FUCK OFF, oKAY? Jeezus...." as he turns and strooooolls away, back in to the hole...
that I promptly fill with horseshit yet again.

Well, that's what he gets for "bitch", see?

Now... my question is this:

Is it possible to piss off a rat?
Like, get him so fuckin' pissed off his head explodes or something?

'Cause, if it is, I am and this is fun.

On the other hand, if this is just everyday, business-as-usual for this peckerhead "mouse-on-roids" and I'm the only one getting tired of it already, then... it's not s'much fun or soon won't be.
If he's just brainlessly diggin' a hole every day, just to be digging a hole... if he doesn't realize it's the same farkin' hole and if that's not just pissin' him off to no END, then I need to take it to the next level, I think.
A cinderblock on toppa the freshly-filled-in-hole maybe.
Or, some of that "Boyfriend in a Can" stuff.
I don't know what it's really called, but...

I was told to go to the hardware store one day and get this shit. It's in a can, ya shake the can, spray out this foamy stuff that fills in holes and gets instantly hard.

I'm supposed to go ask the male clerk for this whatever it's called.
I have only the description of what it does to work with.
So.... I go and ask the guy for "some stuff that oughta be called "Boyfriend in a Can" because, apparently, what it does is fill in holes and gets hard instantly..."

Scary part is... he knew what I was talking about.
*raised eyebrow*

Anyway, maybe some of that shit... IF his isn't driving this rat totally batshit.

So... think it is?
*wicked glint in eyes*

The more I hear this song...

My child arrived just the other day,
He came to the world in the usual way.
But there were planes to catch, and bills to pay.
He learned to walk while I was away.
And he was talking 'fore I knew it, and as he grew,
He'd say, "I'm gonna be like you, dad.
You know I'm gonna be like you."

And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon,
Little boy blue and the man in the moon.
"When you coming home, son?" "I don't know when,
But we'll get together then, dad.
You know we'll have a good time then."
Harry Chapin

... the more I appreciate it.

I may a 'tard....

But, I'm a cool 'tard.

The other night at the mall, I went into Spencer's.
I can't go into Spencer's and not but something, whether it's a bumpersticker, keychain... whatever.

This time it was a close up poster of James Douglas Morrison, looking very lion-like and sexy.
"The Doors" is across the bottom.
If you've seen the series of photos of Jim from which the cover of "No One Here Gets Out Alive" was chosen, you've seen this shot.
It's a very intense look on his face.
It's fuckin' gorgeous.

It's also now on display on my front door window.
Frames it perfectly.
And, the window is one huge piece of glass, so none of those annoying window pane-thingies to screw it up.

Eric, of course, thinks I'm a moron.
I, of course, think it's AWESOME.
(The poster where it is, not that Eric is even more convinced that I'm fuckin' fried, which I am...)

I also think that people oughta be glad it's just Jim and not one of my other, more esoteric, dark heros.
Got an utterly gorgeous shot of Ozzy.
Then, there's the new Bret Hart magazine-that-goes-with-his-new-DVD-set
with the panty-puddle inducing posters of him.

Hey, I'm not above going and getting a poster of Neil Young, if need be....

Not to eeeven mention I've got a shot of Acidman's cute lil ass that could be printed, enlarged and utilized, if I hear to much pissin' and moanin' about Jim.

Oooooh... Robe-o-vision...
I'm just sayin'...

So, be glad, people here in my personal life.
Be glad and rejoice in my 'tardhoodedness.
(Rejoice that it's not worse or contagious...)

"Ya know the day destroys the night.
Night divides the day.
Try to run, try to hide.
Break on through to the other side..."

Need a new top post....

Enough with the cow already, huh?
End of the story is she died in the barn that night, so didn't have to be shipped to a rendering plant, good for her.
In my (bent) mind, that's better because at least she got to die where she'd lived and given so much of herself, ya know?

In other news, we got the i265s.
Went last night, instead of today, because yesterday afternoon, Eric drowned his i550 in a puddle of cow piss.
It was either that or the fact that it got stepped on by half the herd that killed it.
Friday the 13th and all that happy crappy.

Just got done Stephen King's "From a Buick 8".
What a weird book.
Gonna hafta read that one a few more times for it to really sink in.
But, that's the way it is with alla his stories.
You read it the first time and, if ya like it, re-read them and each time get more connections and insights.
It's no "Christine", but it's set here in Pee-Aye and it involves State Troopers and, since I drive a copcar, I decided to go on and buy it.

Even better... while we were at the mall in MD. last night getting the radios, we decided to have a walk around.
Guess what I finally found?
The ORIGINAL "Stepford Wives"!!!!!

*huge sigh of contentment*
Been lookin' for that booger forEVER.

Besides which, I also got 6 movies or so yesterday from the local Giant supermarket, on sale.
"Star 80", "Private Parts", the anniversary edition of NatLamp's "Family Vacation", a LoTR movie specifically for Eric, "Grease" annnnnd... da fuck's the last one?
Yeah, "Tin Cup".
That one, Star 80 and the NatLamp are on DVD, so there's cool extras and shit.
Now, if I only had time to watch ANY of 'em....

Getting ready to run to Lancaster to see a buddy of ours.
Get back, gotta go to the store, then I b'leive I'm making cookies later.
Eric wants some Oatmeal Raisin and what Eric wants, Eric gets.
Usually...
*grin*

Anyway, gotta jet.
We're leaving shortly, so I need to be ready.

Back later and meanwhile...

Peace, y'all...

Stephen King has got nothing on dairy farming when it comes to horror sometimes... Jesus.

Ya know how they say, "One thing leads to another"?
Well, it's most definitely true and sometimes it sucks hard and ya just wish it wasn't.
Like today.

I kicked ass at the horse farm to get done as quickly as possible, so I could get our horses shit done and get back home here, so I could bed the calves (yep... again) before it rained.

