So I got an iPod Touch for Christmas (thank you fam!) and I've been playing with it since. It's actually a rather handy little piece of tech, but so far, other than having a sound track at work to help me keep from losing my mind it's mainly been the world's most expensive Scrabble game.
I've been challenging everyone I can think of to games of Words With Friends, because it's fun, and because it also helps keep me from losing my mind at work. Of course Until recently I've also been on vicodin, so my skills haven't really been up to par.
This has resulted in me losing several games.
DM: You know, we really ought to up the stakes on this.
Me: You only say that cause you're beating me by a bajillion points.
DM: Yep.
It's a good thing I'm well versed in smartass and enjoy it, or he'd be toast.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Saturday, December 25, 2010
QOTD: Christmas Edition
SIL: "No more automatic weapons until their ages are in the double digits, ok?"
"Santa" brought the nephews a belt-fed full-auto Nerf gun.... because Santa is awesome like that.
"Santa" brought the nephews a belt-fed full-auto Nerf gun.... because Santa is awesome like that.
Friday, December 24, 2010
Merry Christmas, Everyone
I'm just going to do a quick update and let you get back to your holiday gatherings:
Thanks to a few very kind, very generous people, The Nephews will be getting some extra Santa gifts... I'll get pictures tomorrow when they're opened and post them.
Mouth is healing, slowly. Stitches inside the mouth feel REALLY weird especially when one is across the hole where a tooth used to be and vibrates like a harp string whenever you rinse, which is often because infections suck. When the oral surgeon says "you'll have some pain in the joint of your jaw" he ain't kidding, and I'm not sure if that's because of how the nerves in that area work or if he just pried my mouth open that hard. Most of the pain at this point is actually there, rather than in the area where the tooth actually came out... the teeth in front of the dear departed are pretty much only tender when I chew.
Vicodin is my friend. This is the first time I've had to take vicodin that I had to regulate things so that I was still functional, last time I was able to just say to hell with it, take the full pill and pass out for a few hours. There's been some trial and error finding the balance between being in pain and grinning stupidly at customers telling them their shirt is preeetttyyy.
Doing my cig count is kind of interesting too, since my attention span has shrunk considerably due to the drugs.
"Twenty two, twenty four, twenty six, man I want some steak but I can't chew it but I'm so sick of soft foods except we'll have pie at Christmas so that'll be good.... shit where was I?"
Anyway, I'm finding it way too easy to ramble so I'll end here and tell you all to have a Merry Christmas, hug your loved ones, and eat something crunchy for me.
Thanks to a few very kind, very generous people, The Nephews will be getting some extra Santa gifts... I'll get pictures tomorrow when they're opened and post them.
Mouth is healing, slowly. Stitches inside the mouth feel REALLY weird especially when one is across the hole where a tooth used to be and vibrates like a harp string whenever you rinse, which is often because infections suck. When the oral surgeon says "you'll have some pain in the joint of your jaw" he ain't kidding, and I'm not sure if that's because of how the nerves in that area work or if he just pried my mouth open that hard. Most of the pain at this point is actually there, rather than in the area where the tooth actually came out... the teeth in front of the dear departed are pretty much only tender when I chew.
Vicodin is my friend. This is the first time I've had to take vicodin that I had to regulate things so that I was still functional, last time I was able to just say to hell with it, take the full pill and pass out for a few hours. There's been some trial and error finding the balance between being in pain and grinning stupidly at customers telling them their shirt is preeetttyyy.
Doing my cig count is kind of interesting too, since my attention span has shrunk considerably due to the drugs.
"Twenty two, twenty four, twenty six, man I want some steak but I can't chew it but I'm so sick of soft foods except we'll have pie at Christmas so that'll be good.... shit where was I?"
Anyway, I'm finding it way too easy to ramble so I'll end here and tell you all to have a Merry Christmas, hug your loved ones, and eat something crunchy for me.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
FarmGirl's Continuing Adventures In Advanced Dentistry
Longtime readers probably know to what I'm referring, and if you don't, ask someone or go look it up, I don't feel like doing a recap.
Last week I broke a tooth. Since it was Friday night, I wasn't going to get in to see my dentist till Monday at the earliest anyway, I decided to go ahead and go for Tuesday, which I already had scheduled off. I could suck it up that long.
Called in made the appointment, requested the chill pill that keeps me from running screaming from the building a projectile vomiting all over the parking lot... and got told they can't call in a script because it's been too long since they've seen me. Call my GP and get the script. I got this information Monday afternoon (because I sleep during the mornings since I work nights) and would have to leave for my appointment Tuesday morning no later than six am.
Yeah that wasn't going to work out on the whole happy pill thing. I know my dentist. I like my dentist. I figured I could reach down and grab a pair and get through a crown or an extraction with him, if I had to.
Then I got there, and he looked at it, said "that's gotta hurt" took some xrays and basically said I have an infection in all of my back molars, both sides. Tooth had to come out.
Now, the last time I was there we wound up with one dentist sitting on my chest and the other doing some kind of voodoo dance to extract some of my teeth, because the roots are *strong*.
In the interim, my favorite dentist has had a heart attack, his son (the one who did the voodoo dance last time) wasn't in the office Tuesday, and he basically said "I can't do it. We're sending you to an oral surgeon."
That totally helped my whole "don't freak out" mantra.
So after five minutes or so in the parking lot trying mostly unsuccessfully not to hyperventilate we headed over to the oral surgeon's office. Where we waited. And waited. And Waited.
Actually we waited less than an hour but to me it felt like forever.
The nurse came out and explained to us that the surgeon, after looking at the pretty pictures of my teeth and hearing about how I was behaving in his waiting room (pretty much like a scared rabbit, shaking in my seat with occasional leaps to the bathroom or outside) had decided that deep sedation was the best way to go.
It's expensive, but it's best, she said. You're more relaxed and things go better, she said.
Looking back I think the surgeon was afraid I was going to wind up backed into a corner and biting. Which may not have been all that far off the mark.
So yeah, I got knocked out, and I gotta say, as far as minimizing stress and keeping me from freaking the hell out in the middle of a procedure when I haven't been given a mild sedative, it's the way to go.
The worst part of the whole thing was the waiting, and the groping for a vein for the IV. Apparently I have difficult veins, which I didn't know before this because I'd never had an IV.
He wound up going in the back of my hand which actually hurt me less than the playing around he'd been doing in the crook of my arm.
Then he pushed the "mild" sedative and I approached that state of "ok doc you can cut my head off now just put it back when you're done"... then he pushed the knockout drugs and the next thing I knew, they were waking me up telling me I'd done great and it was time to go now.
Best. Drunk. Ever.
On the flip side, stitches in your mouth feel really weird, my stubborn nature will overcome not sleeping in over 24hrs, then being knocked out for an hour and woken back up, because I have to do Christmas shopping damnit!
Oh, and I look like I took a bat to the right side of my face... no surface bruising but it's swollen like crazy.
I plan to say only "you should see the other guy" when people ask. From the sounds of things I'll be seeing the OS at least once more, and I don't know whether he's going to just sedate me or knock me out for that one, but we'll see.
Meanwhile, vicodin is my friend.
*ETA:
I have a whole new reason to love the oral surgeon aside from the "lets just knock you out and when you wake up it'll all be over with" bit... a few moments ago my phone rang, and it was his office number. I figured they were calling to make sure the pain meds were adequate and I was right... except it was the surgeon himself... "How you doing? Pain medication doing enough? No excessive bleeding or swelling? Any questions now that you're not doped?" .... Yeah, I officially approve of this guy.
Last week I broke a tooth. Since it was Friday night, I wasn't going to get in to see my dentist till Monday at the earliest anyway, I decided to go ahead and go for Tuesday, which I already had scheduled off. I could suck it up that long.
Called in made the appointment, requested the chill pill that keeps me from running screaming from the building a projectile vomiting all over the parking lot... and got told they can't call in a script because it's been too long since they've seen me. Call my GP and get the script. I got this information Monday afternoon (because I sleep during the mornings since I work nights) and would have to leave for my appointment Tuesday morning no later than six am.
Yeah that wasn't going to work out on the whole happy pill thing. I know my dentist. I like my dentist. I figured I could reach down and grab a pair and get through a crown or an extraction with him, if I had to.
Then I got there, and he looked at it, said "that's gotta hurt" took some xrays and basically said I have an infection in all of my back molars, both sides. Tooth had to come out.
Now, the last time I was there we wound up with one dentist sitting on my chest and the other doing some kind of voodoo dance to extract some of my teeth, because the roots are *strong*.
In the interim, my favorite dentist has had a heart attack, his son (the one who did the voodoo dance last time) wasn't in the office Tuesday, and he basically said "I can't do it. We're sending you to an oral surgeon."
That totally helped my whole "don't freak out" mantra.
So after five minutes or so in the parking lot trying mostly unsuccessfully not to hyperventilate we headed over to the oral surgeon's office. Where we waited. And waited. And Waited.
Actually we waited less than an hour but to me it felt like forever.
The nurse came out and explained to us that the surgeon, after looking at the pretty pictures of my teeth and hearing about how I was behaving in his waiting room (pretty much like a scared rabbit, shaking in my seat with occasional leaps to the bathroom or outside) had decided that deep sedation was the best way to go.
It's expensive, but it's best, she said. You're more relaxed and things go better, she said.
Looking back I think the surgeon was afraid I was going to wind up backed into a corner and biting. Which may not have been all that far off the mark.
So yeah, I got knocked out, and I gotta say, as far as minimizing stress and keeping me from freaking the hell out in the middle of a procedure when I haven't been given a mild sedative, it's the way to go.
The worst part of the whole thing was the waiting, and the groping for a vein for the IV. Apparently I have difficult veins, which I didn't know before this because I'd never had an IV.
He wound up going in the back of my hand which actually hurt me less than the playing around he'd been doing in the crook of my arm.
Then he pushed the "mild" sedative and I approached that state of "ok doc you can cut my head off now just put it back when you're done"... then he pushed the knockout drugs and the next thing I knew, they were waking me up telling me I'd done great and it was time to go now.
Best. Drunk. Ever.
On the flip side, stitches in your mouth feel really weird, my stubborn nature will overcome not sleeping in over 24hrs, then being knocked out for an hour and woken back up, because I have to do Christmas shopping damnit!
Oh, and I look like I took a bat to the right side of my face... no surface bruising but it's swollen like crazy.
I plan to say only "you should see the other guy" when people ask. From the sounds of things I'll be seeing the OS at least once more, and I don't know whether he's going to just sedate me or knock me out for that one, but we'll see.
Meanwhile, vicodin is my friend.
*ETA:
I have a whole new reason to love the oral surgeon aside from the "lets just knock you out and when you wake up it'll all be over with" bit... a few moments ago my phone rang, and it was his office number. I figured they were calling to make sure the pain meds were adequate and I was right... except it was the surgeon himself... "How you doing? Pain medication doing enough? No excessive bleeding or swelling? Any questions now that you're not doped?" .... Yeah, I officially approve of this guy.
Sunday, December 19, 2010
These Are Awesome
Due to lack of actual content, I was cruising the web today and came up with an excellent linky AND thinky.
Meet Vi Hart, who, if she ever decided to become a math teacher, would get me to actually take another math class.
Check out the doodles section of her site, that's where I've been engrossed. I have no idea what the maths actually are behind this stuff working but they do and they're fun, even if you aren't artistically inclined.
I've been playing with pencil and fountain pen for a couple of hours now... I'll probably move on to some anagrams later, just because I do words better than math or drawing, but the doodle games are an excellent diversion.
Meet Vi Hart, who, if she ever decided to become a math teacher, would get me to actually take another math class.
Check out the doodles section of her site, that's where I've been engrossed. I have no idea what the maths actually are behind this stuff working but they do and they're fun, even if you aren't artistically inclined.
I've been playing with pencil and fountain pen for a couple of hours now... I'll probably move on to some anagrams later, just because I do words better than math or drawing, but the doodle games are an excellent diversion.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
A New Addition
I'd like to introduce ya'll to a new cast member for the tales and stories here, someone who will probably play a large enough role that he gets his own introduction and his own nickname.
He's going to be an invaluable source of snark and giggles, at least for me.
Ya'll say hi to Darlin' Man. We're... dating? Seeing each other? Doing an environmental impact study on the eventual possibility of our cohabiting? (We're not entirely sure that any one locale can handle the two of us for an extended period. The snark seems to wilt the plants.)
Whatever you want to say that we're doing, we're doing it together, and I really like that.
He also reads the blog, though he doesn't participate, so ya'll behave.
He's going to be an invaluable source of snark and giggles, at least for me.
Ya'll say hi to Darlin' Man. We're... dating? Seeing each other? Doing an environmental impact study on the eventual possibility of our cohabiting? (We're not entirely sure that any one locale can handle the two of us for an extended period. The snark seems to wilt the plants.)
Whatever you want to say that we're doing, we're doing it together, and I really like that.
He also reads the blog, though he doesn't participate, so ya'll behave.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Dear Santa
Dear Santa,
Eldest Nephew is a fantastic kid, he's considerate (most of the time, let's be honest, he's seven, he has his moments, just like any other kid) he's brilliant, with no caveat, and I'm not just saying that because he tells me every time he sees me that I'm his favorite aunt. They stopped testing his reading comprehension coming out of kindergarten when he aced the fourth grade level tests, the kid is smart.
He's also still believing in you, Santa. He wrote you a letter, with no prompting from mom and dad, put it in an envelope and sealed it, and left it in the mailbox. I'm sorry, but his mom pulled it out and kept it when they found it, but you're Santa, you know what he said.
You also know that he dedicated half a page to stuff for his little brother, and I can just see him sitting in the playroom with Youngest Nephew consulting over the list, assuring him that Santa would read the letter, and might bring them these toys.
He hasn't asked us for any of the big things on his list. He knows we can't afford them this year, so he didn't even bring them up. I'd give him the moon, if I could, Santa, but I just can't.
If he doesn't get them, he's not going to be mad, or upset. He's going to get just as excited opening small things as he is big things, because that's just the kind of kid he is.
We stole his letter, so I'm writing you this one in its place. The munchkin deserves a little Christmas Magic, Santa, and even though I stopped listening for reindeer on the roof a long, long time ago, I'd give a lot more than writing a letter to keep him straining his ears.
That's what I want for Christmas, just a little Christmas magic for my nephews.
Auntie FarmGirl
*This is not a bleg. I'm not asking for money to buy big fancy toys for my nephew, and I'll feel really bad if people take it that way. I just wanted to let everyone know how awesome Eldest Nephew is, and well, we took his letter, so I owed him one. Who knows? Maybe Santa reads my blog.
Eldest Nephew is a fantastic kid, he's considerate (most of the time, let's be honest, he's seven, he has his moments, just like any other kid) he's brilliant, with no caveat, and I'm not just saying that because he tells me every time he sees me that I'm his favorite aunt. They stopped testing his reading comprehension coming out of kindergarten when he aced the fourth grade level tests, the kid is smart.
He's also still believing in you, Santa. He wrote you a letter, with no prompting from mom and dad, put it in an envelope and sealed it, and left it in the mailbox. I'm sorry, but his mom pulled it out and kept it when they found it, but you're Santa, you know what he said.
You also know that he dedicated half a page to stuff for his little brother, and I can just see him sitting in the playroom with Youngest Nephew consulting over the list, assuring him that Santa would read the letter, and might bring them these toys.
He hasn't asked us for any of the big things on his list. He knows we can't afford them this year, so he didn't even bring them up. I'd give him the moon, if I could, Santa, but I just can't.
If he doesn't get them, he's not going to be mad, or upset. He's going to get just as excited opening small things as he is big things, because that's just the kind of kid he is.
We stole his letter, so I'm writing you this one in its place. The munchkin deserves a little Christmas Magic, Santa, and even though I stopped listening for reindeer on the roof a long, long time ago, I'd give a lot more than writing a letter to keep him straining his ears.
That's what I want for Christmas, just a little Christmas magic for my nephews.
Auntie FarmGirl
*This is not a bleg. I'm not asking for money to buy big fancy toys for my nephew, and I'll feel really bad if people take it that way. I just wanted to let everyone know how awesome Eldest Nephew is, and well, we took his letter, so I owed him one. Who knows? Maybe Santa reads my blog.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Overheard In The Car
"Yeah I think it's really important that... *gasp* antelope!"
Yeah... Vine has an unhealthy fascination with speed goat and we're going to have to make sure he's given an opportunity to kill one or two.
Yeah... Vine has an unhealthy fascination with speed goat and we're going to have to make sure he's given an opportunity to kill one or two.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Gone Away
I know I've been mostly updating on Sundays, since I have Sunday off, but this weekend I'm taking a couple extra days and heading out of town, so blogging will be extremely light.
Ya'll enjoy yourselves while I'm not here, but don't drink all the booze, I'm gonna need it Tuesday to console myself over having to go back to work.
Ya'll enjoy yourselves while I'm not here, but don't drink all the booze, I'm gonna need it Tuesday to console myself over having to go back to work.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Live! Sweaty! Hogdogs!
An update on the Great Hotsauce Challenge: It'll be broadcast live here!
So, drop a few bucks for the entertainment value and go watch three people melt their innards for charity tonight at 6pm (I'm assuming eastern, if not someone correct me.) Unfortunately I'll be at work so I won't be able to watch.
You know you wanna see it.
So, drop a few bucks for the entertainment value and go watch three people melt their innards for charity tonight at 6pm (I'm assuming eastern, if not someone correct me.) Unfortunately I'll be at work so I won't be able to watch.
You know you wanna see it.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Cover it Up
So, I've been thinking a lot lately about cover garments, and the differences between men and women trying to conceal a gun.
