Dallas

Now that I've slept and am no longer in food nirvana (now I'm in coffee hell.. why is the in room coffee in hotels always naaasty? And why is there never enough creamer or sugar?) I'll post a little bit more.

I rolled into the Dallas area about five last night, and immediately got lost. Not my fault! Google maps was on crack and told me to get off the interstate and then right back on and I figured that couldn't be right... so I pulled into La Quinta and tried to get my bearings. Figured out they really DID mean for me to get off and back on, so I went back and got back on, took the immediate exit after the one I'd already gotten off of, and then battled my way over to the right hand lane because I was pretty much on top of my hotel.

Got my room key, got everything hauled up (with a hug in there somewhere) and started making phone calls to let everyone know that I had arrived, safe and sound.

Got three invites to dinner (damn, I'm popular) and had already accepted the first one.... Sorry guys!

I kind of wished I had taken a minute to change when we got to the restaurant (Hannibal Lecter was giving us directions... weird!) and saw that it was pretty fancy. Hey, they said steak house, not magic meat palace (no cracks about magic meat, please) so I went in my baggy, comfy sweater, and Carhart coat.

Kudos to the staff of the place, they neither looked down their noses at my clothes nor gaped in amazement at the amount I ate... although, I was on my best behavior and there was actually enough talk at the table to distract me from the food on occasion.

I did... *cough* sort of threaten to stab someone with my fork.......... but he was trying to steal my cake!

And he promptly offered me his pocket knife to use instead of my fork.

"But if you stab me with your fork, what are you going to use to eat your cake?"

"My fork."

"Wow... that's a whole level that I'm not even going to touch."

And from the other end of the table "You're really not squeamish, are you?"

Oh, and Farmdad? Your Valentines Day present to me is a hit.

"That's my kind of dad!"

See, you can't hide redneck, and for Valentines Day my loving father gave his two girls guns. Farmmom got a Judge, and I got a Walther PPK that he'd just gotten refinished.

I didn't show it off at the restaraunt, it's not home, after all, but they'll get to see it this afternoon.

The rest of the weekend:

Party, a shoot at which I may get the guts to actually fire a weapon in front of people who are far better than I, and a Japanese Steak House. I promise to stay away from the Sake, Farmmom!

Oh. My. God.

Texas De Brazil. It's a restaurant. Find one. You must go there.

Its like a fancy cocktail party, where waiters circulate with various drinks and such... except it's MEAT.

Seriously. Good stuff.

Farmmom... they bring by whole skewers of bacon-wrapped filet mingon. Like, three foot long sticks packed with the juciest, tenderest, most flavorful beef ever.

And the chocolate cake... well lets just say I changed my undies when I got back to the hotel.

Yes, it is that good.

Combined with good company, no awkward silences, and a lot of laughter... it was a good night.

To Do List:

1. Pack for the weekend. For me, and for the dog... I'm gonna have to borrow a tote or something from Mamaw for the pup's stuff, the bag I was going to use got... sidetracked, during the move.

2. Clean out the hazardous waste site that is my car and wash the windows. Considering how much crap I keep in my car, this may take all afternoon.

3. Wash dogs. Both pups need a bath, especially the fuzzy one (the schnauzer) and the Farmdog and I will be company this weekend, so she needs to look (and smell) her best.

4. Drop the fuzzy dog off at the Farm Parents' to save me time in the morning.

5. Try to get to sleep before midnight. This insomnia crap is really annoying me.

Tomorrow, I'll spend the day in the car. I'm gonna be saying thank god for satellite radio before I even make it to Amarillo.

On the bright side, I'll be taking my baby girl Farmdog to the same Petsmart where I got her... think she'll remember? I need to pick up a couple of things, so we're gonna stop on the way through.

Once I get back from my little mini vacation (neener) it'll be back to hauling hay and water, working on remodeling my house, and working with my ponies, along with the paying test rides for the horse rescue and the paying job helping to train horses to harness.

When folks tell me they envy me my leisurely country existance, I laugh, and laugh.

Usually I can stop laughing before they call the nice men in the white coats with the I Love Me jacket....

Too Many Clothes...

Entirely too many clothes.

That's what I've got. Out of two laundry baskets, three suitcases (one being of the "New York Apartment" size, this thing is huge) and four black garbage bags, I went through all of my clothes and got rid of the things that don't fit, or that I never wear.

One bag. Out of allll of those clothes, I was only able to eliminate one single garbage bag.

Sad.

I would say a good fifty percent of it is t-shirts and jeans. Another twenty five percent is pj's. Yes, I have that many pj's.