I didn't make it.
Started raining the exact minute I got out of the car when I got home.
*rolls eyes*
(I shoulda known right then...)
That was bad enough, ya know?
But... no biggie, really.
I was already sweat soaked, anyway...

As usual, unplanned shit came up and I got out there to do the babies a little later than I had intended.
Now, usually, when this kinda shit happens, I write it off as God's doing and I don't sweat it or push it or even worry about it.
Should have today.

I go out, clock in, go talk to Eric to find out what the plan is and go to get my first bale of straw.
First, I notice that the wheelbarrow fulla calf feed is getting wet.
So, I scrape off the wet top layer, cover the rest and give the two 5 gallon buckets of wet shit to the bigger calves. (That's what we do with all of the "old" calf grain.)

I get done dickin' around with that and looked over at the springers. Those are the cows that're ready to give birth any time.
You can't possibly check on them often enough, it seems.

I see this one cow, walking around, drooling, with her tail damned near straight up in the air over her back.
What the hell? I don't recall seeing that behavior before....
So, I go on into the pen and get behind her.
Nothing showing... at first.
Then, she pushed.

What the hell?

I didn't know what I was seeing.
Looked like she was trying to expell her calfbed or some other bizarre internal organ.
Then, she did it again, and I realized it was a tongue.
She had about 8 inches of calf tongue hanging out of her... crotch.
Now I know "what the hell" and I go get Eric.

"Hey. You've got a big problem out there with one of the springers. Got a tongue hanging out. Biiig nose, too, but no feet...."

I kinda figured from the first minute I recognized what I was seeing that the baby was probably dead, or wasn't gonna make it, even if it was alive, but I had NO idea what I was getting into.
I mean, I know this happens and have even heard first-person stories about it, but, until today I had been fortunate enough to not see it myself and I hope to hell and back I never do again.

The calf was dead, like I thought, but... it had been dead for a few days and was also decomposing.
You ain't smelled NUTHIN, til you smell a decomposing calf that still has to be extracted. I don't know if it was the knowledge that we had to get it outta there that made it so much worse, or what, but damn man...

Eric did a quick check/feel around and radio-ed Larry. While we were waiting for him, Eric starts trying to find the calf's feet, to bring 'em up and out to be able to get the calf out.
He can't even find a leg.
And the smell got worse every time he pulled his arm out. I think by the time it was over, TWO HOURS LATER, he'd gone through three pairs of breeding gloves.

Larry shows up pretty quick and that's when things went to hell in a hurry.
Not that any of it was Larry's fault, it was just that they could really get moving with the two of them working on her while I held her in between the gates.

After Eric still couldn't even feel a leg after about 15 minutes, Larry sent me to get the puller and a halter and some other shit.
By the time I got back, Eric had a hoof out.

So, they get the cow haltered and tied, attach the chain to the leg and start cranking.
Now, even under the best circumstances, when you're pulling a calf that way, you have to be careful and you can't rush shit.
This is even more true when the calf is dead, swollen and dry as a friggin' bone.

That poor fuckin' cow... God.

They were cranking the come-along, trying to get the baby out.
It was hard going. The hardest I've ever seen.
So hard, in fact, that... the baby's leg... it came off. The whole leg, from the shoulder.
I nearly lost it then, but I didn't.
I just kept playing this one song from The Farmer's Wife, something about "Blame it on me, blame it on the something, something... til it goes down into your stubborn bones..." or something like that, in my head. I don't know what the song is, but I kept it going over and over. That, alternated with "Darrel would do it, Darrel would do it..." like a mantra, so I wouldn't throw up or run screaming.
(Told ya he gives me strength. Usually, when I have some kinda shitjob to do that I'd just as soon not, I picture him lugging that big-assed tire across the driveway or coming home from work late at night, after dark, only to go out and do his own field work. The guy is awesome in his work ethic...)

Anyway... I have my back against the gate and I have the cows tail in my hand, over my head to keep it outta the way.
I don't wanna see any more of this than I have to, but I can hear...
I hear the cow moan/mooing and I hear the chain creaking and popping noises every so often.
Then, I turned just in time, to get a better stance on the gate, to see the leg come flying out.

All three of us just looked at each other and said some form of the Lord's name...
"God", "Jesus", "Christ"....

I felt myself start to tear up and turned away again, my back on the gate, leaning into it so the cow wouldn't fall.

At this point, Larry and Eric are discussing, quickly, what to do next.
I hear myself say softly, "You could put the chain around... around the head..."
They did.
It was all that was out and available.

More cranking, more pulling, more moan/mooing, more popping noises.
I had to get a better stance on the gate again and half turned and saw the baby's neck... My hand to God, it was a foot and a half long if it was an inch. I've never seen extension like that before in anything.

At this point, Larry calls for more help. Naturally, the jerkoff from last week shows up.... Just what we need to complete the festivities, right?
I saw him coming in the barn and said, "Oh, lovely. I'd rather look at a decomposed calf than him..." and turned my back to him, facing the cow's ass, Larry and Eric. (And, just for the record, he didn't have one smartassed word to say, since there were guys around. Wuss...)

The other guy who also showed up, Nathan, actually helped. Jeff the Jerkoff just stood around, cracking wise and generally showing off his uselessness. I expected nothing more.

Larry took over the tail-holding detail, I got a grip on the gate again, Nathan took over the come-along and Eric got the other leg, finally.

Between Nathan cranking and Eric pushing the edges of her crotch back, the calf ever-so-slowly started to come out a bit.
That's when I noticed it was as dry as if it had been born hours before.
That was definitely not helping...

After another seemingly endless amount of time, they got it. Once the shoulders cleared, it came a little easier.
Then, once it was out, we saw what the biggest problem had been.
From the hips down, the calf's hind legs were swollen to three times the normal size.
There are no words, believe me.