Let's face it, if you're a man, you can probably get away with throwing a wild-ass Hawaiian print shirt over a t-shirt, and you're good. Your wife or girlfriend may sigh, but it's not that big a deal.
Women, on the other hand, have further considerations. I'm not the best fashionista, but even I know that there are times when being baggy and loose may be comfy but probably isn't the best choice. Not to mention, if you're doing it all the time, people start thinking of you as "butch" and that may not be the impression you'd like to send.
I hate being treated like I'm going to break but let's face it there's not much I can do to avoid the delicate look, and the best I can hope for is elegant, which seems to involve lots of long lines and garments that scream "look at me, I have a waist!"
Add in the difficulties posed by women's fashion in concealment in general, and you've got a bit of a pickle.
So, lets address a couple of the problems I've come across and how I get around them. Your mileage may vary.
First, pants. Every woman has that pair of pants that they absolutely adore, the pair that looks good, feels good, and brings a little attitude to her step. Unfortunately that pair of jeans is rarely good for concealing a firearm.
This is one of those moments where you have to compromise. Either you can have the cute outfit that makes you look smokin' hot, or you can carry a gun. Now, I'm not saying that it's impossible to look smokin' hot while stashing a heater, but you have to go about it differently.
Instead of the shirt that just hits the top of your jeans when you reach over your head, you might have to go with something longer. Or instead of the smokin' hot jeans, you might have to go with slightly less hot and more roomy jeans.
Speaking of shirts, it also seems that the t-shirts available (in my size, marketed for my age range, YMMV and do please share in comments because information is a good thing) are leaning towards lightweight and clingy. Not tight, just a light enough material and fitted enough to cling to curves, which is a nice look, but not practical when you're trying to conceal a pistol. I've got one cute top that makes me look like I actually have cleavage (woohoo) and hangs loose and flowy from what I'm told is called an empire waist. The only problem with it is that it apparently looks a bit like a maternity top, but some nights the cleavage is totally worth it.
Personally, when I'm not going somewhere I can't carry, or somewhere that I really don't need to conceal, I like the combination of wranglers, a tank top, and a western shirt tied in front instead of tucked. My gun goes behind my hip, just forward of center over my right butt cheek. The wranglers are just heavy enough to keep the gun inside my waistband from printing obviously, and the bagging of the shirt at the back covers the grip and helps break up the line of the jeans to distract from any printing that might happen anyway.
Another jeans trick that I've heard positive things about but am just not frilly enough to pull off is finding a pair of jeans that has some decorative beading in the area your gun usually rests, or creating your own design. It's a bit counter intuitive because you would think that it would attract the eye to the gun, but the patterning helps blur the outline of the gun, much like camo helps blur the outline of a hunter in the woods. This may be an excellent option if you're a girly girl who would wear that stuff anyway cause it's cute. Unfortunately I'm not one of those people, so this is not an option for me.
It's also tough to remember that what's obvious to you may not be to Joe Blow on the street. Because you know your gun is there and that's what is making that bulge, you're going to see a gun, where Joe Blow may not even see a bulge. Get a second opinion. And a third. Etc. You may wind up saying "drat" a few times over a great look, but you'll start getting an idea of what other people actually see versus what you see because you know what's going on.
Of course, I carry IWB mostly. OWB presents it's own set of problems, since you're not worried about printing so much as actually flashing your gun. Since I don't really carry OWB when I'm not open carrying, I haven't really dealt with those issues much.
So how about it folks, what are your tips and tricks for concealing, and still looking fantastic?
Let's face it, if you're a man, you can probably get away with throwing a wild-ass Hawaiian print shirt over a t-shirt, and you're good. Your wife or girlfriend may sigh, but it's not that big a deal.
Women, on the other hand, have further considerations. I'm not the best fashionista, but even I know that there are times when being baggy and loose may be comfy but probably isn't the best choice. Not to mention, if you're doing it all the time, people start thinking of you as "butch" and that may not be the impression you'd like to send.
I hate being treated like I'm going to break but let's face it there's not much I can do to avoid the delicate look, and the best I can hope for is elegant, which seems to involve lots of long lines and garments that scream "look at me, I have a waist!"
Add in the difficulties posed by women's fashion in concealment in general, and you've got a bit of a pickle.
So, lets address a couple of the problems I've come across and how I get around them. Your mileage may vary.
First, pants. Every woman has that pair of pants that they absolutely adore, the pair that looks good, feels good, and brings a little attitude to her step. Unfortunately that pair of jeans is rarely good for concealing a firearm.
This is one of those moments where you have to compromise. Either you can have the cute outfit that makes you look smokin' hot, or you can carry a gun. Now, I'm not saying that it's impossible to look smokin' hot while stashing a heater, but you have to go about it differently.
Instead of the shirt that just hits the top of your jeans when you reach over your head, you might have to go with something longer. Or instead of the smokin' hot jeans, you might have to go with slightly less hot and more roomy jeans.
Speaking of shirts, it also seems that the t-shirts available (in my size, marketed for my age range, YMMV and do please share in comments because information is a good thing) are leaning towards lightweight and clingy. Not tight, just a light enough material and fitted enough to cling to curves, which is a nice look, but not practical when you're trying to conceal a pistol. I've got one cute top that makes me look like I actually have cleavage (woohoo) and hangs loose and flowy from what I'm told is called an empire waist. The only problem with it is that it apparently looks a bit like a maternity top, but some nights the cleavage is totally worth it.
Personally, when I'm not going somewhere I can't carry, or somewhere that I really don't need to conceal, I like the combination of wranglers, a tank top, and a western shirt tied in front instead of tucked. My gun goes behind my hip, just forward of center over my right butt cheek. The wranglers are just heavy enough to keep the gun inside my waistband from printing obviously, and the bagging of the shirt at the back covers the grip and helps break up the line of the jeans to distract from any printing that might happen anyway.
Another jeans trick that I've heard positive things about but am just not frilly enough to pull off is finding a pair of jeans that has some decorative beading in the area your gun usually rests, or creating your own design. It's a bit counter intuitive because you would think that it would attract the eye to the gun, but the patterning helps blur the outline of the gun, much like camo helps blur the outline of a hunter in the woods. This may be an excellent option if you're a girly girl who would wear that stuff anyway cause it's cute. Unfortunately I'm not one of those people, so this is not an option for me.
It's also tough to remember that what's obvious to you may not be to Joe Blow on the street. Because you know your gun is there and that's what is making that bulge, you're going to see a gun, where Joe Blow may not even see a bulge. Get a second opinion. And a third. Etc. You may wind up saying "drat" a few times over a great look, but you'll start getting an idea of what other people actually see versus what you see because you know what's going on.
Of course, I carry IWB mostly. OWB presents it's own set of problems, since you're not worried about printing so much as actually flashing your gun. Since I don't really carry OWB when I'm not open carrying, I haven't really dealt with those issues much.
So how about it folks, what are your tips and tricks for concealing, and still looking fantastic?
Quotes at Last
Finally sat down and got the winners posted on the sidebar over there, so I'm not quite so much of a bad blogger now. Congrats to the winners!
Monday, December 6, 2010
The Great Hot Sauce Challenge
I got an email this morning from Brent C. the originator of the Great Hot Sauce Challenge, asking me to pimp it one more time... I can do that.
Folks this is a great cause, Brent's 19 year old daughter has stepped up to the plate with him, to melt her face off right beside her dad. There is also an as yet unknown third party involved. Three people will be yelling "Come On Icecream!" In order to help out a guy and his family.
Drop a few bucks in AD's tip jar to boost the effort, there's only 48 hours left. AD is giving away an EMS Monopoly game to the highest donation, and I'll throw in a Blogorado shirt of your choice or one of the upcoming "Minion" buttons.
Let's blow up this fundraiser, and maybe they'll video the challenge and let us share it with ya'll.
Edit To Add: There will be video, and also a live feed at the forum where this all started. You can see the thread about the challenge without signing up, so you'll probably be able to see the feed as well but I don't have confirmation on that. Still, if you have to sign up to see it, why not??
Folks this is a great cause, Brent's 19 year old daughter has stepped up to the plate with him, to melt her face off right beside her dad. There is also an as yet unknown third party involved. Three people will be yelling "Come On Icecream!" In order to help out a guy and his family.
Drop a few bucks in AD's tip jar to boost the effort, there's only 48 hours left. AD is giving away an EMS Monopoly game to the highest donation, and I'll throw in a Blogorado shirt of your choice or one of the upcoming "Minion" buttons.
Let's blow up this fundraiser, and maybe they'll video the challenge and let us share it with ya'll.
Edit To Add: There will be video, and also a live feed at the forum where this all started. You can see the thread about the challenge without signing up, so you'll probably be able to see the feed as well but I don't have confirmation on that. Still, if you have to sign up to see it, why not??
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Blown Away
Had a very long night at work and I'm attempting to be somewhat zen about it even though I'm not very good at it. Stress levels are moderately high (I'm not imagining clock towers and rifles yet, but I have fantasized about strangling people) and in an attempt to putter myself into a mental state in which I can sleep, I checked out my sitemeter.
Somehow, even with the extremely sporadic posting and the lack of the stories that I originally started this blog with, I'm still gaining readers, it seems.
Last time I paid much attention I had about a hundred hits per day. I've gained fifty to a hundred more on average since then. Granted this is judging from the last week or so, so some of those might be from the CCM article... I just wonder how many people would go to the trouble to find the blog since the URL wasn't given.
Anyway, welcome new readers, wherever you hail from (and I'm always interested in hearing how folks found my blog, if you care to share) feel free to poke around the archives, especially since the best stuff is in there.
To all of my readers, new and old, thanks for reading. Just looking at that little number made me smile a little tonight, when I really needed it.
Somehow, even with the extremely sporadic posting and the lack of the stories that I originally started this blog with, I'm still gaining readers, it seems.
Last time I paid much attention I had about a hundred hits per day. I've gained fifty to a hundred more on average since then. Granted this is judging from the last week or so, so some of those might be from the CCM article... I just wonder how many people would go to the trouble to find the blog since the URL wasn't given.
Anyway, welcome new readers, wherever you hail from (and I'm always interested in hearing how folks found my blog, if you care to share) feel free to poke around the archives, especially since the best stuff is in there.
To all of my readers, new and old, thanks for reading. Just looking at that little number made me smile a little tonight, when I really needed it.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Do You Get Concealed Carry Magazine?
If you do, and you read this month's Profile, you might be wondering if you've found the right Tractor Tracks blog. Or you might already be a reader and be wondering if it's the same Farm Family.
Well, the answer to both is yes. That's me, and us. If you got here because of the article, welcome, feel free to poke around, and definitely try Farmmom's recipes.
I would like to say, however, that I don't think I am nearly as awesome as Oleg painted me to be. I'm just me, and I'm willing to grant that I can be kind of awesome, but really, not all that awesome.
Thanks for all the complements to Oleg though, and thanks to CCM for thinking we're cool enough to be in the magazine.
Well, the answer to both is yes. That's me, and us. If you got here because of the article, welcome, feel free to poke around, and definitely try Farmmom's recipes.
I would like to say, however, that I don't think I am nearly as awesome as Oleg painted me to be. I'm just me, and I'm willing to grant that I can be kind of awesome, but really, not all that awesome.
Thanks for all the complements to Oleg though, and thanks to CCM for thinking we're cool enough to be in the magazine.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Dreaming of Socks
A chance comment sent me on a search for thigh high socks the other day, and I stumbled across the absolute best site for delightfully oddball socks.
They've got everything. Thigh highs, knee highs, over-the-knee, off beat socks (who doesn't want a pair of knee high socks with faux zippers??) half-socks, toe socks, footies, they've got 'em all.
I'm talking about Sock Dreams.
Of course I ordered a few things. I'm just off beat enough to adore the idea of striped thigh high socks. Plus, all my regular readers know that I am a sucker for warm things, and they looked toasty.
The Ribbed M Stockings are my top pick so far. They're toasty warm and soft and stretchy enough to feel decadent, but snug enough at the tops to stay up on my skinny legs. Plus, they're looong, which is fantastic since I have freakishly long legs, even if they are skinny and toothpick like.
For those of you who are more practical, they also have a selection of sock garters (and you have no idea how hard I looked for those things when someone suggested them to me on this blog ages ago in the comments on the bad calves day post) for very affordable prices.
As for the customer service... well, I did my ordering when I was half asleep. I managed to not only forget a pair of socks that I wanted but to order the wrong size, which would have been disastrous as I don't know anyone I could give black and purple striped thigh high socks to for Christmas.
But, the next morning, they not only shoved the late order in with my other purchases, saving me shipping costs, but fixed the size for me.
They have a real person manning their order email, as well, and from my limited contact with her she seems like a lovely lady (Hi Jess!) which at the least means the people running the company have the sense to put good people in contact with customers, and at best gives me the impression that everyone there is enjoying themselves and loving the job.
All in all, if you are, or know someone who likes offbeat, funky socks, I highly recommend you check out this site. And ladies? I'm informed that the appeal of thigh highs isn't reduced if they're warm comfy socks instead of sheer stockings, so you could always kill two birds with one stone and be sexy and warm.
Mostly warm. Winter in Colorado deserves thick, luxurious, thigh high socks, don't you think?
FCC disclaimer: Sock Dreams didn't do anything to get me to write about their site but be awesome, although if they would like to set up a deal for me to review lovely warm socks this winter, they have my email. Hint, Hint!
They've got everything. Thigh highs, knee highs, over-the-knee, off beat socks (who doesn't want a pair of knee high socks with faux zippers??) half-socks, toe socks, footies, they've got 'em all.
I'm talking about Sock Dreams.
Of course I ordered a few things. I'm just off beat enough to adore the idea of striped thigh high socks. Plus, all my regular readers know that I am a sucker for warm things, and they looked toasty.
The Ribbed M Stockings are my top pick so far. They're toasty warm and soft and stretchy enough to feel decadent, but snug enough at the tops to stay up on my skinny legs. Plus, they're looong, which is fantastic since I have freakishly long legs, even if they are skinny and toothpick like.
For those of you who are more practical, they also have a selection of sock garters (and you have no idea how hard I looked for those things when someone suggested them to me on this blog ages ago in the comments on the bad calves day post) for very affordable prices.
As for the customer service... well, I did my ordering when I was half asleep. I managed to not only forget a pair of socks that I wanted but to order the wrong size, which would have been disastrous as I don't know anyone I could give black and purple striped thigh high socks to for Christmas.
But, the next morning, they not only shoved the late order in with my other purchases, saving me shipping costs, but fixed the size for me.
They have a real person manning their order email, as well, and from my limited contact with her she seems like a lovely lady (Hi Jess!) which at the least means the people running the company have the sense to put good people in contact with customers, and at best gives me the impression that everyone there is enjoying themselves and loving the job.
All in all, if you are, or know someone who likes offbeat, funky socks, I highly recommend you check out this site. And ladies? I'm informed that the appeal of thigh highs isn't reduced if they're warm comfy socks instead of sheer stockings, so you could always kill two birds with one stone and be sexy and warm.
Mostly warm. Winter in Colorado deserves thick, luxurious, thigh high socks, don't you think?
FCC disclaimer: Sock Dreams didn't do anything to get me to write about their site but be awesome, although if they would like to set up a deal for me to review lovely warm socks this winter, they have my email. Hint, Hint!
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Sunday Linky Love
Wanna tease your brain? Head on over to Vine's and check out the riddle he posted. He hasn't got a right answer in comments as of this posting, so give it a whack!
Meanwhile AD is pimping a Charity Challenge for a good cause, go on over and drop a buck or two if you've got it, or continue the pimpage if you don't. I approve of contests that will both provide entertainment for those lucky enough to watch and raise money for someone who really needs it. Cancer is tough on everyone, and treatment is expensive as hell to boot. Let's see if we can get the total donation up into "Oh my god" levels!
Edit: rackfrackingrumblemumblebloggergrowlgrumblemanglelinksmumblegrrr.
Fixed.
Meanwhile AD is pimping a Charity Challenge for a good cause, go on over and drop a buck or two if you've got it, or continue the pimpage if you don't. I approve of contests that will both provide entertainment for those lucky enough to watch and raise money for someone who really needs it. Cancer is tough on everyone, and treatment is expensive as hell to boot. Let's see if we can get the total donation up into "Oh my god" levels!
Edit: rackfrackingrumblemumblebloggergrowlgrumblemanglelinksmumblegrrr.
Fixed.
Friday, November 19, 2010
Ammo Crisis Over?
Last year I paid thirty five bucks for a box of .380, and I was glad to find it. Now it's more available and cheaper, with places like Sportsman's Guide offering 380 auto ammo* for around half of what I paid last year.
So, is it over? Are we through the crisis or just in the eye of the storm?
*Sportsman's Guide gave me money for the link, but come on, they've got .380 in stock! That's worth a mention right there.
So, is it over? Are we through the crisis or just in the eye of the storm?
*Sportsman's Guide gave me money for the link, but come on, they've got .380 in stock! That's worth a mention right there.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Oh God My Job: Welfare Mentality Edition
Last week I had an interesting occurrence at work.
A van pulled up to one of the pumps and everyone trooped inside without getting gas, which in and of itself is not unusual. Plenty of people pre-pay. They wandered the store for a bit, and one of them finally came up to the counter.
"Can I use ya'lls phone?"
My coworker was watching the registers while I stocked some cigs in the display.
"Is it a local call?" She asked.
"Yes, it's a Denver number."
"I'm sorry, that's not local, we're not allowed."
"Oh." And the woman wandered away, and they conferred in the dining area.
They spread out and took up every table, making a general nuisance of themselves.