The rest is my few dressy shirts, a couple pairs of nice slacks, tank tops, cold weather gear, sweaters, and the miscellaneous clothing items that always seem to accumulate.

I haven't been buying clothes, either! I'm not one of those women who is constantly buying clothes. Every once in a while I'll see a shirt with a cute saying on it, and buy it, but generally I only buy clothes when I need them.

The last things I bought (or had bought for me at my request) were nice shirts for necessary occasions.

Before that, it was my Wranglers. Necessary purchases.

It just accumulates... and I'm not real sure where the heck I put it all in either apartment...

Maybe that's why I always put off doing laundry... I didn't have room for all of it if it was all clean and had to be put away....

Farmdog

Last year, before I got the Farmdog moved up with me, I got a call from Farmmom. She was practically in tears, and terrified that I was going to be mad at her.

See, Farmdog had had a seizure. The local vet was out on farm calls that day, and Farmmom wanted to know if I thought she should wait for the vet at home, or bring the Farmdog up to one of the vets where I was.

Of course, I voted for the faster option of bringing her to another vet, and started calling around to see which one could fit her in the fastest.

Farmdog was not a happy camper when they got her up there, the seizure scared her almost as much as it did Farmmom.

The vet said he couldn't be sure what kind of seizure it was, but he'd work with us to find a medication that worked for her.

Luckily, the first med he put her on, Primadone, did the trick. Farmmom got to find the proper dosage ("start her on three pills every day, to get the levels up in her system, and back it off gradually... if she has another seizure, go back up a step on the dosage") of one pill, every other day.

He also told us that if she has a seizure, if we can get her to take a pill during or right after, it will reduce the severity.

Well, in the bustle of the move, I forgot her pill the night before last, and the stress of the move (the dawgs were not happy when they were put out in the yard in the morning and the house was full of stuff, and came back in in the afternoon and it was empty) triggered a seizure last night.

At first I thought that she and the Farmpup were just playing in the hallway, until I called out for them to come in the living room and the Pup came running in totally freaked out.

I looked up and Farmdog was trying to get into the middle bedroom with two legs clenched tight to her body.

I don't remember my feet touching the floor between the chair on the opposite side of the table, and the Farmdog.

I got to her and grabbed ahold of her so she wouldn't try to go anywhere and hurt herself in the process, one arm around her neck with her head against my shoulder and the other reaching in the tub full of the dawgs' things for her pills while Mamaw got me a hotdog to stuff the pill in.

This is another one of those situations where a part of me panics, but that part gets locked in a box and the rest of me has to be calm and comforting... if I'm scared, it scares Farmdog. If she's freaking out, the seizures get worse. So, I have to be calm. It ain't easy, when my baby is having a seizure and I don't know until it's over whether or not it will actually do damage to her brain, or tear a muscle or ligament.

Once the worst of the seizure was over, I offered her the bite of hotdog, pill side first... don't ever tell me that dogs are dumb. If I try to feed her a bite of hotdog during or right after a seizure, without letting her smell that there's a pill in it, she won't take it. She'll take her pill, though, every time. She's tried to get the pill while her jaws were still locked shut in the seizure. She may not know how the pill works... but she knows that it works, and that's good enough for her.

She finally relaxed a little and laid there, but I knew another one was coming because she was drooling all over the place still. The second one was worse than the first... in the first one she was still present and accounted for, the second one she wasn't.

Ever wrestled a fifty pound dog in the middle of a seizure trying to keep her from smacking her head into a doorway or flipping over backwards when her muscles all clench up at once? Its not easy. Farmdog doesn't thrash during her seizures, unless she panicks and tries to use limbs that aren't listening to her in the mild ones, but when her muscles spasm you never know if they're going to go stiff or jerk her to the side.

And, she is a pit mix, and I'm never sure how much of her brain is involved in the seizures, so I try to arrange myself so that she won't have an opportunity to bite me if she starts coming out of it in fight or flight mode, being held down.

She hasn't snapped at anyone after a seizure yet, and if she does, I'm not going to hold it against her, but I would like to avoid a full bite from the Jaws of Tennis Ball Doom, if possible.

Once the pill started getting into her system, she started feeling better. Twenty minutes later she was playing tug with the Farmpup like nothing had happened....

But it sure scares the crap out of mommy when that happens....

Home Sweet... wait! Where's that paper I need???

Well, the move has been accomplished with a minimum of bloodshed... really I think mine was the only blood, and that just from a little divot on my hand that I'm not really sure where it came from.

Got all my stuff back to the Old Homestead... now I just gotta sort out what I need with me and what goes in storage.