The cow is fucked. She's as good as dead. She goes "down the road" tomorrow morning.
The calf got hauled off to wherever it is that they take the dead babies. I don't know and I don't wanna know.
Larry went into the parlor to help milk the "hospital cows"- those are the ones who are being treated for some kinda medical problem or who are "fresh", meaning they just had a baby.
Eric went into the house to get a shower before returning to work.
Jeff the Jerkoff and Nathan went back to the shop to work.
I came inside for a cuppa coffee, a cigarette and to regroup.

What I did was fall apart.
I got the coffee, lit a cigarette and pretty much just dropped to my knees in the middle of the kitchen floor and bawled.
(And yeah, I did eventually get my ass back in gear and went and bedded the babies...)
I just felt so goddamned bad for that cow and that baby.
And Larry and Eric.
They tried so hard to save her...

Sometimes, I hate this shit.
I hate it that, once a cow does deliver, her baby is taken away almost immediately to be innoculated and bottle fed.
I hate it even more that, once a cow's milk weight drops to a certain level, or they can't be gotten pregnant anymore, they are sent off to be killed and turned into Alpo or some fuckin' thing.
There oughta be a "retired cow farm" somewhere.
Some place they can go to live out their days in peace, after all they give for those five or six years it takes to wring 'em out like washcloths.

But, I think the worst worst thing is when a cow births a dead baby and is okay herself, except that, after all that hell she just went through, she doesn't even have a baby to lick off and care for for a while.
That breaks my heart every damned time.

I don't know if I'm envious of the guys in their ability to accept it and go on to other jobs, or scared of how hard their hearts must be to be able to just walk away, seemingly unaffected by it all.
But, I suppose they can't afford to let it get to 'em like it does me, or they'd go crazy from grief.
I don't know.
I just don't know.

I feel like I've been awake for a year.
I am tired down to my very soul.
My heart still aches for that cow and I'm still washing the clothes Eric and I were wearing.

Those I managed to "save".
Eric thought his shirt would have to be tossed out, it was so soaked with... let's just call it "gick".
But, that I was able to save.

Peachy-fuckin' keen, huh?
Pft.

I still hate Jersey, but...

I do feel ever s'much better now.

I finally baked that cake last night.
Eric iced it while I was soaking in the tub.
(My left calf was achiiiiin' bad. Started going up into my knee and thigh muscle and it was just making me feel tired all over... it's better today, thank God.)
That cake I made is all but gone already.... (Eric)

I'm now making another one.
Same kind as last night... "super moist" yellow, with butter (or, more specifically "I can't believe it's not butter") instead of oil and whipped chocolate icing.
Maybe this one'll make it through 24 hours.... ya think?
*giggle*

PLUS, I got my first Hyacinth of the year.
Dear GAWD, these things smell s'damned good.
It's Spring in this house, now...

Plus, I'm the awed recipient of a certain email addy, which is... just wow.
Now to dig out the cajones to use it....

Speaking of cajones, I worked mine off today.
But, the knowledge that all the calves here and all the horses there are well bedded, correctly fed and comfortable is well worth the sore muscles and "old lady gimp" walk I now have.

It takes me hobbling across the whole living room to be able to walk right.
Which I just had to do, because the oven timer was going off.
Now... wanna hear something odd, but cool?

There's this feral barn cat, big fluffy ol' thing, who has been in here several times.
She/he comes in the back door and has a bite to eat or a clean drink of water and I feel honored she or he does that.

Last night, when the oven timer went off, she was in here.
Just now, when the oven timer went off, she was here again.
What a co-inky-dink.
Best part is, she no longer jets out the door when I walk into the kitchen.
She (or he) just walks calmly.
Hope the day comes when she stays.

There aren't too many completely cool things about me, but, the trust and rapport I have with most animals is one.

I can ride horses that other people swear are insane.
I've petted every single dog I've ever been near and only been bit once.
Even goofy old cows trust me. I can tell by how they behave with me and the fact that the milk weight goes up when I milk 'em.
I don't know what it is, but I do love it. A lot.

Now, if I could just get deer and other such creatures to let me pet 'em (and hide them from hunters-n-shit...)
I'd just love it to pieces if wild animals came up to me.
Deer, racoons, birds, bears... whatever, all of 'em.
I'd take care of 'em all, if they'd let me.
Hell, I've got more than 15 woolybear caterpillars in here.
I keep finding them all over the horsefarm, mostly.
I keep bringing them home, too.
Always have, always will.

Know what else I do?
If I see any kind of turtle, including a few loggerheads in my life, trying to cross a road, I will stop, go back and either carry or herd them on across.
I hate seeing them mashed in the road.
I hate seeing any kind of animal made into road pizza.
What kinda ig'nernt dickwad can't avoid an animal with just a little skill behind the wheel, anyway?

And don't even get me started on soulless losers who hit 'em on purpose....
Those assholes have a special spot in hell waiting for them, I'm sure.
Evil bastards that they are.

Anyway...
Jersey sucks and I have a Hyacinth, yay!
And, some kinda "something" when it comes to critters.
And an awesome new email address to use.
(Which I think I'm putting off using by blathering on like I am... *grin*)

So, on that note...
Guess I'mina go try to sound (even marginally) coherent and use it.
Then, I'mina ice that cake and then get the hell outta the way, lest I get trampled in his rush to get to it.
Then, I'm draggin' my draggin' ass to bed.

Beats the hell outta staring at my "not ringing cell", huh?
*rolls eyes*

Peace, y'all....

SonuvagoddamnedBITCH!!!!

(Not this one, Mary... the one under this one...)

Wanna know why I hate New Jersey with such an all-encompassing passion?

Read this shit.
Motherfuckers.

Poor goddamned baby bear...

And, someone PLEASE, for the love of God, correct me if I'm wrong, but...
Is it not NOT deer season anymore?
Which, if that's true, would make the "deer hunters" who found the body deer POACHERS, wouldn't it?
And, I looove how they were pissed about it, after the shit THEY pull.... *chewing back teeth*

See?
This is what I get for not getting right the fuck up and going outside like I know I oughta.