Shortly, another one of them walked up while I was the only one at the register, and I braced myself for an attempt at fooling me into thinking it was a local number.
I was pleasantly surprised that instead of asking for the phone, the young woman politely asked me to dial an 800 number for her. She spent a few minutes on the phone, then brought it back with thanks.
An hour later the phone rang and I answered, only to hear a recording. It was an automated notice from a motor club saying that their service would be there in fifteen minutes.
I let them know and went about my work until the local guy who gets those calls came in after doing their "service."
They'd been out of gas, and out of money. They had parked at a gas pump for a couple of hours, preventing anyone else from using that pump, and made a huge mess in the dining area. Aside from the one young lady who actually called the motor club, they showed a lack of manners and common courtesy that made me wish I was allowed to kick them out.
And when the guy showed up to fulfill their service call to the motor club, they demanded enough gas to get them to Denver.
The grin on his face when he related that he'd told them the motor club only allowed him to bring two gallons of gas was just slightly malicious.
That kind of welfare mentality is killing our country.
"I don't have the money for it, but someone owes it to me."
No, folks, they don't. All that's owed you is what you've earned, so get off your ass and take care of business. If you're driving from Texas to Denver, plan far enough ahead to be able to actually get there, and don't spend all of your money on snacks and toys to keep the screaming child quiet. Especially if they don't keep the screaming child quiet. When you need three trips to bring in the kid's toys from the van and I overhear you saying "But Baby this one is NEW we just got it the last time we stopped, you can't be bored with it yet" on three separate occasions while holding different toys, then it's pretty clear to me that your money management skills are lacking.
I'm disappointed in humanity.
A van pulled up to one of the pumps and everyone trooped inside without getting gas, which in and of itself is not unusual. Plenty of people pre-pay. They wandered the store for a bit, and one of them finally came up to the counter.
"Can I use ya'lls phone?"
My coworker was watching the registers while I stocked some cigs in the display.
"Is it a local call?" She asked.
"Yes, it's a Denver number."
"I'm sorry, that's not local, we're not allowed."
"Oh." And the woman wandered away, and they conferred in the dining area.
They spread out and took up every table, making a general nuisance of themselves.
Shortly, another one of them walked up while I was the only one at the register, and I braced myself for an attempt at fooling me into thinking it was a local number.
I was pleasantly surprised that instead of asking for the phone, the young woman politely asked me to dial an 800 number for her. She spent a few minutes on the phone, then brought it back with thanks.
An hour later the phone rang and I answered, only to hear a recording. It was an automated notice from a motor club saying that their service would be there in fifteen minutes.
I let them know and went about my work until the local guy who gets those calls came in after doing their "service."
They'd been out of gas, and out of money. They had parked at a gas pump for a couple of hours, preventing anyone else from using that pump, and made a huge mess in the dining area. Aside from the one young lady who actually called the motor club, they showed a lack of manners and common courtesy that made me wish I was allowed to kick them out.
And when the guy showed up to fulfill their service call to the motor club, they demanded enough gas to get them to Denver.
The grin on his face when he related that he'd told them the motor club only allowed him to bring two gallons of gas was just slightly malicious.
That kind of welfare mentality is killing our country.
"I don't have the money for it, but someone owes it to me."
No, folks, they don't. All that's owed you is what you've earned, so get off your ass and take care of business. If you're driving from Texas to Denver, plan far enough ahead to be able to actually get there, and don't spend all of your money on snacks and toys to keep the screaming child quiet. Especially if they don't keep the screaming child quiet. When you need three trips to bring in the kid's toys from the van and I overhear you saying "But Baby this one is NEW we just got it the last time we stopped, you can't be bored with it yet" on three separate occasions while holding different toys, then it's pretty clear to me that your money management skills are lacking.
I'm disappointed in humanity.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Poll
For those of you using a reader, or who just aren't all that observant, there's now a poll on the sidebar to vote for your favorite quote.
Vote away! I'll give at least the top three space on the sidebar, possibly more. I haven't decided yet.
Vote away! I'll give at least the top three space on the sidebar, possibly more. I haven't decided yet.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
More Quotes
Adding to the list of outrageous quotes for everyone to vote on:
"Friendly but not familiar." - Oleg Volk
"Farmgirl- If I was 15 years younger, I would follow her around like a lovesick puppy..." - Stuart The Viking
"FarmGirl: 2% steel, 98% Colorado mountain lion." - MattG
Vote for your favorites or submit your own!
"Friendly but not familiar." - Oleg Volk
"Farmgirl- If I was 15 years younger, I would follow her around like a lovesick puppy..." - Stuart The Viking
"FarmGirl: 2% steel, 98% Colorado mountain lion." - MattG
Vote for your favorites or submit your own!
Long, Long Ago
Been a couple things lately that made me go "holy crap, I'm 26!"
The first actually happened about a month and a half ago, when into the store wandered someone who looked vaguely familiar, and yet unfamiliar. I watched the guy meander through the store for a few minutes trying to relax and let my brain cough up the reason I thought I recognized him.
I still hadn't figured it out when he got to the register. I did my usual patter, eying him discretely out of the corner of my eye, and I could see he was doing the same sort of thing. Weird.
Finally he raised one eyebrow and asked "You're FarmGirl, right?" (using my full real name, of course.)
My brain chose this moment to finally kick into gear, superimposing my memory of him at thirteen on his twenty six year old face. The reason I had so much trouble is that when I knew him, he was a clean cut young early teenager, and now he's a long-haired man. I mean really, the change is a complete shock. I did Knowledge Bowl (an academic competition in which we would be handed problems to solve, in three "quarters" we just had to solve the problems, in one we had to solve the problem AND put on a play about it. Think RPG's only geekier.) and Rocketry with him.
I remember on the bus to Knowledge Bowl meets we would drive the chaperons nuts singing stupid songs, until we got about half way there, then we were just as noisy, but we were discussing strategy and how we were gonna kick butt and take names. That's what set the knowledge bowl kids apart from the jocks, they goofed off ALL the way to their stuff.
Back then, he looked just like you'd expect a kid doing academic competitions and Rocketry to look, short hair, glasses, usually t-shirts and jeans unless it was picture day then it was a button down and jeans. He was skinny and angular and had a sharp sense of humor.
He moved away after that school year, and it was one of those lost touch things.
Now, he's filled out and lost some of the angles, his hair is longer than mine has ever been and he looks like he belongs shirtless playing bass for a garage band gone big.
Of course he said I haven't changed much. Well, it's true, I still look pretty much the same, just older.
But after he left, I texted R, giving her the scoop and telling her how shocked I was at the change. She came back with "what do you expect, you haven't seen him in twelve years."
Twelve. Years. Wow. The mere fact that something happened to me twelve years ago that I can reasonably be expected to remember that didn't involve a major natural disaster or an injury to myself has me a bit flabbergasted.
The other thing was a conversation in the GBC IRC channel concerning tattoos. Dixie said something along the lines of "you won't find anyone with just one tattoo for very long, they're addictive."
I started to compose a retort saying I'd had just one tattoo for a while now, and thought a moment to tote up years. Ten. Ten years I've had my tattoo.
Seriously?!? I swear it was just a couple years ago I got it... or it feels that way. There's no way that I've been considered adult enough to permanently mark my body for ten years. Well, technically, I haven't, but Farmmom and Farmdad signed off on the tatt because Bro knew I'd been wanting one, and he paid for it for my Christmas present that year.
But still. I'm thinking in decades now, and it's only going to get worse from here on out. Those "omg" moments will continue and grow as the years extend.
I'm not afraid of getting older, I won't delay my 30th birthday, I'm just worried that this means I have to admit that I'm a grownup now....
I don't wanna!
The first actually happened about a month and a half ago, when into the store wandered someone who looked vaguely familiar, and yet unfamiliar. I watched the guy meander through the store for a few minutes trying to relax and let my brain cough up the reason I thought I recognized him.
I still hadn't figured it out when he got to the register. I did my usual patter, eying him discretely out of the corner of my eye, and I could see he was doing the same sort of thing. Weird.
Finally he raised one eyebrow and asked "You're FarmGirl, right?" (using my full real name, of course.)
My brain chose this moment to finally kick into gear, superimposing my memory of him at thirteen on his twenty six year old face. The reason I had so much trouble is that when I knew him, he was a clean cut young early teenager, and now he's a long-haired man. I mean really, the change is a complete shock. I did Knowledge Bowl (an academic competition in which we would be handed problems to solve, in three "quarters" we just had to solve the problems, in one we had to solve the problem AND put on a play about it. Think RPG's only geekier.) and Rocketry with him.
I remember on the bus to Knowledge Bowl meets we would drive the chaperons nuts singing stupid songs, until we got about half way there, then we were just as noisy, but we were discussing strategy and how we were gonna kick butt and take names. That's what set the knowledge bowl kids apart from the jocks, they goofed off ALL the way to their stuff.
Back then, he looked just like you'd expect a kid doing academic competitions and Rocketry to look, short hair, glasses, usually t-shirts and jeans unless it was picture day then it was a button down and jeans. He was skinny and angular and had a sharp sense of humor.
He moved away after that school year, and it was one of those lost touch things.
Now, he's filled out and lost some of the angles, his hair is longer than mine has ever been and he looks like he belongs shirtless playing bass for a garage band gone big.
Of course he said I haven't changed much. Well, it's true, I still look pretty much the same, just older.
But after he left, I texted R, giving her the scoop and telling her how shocked I was at the change. She came back with "what do you expect, you haven't seen him in twelve years."
Twelve. Years. Wow. The mere fact that something happened to me twelve years ago that I can reasonably be expected to remember that didn't involve a major natural disaster or an injury to myself has me a bit flabbergasted.
The other thing was a conversation in the GBC IRC channel concerning tattoos. Dixie said something along the lines of "you won't find anyone with just one tattoo for very long, they're addictive."
I started to compose a retort saying I'd had just one tattoo for a while now, and thought a moment to tote up years. Ten. Ten years I've had my tattoo.
Seriously?!? I swear it was just a couple years ago I got it... or it feels that way. There's no way that I've been considered adult enough to permanently mark my body for ten years. Well, technically, I haven't, but Farmmom and Farmdad signed off on the tatt because Bro knew I'd been wanting one, and he paid for it for my Christmas present that year.
But still. I'm thinking in decades now, and it's only going to get worse from here on out. Those "omg" moments will continue and grow as the years extend.
I'm not afraid of getting older, I won't delay my 30th birthday, I'm just worried that this means I have to admit that I'm a grownup now....
I don't wanna!
Monday, November 15, 2010
Company Policy
I've had a couple questions lately about this via email, so I'll clear a couple things up real quick.
I work at a chain convenience store on a major North-South highway. I work nights. Alone. I'm 5'7 and about a hundred pounds of well-packed attitude.
But attitude won't save me if someone decides to rob the store. Attitude will do nothing to deter a large man if he decides he's going to put his hands on me. Attitude won't save my life if someone decides to kill me.
But company policy clearly states that I'm not allowed to carry a weapon. Never mind that I've been approved for a permit to carry a concealed weapon, and can carry my gun anywhere else, my company tells me I'm not allowed.
If the store is robbed while I'm there, I'm to hand over the cash in the register and press the panic button. A panic button that has to be held down for three seconds to send a signal to law enforcement, who may then have to come from the other side of the county.
I'm fine with handing over the cash. They want it, they can have it.
I am not fine with the possibility that I will not be able to hold that button for a full three seconds (three seconds is a LONG time to do something when the excrement hits the rotating blades) if the guy across the counter decides he's going to take a little rape with his quick cash.
I am not fine with the possibility that a robber will become angry when I have a low amount of cash in my drawer and am unable to get him more money from the safe, and decide to take his anger out on me. Or that he may think I know some kind of magic code to open the safe, or make it spit out money more often than once every two minutes.
I am not fine with the idea of being beaten, shot, stabbed, raped, or otherwise assaulted because my company doesn't think I'm smart enough to safely carry a gun while I'm working for them.
I will abide by any company policy that does not directly impair my ability to provide for my own personal safety, in a manner guaranteed by the United States Constitution.
The Second Amendment trumps company policy. So does my life, and my safety. Period.
I work at a chain convenience store on a major North-South highway. I work nights. Alone. I'm 5'7 and about a hundred pounds of well-packed attitude.
But attitude won't save me if someone decides to rob the store. Attitude will do nothing to deter a large man if he decides he's going to put his hands on me. Attitude won't save my life if someone decides to kill me.
But company policy clearly states that I'm not allowed to carry a weapon. Never mind that I've been approved for a permit to carry a concealed weapon, and can carry my gun anywhere else, my company tells me I'm not allowed.
If the store is robbed while I'm there, I'm to hand over the cash in the register and press the panic button. A panic button that has to be held down for three seconds to send a signal to law enforcement, who may then have to come from the other side of the county.
I'm fine with handing over the cash. They want it, they can have it.
I am not fine with the possibility that I will not be able to hold that button for a full three seconds (three seconds is a LONG time to do something when the excrement hits the rotating blades) if the guy across the counter decides he's going to take a little rape with his quick cash.
I am not fine with the possibility that a robber will become angry when I have a low amount of cash in my drawer and am unable to get him more money from the safe, and decide to take his anger out on me. Or that he may think I know some kind of magic code to open the safe, or make it spit out money more often than once every two minutes.
I am not fine with the idea of being beaten, shot, stabbed, raped, or otherwise assaulted because my company doesn't think I'm smart enough to safely carry a gun while I'm working for them.
I will abide by any company policy that does not directly impair my ability to provide for my own personal safety, in a manner guaranteed by the United States Constitution.
The Second Amendment trumps company policy. So does my life, and my safety. Period.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Quotes
Well the contest has been going for a while now, and while I'm a little sad that I've only gotten five entries, maybe these will inspire the rest of my readers to come up with their own. Here are the entries:
(Edit: Got a couple more, so I'm throwing them on the end.)
"The second most grabbable butt in the blogosphere." - Alan
"FarmGirl: 1000% of the USRDA of whoop-ass" -Cybrus
"FarmGirl: It's best to stay on her good side. Trust me." - JayG
"I just do what FarmGirl tells me." - JayG
"FarmGirl has a deliciously grabbable ass" - Jennifer
"She'll cut off your nuts and serve them to you." - Loki
"FarmGirl- 98 pounds of of tightly-wound tornado looking for a place to land." - Newbius
"FarmGirl: The world's most heavily-armed twig." - Commenter Ragdragger who did not leave a link.
"As a professional massage therapist it would be unethical of me to comment on FarmGirl's ass." - ChristinaLMT
Hmm. Apparently my posterior is the "famous" one, not me. Anyway, you can vote for your favorite in comments, or if you think you can do better, submit your own outrageous quote via email.
As a side note, the consensus seems to be "don't tweet" so I'll put that idea on the back burner for now, unless a bunch of people speak up in favor of the idea.
(Edit: Got a couple more, so I'm throwing them on the end.)
"The second most grabbable butt in the blogosphere." - Alan
"FarmGirl: 1000% of the USRDA of whoop-ass" -Cybrus
"FarmGirl: It's best to stay on her good side. Trust me." - JayG
"I just do what FarmGirl tells me." - JayG
"FarmGirl has a deliciously grabbable ass" - Jennifer
"She'll cut off your nuts and serve them to you." - Loki
"FarmGirl- 98 pounds of of tightly-wound tornado looking for a place to land." - Newbius
"FarmGirl: The world's most heavily-armed twig." - Commenter Ragdragger who did not leave a link.
"As a professional massage therapist it would be unethical of me to comment on FarmGirl's ass." - ChristinaLMT
Hmm. Apparently my posterior is the "famous" one, not me. Anyway, you can vote for your favorite in comments, or if you think you can do better, submit your own outrageous quote via email.
As a side note, the consensus seems to be "don't tweet" so I'll put that idea on the back burner for now, unless a bunch of people speak up in favor of the idea.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Hug a Veteran
And say thank you, today.
From all of us here at the Old Homestead, to all of you Veterans out there:
Remember that there are still those of us who know full well the price paid for our freedoms, in your time, your health, your limbs and lives. We mourn the loss of even one of you, and honor your sacrifices, large and small.
Those who enjoy the liberties of life in this country should not forget that those liberties come at a cost, paid by courageous and outstanding men and women.
Thank you for your service, each and every one of you.
From all of us here at the Old Homestead, to all of you Veterans out there:
Remember that there are still those of us who know full well the price paid for our freedoms, in your time, your health, your limbs and lives. We mourn the loss of even one of you, and honor your sacrifices, large and small.
Those who enjoy the liberties of life in this country should not forget that those liberties come at a cost, paid by courageous and outstanding men and women.
Thank you for your service, each and every one of you.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Quotes, and Twitter
I want people to keep going on the previous post, I'm finding it very interesting. But I have one idea, and one question.
A lot of bloggers have quotes about themselves on their page. I'm getting kind of jealous of this, because nobody says awesome things about me. On the other hand I do try to keep my ego in check at least a little bit, so I don't want to go begging for "she's awesome" quotes. So, instead, I'd like to have a contest for the most outrageous quotes about me that you can think of. They can, of course, be entirely fictional. Make them funny, make them deep, make them whatever you want as long as they're outrageous.
Submit your quotes to my email ( therealfarmgirl (at) gmail (dot) com ) and I'll publish them, and let everyone vote for their favorites. This is also a good excuse to get some more regular updates. The winners will get a place of honor on the sidebar.