What? My stuff filled a thirty foot gooseneck trailer, a pickup, and my car, with barely enough room for me and the Dawgs. Like I said I have too much crap.

I've got to get all of the clothes up to Mamaw's, and start sorting... I'm getting rid of some of them... because I have entirely too many and a lot of it is stuff I don't even wear.

I feel bad throwing away clothes that are still usable, though, even if I don't wear them anymore. I would be more than happy to give them to someone else to use, except for the small problem that I don't know anyone that they would fit, that doesn't have more clothes than I do.

Monday, I have to go back to the old house and get the cable box and modem, and turn them in so that the cable company doesn't charge me like five hundred bucks... turn off the cable and gas and electric, after calling the landlord to make sure that they get it put in their name.... and possibly stop by the college to watch the freshmen, and a couple of unlucky sophomores that had to take classes this semester, ride.

I also need to stop by the vet's office up there and get some more of the Farmdog's meds... I'll do another post explaining that in a bit...

Tuesday, call the folks that I was going to intern with and see about test riding some of the new horses for them, for das moola.

It'd be nice to have a little extra cash come Friday.

Wednesday, and Thursday, I'll work on my house, and cleaning out my car... and probably checking cattle and hauling water and hay at some point.

Friday, I'll be going out of town. Not sure if I'm gonna have a free moment over the weekend to post, but I'll try.

After the weekend, things should slow down as far as the running all over the place goes. I'll be down to hauling hay to horses and cattle, working with an older gentleman to harness-break a couple of horses, and working on my house, instead of that stuff and four other things....

Operation I Have Too Much Crap

Moving day is here, and the house looks like a cardboard factory blew up, punctuated with plastic tubs.

Still have the "random shit I didn't get put anywhere else" boxes to put together. But, I've quit sweating it. I stayed up till midnight last night throwing things at boxes, and if they missed, I threw them at another box.

I like being organized when I move, then I can find things... however, I lost two packing days this week. Thursday, I had a funeral to go to (I'm getting a little tired of that) and Farmmom decided she wanted to move me a day early. Since she's got the truck and trailer, I didn't have a whole lot of say...

Oh, and bonus points for the game of Most Awkward Move Ever (this actually surpasses me packing everything in two days and moving into my first apartment...) Farmmom tried to drive a rebar post through her foot yesterday.

The doc didn't see any obvious fractures, but was going to have the radiologist take a look. It's definitely bone bruised, though.

Oh, and because she doesn't want to lay anything across it (they didn't give her any painkillers... ouch!) I had to tell her last night to break out one of the horse buckets and start out with a little bit of cool water, and keep cooling it down as she adjusts.

You know, like how you boil a frog alive, except in reverse.

I offered to give her an epsom hoof-wrap, and she said she might consider it.... but I think I'd want to have Farmdad twitch her before I started wrapping anything around that foot... don't want to get kicked....

(Yes, she might just hurt me after reading this, but she does act like a sored-up horse sometimes when she hurts herself.... and Farmdad would have to twitch her because it's illegal to give Rompum to people....)

What? Where?

We've got a new President??

Must've missed it.

Seriously though, ya'll know I'm not a political blogger. I tend to avoid things like that because I feel that no matter what I say about politics, someone is going to disagree with me, and they're going to feel very strongly about it.

But, since I've gotten no less than five emails (a record, for anyone who's interested) asking where my "Inauguration post" was... here ya go.

I didn't watch it.

Blah blah blah first black president, voice of change, gun grabber, he promised me a pony. Whatever.

The only thing that happens at the Inauguration is an oath being made (which is valid whether I witness it or not) and a lot of promises that probably won't be kept, no matter what party the new Commander in Cheif is a member of.

As for the black thing, frankly, it doesn't matter if he's white, black, or purple with yellow polka dots. It only matters what he does not what he looks like.

Am I glad that our country has progressed to the point where a black man with a name like Obama got elected? Sure. But, folks, and here's the important part... it was inevitable. Anyone who has ever worried about being politically correct has got to realize that it was bound to happen sooner or later. Same with a woman president, although, god help me, I hope it's not Hillary... that lady scares me.

As for the rhetoric, on both sides of the political spectrum... I don't want to hear it.

He was duly elected. I don't agree with his policies, but that doesn't matter. He's in office, and he's gonna be there for four years, assuming someone doesn't assassinate him.*

The important part of a presidency is not the day the Commander in Cheif is sworn into office, but what he does thereafter.

So the Inauguration, to me, is just a nice little party thrown for the new guy to welcome him to one of the worst jobs in the United States of America. One last nice thing before everyone starts chewing his ass.