I fuckin' HATE New Jersey.
Jesus...

Buncha things...

First of all... I kinda need to try to keep this brief, because it's about 50 degrees outside and I wanna go re-do the calf grain buckets. The monkey-brain who usually grains them is CLUELESS about how you're supposed to feed 'em. Not that he hasn't been told (and told and TOLD) and shown several times by everybody, including me, but he's a Mess'ican and "spicks no Engliass", except to say "No" and "Where's my check?".
The turd.
Consequently, each and every damned baby out there has a full bucket of wet, bird-shit-in, disgusting grain, including the newborns, 'cause they know what grain even is and they all love it when it's stinkin', sloppy and gross, right?
*siiiiigh*

Dipshit.

Anyway...

Let us start with yesterday...
T'was a good day.

I made two phone calls, both of which were to do with my phones, one to Sprint and one to Nextel.
The one to Sprint resulted in a payment plan that starts next month and runs til June. Best part is that I don't hafta pay shit til February.
I like that.
Now, I originally called them because I had the same options going on both phones, which was DUMB. I dropped everything offa the landline, except voicemail and caller ID. That way, since the landline is constantly in use for this stupid computer, we can still get messages and see who it is, if it does ever (get to) ring.

Then, I called Nextel.
I wanted to be sure what my plan covers and what it doesn't. While I was talking to them, I asked about how it is that people get free phones when they start a contract and mentioned that I didn't when I started my contract, in fact we still have the i550s.
After they quit giggling about the fact that we have Fred Flintstone Phones, they told me about the current special offer, which is the i265 for $25. It normally costs $175.
I'll be picking up two of them Saturday.
I'd be fuckin' retarded not to, ya know?

I thought it was kinda cool that one division of Sprint freed up my money til February so that I could then spend some of it at another division of Sprint. (Nextel and Sprint are in the process of merging....)

Serendipitous, no?

Then, in less than 24 hours (one last night and one this morning), two friends of mine got hold of me about hooking me up with.... with... that stuff that GOD put on this Earth for us to keep us from blowing up the planet.

Lem'me put it this way...

God made life.
God made pot.
God made pot because He knew life was gonna blow chunks 90% of the time.

See?
*big toothy grin*

Now, I not only mentioned that because it's good news, but also because it brings me nicely into today.

Got home from work and had a buncha cool emails from actual people, as opposed to spamshit.
These I wanna address here, for brevity's sake (and because of the calf grain buckets-n-shit...)

So, here we go...

Michael... Yes, yes I did. What IS it gonna take for you to DO it, Dude? And, I took the signoff to kinda mean to stfu and find something constructive to do. My bad... *smile* Now, back to staring fixedly at my cell phone, whilst waiting (and waiting and waiting) for it to ring... right? (*siiigh*) And, for some goofy-assed reason, I have "Ballroom Blitz" playing in my head now, except, in my version, it's being sung as "Media Blitz"... (Sometimes my brain scares me... *giggle*)

Mary... Please, feel free, invited even, to comment as often as ya want. That's what the option is there for. I love feedback, especially when I'm being a dip and ain't sure if I'm being one or not or when it has to do with Darrel or a few other repeat subjects.
I welcome anything you have to say.
And, the idea that he is even aware of my existence is wiggin' me out. Puts a whole new spin on watching TFW. I know of him and now... he knows of me? Holy shit, ya know? *grin*
I like that, too.
(By the way, I'm gonna email you back directly, just so I know for sure you see this. And, I have one question that is driving me bugshit... Did Leroy ever get offa Darrel's ass and ADMIT he's a damned good farmer, "maybe" (read: "definitely") even better than Leroy himself? I hope to God he did... but I also doubt it. Him, I don't like... much. Mean old man...)

Spork... Thank you for saying that because I truly felt I hadn't done 'em justice. I really did only scratch the surface with what I said. Later that night, instead of writing more about it, or emailing Brian like I said I was gonna, I ended up talking to my cousin Jim, who also spent significant amounts of time in their house and , God!, was that ever cool to do. I reminded him of some stuff and he reminded me of more.
What I wish, more than just about anything else (except, maybe, for ever being able to meet Darrel Buschkoetter in person *blush and a grin*), is for me and Jim, Beth and all of them to see each other again.
(Quick... somebody call Maury Povich, or whomever does those kinda shows these days... *giggle*)

I do intend to get more of it written down and to tell them myself how much they all meant to me and did for me... just as soon as I have time to take a breath.
(Keeping in mind, of course, that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions and I'm already on the Teflon Turnpike...)

And, Cat... Thank you for including me in your emailings. It's getting so if I don't have a bunch from you, I immediately wonder if everything is okay and if you're okay and then... boom, boom, boom, there ya are again and I remember to breathe again. That you include me in your list is too cool for words.

Now... is that everything?
Hmmm...
Think so.
For now, anyway...

Off to fix the calf buckets, then.
I'll be back later.
Meantime...

Peace, y'all....

One more thing... then I clean this house... I swear...

Lately, I've been getting a ton of hits for Darrel Buschkoetter. Actually for him and Juanita.

I don't mind this a bit, but, I just want to make it clear that, of the two, I'm a "Darrel fan", not s'much Juanita, ya know?

All I know about her is that she isn't with Darrel anymore and she is remarried. I don't know to who, don't know where she lives, don't know what she's doing and... I kinda don't care.
I know that sounds sorta bitchy, but, y'all know me, right? When it comes to women, I'm just naturally not that interested very often.

Nine times outta ten, I align with the guy in any given situation.
Especially this one.

It was Darrel I was drawn to from the first and it's him now that I think about, wonder about and hope is more than just fine, ya know what I mean?

As for updates... only one that matters is that Darrel is okay and is still farming.
End of story, pretty much.