Next, should I get a twitter account? I'm gone more than I'm here anymore, and I do occasionally throughout the day (and night) come up with things that could be considered amusing. Normally those things get shared with the same people who are inflicted with my not so amusing random things (like picture messages live from El Marto Del Wal wondering at the fact that you can buy a vibrating ring for your ding-a-ling there)- the people I know well enough to have exchanged phone numbers with. On the other hand, I think I can tweet (twit?) from my phone, so I could conceivably share these things with all of you as well.
The question is, would it be just yet another self-serving ego-stroker or would my loyal readers (seriously how am I still getting 100+ hits a day on this blog?!?? I love you guys.) be interested in my random thoughts?
I would love to hear from the lurkers on this as well, a simple comment or email to the above address with either "yes" or "no" will suffice. If you email put "twitter poll" in the subject line so that I don't accidentally delete your vote, though.
So, get those quotes in, and tell me what you think of the twitter idea.
A lot of bloggers have quotes about themselves on their page. I'm getting kind of jealous of this, because nobody says awesome things about me. On the other hand I do try to keep my ego in check at least a little bit, so I don't want to go begging for "she's awesome" quotes. So, instead, I'd like to have a contest for the most outrageous quotes about me that you can think of. They can, of course, be entirely fictional. Make them funny, make them deep, make them whatever you want as long as they're outrageous.
Submit your quotes to my email ( therealfarmgirl (at) gmail (dot) com ) and I'll publish them, and let everyone vote for their favorites. This is also a good excuse to get some more regular updates. The winners will get a place of honor on the sidebar.
Next, should I get a twitter account? I'm gone more than I'm here anymore, and I do occasionally throughout the day (and night) come up with things that could be considered amusing. Normally those things get shared with the same people who are inflicted with my not so amusing random things (like picture messages live from El Marto Del Wal wondering at the fact that you can buy a vibrating ring for your ding-a-ling there)- the people I know well enough to have exchanged phone numbers with. On the other hand, I think I can tweet (twit?) from my phone, so I could conceivably share these things with all of you as well.
The question is, would it be just yet another self-serving ego-stroker or would my loyal readers (seriously how am I still getting 100+ hits a day on this blog?!?? I love you guys.) be interested in my random thoughts?
I would love to hear from the lurkers on this as well, a simple comment or email to the above address with either "yes" or "no" will suffice. If you email put "twitter poll" in the subject line so that I don't accidentally delete your vote, though.
So, get those quotes in, and tell me what you think of the twitter idea.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
And Now, For Something Utterly Different
The last few days I've been sick. Pretty miserable sick for a couple of days, with the full body-aches-fever-sore-throat thing, coming together to give me a general attitude of just wanting everyone to let me lay in bed and die already. Of course, I can't just lay in bed, and I've watched all of my DVD's so many times that unless I get a craving to see Save The Last Dance again (shaddap) they're really only good for putting me to sleep. So I read. A lot.
I'll just pause here a moment to sing the praises of e-readers. I think I'll always prefer dead-tree editions, but e-readers are VERY convenient. Without my nook I'd have been stuck with the same problem in books that I had with the DVD's. Ok, less so, because I can re-read books way more times than I can watch movies before they're just not any fun anymore.
Anyway, I was running short on reading material and decided to pick up a few more e-ditions for my library. Unfortunately all of my favorite standby authors failed to have anything new magically be released just in time to save me from dying of boredom as well as some weird flu that left one lymph node swollen and tender while the other returned to normal.
Fellow GBC'er (ya'll remember the Conspiracy, right?) Vine* answered my cold-med doped out plea for recommendations, instantly, with two words.
Little Brother. (By Cory Doctorow)
When I hit B&N and it was available as an e-book (I frown on their suddenly having to brand everything nook, when they were so sensible about it before, and I think the term "nookbook" should be reserved for books with recipes for getting laid.... which QP should write) I grabbed it. Knowing Vine's personality and having done a bit of taste-comparison with him from time to time, I figured it would be an interesting read at the least.
Just finished it. The verdict? If you haven't read it yet, you should. Some reviewers have called it the younger sibling of Orson Welles's (authors note: I've stared at this for ten minutes and I can't figure out why even though I know it's incorrect, Welles' sounds more "right" ) 1984. Or something like that, anyway, I'm too lazy to go find the exact quote at the moment. And I'm still a little hazy with meds**, thus all the parenthetical digressions and the link whoring.
Personally, I think it's a better illustration of the hazards of too much government, easier to relate to. I won't give out any spoilers, but it's a well written book that works simultaneously as an entertaining read and a social commentary. Not many authors can pull that off, frankly. You either wind up with a well-written social commentary with the bare bones of a plotline and characters, but lots of details about how the world could be run better (either directly or through satire) or a good story that has vague hints of social commentary in there somewhere, if you want to go back and puzzle them out.
Excellent book, two... well, I was going to say two thumbs up but that's been taken and I haven't thought of what my personal seal of approval is going to be, or even what the scale is. Considering how much stuff I wind up reviewing just because I probably should figure that out. Anyway, I liked it a lot.
But what I liked the most was after the end of the story.
At the back of the book is an afterward from a security expert, Bruce Schneier. Basically, he says that any security system is only proof against the designer, until and unless it has been tested by someone else, and the more someone elses that test it, the better. Including what I can't stop thinking of as "guerrilla testing." Ordinary people, figuring out ways around security systems not because they really want to get around them for the most part, but because they like the puzzle.
The key to being a socially responsible guerrilla tester is publicizing your results. If everyone knows how to open a Kryptonite bike lock with a bic pen, then the people selling you crap to make your other crap more secure have to figure out a way to keep any jerk with a pen from taking it anyway.
Schneier finishes his afterward by encouraging readers to go hack a security system. Now, I'm no rabble rouser, generally. But I think the whole concept is great. It makes sense that if something is secure against one person, it's only sure to be secure against that person, and anyone dumber than them. But if a million people take a crack at it, some of them are bound to be smart. Or, at least, they're bound to look at things in different ways, and notice that a Bic pen would fit in that hole and I wonder what would happen if I put it in there...
So, faithful readers (do I have any of those anymore? I've been a bad blogger...) what hacks do you know about? Have you figured out a way around some security system, physical or electronic? Have your friends?
Comment and tell me about them. If you're shy or might get in trouble, comment as Anony-mouse.
Myself, I'm no genius at this stuff, but I did once break into my apartment when I'd locked myself out. I did it by taking off the screen on an open window, but hey, it counts, right?
*Yes, Vine has a blog now. Go bug him to post more, I want to see what he's got to say, but he's being shy.
**I've been told before that I make parenthetical digressions in conversation, too. My best friend R once told me that she could practically see the parentheses. I try not to do it too often in my writing, but tonight I blame the cold meds. Just be thankful that I'm not posting at the peak of the med-high.
I'll just pause here a moment to sing the praises of e-readers. I think I'll always prefer dead-tree editions, but e-readers are VERY convenient. Without my nook I'd have been stuck with the same problem in books that I had with the DVD's. Ok, less so, because I can re-read books way more times than I can watch movies before they're just not any fun anymore.
Anyway, I was running short on reading material and decided to pick up a few more e-ditions for my library. Unfortunately all of my favorite standby authors failed to have anything new magically be released just in time to save me from dying of boredom as well as some weird flu that left one lymph node swollen and tender while the other returned to normal.
Fellow GBC'er (ya'll remember the Conspiracy, right?) Vine* answered my cold-med doped out plea for recommendations, instantly, with two words.
Little Brother. (By Cory Doctorow)
When I hit B&N and it was available as an e-book (I frown on their suddenly having to brand everything nook, when they were so sensible about it before, and I think the term "nookbook" should be reserved for books with recipes for getting laid.... which QP should write) I grabbed it. Knowing Vine's personality and having done a bit of taste-comparison with him from time to time, I figured it would be an interesting read at the least.
Just finished it. The verdict? If you haven't read it yet, you should. Some reviewers have called it the younger sibling of Orson Welles's (authors note: I've stared at this for ten minutes and I can't figure out why even though I know it's incorrect, Welles' sounds more "right" ) 1984. Or something like that, anyway, I'm too lazy to go find the exact quote at the moment. And I'm still a little hazy with meds**, thus all the parenthetical digressions and the link whoring.
Personally, I think it's a better illustration of the hazards of too much government, easier to relate to. I won't give out any spoilers, but it's a well written book that works simultaneously as an entertaining read and a social commentary. Not many authors can pull that off, frankly. You either wind up with a well-written social commentary with the bare bones of a plotline and characters, but lots of details about how the world could be run better (either directly or through satire) or a good story that has vague hints of social commentary in there somewhere, if you want to go back and puzzle them out.
Excellent book, two... well, I was going to say two thumbs up but that's been taken and I haven't thought of what my personal seal of approval is going to be, or even what the scale is. Considering how much stuff I wind up reviewing just because I probably should figure that out. Anyway, I liked it a lot.
But what I liked the most was after the end of the story.
At the back of the book is an afterward from a security expert, Bruce Schneier. Basically, he says that any security system is only proof against the designer, until and unless it has been tested by someone else, and the more someone elses that test it, the better. Including what I can't stop thinking of as "guerrilla testing." Ordinary people, figuring out ways around security systems not because they really want to get around them for the most part, but because they like the puzzle.
The key to being a socially responsible guerrilla tester is publicizing your results. If everyone knows how to open a Kryptonite bike lock with a bic pen, then the people selling you crap to make your other crap more secure have to figure out a way to keep any jerk with a pen from taking it anyway.
Schneier finishes his afterward by encouraging readers to go hack a security system. Now, I'm no rabble rouser, generally. But I think the whole concept is great. It makes sense that if something is secure against one person, it's only sure to be secure against that person, and anyone dumber than them. But if a million people take a crack at it, some of them are bound to be smart. Or, at least, they're bound to look at things in different ways, and notice that a Bic pen would fit in that hole and I wonder what would happen if I put it in there...
So, faithful readers (do I have any of those anymore? I've been a bad blogger...) what hacks do you know about? Have you figured out a way around some security system, physical or electronic? Have your friends?
Comment and tell me about them. If you're shy or might get in trouble, comment as Anony-mouse.
Myself, I'm no genius at this stuff, but I did once break into my apartment when I'd locked myself out. I did it by taking off the screen on an open window, but hey, it counts, right?
*Yes, Vine has a blog now. Go bug him to post more, I want to see what he's got to say, but he's being shy.
**I've been told before that I make parenthetical digressions in conversation, too. My best friend R once told me that she could practically see the parentheses. I try not to do it too often in my writing, but tonight I blame the cold meds. Just be thankful that I'm not posting at the peak of the med-high.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Oh God My Job Edition The Third
In which a stray cat saves my entire night.
I was grumpy tonight. Rather catty, even, since my help was gone at 7:30 and half of the stuff I'm not really supposed to do while I'm by myself hadn't been done. She got some stuff done for me and kudos to her for that, I appreciated it, but having to take trash out after I lock the doors on top of everything else just aggravates me.
However, as I was outside locking up the ice coolers, in preparation for locking the doors, and having a quick smoke while I had half a moment, I stumbled across "our" stray momma cat.
She hangs around the store and snags food out of the garbage cans, to feed her never ending trail of kittens. Now, this town is pretty much full up on stray cats and we don't really need more kittens running around alleys, but I can't get mad at her for doing what comes natural. If I catch her when she's not nursing, I'll probably try to get her in a carrier and get her spayed, but I won't mess with her while she's got nursing babies.
I've been trying to buddy up to her a bit, thinking if she befriends me I might be able to love on the kittens some (because they're adorable, of course, but also because I just might be able to find a few of them homes and reduce the stray problem if I can lay hands on them) and I've been very careful not to frighten her unduly. She's been gradually getting closer to me over the last few months, but has steadfastly kept out of touching distance.
Mostly she's been giving me that "Well, drop some food already" look. Tonight though, she seemed to come to a decision all at once. I was speaking softly, distractedly, to her, as is my usual habit, since she was between me and the ice cooler that I needed to lock. She tensed and I figured she was going to walk away, but she paused while I took another relaxed step, then came right up to me, and rubbed against my leg.
I leaned down and held my fingers out for her to sniff, which she did, and seemed to decide that even though I smelled like cleaning products, I would be allowed to touch her royalness anyway.
She loved on me for about five minutes, while her kittens peered around the corner, obviously confused.
If I can get her to come for some attention every night, eventually the kittens will decide that what's good enough for mom is good enough for them. It shouldn't be that hard to find homes for a gray tortoise shell, a black short hair, and a gray-and-white ball of fluff.
Also, it is so easy to tell who momma cat prefers to cavort with, since every litter has one gray and white kitten, marked almost identically to the tom that I see occasionally wandering around that area of town. The current one is extra adorable, having inherited dad's coloring, gray mask and top of head, down the back and tail, with white nose, chin, belly, chest, and legs, with mom's long hair, which at this age makes him or her a little powder puff.
Tonight, I got a victory that I wasn't really expecting. It certainly improved my mood immensely.
I was grumpy tonight. Rather catty, even, since my help was gone at 7:30 and half of the stuff I'm not really supposed to do while I'm by myself hadn't been done. She got some stuff done for me and kudos to her for that, I appreciated it, but having to take trash out after I lock the doors on top of everything else just aggravates me.
However, as I was outside locking up the ice coolers, in preparation for locking the doors, and having a quick smoke while I had half a moment, I stumbled across "our" stray momma cat.
She hangs around the store and snags food out of the garbage cans, to feed her never ending trail of kittens. Now, this town is pretty much full up on stray cats and we don't really need more kittens running around alleys, but I can't get mad at her for doing what comes natural. If I catch her when she's not nursing, I'll probably try to get her in a carrier and get her spayed, but I won't mess with her while she's got nursing babies.
I've been trying to buddy up to her a bit, thinking if she befriends me I might be able to love on the kittens some (because they're adorable, of course, but also because I just might be able to find a few of them homes and reduce the stray problem if I can lay hands on them) and I've been very careful not to frighten her unduly. She's been gradually getting closer to me over the last few months, but has steadfastly kept out of touching distance.
Mostly she's been giving me that "Well, drop some food already" look. Tonight though, she seemed to come to a decision all at once. I was speaking softly, distractedly, to her, as is my usual habit, since she was between me and the ice cooler that I needed to lock. She tensed and I figured she was going to walk away, but she paused while I took another relaxed step, then came right up to me, and rubbed against my leg.
I leaned down and held my fingers out for her to sniff, which she did, and seemed to decide that even though I smelled like cleaning products, I would be allowed to touch her royalness anyway.
She loved on me for about five minutes, while her kittens peered around the corner, obviously confused.
If I can get her to come for some attention every night, eventually the kittens will decide that what's good enough for mom is good enough for them. It shouldn't be that hard to find homes for a gray tortoise shell, a black short hair, and a gray-and-white ball of fluff.
Also, it is so easy to tell who momma cat prefers to cavort with, since every litter has one gray and white kitten, marked almost identically to the tom that I see occasionally wandering around that area of town. The current one is extra adorable, having inherited dad's coloring, gray mask and top of head, down the back and tail, with white nose, chin, belly, chest, and legs, with mom's long hair, which at this age makes him or her a little powder puff.
Tonight, I got a victory that I wasn't really expecting. It certainly improved my mood immensely.
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
On The Phone
Was on the phone with a friend at work tonight, who doesn't keep up with the blog, and telling him all about what he's missed in my life since the last time we talked.
Part of that was the episode with Stingray for the pie.
"No, I literally put lips to ass for this recipe, I'm not being figurative."
"Wait, bare ass or were his pants on?"
"Bare ass."
"..............."
"Don't say it, the pie is totally worth it. I'd do it again."
"So basically what you're telling me is that your dignity was tasty."
"My dignity is delicious."
Part of that was the episode with Stingray for the pie.
"No, I literally put lips to ass for this recipe, I'm not being figurative."
"Wait, bare ass or were his pants on?"
"Bare ass."
"..............."
"Don't say it, the pie is totally worth it. I'd do it again."
"So basically what you're telling me is that your dignity was tasty."
"My dignity is delicious."
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes!
So, having a few moments and a lack of anything else to do, for once, I updated the bloggers I've met list, made some changes on the blogroll, and added the suh-weet new logo that JBOMultigun put together for me ages ago.
Check out the new people, they all rock, and since it's been so damn long since I've updated the list, if you've met me, and you're not on my list, yell at me, and I'll fix that.
Check out the new people, they all rock, and since it's been so damn long since I've updated the list, if you've met me, and you're not on my list, yell at me, and I'll fix that.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Belly Band
So, I've been carrying the P32 in a Uncle Mike's belly band, and it's been long enough that I think it's time for a review.
First off, I was dreading belly band carry, even though it fit the necessary criteria nearly perfectly: highly concealable, low risk of printing or flashing, even when I forget about it.
I'd heard a lot of stories about how uncomfortable and hot belly bands were, as well as how difficult it was to keep them in place without cinching them down to Victorian Era Duchess proportions.
I'll note here that all of those stories were from men, because I think that perhaps women have an advantage when it comes to belly bands.
It's called a waist.
For me, I don't have any problems with the belly band staying up, so to speak. It straps around the narrow part of my waist and the shape of my body helps support it.
It's not entirely comfortable but it's not uncomfortable enough to turn me off of it as a method of carry.
The Uncle Mike's specifically, I could take or leave. It's the only belly band I've tried so I don't know if it's the best or the worst, but I'll give a run down of my likes and dislikes on it.
Likes: It's a mesh material, so it breathes. I don't wind up with a super sweaty strip around my stomach. The elastic is stretchy enough to move with me, but stiff enough to be secure. It also has an adjustable velcro strap to secure your pistol, so you can carry more than one gun in it if you like.