As for "Not My President"... unless you've renounced U.S. Citizenship, yeah, he is. So quit whining, man up, and accept that you don't always get your particular flavor of bread and circuses. Some people are beginning to sound like hysterical alzheimers patients.

If you don't agree with him, fine. But throwing a temper tantrum isn't going to change anything, and it makes you look like an idiot.

That's all I've got to say on the matter, and in case you couldn't tell, I'm a little cranky at having to do a political blog at all, but I was asked.



*No, I am not threatening the President. It's simply an observation that as the first black President, and with his stance on certain issues, he's angered a certain nutso segment of the population just by existing. If I were the Secret Service, I'd be highly tempted to give him the code-name "Kenny" just in case.

Packing

There are several things I hate about packing, especially in this situation where I have to decide what goes into storage and what I need to keep with me. The latter category mostly covers clothes and shoes, at this point.

But when doing a really thorough cleaning or packing up everything that you own, you're bound to stumble across some things you thought you lost, or got rid of, that bring up memories. Some of them are good memories. They make you smile and bring you back some small thought that you'd forgotten.

Some of them aren't. Sometimes, you find something that you didn't want to remember.

See, I don't keep an "ex" box. It's always seemed a little dumb to box up the things that you don't want to think about and hide them away somewhere. Either they mean enough to you that you keep them, or they're painful enough that you get rid of them.

Don't get me wrong, I've got things that remind me of my exes. Pictures, trinkets, sometimes just a necklace that I wore that he liked.

I hated packing up my knick knacks, because the knick knacks I had here all had memories attatched. It felt kind of like denying those memories to pack them away and not know when I'd see them again.

Other things, I threw away. Dried flowers. Notes.

Some things I packed away because they're painful now, but I think I'm going to want them later. A couple of pictures, pieces of paper with childish scrawls in marker, paint, and pencil. I'll go back in a year and decide what I'm going to do with them.

I hate packing. Especially alone.

Duct Tape and The Force

You know how they say Duct Tape is like the Force? No? Ok I'll tell you.

"How is duct tape like the force?" (not everyone elevates Duct Tape to the level that we hicks and rednecks do, as far as we're concerned if we've got a roll of duct tape and some smooth wire we can build the space shuttle out of our front yard. It'll have a Dodge logo on the nose...)

"It has a light side, a dark side, and it holds the universe together."

Unfortunately that saying doesn't take into account smartass friends running errands for you.

See, I'm packing up the house, and I needed some tape to reconstruct boxes. I'm also lazy, so I texted SB and asked him to swing by El Marto Del Wal, and get me some duct tape and a sharpie, cause mine got jacked by the old roommate when she moved out. Both the duct tape, and the sharpie.

Must. Label. Boxes. Especially considering that they'll be in storage for a while. I even labeled the packing material on all of my knick knacks.

So anyway, SB runs to Wal Mart for me last night, and comes back and tells me to close my eyes.

Are you suspicious yet? I was.

He hands me a package of two chisel tip sharpies. Cool.

Then he hands me the tape.... And now, I can't even say "Silence is golden, but Duct Tape is silver."

No, I can't. Because that little shit brought me neon flamingo pink Duck brand tape.

No joke:
Pink. Duct. Tape.

It's a crime against humanity. But I'm too lazy to take it back, so I'm using it.

"Didn't they at least have purple??"

"Well, maybe. But that wouldn't have been nearly as entertaining for me."

Smartass.

Argh!

Picture it, Sicily, nineteen forty... oh wait. Wrong story.

Ya'll know that internship I gotta do? The one that I had all lined out, everything but the paperwork done?

They backed out on me. I'm a little screwed right now.

I'm working on finding another place to do it, and the folks I was going to do it with gave me a chance to do some paying work for them, so that's something anyway.

Meanwhile, packing must be done, phone calls must be made, and I'm only going slightly out of my mind. Which could easily be pushed over into totally out of my mind if one more thing goes wrong....

'Scuse the absence of posts for a while folks, real life is calling and I can't afford to let the machine pick up....

Edit: Called in to Marilyn to let her know things went down the toilet. Her response? "Well shit. Start bugging other people, I guess, and keep me updated." "Already bugging other people, waiting on return phone calls." "Well there ya go then. Good luck!"

Yet another reason why I love that woman. She's supremely confident that I'll find someone who wants my skinny ass around for a couple of months playing with their ponies.

Run, Forest, RUN!

Wow, it's been busy since the last time I posted.