I will say this, however...
Upon re-watching "The Farmer's Wife", it strikes me HARD when I hear her say that Darrel didn't want her to go to school because he was scared she'd finish her education then leave him.
Well... she did do that.
He was right.

There are also a few other like asides like that, that when I hear 'em now, strike me in a "not good" way toward her.

"It already has gotten to me..." is one.
I think I know what that meant.
Other things like that.

Anyway... bottom line is simply this:

I like Darrel.
I care about what happens to him.
He's been a source of strength for me since the first time I watched TFW and he's the one I'd like to keep up with as much as possible, without being obtrusive.

She did what she felt she needed to do, just like most women eventually do and it's him, as usual, left alone, trying his ass off to make a go of it and therefore, he has my support.
She doesn't need it, lucky for her, 'cause it's just not there.

I'm just sayin'....

Speaking of family...

I also got to reconnect with two blood relations today.
Got to talk to my cousin, Beth, on the phone when I called her brother, Jim, about finding the Buckleys AND just got done talking to Jim, himself, AND now I've got him in my DirectConnect.

Now, if I'd just shaddap and get the farkin' house clean....

Looks like another one of those nights I ain't goin' to bed.

*shaking head at self*

Oh well.
It's worth it.
*grin*

Whatta day.
Ya know?

Peace

I found my family!!!!!

I am so stoked right now, I can barely sit still enough to type.

I just finally, after searching the 'net for so long, found the family I grew up with back in Alloway, NJ.

Well, actually... I found Drew's number back right before Christmas. It just took me this long to work up the cajones to call it.
Glad I did, though...

He was the first one I found and I called the number I found for him and spoke to his wife, first. She gave me most everybody else's numbers and I also got to talk to Brian.
Now, I'm dying to hear Keith's, Andree's and Michelle's voices again after about 30 years!

Guess it would help if y'all knew what da hell I'm goin' on about, huh?

Well, okay. But, I'm gonna keep it brief for now. I have way too much that wants to come out to be able to get it all out right this second, but I can most definitely give ya the basics, so at least you'll all see how utterly cool this is...

Back when I was a kid (and no, not yesterday... *grin*), I used to live at the beginning of a long driveway. Behind our house was another HUGE house, the "mansion" I always called it. The family that lived there just about raised me, for all intents and purposes. I swear I spent more time there than I did at my own house.

There were six kids. Mark, Brian, Drew, Andree, Keith and Michelle. They had six dogs... Blaze, Dutchess, Elkie, Martha, Barney and Precious. There was a nutjob rooster, Peter Rasputin, a horse Shar, a cat whose name escapes me, but the cat, I do remember, spent a lot of time on top of the fridge.

The house was huge. It had about 15 rooms, including the mudroom and laundry room. There was the kitchen, the dining room, the piano room, the den, upstairs were three bedrooms and a play room and upstairs again, the attic, which had a coupla rooms in it, if I remember it correctly. We didn't go up there much. That was the "big boys" rooms. The big boys were Mark, Brian and Drew. They were a bit older than me, so I didn't hang out (read: bug them) up there too often, but I do remember seeing it a few times.
There were at least four bathrooms in that house. More fireplaces than my brain will give me right now.

I can remember the kitchen table, where I was fed more times than there are numbers to count it. I remember being in the den on Saturday mornings, watching cartoons... Josie and the Pussycats was one of 'em.

I can remember playing "Born Free" on the piano. There were French doors in that room that led out onto a patio where we'd have breakfast sometimes.

There was a lake at the bottom of the hill. We'd "take a dip" in there ALL the time. I can also remember watching Keith flying down that hill on his bike straight into the lake. (Keith was crazy... *lol*) He did that a LOT.

I remember "Mom's" scrambled eggs. No one has ever made them better than she did.

These people gave me a second home. In many ways, a better home than I had "at home". With Dad being gone all the time working and whatnot and just my insane mother being at my house, I spent every minute I could with the Buckleys.

I have mentioned these wonderful people before. It was their house I was going to the night my Dad collapsed and was taken away in an ambulance for what felt like 10 years.

There is more, oh, so much more. They were the first 10 or so years of my life and I've never forgotten one bit in the passing years.
Finding them again is such a gift.

Okay.
Eric just came in and now we need to go "do" our horses right quick. Then, I hafta come back here and clean the hell outta this house, because a guy we used to work with back in Bucks, Shlavik, is coming over tomorrow.
Haven't seen him since September.
(Anybody wanna try to guess how badly I wish it were every single Buckley comin'? *grin*)
Besides, I did say I was gonna keep this brief. (Well, this IS "brief" for me, ain't it?)

Back soon.
Peace y'all...

And, the phones are back on...

Yep.
We have the Nextel cells back, thank all that is good and holy.
Now, all I need to do is get Ed's private ID in my phone and mine in his and I am safe from having to beat the shit out of that non-driving, special ed (for real, special ed) asshole from last week (and several times since).

Tyler, the Jack Russell, is here again tonight.
He is having a blast and so are we having him here.

Now, all I need is to find the energy to clean the kitty-potties and bake that stupid cake mix I've had for a week and I'll be good to go.
Especially since I've FINALLY found a "source" for "that" when I have the money.
He's not goin' anywhere, so I'm not sweating it. (Even though it's been more'n a week since the last time....)

Meanwhile, I can't seem to get enough sleep here lately. Don't know if it's from the heavy kinda work, the cold or my "little friend" being here, or a combination of all three...
Whatever it is, I hope it stops soon.
Maybe it has something to do with getting up at o'dark thirty every day.
I dunno.
All I know is I slept this afternoon for a while and I'm ready to fall out again right now.

Think I will.
I do have a new Stephen King book to read....
And, the alternative, cleaning kitty-potties, is not exactly an eye-opener...
(They aren't that bad, ya know... *grin*)

Then too, going o sleep now, I might just get up early enough to do that other shit (no pun intended) tomorrow morning, before I go to the farm...