Dislikes: The seams are fairly stiff so if you're not paying attention when you strap it on, and one gets rolled under, it can get pretty uncomfortable. The holster pocket is a one size type thing, so if you don't get the retention strap adjusted just right there can be some wash. The draw is a little awkward, too, since I position the pistol directly in front. Boobs create great camo for the pistol, but without some practice, they can really get in the way of your draw.
All in all, for what I need it for, the belly band is a win. I'd put up with a lot more discomfort and dislikes for the conceal-ability, and the horror stories turned out to not apply as much as I expected.
If you've got a pocket pistol but your pockets aren't big enough, or you need a deep concealment option for some reason, I'd say consider the belly band, over all.
First off, I was dreading belly band carry, even though it fit the necessary criteria nearly perfectly: highly concealable, low risk of printing or flashing, even when I forget about it.
I'd heard a lot of stories about how uncomfortable and hot belly bands were, as well as how difficult it was to keep them in place without cinching them down to Victorian Era Duchess proportions.
I'll note here that all of those stories were from men, because I think that perhaps women have an advantage when it comes to belly bands.
It's called a waist.
For me, I don't have any problems with the belly band staying up, so to speak. It straps around the narrow part of my waist and the shape of my body helps support it.
It's not entirely comfortable but it's not uncomfortable enough to turn me off of it as a method of carry.
The Uncle Mike's specifically, I could take or leave. It's the only belly band I've tried so I don't know if it's the best or the worst, but I'll give a run down of my likes and dislikes on it.
Likes: It's a mesh material, so it breathes. I don't wind up with a super sweaty strip around my stomach. The elastic is stretchy enough to move with me, but stiff enough to be secure. It also has an adjustable velcro strap to secure your pistol, so you can carry more than one gun in it if you like.
Dislikes: The seams are fairly stiff so if you're not paying attention when you strap it on, and one gets rolled under, it can get pretty uncomfortable. The holster pocket is a one size type thing, so if you don't get the retention strap adjusted just right there can be some wash. The draw is a little awkward, too, since I position the pistol directly in front. Boobs create great camo for the pistol, but without some practice, they can really get in the way of your draw.
All in all, for what I need it for, the belly band is a win. I'd put up with a lot more discomfort and dislikes for the conceal-ability, and the horror stories turned out to not apply as much as I expected.
If you've got a pocket pistol but your pockets aren't big enough, or you need a deep concealment option for some reason, I'd say consider the belly band, over all.
Sunday, October 10, 2010
Finally, Some Relaxation
Wednesday night I worked, closing as usual, to get up Thursday morning, drive mom to PT, then back home, and head south to Elsewhere, TX.
It was a very, very long day Thursday, but it was so worth it. Hanging out with Phlegmmy Thursday night was a blast, and she's totally right, her bathroom rocks.... an appropriate setting for a bath goddess, indeed.
Friday I followed in a state of awe as she flew through stores like a stylish whirlwind, accomplishing a purely shocking amount of shopping in a minuscule amount of time. The thing that took the longest time was when LawDog and I got distracted in Sam's by the lure of free cutlery, which lure faded when we realized the enthusiastic man wasn't giving away the knife he was sawing on the hammer with, but a cheesy paring knife.
Then, back to the house where I mostly tried to stay out of the way, and did accomplish hosing off the deck chairs. I always feel awkward when someone else is cleaning their house and I'm there. I want to help, and then I realize I don't know where anything goes, and I remember how annoyed I get when someone puts things away in a place that, to me, seems completely wrong-headed, so unless I'm specifically given a task, or can find something that is extremely difficult to mess up, I just try to stay out of the way.
People started arriving Friday evening and the party was fabulous, as all of Phlegmmy's shindigs are.
Can I just say right now, for the record, that I accept absolutely no blame for any anatomically correct chocolate treats Evyl Robot may come up with. And I'd like to thank Jennifer for letting me be on the other side of the ass grabbery for a change.
One of these days I'll have to get the motivation up to update my bloggers I've met roll, since there have been several additions.
The Farm Fam came home tired, but smiling. We all needed the relaxation and had a lovely time, lovely food, and lovely company.
Tonight, I work. Tomorrow, we're off to Denver for a visit with the surgeon... must remember to grab some steaks, since I did promise him if he fixed mom I'd bring him T-bones.
I'm going to be exhausted for a while but it's in a much better way than I've been dealing with, and I must remember to do something like that more often!
It was a very, very long day Thursday, but it was so worth it. Hanging out with Phlegmmy Thursday night was a blast, and she's totally right, her bathroom rocks.... an appropriate setting for a bath goddess, indeed.
Friday I followed in a state of awe as she flew through stores like a stylish whirlwind, accomplishing a purely shocking amount of shopping in a minuscule amount of time. The thing that took the longest time was when LawDog and I got distracted in Sam's by the lure of free cutlery, which lure faded when we realized the enthusiastic man wasn't giving away the knife he was sawing on the hammer with, but a cheesy paring knife.
Then, back to the house where I mostly tried to stay out of the way, and did accomplish hosing off the deck chairs. I always feel awkward when someone else is cleaning their house and I'm there. I want to help, and then I realize I don't know where anything goes, and I remember how annoyed I get when someone puts things away in a place that, to me, seems completely wrong-headed, so unless I'm specifically given a task, or can find something that is extremely difficult to mess up, I just try to stay out of the way.
People started arriving Friday evening and the party was fabulous, as all of Phlegmmy's shindigs are.
Can I just say right now, for the record, that I accept absolutely no blame for any anatomically correct chocolate treats Evyl Robot may come up with. And I'd like to thank Jennifer for letting me be on the other side of the ass grabbery for a change.
One of these days I'll have to get the motivation up to update my bloggers I've met roll, since there have been several additions.
The Farm Fam came home tired, but smiling. We all needed the relaxation and had a lovely time, lovely food, and lovely company.
Tonight, I work. Tomorrow, we're off to Denver for a visit with the surgeon... must remember to grab some steaks, since I did promise him if he fixed mom I'd bring him T-bones.
I'm going to be exhausted for a while but it's in a much better way than I've been dealing with, and I must remember to do something like that more often!
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Caffiene Shakes: I Has Them
When you're short on sleep need to go, No-Doze is your friend. When you basically run on it and sugar for a weekend... not so much.
However, it was totally worth it.
Now I just have to figure out how to put my eyes back in my head and make my body stop vibrating.
However, it was totally worth it.
Now I just have to figure out how to put my eyes back in my head and make my body stop vibrating.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Oh God My Job Edition The Second
Not so much a complaint this time as an amusing anecdote...
It seems one of our local coke heads (puh-lease you don't grow your pinky nail on your dominant hand out just because you like the way it looks next to every other nail being trimmed short) got his tongue pierced recently.
How do I know? Because he came in last night and asked for:
"Shome Schig Schagsh, and a Shigari-yo."
He also looked like someone belted him across the mouth with a two by four so I'm guessing that it was done by one of his buddies rather than a licensed piercer.
I just hope that when and if he gets all infected he doesn't come in drooling yellow goop.
It seems one of our local coke heads (puh-lease you don't grow your pinky nail on your dominant hand out just because you like the way it looks next to every other nail being trimmed short) got his tongue pierced recently.
How do I know? Because he came in last night and asked for:
"Shome Schig Schagsh, and a Shigari-yo."
He also looked like someone belted him across the mouth with a two by four so I'm guessing that it was done by one of his buddies rather than a licensed piercer.
I just hope that when and if he gets all infected he doesn't come in drooling yellow goop.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Oh God My Job Edition The First
Because I'm sure there will be more of these.
Last night, 11:40:
Truck belonging to the traffic control company working south of town pulls up. It's ok though, I just made coffee, so I'm good.
Chick comes in, putters around a few minutes, and I hear the cappuccino machine cranking away. Ok, whatever.
Clueless Construction Chick: "Miss? The machine isn't working, it's just putting out water."
Me: "Oh hell my co worker cleaned it earlier she must have forgotten to flip the switch from rinse back to run." (Open machine, flip switch, turn to walk away, cringe as she pours the water from her cup into the drip tray.) "That doesn't have a drain, please don't pour things in there."
CCC: "It's still not working, see?"
I turn around, and she's holding the button down with no cup under it, running water into the drip tray.
Me: "Ma'am, that doesn't drain... Ma'am.... PLEASE STOP." (Because at eleven forty when I've already done 90% of my cleaning I really do not want to deal with a massive spill, thanks.)
CCC: "What?"
Me: "The only drip tray that has a drain is the soda machine. Every time you pour crap into any of the others, the clerk has to clean it."
CCC: "Well that's kind of dumb, they should all have drains."
Me: "I agree, but they don't. I'm sorry that the machine is not functioning correctly and I will put an out of order sign on it but I don't know how to fix it."
CCC: "That's ok I'll just get something else, I didn't really want cappuccino anyway."
At this point I refrained from telling her to get the hell out of my store and go terrorize the ones across the street. Barely. I also refrained from dumping the one hundred and eighty degree water from the drip tray on her head.
But it was a close thing.
I really need some fumbling adorable young high school boy to come in and buy condoms or something to give me a boost. (What? It amuses me when they come to whisper at me and ask where they are, and how they panic if anyone else walks in the store.)
Between the Mexican guys who come in and buy scratch tickets, then go to the back of the line and stand in line while scratching them without bothering to see if they've actually won anything before handing them to me to run through the machine (why bother scratching it if you're not going to actually play the game?) and the old lady who comes in at ten or eleven every single night and makes me check what number the books on her favorite scratch games are on (so far I've avoided what the other night gal says she does to her... holds her hands over the counter where the tickets are and picks up the "vibes") I'm getting to the point where I'm about ready to order a big rubber dildo and bring to work to stash on a shelf just so that I have something to make the nights suck a little less. (Edit: by watching customers notice it and freak out you sick minded individuals)
As an aside, I just got done reading The Princess Bride, the abridged version, and I think I might have caught some kind of parenthetical disease from Mr. Morgenstern.
Last night, 11:40:
Truck belonging to the traffic control company working south of town pulls up. It's ok though, I just made coffee, so I'm good.
Chick comes in, putters around a few minutes, and I hear the cappuccino machine cranking away. Ok, whatever.
Clueless Construction Chick: "Miss? The machine isn't working, it's just putting out water."
Me: "Oh hell my co worker cleaned it earlier she must have forgotten to flip the switch from rinse back to run." (Open machine, flip switch, turn to walk away, cringe as she pours the water from her cup into the drip tray.) "That doesn't have a drain, please don't pour things in there."
CCC: "It's still not working, see?"
I turn around, and she's holding the button down with no cup under it, running water into the drip tray.
Me: "Ma'am, that doesn't drain... Ma'am.... PLEASE STOP." (Because at eleven forty when I've already done 90% of my cleaning I really do not want to deal with a massive spill, thanks.)
CCC: "What?"
Me: "The only drip tray that has a drain is the soda machine. Every time you pour crap into any of the others, the clerk has to clean it."
CCC: "Well that's kind of dumb, they should all have drains."
Me: "I agree, but they don't. I'm sorry that the machine is not functioning correctly and I will put an out of order sign on it but I don't know how to fix it."
CCC: "That's ok I'll just get something else, I didn't really want cappuccino anyway."
At this point I refrained from telling her to get the hell out of my store and go terrorize the ones across the street. Barely. I also refrained from dumping the one hundred and eighty degree water from the drip tray on her head.
But it was a close thing.
I really need some fumbling adorable young high school boy to come in and buy condoms or something to give me a boost. (What? It amuses me when they come to whisper at me and ask where they are, and how they panic if anyone else walks in the store.)
Between the Mexican guys who come in and buy scratch tickets, then go to the back of the line and stand in line while scratching them without bothering to see if they've actually won anything before handing them to me to run through the machine (why bother scratching it if you're not going to actually play the game?) and the old lady who comes in at ten or eleven every single night and makes me check what number the books on her favorite scratch games are on (so far I've avoided what the other night gal says she does to her... holds her hands over the counter where the tickets are and picks up the "vibes") I'm getting to the point where I'm about ready to order a big rubber dildo and bring to work to stash on a shelf just so that I have something to make the nights suck a little less. (Edit: by watching customers notice it and freak out you sick minded individuals)
As an aside, I just got done reading The Princess Bride, the abridged version, and I think I might have caught some kind of parenthetical disease from Mr. Morgenstern.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Home!
Sweet, sweet home... my own bed, my pups, my beautimous wide open spaces, and elbow room!
Not to mention a lack of smog and smoke from nearby fires (not that I'm complaining about the fire, I think most of Colorado would probably happily roast marshmallows while Boulder burned...) sirens in the night and weird-ass people talking to themselves and suddenly turning to me saying "Isn't that right??" (Seriously, this happened to me twice. Neither time was at the hospital, where such things might be somewhat more expected.)
Farmmom made the trip better than we expected... some understandable stiffness, and a whole assload of "god I'm tired" made it home with us, but she's in good shape.
Soon, I'll have posts about two different carry methods for the P32, belly band, and ankle holster. For now, I'm going to go snuggle with my pups and get some sleep... and probably walk to work tomorrow... I am so sick of vehicles!
Not to mention a lack of smog and smoke from nearby fires (not that I'm complaining about the fire, I think most of Colorado would probably happily roast marshmallows while Boulder burned...) sirens in the night and weird-ass people talking to themselves and suddenly turning to me saying "Isn't that right??" (Seriously, this happened to me twice. Neither time was at the hospital, where such things might be somewhat more expected.)
Farmmom made the trip better than we expected... some understandable stiffness, and a whole assload of "god I'm tired" made it home with us, but she's in good shape.
Soon, I'll have posts about two different carry methods for the P32, belly band, and ankle holster. For now, I'm going to go snuggle with my pups and get some sleep... and probably walk to work tomorrow... I am so sick of vehicles!
Monday, September 13, 2010
A Quick Note
Whilst I'm winding down from driving in Denver.
Mom is out of the hospital and spending tonight in the hotel room with her pup... she only had to sit down on her snazzy walker (we got her the one with the seat and basket, just cause) once on the way to the room. She's tired, of course, and drugged, of course, but glad to be out of the hospital.
Tomorrow morning we have an appointment at Doc's office, then snag the last of the needed materials for home, and get the hell out of Dodge... er... Denver.
It's a nice place to visit, but I couldn't live here. No way, no how. Too damn many people, all crowded together like cattle in a pen... *shudder.*
Anyway, just updating. Sleep now.
Mom is out of the hospital and spending tonight in the hotel room with her pup... she only had to sit down on her snazzy walker (we got her the one with the seat and basket, just cause) once on the way to the room. She's tired, of course, and drugged, of course, but glad to be out of the hospital.
Tomorrow morning we have an appointment at Doc's office, then snag the last of the needed materials for home, and get the hell out of Dodge... er... Denver.
It's a nice place to visit, but I couldn't live here. No way, no how. Too damn many people, all crowded together like cattle in a pen... *shudder.*
Anyway, just updating. Sleep now.
Friday, September 10, 2010
Farmmom
Is out of surgery, and awake in recovery. Doc says it's a good looking knee, so I figure he's proud of the work he did, and considering his reputation and the number of patients he has who absolutely adore him, I'm gonna say that means really good things.
Right now they're probably strapping her into the constant motion machine that she'll wear whenever she's in bed until she gets out of the hospital, and getting her x-rays and such.
It'll be about an hour before they put her in her (private) room and come get us to show us where it is.
Whew.
Update: She's in her room, on her magic morphine button, and high as a kite in spite of the torture device... er... constant motion thingy. She's hooked up to more machines than the six million dollar man, at the moment, and is dozing off every time it gets quiet for more than a few seconds.
The only bit that squicks me out a bit is the little vacuum pump that has the tube that runs up to her knee... and it's not even that it's sucking stuff out of her knee, it's the thought that for the next eight hours or so anything they suck out of her they might just pump right back in... which medically is a good thing, but the idea of it being out for that long and then going back in squicks me for some reason.
As soon as she's good and out we'll be heading off to run a couple errands and catch a nap at the hotel. Shouldn't be long now.
Right now they're probably strapping her into the constant motion machine that she'll wear whenever she's in bed until she gets out of the hospital, and getting her x-rays and such.
It'll be about an hour before they put her in her (private) room and come get us to show us where it is.
Whew.
Update: She's in her room, on her magic morphine button, and high as a kite in spite of the torture device... er... constant motion thingy. She's hooked up to more machines than the six million dollar man, at the moment, and is dozing off every time it gets quiet for more than a few seconds.
The only bit that squicks me out a bit is the little vacuum pump that has the tube that runs up to her knee... and it's not even that it's sucking stuff out of her knee, it's the thought that for the next eight hours or so anything they suck out of her they might just pump right back in... which medically is a good thing, but the idea of it being out for that long and then going back in squicks me for some reason.
As soon as she's good and out we'll be heading off to run a couple errands and catch a nap at the hotel. Shouldn't be long now.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Protip
When driving in Denver, at five pm, when the Rockies are playing the Reds:
Don't.
In other news, we survived to get to the hotel, got checked in, and are relaxing for a bit before we go in search of Chinese food. Farmmom's surgery early tomorrow morning, I'll try to get on at the hospital and update, but I'm not making any guarantees, since I'm not positive the hospital has wifi.
Regardless, by tomorrow night there will be an update.
Don't.
In other news, we survived to get to the hotel, got checked in, and are relaxing for a bit before we go in search of Chinese food. Farmmom's surgery early tomorrow morning, I'll try to get on at the hospital and update, but I'm not making any guarantees, since I'm not positive the hospital has wifi.
Regardless, by tomorrow night there will be an update.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Guns, Preferences, And Necessity
I'm a little girl that likes big guns. As my rather large friend MattG put it last year after fondling my Firestar (and then pondering the mechanics of having bitty hands, a phenomenon that he is decidedly unfamiliar with) a heavy gun can absorb a lot of recoil, making larger calibers more fun to shoot.