Ok, Saturday didn't work out quite the way I'd planned. Miss Etta and I did move calves into the alley, but we didn't get to sort them. Then, we loaded up and went to rescue two cows that had been off calving somewhere in the gulleys and ravines of the pasture where the windmill died when we moved all the other cows across the road to the pasture where the windmill still works.

Me and Etta vs two cows that were fairly skittish due to being all by themselves. It went fairly smoothly, cept for a couple of glitches.

Glitch one, when we pulled up to the pasture the cows were right at the gate that's straight across the road from one of the gates into the other pasture. That was actually a good thing, until we unloaded Etta, and then they hightailed it for the back of beyond while I was still trying to get miss Etta straightened out.

Glitch two, in that pasture we have three horses that Etta doesn't know, two mares and Dusty. Dusty is a gorgeous, pure white, baby blue eyed tank of a horse... and we never had him cut. He's not fertile, because he didn't drop right, but he's convinced of his own studlyness. So, when he and the mares came to investigate the new horse... I got my happy butt off.

I let em sniff noses and say hi, and then shooed Dusty away, which killed his giant white puppydog soul, and got back on Etta and took off after the cows. Luckily, Farmmom and Farmdad had come through the other gate and headed them off at the windmill, so I didn't have to traipse them through the whole pasture. Once I got over there everything went smooth as butter. Etta really wanted to go visit the other horses, but she did what I asked, so she got an atta girl when we were done.

Monday, we went to Amarillo, TX, to buy stuff for the remodeling of a house for me. I got to pick out all the bathroom stuff (minus the tub, which we already have... I loves me a cast-iron tub) and flooring for the living and dining rooms, bedroom, and bathroom. We got a hell of a deal at Home Depot on the carpet (like, ten dollars less per square yard than that carpet normally is) so we got both the living room and the bedroom, pad and all, for about four hundred bucks per room. The trip took all day, of course, and I didn't slow down much until I got all of the design elements picked out. Then it was waiting on Home Depot to find the insulation that we needed and load the drywall.

Yesterday, it was taking calves to the sale. I took the elder Farmdog along with, and she did really well, considering her natural protective bent, the number of strangers, and the strange surroundings. She hasn't been to the sale with me before, and she spent a few minutes worried about everything. Once she chilled out a bit she just wanted to go say hi to everyone there, and she really wanted to go down and find out what all them critters were hollering about.

Imagine, if you will, a medium sized pit mix dog, with the attendant "intense stare" sitting between her mistress's feet, her head on the back of the chair in front of her, watching cattle go around and around. It was fairly entertaining, and I caught a couple of people giggling at her when they'd run a cow out, and a calf in, because she'd change her entire body posture from "I think I can catch it" to "oh it's a baby" and start wagging her whole body.

She's odd, but she's a good girl.

Anywho, this is the first time I've been in front of the computer for any length of time since Saturday morning.

The rest of this week, well, I've got to get my rent paid for this month, and get some packing done at some point for the move home, meet with the folks I'm doing my internship with (a horse rescue here in town, that also does Mustang adoptions and gives riding lessons to kiddies on the weekends) and possibly go on a road trip with them to do a pick up of a horse.

It's barely January, and I'm already behind!

Sorting Calves

There is a distinct possibility that I might get my butt tossed today.

We're gonna be sorting calves off... keepers, and ones to sell. Since I'm here, and have the opportunity, and we have plenty of time, I'm gonna hop on Etta and see if I can get her started sorting.

She's quick, she's smart, and she really does seem to enjoy pushing the cattle around (unless they don't respect her authority and she has to reach out and bite one on the top of the tail because it won't move it's furry little butt...) so if she decides to "turn on"... she might go one way, and leave me hanging in mid air like Wile E Coyote.

And if that happens, I'm gonna be doing a happy dance before I ever hit the ground.....

Wish me luck!

Next New Year's

Well, my "BFF" and I were very disappointed this year. We didn't get to spend New Year's Eve together, and she had to work. Drawing blood for DUI's. In Colorado Springs.

She was swamped.

So, while we were chatting last night, texting, we decided that we are going to save up all year, and go somewhere next New Year's Eve.

We're pondering Vegas. If we book early enough it ought to be cheap, and it's far enough away that no one will expect us to rush back for minor crises.

I'd be hollering for Hawaii, but I think we'd have to plan two years in advance to save up for that one....

We'll see what we can come up with, as far as saving, but we're going away somewhere... and, BFF being BFF (my sister, confidant, hairstylist, fashion consultant and emotional crutch... and very much a girly girl) we'll be going somewhere "civilized."

And, preferably, with an enormous supply of alcohol....