Whatever, right?
Right.
(Hell, I'm boring mySELF now...)

Peace, y'all...

A few random things...

Kind of a "good news/bad news" type of deal...

Those miners in WV did leave notes. Or, some of them did. They said they were all "just going to sleep..." They indicated that they weren't suffering and one, at least, said "Tell all I'll see them on the other side."
That makes me feel better and worse at the same time...

So, that's both good news and bad news at the same time.

Pure good news is that the one Jack Russell from the horse farm who acted like he wanted to eat my face til Christmas Day is here right now, in my house.
Seems his "Mom and Dad" won't be home for a few more weeks and he makes me feel so bad when I put him in his house before I leave... so the Mrs. and I decided to see how he'd like to come home with me instead.
Well... he loves it.
Little booger wants to play fetch 24/7, though.
Hard enough to do that enough (in his opinion) while I'm trying to fork shit.
He lays there with the ball about an inch from his nose, right outside of whichever stall I'm working on, knowing that I'll throw it two or three times enroute to the spreader and after I dump the shit AND on the way back into the barn, let alone trying to keep him satisfied while I'm cooking dinner... *smile*
It is nice having him here.

Bad news: I guess I do have one more thing to say about "that" (from a previous post)...
Seems like I maybe do have an issue or two with what I take to be ANYONE trying to "seperate" me and Eric.
Our Nextel cell phones have been off for about a week or so. We just didn't have the money to keep 'em on.
HOWEVER, I just talked to Nextel/Sprint today and made arrangements to get 'em back on.
Then, after work, Eric comes in and says Larry wants to move him to his service.
For the first time in I don't know how long, maybe EVER, I came right out with "What about ME?"
I felt so.... abandoned again.

No.
Don't do it...

I started to cry, like instantly.

I mean, here I am, working my ass off to get this shit right, I was right in the middle of cooking a big dinner (ham, baked beans, au gratin potatoes, mac and cheese, peas...), I got Eric his stupid Oreo cookies and I'm just trying so hard to be "good enough", then here comes ANYBODY trying to seperate us.

No.
Not gonna stand by while that utter HORSESHIT happens to me again.

Fuck that.

**Now, somewhere deep inside of me, I do know better than this. Larry's not that kind of man. He wouldn't do something just to hurt me, buuuut... No. Not now. I just can't handle it. I mean, it's not like it'd be free. The bill would get paid outta Eric's check anyway, so why bother, ya know? All I can see is a wedge being placed between me and Eric and NO. Sorry, but NO. The only tiny bit of "good news" from this is that I've now lost my appetite. I am at war within myself. I know Larry meant well and I also wanna die at the thought. I've been "seperated" from quite enough already. Fuck, now here go my eyes again... filling, but not spilling yet. Damaged beyond all hope, ain't I?**

I gotta go.

Peace people.

Compounding tragedy...

I am simultaneously heartbroken and outraged over the disaster at the Sago mine in Tallmansville, in WV.

I really was hoping and praying that it would turn out more like what happened at Quecreek Mine. I have the movie about that on tape and that's where I saw the "miracle of the soccer ball".
I still have mine, too. The one I "found" right after I saw that movie...
It's still hanging right above this computer, just like it has been since I brought it home that night.

What is almost worse than what happened to all but one of those men in WV, is the fact that their families were mislead into believing that all but one man had survived. They were told only one man had died.

They celebrated that for three hours.
Only then were they told the truth... that all but one man had died.
Un-fuckin'-believable.
How horrible...
I feel like I've been gut-punched.
Can you even begin to imagine how those families feel?
Jesus...

Anyway, if you don't know what happened in WV, here's a link to about 1300 stories about it.

The one man who survived is still in the hospital in critical condition, but he is responding to his wife, thank God.

I saw one article that compared and contrasted this God-awful mess with what happened at Quecreek.
That led me to this.

I just got done reading and crying my way through all ten chapters.
It really did make me feel a little better.
I still feel like shit for those families in WV though, and, if you do too, go read the story about Quecreek.

And, if you know a miner... give him a hug for me and tell him he's awesome to be able to do that every day and that he is in my thoughts and he's being prayed for by some nut in Gettysburg, okay?

God, those guys are amazing.
Or insane.
Or both.

Changes... I see changes...

Used to be when I bedded calves out there, I'd struggle to heft and tote two flakes of those huge-assed bales of straw. (One bale of straw (or hay) takes up the entire bed on the old flatbed out there. They are BIG.)

They're unwieldy to begin with. Plus, heavier'n a I don't know what. Even if you could get 'em folded in half, they're still a challenge, right?
Ohhellyes.

Well...

Since I've been workin' at the horse farm, heftin' this huge bucket of shit into the spreader about 35-40 times a morning (cleaning 16 stalls), I have gotten STRONG... like I used to be.
My shoulders, biceps and forearm muscles always feel kinda tight anymore, but I just thought it was fatigue or something.
It's not.
It's strength.

I was just out there bedding calves again.
First time since I started over at the horse farm. (Started the restaurant not too long after the horse farm and that made it all but impossible to help out out there, but.... I'm baaa-aaa-ack... and then some.)
Anyway, I went out there to bed 'em, wound up feeding them first, then surprised my own self by being able to carry two flakes at a time, folded in half even, WITH ONE HAND!!! Balanced like a serving tray, they were.
And, it was EASY.
Except for alla the farkin' goddamned straw inside my clothes.
GodDAMN, I like that. (That carrying that shit was so easy, I mean, not that I have about half a bale of straw inside my shirts...)

Also, I thought my jeans were kinda "big" when I wore 'em to the restaurant.
I was right.
Dear Lord GOD, please let me be able to get back into my 29" waist jeans again.
Without Ephedra.
By WORKING it off.
Maybe that way, it'll last, ya know?