I like the way they feel in my hands, as well. I'm not talking about any of the truly large frame guns, even some 1911's are not entirely comfortable for me to grip, but the smaller framed pistols, like the Firestar, and the Walther, fit my hands in a way that is comfortable for me. I feel like I've got something to hold on to when I pull the bang switch.
I've never been much of a fan of pocket pistols, frankly. It's not that I don't see the utility or that I won't shoot them or anything, I'm just not jumping up and down with glee when I see one. I've never really felt that I had a need for one.
Until this job, and all the nights.
Don't get me wrong, with the only true weapon (the brain, dur) and my pocket knife, I'm reasonably confident that I could hold off crazy axe rapists for long enough to push the panic button (which you have to hold for three long-ass seconds to activate) and either finally have a reason to use that blood and body fluid cleanup kit that gets in the way in the back room, or maintain a standoff until the cops could arrive. More likely the former.
But.
The bad thing about the pocket knife (and most other useful tools and or objects that I can generally reach in the course of my daily duties, not counting a mop handle or broom) is that you have to be within arms reach to use it. Don't start jabbering at me about throwing knives, please. I understand that there are people out there with the skill to put a blade through a person's eye at ten paces. I am not one of those people, nor is a Gerber particularly balanced for throwing, totally aside from what seems to me to be the very misguided notion of throwing away a perfectly good weapon.
Over Blogorado most of the guests, particularly MattG, LawDog, and Bayou Renaissance Man, expressed... ahem... concern. Since I'm working at a place that practically screams "ROB ME!" and working late at night, alone, on a reasonably major north-south highway, they felt that I should have more protection than my knife.
Well, so did I, but I couldn't figure out how to conceal any of my guns effectively enough to keep from losing my job, thanks to the company's no-weapons policy.
Matt, at one point, pulled out his pocket pistol and practically shook it in my face (in a manner not violating any of the four rules for any of you paranoid people out there) and extolled it's virtues. Patiently I told him "Yes, it's very nice, and I can see the utility and its applications in my situation, but fiscal responsibility prevents me from making such a purchase at this moment."
Ok, so maybe it was more like "Yeah, I would, but damnit I can't afford it!"
Anyway, Matt sat for a moment in contemplation of the gun in his hand (he was the only one who could see it at that point, to the rest of us it looked like he was staring intently at his palm) and muttered "I'm not going to give you this one, but I'm tempted."
Ankle holsters were another suggestion, with the same response from me. I simply couldn't afford it.
Coming through the Springs today on the way home, we stopped in at Sal's workplace, with me intending to have a look-see and coonfinger any pocket pistols they happened to have on hand, so that I could get an idea of my preferences and what price range I was looking at.
Well, that was the *plan* anyway.
Yes, I bought a new toy at the funstore. This isn't an epic romance or anything, at least not yet. It's more a marriage of convenience. I happened to be in need of a reasonably priced, itty bitty gun. They happened to have a used KelTec P-32 for a hair under two hundred dollars. By the time I got ammo, and the superduper clip that I'm assured is de rigueur, plus taxes, I wound up spending a good chunk of change today, but it's still less than I really expected to.
Unfortunately they didn't have a right-handed ankle holster for it, only the left. Before I decided to buy the gun, I tried the holster, with Farmdad's P3AT, strapped backwards on my left leg, just to get a feel for the holster and gun and if it was something that was doable.
Protip for anyone concerned about whether something will conceal in a specific type of clothing or a specific outfit... wear it to the gun store. I did. I packed a pair of the slacks I wear to work (for the sake of convenience I simply got two pairs of the same style when I found the ones that fit, then ordered three more when I got some breathing room on the money situation... so if it conceals in one pair, it'll conceal in 'em all) and wore them today specifically so that I could try out concealment methods while I was shopping.
After all, a reasonably priced gun that I feel comfortable holding isn't going to do me a damn bit of good if I can't conceal it well enough to keep from drawing attention... it'd just get me fired.
So, I bought the P32, coincidentally the first time I've ever purchased a gun for myself. The Walther and the Firestar were both gifts, so I've never had to fill out that silly form before.
Sal is going to check for me whether it would be better to order in the ankle holster there and just pick it up when we go back up next week, or order it myself and have it shipped to me. It really depends on shipping times and whether they got one in the shipment they received today or not.
Anyway, without further ado, I give you the obligatory Gun-Pr0n, which you'll have to forgive me for. The lighting sucks and I'm tired so you get a quick snapshot instead of something tastefully laid out, well lit and composed.
Since I name all of my weapons, I'll have to think of something suitable for this one. Maybe Bruinhilde. She's not so bad, really, and she's gonna be nice to have around, but she's not the girl that sets my heart aflutter.
(Why she, you ask? Because as I was doing the paperwork for the background check, I was sagely informed by the older gentleman who was leaning against the counter, sending one of the poor floor people hither and yon in search of various and sundry things, that the P32 is a "good girl gun"... I've just knocked the last word off and decided that she's a good girl, and we'll leave it at that.)
Disclaimer: this post is not intended to encourage anyone to break their employer's policies regarding firearms or weapons. Regardless of whether I believe that the Second Amendment trumps corporate policy, they do have the right to fire an employee for disregarding any policy made clear in the hiring packet. I have not carried this gun at work and I will make no admissions about whether or not I carry it at work in the future. So Legal Eagles can just go piss up a rope.
I like the way they feel in my hands, as well. I'm not talking about any of the truly large frame guns, even some 1911's are not entirely comfortable for me to grip, but the smaller framed pistols, like the Firestar, and the Walther, fit my hands in a way that is comfortable for me. I feel like I've got something to hold on to when I pull the bang switch.
I've never been much of a fan of pocket pistols, frankly. It's not that I don't see the utility or that I won't shoot them or anything, I'm just not jumping up and down with glee when I see one. I've never really felt that I had a need for one.
Until this job, and all the nights.
Don't get me wrong, with the only true weapon (the brain, dur) and my pocket knife, I'm reasonably confident that I could hold off crazy axe rapists for long enough to push the panic button (which you have to hold for three long-ass seconds to activate) and either finally have a reason to use that blood and body fluid cleanup kit that gets in the way in the back room, or maintain a standoff until the cops could arrive. More likely the former.
But.
The bad thing about the pocket knife (and most other useful tools and or objects that I can generally reach in the course of my daily duties, not counting a mop handle or broom) is that you have to be within arms reach to use it. Don't start jabbering at me about throwing knives, please. I understand that there are people out there with the skill to put a blade through a person's eye at ten paces. I am not one of those people, nor is a Gerber particularly balanced for throwing, totally aside from what seems to me to be the very misguided notion of throwing away a perfectly good weapon.
Over Blogorado most of the guests, particularly MattG, LawDog, and Bayou Renaissance Man, expressed... ahem... concern. Since I'm working at a place that practically screams "ROB ME!" and working late at night, alone, on a reasonably major north-south highway, they felt that I should have more protection than my knife.
Well, so did I, but I couldn't figure out how to conceal any of my guns effectively enough to keep from losing my job, thanks to the company's no-weapons policy.
Matt, at one point, pulled out his pocket pistol and practically shook it in my face (in a manner not violating any of the four rules for any of you paranoid people out there) and extolled it's virtues. Patiently I told him "Yes, it's very nice, and I can see the utility and its applications in my situation, but fiscal responsibility prevents me from making such a purchase at this moment."
Ok, so maybe it was more like "Yeah, I would, but damnit I can't afford it!"
Anyway, Matt sat for a moment in contemplation of the gun in his hand (he was the only one who could see it at that point, to the rest of us it looked like he was staring intently at his palm) and muttered "I'm not going to give you this one, but I'm tempted."
Ankle holsters were another suggestion, with the same response from me. I simply couldn't afford it.
Coming through the Springs today on the way home, we stopped in at Sal's workplace, with me intending to have a look-see and coonfinger any pocket pistols they happened to have on hand, so that I could get an idea of my preferences and what price range I was looking at.
Well, that was the *plan* anyway.
Yes, I bought a new toy at the funstore. This isn't an epic romance or anything, at least not yet. It's more a marriage of convenience. I happened to be in need of a reasonably priced, itty bitty gun. They happened to have a used KelTec P-32 for a hair under two hundred dollars. By the time I got ammo, and the superduper clip that I'm assured is de rigueur, plus taxes, I wound up spending a good chunk of change today, but it's still less than I really expected to.
Unfortunately they didn't have a right-handed ankle holster for it, only the left. Before I decided to buy the gun, I tried the holster, with Farmdad's P3AT, strapped backwards on my left leg, just to get a feel for the holster and gun and if it was something that was doable.
Protip for anyone concerned about whether something will conceal in a specific type of clothing or a specific outfit... wear it to the gun store. I did. I packed a pair of the slacks I wear to work (for the sake of convenience I simply got two pairs of the same style when I found the ones that fit, then ordered three more when I got some breathing room on the money situation... so if it conceals in one pair, it'll conceal in 'em all) and wore them today specifically so that I could try out concealment methods while I was shopping.
After all, a reasonably priced gun that I feel comfortable holding isn't going to do me a damn bit of good if I can't conceal it well enough to keep from drawing attention... it'd just get me fired.
So, I bought the P32, coincidentally the first time I've ever purchased a gun for myself. The Walther and the Firestar were both gifts, so I've never had to fill out that silly form before.
Sal is going to check for me whether it would be better to order in the ankle holster there and just pick it up when we go back up next week, or order it myself and have it shipped to me. It really depends on shipping times and whether they got one in the shipment they received today or not.
Anyway, without further ado, I give you the obligatory Gun-Pr0n, which you'll have to forgive me for. The lighting sucks and I'm tired so you get a quick snapshot instead of something tastefully laid out, well lit and composed.
Since I name all of my weapons, I'll have to think of something suitable for this one. Maybe Bruinhilde. She's not so bad, really, and she's gonna be nice to have around, but she's not the girl that sets my heart aflutter.
(Why she, you ask? Because as I was doing the paperwork for the background check, I was sagely informed by the older gentleman who was leaning against the counter, sending one of the poor floor people hither and yon in search of various and sundry things, that the P32 is a "good girl gun"... I've just knocked the last word off and decided that she's a good girl, and we'll leave it at that.)
Disclaimer: this post is not intended to encourage anyone to break their employer's policies regarding firearms or weapons. Regardless of whether I believe that the Second Amendment trumps corporate policy, they do have the right to fire an employee for disregarding any policy made clear in the hiring packet. I have not carried this gun at work and I will make no admissions about whether or not I carry it at work in the future. So Legal Eagles can just go piss up a rope.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Bass Pro Shop Outdoor World
Oh. My. God.
We're in Denver (again) for an appointment with the new surgeon on Farmmom's knee (again) which got everything ready to rock and roll for next Friday on the surgery (finally) and we hit Bass Pro Shop to pick up a few odds and ends...
Oh. My. God.
Totally aside from the knowledge that I really, really should stick my hands in my pockets and walk through that store with my head down to avoid spending wayyy too much money, in their fish tank I saw, my hand to Jebus, a catfish that weighed more than Farmdog.
No joke this thing must have been a good sixty pounds. I've never seen a fish with fat rolls before.
Meanwhile... I whimpered so loudly in the camping section that several onlookers wondered if I were mentally retarded or into some kinky sexual thing involving tents and gear.
We're in Denver (again) for an appointment with the new surgeon on Farmmom's knee (again) which got everything ready to rock and roll for next Friday on the surgery (finally) and we hit Bass Pro Shop to pick up a few odds and ends...
Oh. My. God.
Totally aside from the knowledge that I really, really should stick my hands in my pockets and walk through that store with my head down to avoid spending wayyy too much money, in their fish tank I saw, my hand to Jebus, a catfish that weighed more than Farmdog.
No joke this thing must have been a good sixty pounds. I've never seen a fish with fat rolls before.
Meanwhile... I whimpered so loudly in the camping section that several onlookers wondered if I were mentally retarded or into some kinky sexual thing involving tents and gear.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Photo Op
Having Oleg Freaking Volk at your blogmeet is bound to turn up some great photos.. what surprised me was just how sneaky the man could be. He's very good at that unobtrusive thing, until he thinks of a shot that he really wants that requires him to be obvious.
I had a couple of twitchy moments, I admit, but all in all it was a good experience, even when I was obviously in front of the camera. Since it will get out soon anyway (these things always do) for those of you who weren't aware, yes, this is me.
There goes my faceless blogger status, but really, if you're going to come out of the anony-mouse closet, what better way to do it than in pictures taken by the immortal Oleg Volk? At least you're guaranteed to look good, cause the man is a genius.
For any potential stalkers* out there: remember, I carry, I'm never entirely unarmed, and I have an intimate familiarity with the process of relieving male critters of their boy bits without causing them to die.
If you haven't seen his stuff (and if you haven't, you're an uninformed heathen, which should be corrected immediately) check Oleg out at his LiveJournal or website ... but do it when you have plenty of time to waste cause you're gonna be entranced.
*Oleg made several joking remarks about how many stalkers I would gain thanks to the pictures, and how most of them would likely have enough sense to realize that actually hurting/touching/otherwise upsetting me would likely result in their gaining several new and interesting orifices. It required a special mention.
I had a couple of twitchy moments, I admit, but all in all it was a good experience, even when I was obviously in front of the camera. Since it will get out soon anyway (these things always do) for those of you who weren't aware, yes, this is me.
There goes my faceless blogger status, but really, if you're going to come out of the anony-mouse closet, what better way to do it than in pictures taken by the immortal Oleg Volk? At least you're guaranteed to look good, cause the man is a genius.
For any potential stalkers* out there: remember, I carry, I'm never entirely unarmed, and I have an intimate familiarity with the process of relieving male critters of their boy bits without causing them to die.
If you haven't seen his stuff (and if you haven't, you're an uninformed heathen, which should be corrected immediately) check Oleg out at his LiveJournal or website ... but do it when you have plenty of time to waste cause you're gonna be entranced.
*Oleg made several joking remarks about how many stalkers I would gain thanks to the pictures, and how most of them would likely have enough sense to realize that actually hurting/touching/otherwise upsetting me would likely result in their gaining several new and interesting orifices. It required a special mention.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
"Ass Kisser" Takes On A Whole New Meaning
Got a few minutes before I have to run off to work until midnight so I'll jot down a note about one of the highlights of the weekend... please excuse me if I'm not up to my usual standard since I haven't slowed down much since everyone went home and I'm not caught up with myself yet.
So, this Blogorado we failed to demolish any cars (the worst damage was a couple of flat tires, I can live with this) field-dress any roadkill whilst slightly horrified young deputies stood by, or create any international incidents, thankfully.
What we did manage to do... or rather, I managed to do, is provide what may become this year's epic moment.
With my birthday approaching, the Nerds brought me a gift of a lovely pie plate. (My birthday being the same as LabRat's, they remembered that it was coming, while everyone else thankfully forgot... I worked hard to keep Blogorado away from my birthday, thank you. I know how sick and twisted all those freaks are)
The pie plate is, as I said, lovely. What came in it however, was heavenly. I got a piece of my birthday pie, brought to me at the second job since unfortunately the scheduling monkeys decided that I needed to be chained to a register the night the Nerd Beer arrived.
No joke... my (new) manager looked at me and said "I don't think you're allowed to do that at work..." because of the noises I was making over this pie. It is strip down and roll in it naked and pull muscles to lick it all off good.
Well, at the range, Farmmom was smarting off that she wanted that recipe. Stingray, being of the "Mine and I'm not sharing" persuasion, which I can't blame him for, said "Kiss my ass."
I turned around and looked at him and said "For that recipe, I will no shit get on my knees and plant my lips to your naked ass. You write it down, and I'll do it."
Apparently this challenge was just too tempting for Stingray because I did acquire the recipe. I'm not sure how many people got pictures or how Stingray feels about them being posted, but barring any objections from him, I'm sure they'll surface at some point, from someone.
Totally worth it. My only regret is that I haven't had time yet to get the berries and make the pie... or con Farmmom into making it for me.
Mmmmm. Pie.
So, this Blogorado we failed to demolish any cars (the worst damage was a couple of flat tires, I can live with this) field-dress any roadkill whilst slightly horrified young deputies stood by, or create any international incidents, thankfully.
What we did manage to do... or rather, I managed to do, is provide what may become this year's epic moment.
With my birthday approaching, the Nerds brought me a gift of a lovely pie plate. (My birthday being the same as LabRat's, they remembered that it was coming, while everyone else thankfully forgot... I worked hard to keep Blogorado away from my birthday, thank you. I know how sick and twisted all those freaks are)
The pie plate is, as I said, lovely. What came in it however, was heavenly. I got a piece of my birthday pie, brought to me at the second job since unfortunately the scheduling monkeys decided that I needed to be chained to a register the night the Nerd Beer arrived.
No joke... my (new) manager looked at me and said "I don't think you're allowed to do that at work..." because of the noises I was making over this pie. It is strip down and roll in it naked and pull muscles to lick it all off good.
Well, at the range, Farmmom was smarting off that she wanted that recipe. Stingray, being of the "Mine and I'm not sharing" persuasion, which I can't blame him for, said "Kiss my ass."
I turned around and looked at him and said "For that recipe, I will no shit get on my knees and plant my lips to your naked ass. You write it down, and I'll do it."
Apparently this challenge was just too tempting for Stingray because I did acquire the recipe. I'm not sure how many people got pictures or how Stingray feels about them being posted, but barring any objections from him, I'm sure they'll surface at some point, from someone.