And yeah, I know... muscle weighs more than fat or some danged thing. So, the fact that my arms and upper body are coming back from the "near dead" means that, if there was a scale in this house (which there's not), the numbers may not change much, even though my pants are so big now I can pull 'em off without undoing them. *grin*
That's fine.
It's never been about numbers with me anyway.
Hell, I know what looks good and what looks loose and fat and sloppy.
I just want "good".
Well... actually, I want "real damned good", if I may, please.
I want my 29's back on my skinny (yet muscular and toned and shapely) lil fanny.
It's getting so that both me and Eric could fit into these snowmobile pants I wear everyday.
I might wind up needing to do a few situps or something to target my middle, but, hell... I can do that.

Now... if I only didn't stiffen up like a dick OD-ed on Viagra every time I sit down for more'n five minutes...

'Course, that may have something to do with the fact that I've gotten, maybe, 6 hours of sleep since Sunday and alla that on the livingroom floor....

After I quit the restaurant on Sunday, I came home and started to clean the house.
It'd been a week, so it was slow going, at first.
I could hardly tell where to start.
But, I got it goin', then got a coupla hours on the floor, then went to the horse farm.

Now, the reason I knew it'd be okay to go on and quit the restaurant was because, on Sunday morning, talking to my horse farm boss, he told me my hours would be increasing. Not by much, but enough to make up for the restaurant (fuckall, I am sick of typing out the longassed word. Yet another good reason to have quit...).

That very morning a few colts got moved around, meaning there are a few more stalls to do now.

So, I found that out, quit the foodplace (*grin*) and came home to take back my house from the creeping clutters.

I made a tiny dent in it all, fell out for a few and went on to work at the horse farm again.
Got home yesterday (today IS Tuesday, isn't it?) and started in again on the house.
Plowed straight through it all until it was done. And, I mean COMPLETELY done, too.
Up to and including rebedding the animals cages, taking Donny Duck (and no, not "Donald"... Donny... as in "Osmond") for a swim in the bathtub, popping the dopey parrot his popcorn and just EVERYTHING.

In the middle of alla this, I was also cleaning the stupid coffeepot with vinegar.
Got it as far as starting the second pot of rinse water. While it was supposed to be doing that, I went with Eric to do the horse stalls at Larry's house.
Well...
All of the horses were still out. Three stalls were "kinda" done and everything needed filling. Plus, it was raining it's balls off and me with no coat 'cause it was "only gonna be a few minutes". Pft.
I also needed to run to the grocery store and Wallyworld.
So... we did alla that shit.
Got SOAKED bringing in all 5 horses, then went looking like a drowned rat to both stores. I didn't give a half a shit what I looked like. (Or smelled like, for that matter. I happen to LIKE the smell of horseshit...)
Anyway... come home, start dinner and discover the coffeepot has died.
Well fuck me.
Shit.

Guess what I got to do?
Go back to Wallyworld for a new coffeepot is what.
And, while I was that close, I also went back to the stupid grocey store for a coupla things I'd forgotten I needed the first time.

Get back home A-gain, eat dinner, clean up from that and that's when I did all the "animal shit" that needed doin'.

Again, passed out on the floor for a few hours and back to the horsefarm again.

Now, here's where shit gets iiiinteresting... again.
Remember that lying, no-good, rotten, four-flushing, low-life, snake-licking, dirt-eating, inbred, overstuffed, ignorant, blood-sucking, dog-kissing, brainless, dickless, hopeless, heartless, fat-ass, bug-eyed, stiff-legged, spotty-lipped, worm-headed sack of monkey shit motherfuckin' asshole from Friday night? The one who has a "get my ass beat by a CHICK" death wish?
He's back.

Seems the silly little bitch at the gas station tried to misdirect me by calling him Josh, when his name is actually Jeff and he DOES work here and he IS a bleeding asshole.
Oh, and there WILL be something done about him....
Anyway, I was about to make my left enroute to the horse farm this morning, when who should speed along and break traction and slide around the same corner, making a right to come here and almost hitting my car in the process, as I was waiting to make the left?
Yes.
That fuckin' jerkoff asshole dickhead.
After he made that little maneuver, I pulled a U-ey and came back here.
He passed me, headed back toward Larry's house.
I made another U-ey and away I go after him.
Of course, I wasn't going 610 MPH, so it took me a minute to get to Larry's.
He's parked in the driveway, waiting.
I pull in, put down my passengerside window to make sure it's the same fool and he approaches my car and askes, "Do you have a fuckin' problem?"
"Yeah. You, asshole. Just wanted to make sure it you was again before I turn yer ass in..."
"Oh", he bleats, "I'll make sure the cops take care of you, too..."

Fuck you, dickhead...
Da fuck's he gonna tell them? I won't "play" fair when he's tring to kill me?
Asshole.

I came on back here, went into the parlor where Larry and Eric were milking and told Larry that "that asshole I told ya about before is back. He's parked at your house right now..."

Then, another guy who works here pipes up with, "Yeah, Larry... it's Jeff. He told me about it yesterday..."

Then, I told Larry I didn't know if I should go call the cops, go to his house and beat the snot out of the little punk or just go on to work.

I took the third option, to give Larry time to handle this.
However, I did come in the house just long enough to grab my Pusser stick, just in case the cum-swallowing, mouse-dicked little putz wanted to "play" again.
It's still in the car.
Staying there til I get a resolution to this, too.
S'like I said... something WILL be done about him.
*weg*

And, ya know what else about changes?
Physical changes aren't the only ones I see.
My heart and mind are also "changing" about certain other things.
Like... "not existing", or the definition of "family"... shit like that.

Being a Bull, I'll take shit and take shit and take shit til one fine day, I have enough.
Then, I walk.
I go so far fuckin' away, whomever it was that hurt me so bad wonders if I'm even still alive.
Had this happen with a coupla boyfriends.

They'd indicated, in one way or another, that they were scared I'd be all "Fatal Attraction" on their asses or something when we broke up.
They had that idea or something like it and wanted to ensure I'd really be gone.
They usually accomplished this be being a total dick in some manner or another.
So... I left.
But, I mean really left their lives completely. As in: never heard from or of me again.
And, ya know what?
I never did miss 'em.

Sometimes, it may take forever for me to "get it", but, once I do, it stays "gotten" inside of me FOREVER.

Well... I finally "got it" about this one situation.
I've been sloughed off and hurt for the last time EVER.
And, ya know what?
Feels damned good to know it's over.
I mean, it has been for a really long time, but I just couldn't let go... til now.
But, I have.
I have to, before it does me any more damage, ya know?
It's just not worth it anymore.
I don't really like giving up.
But, in giving up this one MESS, I've gotten myself back.
Or, maybe it's that I've gotten myself for the first time.
Either way... I've had enough now.
Won't be going back for any more bullshit.
"And that's all I have to say about that."
(Lord, now I'm quoting Forrest Gump. This shit HAS driven me nuts(er).)

Peace, y'all...

Well, I did it...

I think I'd made up my mind last night.
I know I was pissed when I woke up this morning, knowing I was gonna hafta to work my ass off all damned day.
When I got to the horse farm, after beating the shit outta the coffeepot for taking entirely too freakin' long to make a pot of coffee, I was still kinda conflicted about the whole deal, til I talked to the Boss Man over there.
When he told me my hours there would be increasing, it was such a relief...
So, when I got done there this morning, I stopped by the restaurant... and quit.

Everything is fine, though. We're all still "buds", me and the bosses there. Max said he was kind of expecting it. He knew I wasn't making enough to make it worth it. He wasn't mad, in fact... I got a hug from him. (Didn't ask for it, he offered... *smile*)

There are a LOT of reasons, besides shitty tips, for why I did this.

I get up every morning by no later than 6am and I was working "til closing" at the restaurant and that was just too long a day, every damned day.
It was starting to interfere with my ability to even get up, let alone bust my ass hefting shit into the speader.
Then, there was the whole "morphing from a farmer into a female" thing, which I hated. Took for-friggin'-ever and I was doing alla that so I could go be a scullery maid for $2.83 an hour? I don't THINK so.
I spent more of my time there cleaning and filling shit than I did waitressing.
No thanks.
In the 21 hours I'd put in over there, I made $56 bucks in tips. That was a bad day at the Red Lion. ONE bad day. Not a week... a day.
AND, I worked a "whole week" there this past week. I only wanted 3 or 4 days to begin with. So, if I made shit for tips in a whole week, how bad was it gonna get next week when I only did have three days, two of which were the whole weekend, again... no thanks?
Then, there was the fact that it was totally cock-blocking me from being available to work for Larry EVER, at $8.50 an hour.
Then there's the fact that I had zero time to take care of any of my houseshit.
("Houseshit"... how ironic, considering that this house currently smells like a catbox... ew. Gonna fix that when I get done here...)
Plus, I had neither the time, desire or energy to do our horse stalls anymore, so Eric got stuck with it at the expense of his having time to eat lunch. Oh hell no.

It goes on from there. More reasons than I have the energy to think of again.
But, there is one more thing right in the front of my mind... everything there is a la carte... meaning nothing is "included" with dinner.
You get your main course and two veggies... period. No salad, no beverage, no kinda dessert...
Oh, you can get alla that, but you pay for everything seperately.
Not good, from a "making tips" standpoint. Or from a "building up business" standpoint, for that matter.
I mean, the guys are great, the restaurant is pretty inside, the food is great and all, but... it just doesn't add up.
At least, not for me.
If I'm gonna kill myself doing that, I damned well better be coming home every night with a POCKETFUL of cash.
Know what I mean?

Two farmjobs are enough and the wardrobe is the same... "casual".
I don't even hafta brush my hair if I don't wanna.
I get to play with dogs, cats, horses, calves and every other manner of critters, including wooly-bear caterpillers. I have about 10 of them now... *grin* (I keep finding them all over the farm, freezin' their little hienies off and bringing them home. I have this little ceramic container fulla (lawn) grass I keep 'em in. I love cattypidders...)
I can sing, take my time, wear what I want, re-arrange shit if I need time to do something else, get advances if I need 'em...

"Farm livin' is the life for me... Land spreadin' out so far wide. Keep the restaurant, gim'me that countrysiiiide..."

I'm just an ol' redneck farmer at heart.
I love doing this shit.
I didn't love that other stuff s'much.
It was okay at the Red Lion because the money I made made it worth it.
Wasn't doing that this time.

So, I'm free.
Thank God.
I've got myself back.

Another really cool thing about this whole deal is, since I don't hafta waste my time at the restaurant anymore, I can have any schedule I want again. Meaning I can stay up all night doing my thing and make going to the farm the last thing I do before I go to sleep, if I want, which I do. Having to go to the restaurant kinda made that impossible.
I am NOT a morning (or daytime) person.
Not at all.
Not unless morning is my night, that is.

So anyway...
Since I can, I'm gonna run to the store and get some shit we need around here, then come home and clean, then go to the farm and do what I've gotta do there, then do our stalls, then... do whatever in the hell I want... YAY!!!

And...
I won't be losing a dime in doing so, either.
Just one more hour a day at the horse farm will make up for what I made waitressing. (I work there every day. Haven't taken a day off since I started. I just cannot bring myself to "need" a day off from two or three hours a day, though not getting up s'early could be kinda cool... but I don't think about that. Nor will I be doing it so often anymore, now that I have my life back... *grin*)
Or six hours a week, workin' for Larry, will get me the same amount of money, soooo...

*deep contented sigh of relief*

I'm outta here.
Got a lot of shit to do.
Starts with going to the store....
Which I'mina go do now.

Peace y'all...