Totally worth it. My only regret is that I haven't had time yet to get the berries and make the pie... or con Farmmom into making it for me.
Mmmmm. Pie.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
You Know... It's Kind Of Sad...
For nearly a week now I've been eating quite well on mom's cooking, GC's cooking, LawDog's pepper poppers, Stingray's ass-kissin good pie (story later) and now I'm sitting here eating a bologna and chip sammich. (Sour cream and cheddar Ruffles crushed and on the sammich.)
.... Something just ain't right with me, really.
.... Something just ain't right with me, really.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Important Blogorado Information
For those of you attending Blogorado, an update.
I've been told by a couple people that their motel reservations were lost... luckily they had called to confirm and got it all taken care of, but if you've made reservations, I suggest you call again and make sure they haven't vanished into thin air!
Not that long now... and so much to do!
I've been told by a couple people that their motel reservations were lost... luckily they had called to confirm and got it all taken care of, but if you've made reservations, I suggest you call again and make sure they haven't vanished into thin air!
Not that long now... and so much to do!
Monday, August 9, 2010
Sleep? What's That?
So, after shifts going from 4pm to midnight one day, to 9am to 5pm the next, followed up with a 4:30am to 1pm after that, fair week (with all the excitement and rush associated with it both at work and off) and two dances in two nights at which I had decided to blow off some steam and didn't get nearly enough sleep, this week I have a steady schedule. I'm closing all week, which I don't mind. My body is having a touch of trouble trying to get the whole "ok you were up till some gawdawful hour of the morning last night but you're not going to bed early tonight so you can actually sleep" concept, but it'll adjust.
Met a new guy in town Friday night at the dance. His immediate backstory is almost cliche. On his way to take a job in Oklahoma City (of a skilled labor variety which makes a buttload of money) his truck broke down in the middle of the night. Having not much money on hand, he couldn't afford to both fix the truck and, ya know, eat, for the period it would take to get the repairs done, and so being a self sufficient lad he started looking for work. Temporary, at first, but as he was directed hither and yon to folks who might have something for him to do to earn a few bucks he became fascinated with the area, and decided to stay a while.
That decision actually got him a job, since he was looking at being around for more than a couple weeks, and he's been settling in, and falling in love with, the county.
I think Hollywood did that movie, even if I can't remember which one it was at the moment.
In all seriousness, he seems like the sort to fit in well here, and be a positive addition to our tiny population. After one night of discussing everything from books to livestock to philosophy over the top of the noise of the dance and one much quieter conversation with just as much variety but less background noise, I'm prepared to give him the provisional Farmgirl stamp of approval for living in my county.
I've promised him a tour of some of my favorite places, and we'll get to that one of these days when schedules permit, what with him working farm hours and me working... whatever hours the manager wants me to work.
Since one of my favorite things to do is show people the places and things about this area that I adore, I'm sure it'll be no hardship.
Now, for something completely different....
As with most convenience stores, we carry condoms. And, as with most convenience stores, it's a fair bet that, especially on the closing shift, some shy youngster will mumble something to the clerk to the effect of "doyoucarrycondomsandwherearethey" in sotto voice.
So far, I've managed to keep a straight face, even when the shy one was not such a youngster, and point them in the right direction.
Harder is keeping my giggles under control at the reactions to the discovery that we only carry these.
It's just a packaging difference but to someone looking to not be seen buying condoms, (and this just blows my mind, frankly... I want to congratulate the younger people on their good sense every time I ring up a package of condoms, just to give some positive reinforcement) it throws them off in their hurried search.
Then when they find them, you can see, across the store, the confused look, and the slowly dawning realization that hey, this might actually be kind of brilliant. Plus, the relief that if they didn't spot them right away no one is likely to associate that packaging with condoms, and they might get out of the store without their mom's best friend (who of course walked in at precisely the wrong moment) noticing that they're planning on having s-e-x tonight.
The entertainment value makes me kind of glad that they took out the 75 cent dispensers in the bathrooms.
Met a new guy in town Friday night at the dance. His immediate backstory is almost cliche. On his way to take a job in Oklahoma City (of a skilled labor variety which makes a buttload of money) his truck broke down in the middle of the night. Having not much money on hand, he couldn't afford to both fix the truck and, ya know, eat, for the period it would take to get the repairs done, and so being a self sufficient lad he started looking for work. Temporary, at first, but as he was directed hither and yon to folks who might have something for him to do to earn a few bucks he became fascinated with the area, and decided to stay a while.
That decision actually got him a job, since he was looking at being around for more than a couple weeks, and he's been settling in, and falling in love with, the county.
I think Hollywood did that movie, even if I can't remember which one it was at the moment.
In all seriousness, he seems like the sort to fit in well here, and be a positive addition to our tiny population. After one night of discussing everything from books to livestock to philosophy over the top of the noise of the dance and one much quieter conversation with just as much variety but less background noise, I'm prepared to give him the provisional Farmgirl stamp of approval for living in my county.
I've promised him a tour of some of my favorite places, and we'll get to that one of these days when schedules permit, what with him working farm hours and me working... whatever hours the manager wants me to work.
Since one of my favorite things to do is show people the places and things about this area that I adore, I'm sure it'll be no hardship.
Now, for something completely different....
As with most convenience stores, we carry condoms. And, as with most convenience stores, it's a fair bet that, especially on the closing shift, some shy youngster will mumble something to the clerk to the effect of "doyoucarrycondomsandwherearethey" in sotto voice.
So far, I've managed to keep a straight face, even when the shy one was not such a youngster, and point them in the right direction.
Harder is keeping my giggles under control at the reactions to the discovery that we only carry these.
It's just a packaging difference but to someone looking to not be seen buying condoms, (and this just blows my mind, frankly... I want to congratulate the younger people on their good sense every time I ring up a package of condoms, just to give some positive reinforcement) it throws them off in their hurried search.
Then when they find them, you can see, across the store, the confused look, and the slowly dawning realization that hey, this might actually be kind of brilliant. Plus, the relief that if they didn't spot them right away no one is likely to associate that packaging with condoms, and they might get out of the store without their mom's best friend (who of course walked in at precisely the wrong moment) noticing that they're planning on having s-e-x tonight.
The entertainment value makes me kind of glad that they took out the 75 cent dispensers in the bathrooms.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Remember Folks... It's Not Your Clerk's Fault...
So apparently last night the computer system running the gas pumps, credit card and check verification systems took a big ol' dump all over itself, resulting in there being several hours of no gas, no credit cards, no checks, cash only. (The pumps would work, but since the credit card information couldn't be transmitted you couldn't pay at the pump, and since the pumps weren't sending anything to the registers you couldn't pay inside...)
Oh yeah, and no loyalty cards either.
See, the store I now work for is part of the group that owns a couple of large grocery store chains as well. In trying to tie in all of their stuff, apparently, they've instituted a few perks for customers using their loyalty cards, like a gas discount and a point system... for every dollar of applicable merch in the store you get a point, and if you get such and such points in a month you get a higher gas discount.
Now, everyone loves a gas discount, and since the cards are free and easy to use, most people in the area have them and use them, if they fill up at our store.
Problem is, when the system crapped out, and got reset, somehow the gas pumps decided that there was no such thing as a valid loyalty card anymore. The cards have a magnetic strip and a barcode, and the newer ones are linked to your phone number, if you want, so that if you forget your card you can (supposedly) still get all your benefits. I haven't been able to get that to work yet but no one seems really surprised when it doesn't.
It was probably about five thirty this morning when I got my first grumpy customer saying that the cards wouldn't work. The pump said invalid loyalty, please enter phone number. After that, it was all downhill. People would come inside before pumping their gas and demand that I go out and show them how to get their cards to work at the pump, in spite of the line of customers stacked half way to the back of the store. As I tried to explain that I could apply their discount inside before they paid only if they prepaid, or they could fill up, then come inside and pay and I could apply their discount then, I was trying to check out other people attempting to get drinks or breakfast or snacks on their way to work, but this didn't faze the irate people, they by god wanted their three cents a gallon off.
And when they would pay at the pump with a credit card, and come in and demand their discount, and I figured it and handed them a handful of change, they got even more snippy, even though I had clearly told them that I could only apply the discount to a credit card purchase if they paid inside.
The system allows us to pay out the loyalty card discount after the fact, but not to refund that amount to a credit card. When you're talking thirty some cents as the largest pay out for the card I did, it's understandable that they're just not set up for that.
But I swear, by the time I got off work at one, I was ready to absolutely beat people. Not because they wanted the discount, not because they were grumpy that it wasn't working right, but because they refused to understand that there wasn't a damn thing I could do about the pumps.
"Go hang up the nozzle, and hit cancel until you get back to the first screen you usually see. Don't put your cards in the pump, just hit pay inside and select your fuel grade, pump your gas, and then when you come inside and pay, I'll apply your discount."
Simple, right? Apparently not. My ass got chewed so hard that "I'm-sorry-but-our-system-fried-last-night-and-its-not-quite-right-yet-but-we're-working-on-it-and-I-can-get-you-your-discount-in-here-if-you'll-just-hand-me-your-card-thank-you" was just about on automatic as a greeting as soon as a pissy looking customer stepped in the door. And even getting the discount, whether in change because they didn't listen or on their gas because they decided to pre pay or actually follow instructions, didn't resolve their grumps, in a lot of cases.
Instead, I, as the newest employee (and everyone who is a regular and used to getting their fuel discount knows I'm the newest) got ass chewing after ass chewing about how we should fix that because it's just such an inconvenience for them.
Well, here's a news flash. We had absolutely no freaking control over what was happening. The only thing we could do was log a helpdesk thingy, which the manager did as soon as she finished transmitting her paperwork at about eight. At noon they contacted us back wanting to know what the pumps were actually displaying, so she went out and tried to make her card work and then called them back and told them. When I left at one, it still wasn't resolved, and only time will tell if it will be at five in the morning when I open.
The moral of the story is, I had a miserable day because customers just didn't seem to realize that I had no control over the issues they were having.
When the problem is computer related, I.E. the credit card reader on the pump or such... don't get cranky at the clerk. They have no secret knowledge, as I can now tell you with certainty. There's no mystical handshake that magically fixes glitches in that kind of stuff. The thing that controls all that stuff is pretty much a magic elf box to us. We have no way of altering, fixing, corrupting, or otherwise effecting the thing.
So be nice, be patient, and listen. I promise it'll make things seem so much better if you just pull your panties out of that knot and take a breath.
I feel so much better now....
Oh yeah, and no loyalty cards either.
See, the store I now work for is part of the group that owns a couple of large grocery store chains as well. In trying to tie in all of their stuff, apparently, they've instituted a few perks for customers using their loyalty cards, like a gas discount and a point system... for every dollar of applicable merch in the store you get a point, and if you get such and such points in a month you get a higher gas discount.
Now, everyone loves a gas discount, and since the cards are free and easy to use, most people in the area have them and use them, if they fill up at our store.
Problem is, when the system crapped out, and got reset, somehow the gas pumps decided that there was no such thing as a valid loyalty card anymore. The cards have a magnetic strip and a barcode, and the newer ones are linked to your phone number, if you want, so that if you forget your card you can (supposedly) still get all your benefits. I haven't been able to get that to work yet but no one seems really surprised when it doesn't.
It was probably about five thirty this morning when I got my first grumpy customer saying that the cards wouldn't work. The pump said invalid loyalty, please enter phone number. After that, it was all downhill. People would come inside before pumping their gas and demand that I go out and show them how to get their cards to work at the pump, in spite of the line of customers stacked half way to the back of the store. As I tried to explain that I could apply their discount inside before they paid only if they prepaid, or they could fill up, then come inside and pay and I could apply their discount then, I was trying to check out other people attempting to get drinks or breakfast or snacks on their way to work, but this didn't faze the irate people, they by god wanted their three cents a gallon off.
And when they would pay at the pump with a credit card, and come in and demand their discount, and I figured it and handed them a handful of change, they got even more snippy, even though I had clearly told them that I could only apply the discount to a credit card purchase if they paid inside.
The system allows us to pay out the loyalty card discount after the fact, but not to refund that amount to a credit card. When you're talking thirty some cents as the largest pay out for the card I did, it's understandable that they're just not set up for that.
But I swear, by the time I got off work at one, I was ready to absolutely beat people. Not because they wanted the discount, not because they were grumpy that it wasn't working right, but because they refused to understand that there wasn't a damn thing I could do about the pumps.
"Go hang up the nozzle, and hit cancel until you get back to the first screen you usually see. Don't put your cards in the pump, just hit pay inside and select your fuel grade, pump your gas, and then when you come inside and pay, I'll apply your discount."
Simple, right? Apparently not. My ass got chewed so hard that "I'm-sorry-but-our-system-fried-last-night-and-its-not-quite-right-yet-but-we're-working-on-it-and-I-can-get-you-your-discount-in-here-if-you'll-just-hand-me-your-card-thank-you" was just about on automatic as a greeting as soon as a pissy looking customer stepped in the door. And even getting the discount, whether in change because they didn't listen or on their gas because they decided to pre pay or actually follow instructions, didn't resolve their grumps, in a lot of cases.
Instead, I, as the newest employee (and everyone who is a regular and used to getting their fuel discount knows I'm the newest) got ass chewing after ass chewing about how we should fix that because it's just such an inconvenience for them.
Well, here's a news flash. We had absolutely no freaking control over what was happening. The only thing we could do was log a helpdesk thingy, which the manager did as soon as she finished transmitting her paperwork at about eight. At noon they contacted us back wanting to know what the pumps were actually displaying, so she went out and tried to make her card work and then called them back and told them. When I left at one, it still wasn't resolved, and only time will tell if it will be at five in the morning when I open.
The moral of the story is, I had a miserable day because customers just didn't seem to realize that I had no control over the issues they were having.
When the problem is computer related, I.E. the credit card reader on the pump or such... don't get cranky at the clerk. They have no secret knowledge, as I can now tell you with certainty. There's no mystical handshake that magically fixes glitches in that kind of stuff. The thing that controls all that stuff is pretty much a magic elf box to us. We have no way of altering, fixing, corrupting, or otherwise effecting the thing.
So be nice, be patient, and listen. I promise it'll make things seem so much better if you just pull your panties out of that knot and take a breath.
I feel so much better now....
Friday, July 23, 2010
Blogging Forecast:
Light, with a chance of scattered snarky commentary.
See, I got a second job this week, so I'll be even busier than usual. I'm in training at one of the local stop'n'robs, which is not the best job in the world I'll grant, but it's still more money in the pocket which is always good. It's honest work, no more or less demeaning than digging a ditch and decidedly less sweaty if people will just remember not to turn the thermostat down too far and freeze up the AC.
I have a feeling I'm going to wind up muttering a bit about co-workers and customers, but I'll try to make it the amusing stuff rather than the old refrain of "customers suck, coworkers suck, when does my paycheck show up?"
It shouldn't be too hard, considering my second day on the job I got beaned with a 20lb bag of ice, and proceeded to tell the manager that N was trying to kill me, since he'd stacked the ice bags that had fallen on me (after the vendor had stacked them exactly where N had told him not to.) She laughed and said "You can't kill her yet.. for one we need her, and anyway, her insurance hasn't kicked in yet."
So far the company hasn't seen fit to activate any of my stuff... the online forms needed to finalize my paperwork (so that I can, you know, get paid...) have vanished and my code for the register doesn't work yet either. I also can't take any of the tests that I supposedly have to pass in order to work there because I don't seem to exist in the database that keeps track of what employees scored on the various tests (for proper handling of alcohol and tobacco sales, health department regulations, company policies with ridiculous acronyms, etc.)
In other news, we just got back from another trip up state, and on the way home, just outside the next town north, I swear I saw three cops playing rock paper scissors to decide who had to haul the creepy nutjob lookin dude who didn't appear to be wearing much more than the (clear) thin rain parka that cops in this area carry to hand out to hikers and bicyclists when there's a storm overhead.
At least, that's what it looked like to me. There's an outside chance that the two sheriff's deputies were actually shaking their fists at the State Patrol officer in a threatening manner, but it sort of looked like they were pretty much in sync so I'm guessing it was rock paper scissors.
(Yeah, I really am pretty sure the dude was naked as a jaybird under that parka. Only pretty sure because he was sitting on the side of the road, but unless he was wearing a flesh-colored unitard, he definitely didn't have a shirt on, at the very least.)
See, I got a second job this week, so I'll be even busier than usual. I'm in training at one of the local stop'n'robs, which is not the best job in the world I'll grant, but it's still more money in the pocket which is always good. It's honest work, no more or less demeaning than digging a ditch and decidedly less sweaty if people will just remember not to turn the thermostat down too far and freeze up the AC.
I have a feeling I'm going to wind up muttering a bit about co-workers and customers, but I'll try to make it the amusing stuff rather than the old refrain of "customers suck, coworkers suck, when does my paycheck show up?"
It shouldn't be too hard, considering my second day on the job I got beaned with a 20lb bag of ice, and proceeded to tell the manager that N was trying to kill me, since he'd stacked the ice bags that had fallen on me (after the vendor had stacked them exactly where N had told him not to.) She laughed and said "You can't kill her yet.. for one we need her, and anyway, her insurance hasn't kicked in yet."
So far the company hasn't seen fit to activate any of my stuff... the online forms needed to finalize my paperwork (so that I can, you know, get paid...) have vanished and my code for the register doesn't work yet either. I also can't take any of the tests that I supposedly have to pass in order to work there because I don't seem to exist in the database that keeps track of what employees scored on the various tests (for proper handling of alcohol and tobacco sales, health department regulations, company policies with ridiculous acronyms, etc.)
In other news, we just got back from another trip up state, and on the way home, just outside the next town north, I swear I saw three cops playing rock paper scissors to decide who had to haul the creepy nutjob lookin dude who didn't appear to be wearing much more than the (clear) thin rain parka that cops in this area carry to hand out to hikers and bicyclists when there's a storm overhead.
At least, that's what it looked like to me. There's an outside chance that the two sheriff's deputies were actually shaking their fists at the State Patrol officer in a threatening manner, but it sort of looked like they were pretty much in sync so I'm guessing it was rock paper scissors.
(Yeah, I really am pretty sure the dude was naked as a jaybird under that parka. Only pretty sure because he was sitting on the side of the road, but unless he was wearing a flesh-colored unitard, he definitely didn't have a shirt on, at the very least.)
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Enter To Win
Or I'll win it instead!
The Firearm Blog is hosting a contest for Lucky Gunner for a thousand rounds of .380!
If I win, I'll be using the ammo at Blogorado.
The Firearm Blog is hosting a contest for Lucky Gunner for a thousand rounds of .380!
If I win, I'll be using the ammo at Blogorado.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
..... Seriously?!?
Not long after I posted about the Nook drama, dad txted me to let me know I had received a package from Barnes and Noble. I figured it was part of my accessories... although it would have been extremely quick shipping if that were the case.
But then I picked up the box... and it was remarkably similar in weight to the one that had contained my Nook....
Naw, I thought to myself. Couldn't be. I opened the box and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw the case I had ordered.
But... that was an awful lot of foam in the bottom of the box...
Yes. Another Nook. Sent from a fabulous, wonderful, sweet, caring, silly man who really ought to be better at this whole secret thing, considering his background. (Sorry, couldn't resist!)
Really, I am one lucky little shit, to have friends, and family, and readers, like I do.
Of course, I'm letting this post serve as official notice that I really, really, really want a 2010 Dodge Ram 2500 with seat warmers, a tool box, fifth wheel hitch, grill guard, and not essential but highly desirable, a bed full of ammunition.
*wanders off to wait for its magical arrival...*
But then I picked up the box... and it was remarkably similar in weight to the one that had contained my Nook....
Naw, I thought to myself. Couldn't be. I opened the box and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw the case I had ordered.
But... that was an awful lot of foam in the bottom of the box...
Yes. Another Nook. Sent from a fabulous, wonderful, sweet, caring, silly man who really ought to be better at this whole secret thing, considering his background. (Sorry, couldn't resist!)
Really, I am one lucky little shit, to have friends, and family, and readers, like I do.
Of course, I'm letting this post serve as official notice that I really, really, really want a 2010 Dodge Ram 2500 with seat warmers, a tool box, fifth wheel hitch, grill guard, and not essential but highly desirable, a bed full of ammunition.
*wanders off to wait for its magical arrival...*
Nook Drama
So, not long after I posted my drooling lovefest for the Nook and professed my deeply held desire to own one, reader Mike commented.
"Get me your address," he said, "and I'll send you one."
My ingrained discomfort with people giving me expensive gifts (remember, I told the fam to go together on it in that post...) warred with my lust for the little device for a while, but in the end, lust won out. I asked Mike to drop the cash in my tip jar instead of giving out my address, and he graciously understood my desire to protect my sooper secret identity.
"Just don't spend it on anything responsible, like a kidney or tuition." He said.
The money arrived and I... got a little excited. I immediately went to Barnes & Noble's website and began ordering my nook. Only to have Farmmom message me in IRC saying "DON'T ORDER A NOOK I HAVE ONE SITTING RIGHT HERE!"
With just a touch more profanity.
See, Farmmom and Mamaw had conspired and ordered me one for my birthday before we ever went to Denver and I got a chance to play with one.
It arrived Tuesday, a few hours before I tried to order one for myself.
So, I emailed Mike and explained the situation, and asked if he would prefer I return the money or solemnly swear to spend it irresponsibly. He told me to splurge, and so I ordered the accessories I wanted, and transferred the rest into my bank account (it should be there in a few days, damn PayPal for being so slow!) to buy ebooks.
The items I ordered have been shipped and will hopefully be here in a few days. Pictures to go up when they arrive, as proof of my being irresponsible.
And I'll just say here that I have the coolest readers ever, and a big Thank You to Mike for the sentiment and the mad money.
Each and every one of my readers rock, just for being here and reading... but to know that I have readers who are willing to throw down hard earned cash to make a person (me or not) smile... well. That's just amazing.
"Get me your address," he said, "and I'll send you one."
My ingrained discomfort with people giving me expensive gifts (remember, I told the fam to go together on it in that post...) warred with my lust for the little device for a while, but in the end, lust won out. I asked Mike to drop the cash in my tip jar instead of giving out my address, and he graciously understood my desire to protect my sooper secret identity.
"Just don't spend it on anything responsible, like a kidney or tuition." He said.
The money arrived and I... got a little excited. I immediately went to Barnes & Noble's website and began ordering my nook. Only to have Farmmom message me in IRC saying "DON'T ORDER A NOOK I HAVE ONE SITTING RIGHT HERE!"
With just a touch more profanity.
See, Farmmom and Mamaw had conspired and ordered me one for my birthday before we ever went to Denver and I got a chance to play with one.
It arrived Tuesday, a few hours before I tried to order one for myself.
So, I emailed Mike and explained the situation, and asked if he would prefer I return the money or solemnly swear to spend it irresponsibly. He told me to splurge, and so I ordered the accessories I wanted, and transferred the rest into my bank account (it should be there in a few days, damn PayPal for being so slow!) to buy ebooks.
The items I ordered have been shipped and will hopefully be here in a few days. Pictures to go up when they arrive, as proof of my being irresponsible.
And I'll just say here that I have the coolest readers ever, and a big Thank You to Mike for the sentiment and the mad money.
Each and every one of my readers rock, just for being here and reading... but to know that I have readers who are willing to throw down hard earned cash to make a person (me or not) smile... well. That's just amazing.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Range Report:
I suck.
Ok maybe I don't suck, but I am seriously out of practice. Went out with the intent to murder a few little plague carrying varmints today and managed that... but very few.
I just need more time behind the trigger on the 10-22s in order to get my skills polished back up.
Used to be I could lob one out there about three hundred yards and not be completely amazed if it hit a prairie dog... today... well yeah, I sucked.
Anyway, .22 ammo is cheap and plentiful and I'm sure the 'rents won't complain about me borrowing their rifles to get some practice in killing the little rodents... because I gotta get my rifle skills back in shape before Blogorado or I'll embarrass myself....
In other news, while I make fun of him for driving a girl car, Justin's Element is actually pretty snazzy for parking on a hill and killing furry plains creatures with. Since the back seats are completely removable you have a nice place to prone out in the shade and wait for the little buggers to show themselves.
(I gave him enough crap about that this weekend that I felt like I needed to say something nice, publicly. It helps that it's also true.)
Ok maybe I don't suck, but I am seriously out of practice. Went out with the intent to murder a few little plague carrying varmints today and managed that... but very few.
I just need more time behind the trigger on the 10-22s in order to get my skills polished back up.
Used to be I could lob one out there about three hundred yards and not be completely amazed if it hit a prairie dog... today... well yeah, I sucked.
Anyway, .22 ammo is cheap and plentiful and I'm sure the 'rents won't complain about me borrowing their rifles to get some practice in killing the little rodents... because I gotta get my rifle skills back in shape before Blogorado or I'll embarrass myself....
In other news, while I make fun of him for driving a girl car, Justin's Element is actually pretty snazzy for parking on a hill and killing furry plains creatures with. Since the back seats are completely removable you have a nice place to prone out in the shade and wait for the little buggers to show themselves.
(I gave him enough crap about that this weekend that I felt like I needed to say something nice, publicly. It helps that it's also true.)
Friday, July 9, 2010
Want!
Snuck away last night with Justin from Way of The Multigun. (Did ya'll hear he's being sent a Hi-Point to settle one of those long lived internet arguments?)
Anyway, between discussing the vagaries of GPS navigation vs following someone who actually knows where he's going (sorry, Farmmom, couldn't resist) I mentioned that I wanted to fondle a Nook.
So Justin immediately found a Barnes and Noble and ferried me there, where we spent twenty minutes playing with the display models and I came away with a one word opinion:
WANT.
No really, this can serve as official notice to the family as to my birthday list. That's all I want. Go together, get me the Nook, (the Wi-Fi version please) and a B&N gift card to buy some books, and I'm content.
Ok, I'd really love to have the rear cover in gravel and this case too but I won't get greedy.
Seriously, my 20 minute handling review:
Love the size, the feel, and being able to turn the page both ways on either side of the screen. The touch screen seemed to have a few moments where it didn't really want to respond, but it was a display model and god only knows how many people have handled it since it's been calibrated. I love the ability to view your library as covers. The interface is fairly intuitive (for me, anyway) and the e-ink display...
Ok, I haven't had a chance to play with e-ink before. I've never handled a device that had the technology, because I live in the back of beyond and we don't have newfangled things like bookstores or electronics stores. So you'll have to forgive me if I'm all excited about something everyone else in the world already knows about.
I adore the e-ink display. I've heard the hype that it was just like looking at a paper page, but I figured that it was just a better way of displaying things in the sun, and the just like paper thing was hype. It's not *just* like paper, but it's very close. Farmgirl approves.
It's a lovely little device and I want one... oh how I want one....
Of course my want is only increased by seeing five books in a quick glance through the sections I shop that I have been waiting for and want very much that are available in hardcover for more than I can afford to spend, versus half the price in e-book...
Anyway, between discussing the vagaries of GPS navigation vs following someone who actually knows where he's going (sorry, Farmmom, couldn't resist) I mentioned that I wanted to fondle a Nook.
So Justin immediately found a Barnes and Noble and ferried me there, where we spent twenty minutes playing with the display models and I came away with a one word opinion:
WANT.
No really, this can serve as official notice to the family as to my birthday list. That's all I want. Go together, get me the Nook, (the Wi-Fi version please) and a B&N gift card to buy some books, and I'm content.
Ok, I'd really love to have the rear cover in gravel and this case too but I won't get greedy.
Seriously, my 20 minute handling review:
Love the size, the feel, and being able to turn the page both ways on either side of the screen. The touch screen seemed to have a few moments where it didn't really want to respond, but it was a display model and god only knows how many people have handled it since it's been calibrated. I love the ability to view your library as covers. The interface is fairly intuitive (for me, anyway) and the e-ink display...
Ok, I haven't had a chance to play with e-ink before. I've never handled a device that had the technology, because I live in the back of beyond and we don't have newfangled things like bookstores or electronics stores. So you'll have to forgive me if I'm all excited about something everyone else in the world already knows about.
I adore the e-ink display. I've heard the hype that it was just like looking at a paper page, but I figured that it was just a better way of displaying things in the sun, and the just like paper thing was hype. It's not *just* like paper, but it's very close. Farmgirl approves.
It's a lovely little device and I want one... oh how I want one....
Of course my want is only increased by seeing five books in a quick glance through the sections I shop that I have been waiting for and want very much that are available in hardcover for more than I can afford to spend, versus half the price in e-book...
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Busy Busy
So, yet again, (or still, depending on how you look at it) life is kicking me in the butt.
Got the Paso Finos in Friday and have been working with them, so far the biggest problem is tack fitting (halters and such, tiny heads!) and *catching* the buggers... they're not horrible they can be caught when they realize you aren't going to give up... and when they remember that the first day when they refused to be caught they ran their butts off.
Rode the sorrel one yesterday and didn't have any major problems, for not being ridden for a year I think he's doing well. Need to punch holes in the bridle before I get on the black because it was just a touch long for the sorrel and if it's long for him it's definitely going to be long for the black.
Riding them any more will be delayed to this weekend though, as today I have too much to do to get ready to go to Denver tomorrow. Farmmom has an appointment, and we'll be up there over night. Four pm appointment plus five hour drive one way? No way I'm coming home afterwords.
So we'll be playing in Denver tomorrow afternoon, picking up some odds and ends for us and for Blogorado, remembering why exactly we don't live in the city, you know, the usual.
Then it's home to life kicking my butt again. This weekend my other family is taking Little Brother's dwarf race car to Garden City... the track there wants to honor him, and I think one of the brothers is going to drive it in the race he was scheduled for. There has been some gentle hinting from Other Dad that he'd like for me to go with them, but since I'm going to have company in this weekend that all depends on whether he wants to go or not.
Sister hasn't been gentle or hinting at all, flat out telling me that Other Dad wants me to come, and that she could use the moral support too, so if there's any way I can bat my eyelashes or show some leg or something, do it.
We'll see if I can pull it off.
Anyway, blogging to resume on a fairly normal schedule... well... whenever I can. This weekend though, I'm pretty well going to be out of touch, because I can be and because I kind of need to be for a few days.
Got the Paso Finos in Friday and have been working with them, so far the biggest problem is tack fitting (halters and such, tiny heads!) and *catching* the buggers... they're not horrible they can be caught when they realize you aren't going to give up... and when they remember that the first day when they refused to be caught they ran their butts off.
Rode the sorrel one yesterday and didn't have any major problems, for not being ridden for a year I think he's doing well. Need to punch holes in the bridle before I get on the black because it was just a touch long for the sorrel and if it's long for him it's definitely going to be long for the black.
Riding them any more will be delayed to this weekend though, as today I have too much to do to get ready to go to Denver tomorrow. Farmmom has an appointment, and we'll be up there over night. Four pm appointment plus five hour drive one way? No way I'm coming home afterwords.
So we'll be playing in Denver tomorrow afternoon, picking up some odds and ends for us and for Blogorado, remembering why exactly we don't live in the city, you know, the usual.
Then it's home to life kicking my butt again. This weekend my other family is taking Little Brother's dwarf race car to Garden City... the track there wants to honor him, and I think one of the brothers is going to drive it in the race he was scheduled for. There has been some gentle hinting from Other Dad that he'd like for me to go with them, but since I'm going to have company in this weekend that all depends on whether he wants to go or not.
Sister hasn't been gentle or hinting at all, flat out telling me that Other Dad wants me to come, and that she could use the moral support too, so if there's any way I can bat my eyelashes or show some leg or something, do it.
We'll see if I can pull it off.
Anyway, blogging to resume on a fairly normal schedule... well... whenever I can. This weekend though, I'm pretty well going to be out of touch, because I can be and because I kind of need to be for a few days.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
The Races
It's been a busy week with more to come, and that, along with the lack of anything really interesting to post about, explains the lack of bloggery.
Friday and Saturday nights, though, I did something I've never done before. I went to the races.
No, not horse races (although I've never been to the nearby horse races either) but dirt track automotive races. Specifically, I was there to cheer on the men of my other family.
W, S, and J all race in the econo or hobby truck divisions so at the nearby track that means they all race in the same race. Imagine, if you will, a Farmgirl, hanging out in the pits, up near the fence of the back side of the track, watching the cars go, feeling the engines roar (believe me, you feel the roar of those engines...) and screaming out "Go W Go S Go J!" as her friends all speed by, roughly bumper to bumper.
Yeah, eventually I gave up and cheered for W since he was in the lead of the guys I cared about on Friday night.
Last night though, there was an extra special bit of redneck fun. See, that particular track has a "race" called Anything Goes. Basically, you scrape together whatever car you can, load up yourself and a passenger, arm the passenger with squirt guns or water balloons, and go participate in what really amounts to a demolition derby with liquid filled projectiles. To win, you have to knock over an old Ford van, and every race weekend that the van survives, the bounty on it goes up. The bounty is sitting at four hundred dollars, now.
There are no cautions, no restarts, and no real standard for the cars, as far as I can tell.
Oh, and did I forget to mention they soak down the track and turn it into a slimy, soupy, slippery mess for this race?
Gawd, it looks like fun!
If I had the disposable income, I'd totally have W and S help me put together a car for it. Alas, I don't, so a car to go bang into other cars with in the mud will have to stay on the back burner, although I may see if I can talk the Fam into donating one of the old junker cars for the project and talk W and S into building it for themselves, if I can ride shotgun.
Who says rednecks don't know how to have fun?
Friday and Saturday nights, though, I did something I've never done before. I went to the races.
No, not horse races (although I've never been to the nearby horse races either) but dirt track automotive races. Specifically, I was there to cheer on the men of my other family.
W, S, and J all race in the econo or hobby truck divisions so at the nearby track that means they all race in the same race. Imagine, if you will, a Farmgirl, hanging out in the pits, up near the fence of the back side of the track, watching the cars go, feeling the engines roar (believe me, you feel the roar of those engines...) and screaming out "Go W Go S Go J!" as her friends all speed by, roughly bumper to bumper.
Yeah, eventually I gave up and cheered for W since he was in the lead of the guys I cared about on Friday night.
Last night though, there was an extra special bit of redneck fun. See, that particular track has a "race" called Anything Goes. Basically, you scrape together whatever car you can, load up yourself and a passenger, arm the passenger with squirt guns or water balloons, and go participate in what really amounts to a demolition derby with liquid filled projectiles. To win, you have to knock over an old Ford van, and every race weekend that the van survives, the bounty on it goes up. The bounty is sitting at four hundred dollars, now.
There are no cautions, no restarts, and no real standard for the cars, as far as I can tell.
Oh, and did I forget to mention they soak down the track and turn it into a slimy, soupy, slippery mess for this race?
Gawd, it looks like fun!
If I had the disposable income, I'd totally have W and S help me put together a car for it. Alas, I don't, so a car to go bang into other cars with in the mud will have to stay on the back burner, although I may see if I can talk the Fam into donating one of the old junker cars for the project and talk W and S into building it for themselves, if I can ride shotgun.
Who says rednecks don't know how to have fun?
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