Credit to BabsRN

Yesterday I read a post over at BabsRN's blog about how guy friends rock.

I totally agree!

Apparently not everyone does, however, and some of the attitudes shown in the comments brought to mind some of the things that I've dealt with all my life, simply for being a "tomboy."

Yep. I am. Always have been.

When I was growing up, we spent a lot of time at my great grandmother's place, out in the country. Climbing trees and exploring pastures was always more fun than playing with dolls in the house.

My dad was also a police officer for ten years, and most of my memories from that time are from a town where most of the people he arrested on a regular basis were related to kids I was going to school with. It caused... friction. I learned to stand up for myself.

I've always related more to guys than to girls. With the exception of the other two of the Three Musketeers, my closest friends have all been guys.

And it has nothing to do with sex.

My guy friends have always been there for me. I've had guy friends who were just as available for me to cry on their shoulder over some jerk that broke my heart as to help me move heavy things.

Even though they were a little weirded out by the fact that I was in tears in the first place.

There is nothing in the world as comforting, when you're sixteen, as your guy friend awkwardly hugging you, and asking if you want him to go kick the guy's ass.

The healing process begins with the phrase "If I wanted his ass kicked I'd do it myself!"

The thing that some people don't seem to get though... I don't hang out with a bunch of guys because I like being the only female in the group, or for some twisted self esteem issue.

I hang out with guys 'cause they're more fun!

Very, very few women will suggest taking a .22 out and killing something as a stress release.

(*disclaimer: I realize that many women in the blogosphere would in fact do so, I'm talking about the women and girls that I have contact with here in my area.)

Not many women will look at a crazy hair dye job courtesy of your best friend and understand that its not about trends or fashion, but about having PURPLE hair.

And no women that I know would get a little tipsy and cook up a "brotherhood" plot of shaving their heads, and allowing people to film it.

Some of my guy friends should not be bald.

I simply cannot understand women who can't have an interpersonal relationship with a man without it being about sex, in some way or another.

Or the ones that think that *I* can't.

I don't need your issues, ladies. There is a small chance that you might be right, and a few of my guy friends might have once been interested in getting into my pants. A few of my guy friends have made it clear that if I ever got the inclination they'd jump on the opportunity... but ya know what? They don't push.

They value the *friendship.* Just as I do.

Thats another thing I've seen in girls, and I do mean girls and not women, although there's probably some of it there too...

Girls... when a guy says he wants to be friends, that is not code for keep hitting on me until I get drunk and give in. This will not result in a relationship. More likely, it will result in his friends, male and female, finding you annoying. And, if he does give up and sleep with you, it will result in his friends smacking him upside the head and calling him an idiot.

Just my take on things... probably not entirely coherent, I'm not completely caffeinated yet, but its the best I got, for the moment.

Job Possibilties

Went to Lamar yesterday, had a job interview at one of the veterinarians' office. Heard about it from the roomate of the girl that he's losing to college in Oklahoma.

I think the interview went well, he seemed pleased with my answers to the questions on the application, anyway.

(What is more important, the animals we see or the clients we deal with? Animals!)

The job is, as he described it, a "Girl Friday" job. Basically whatever he needs doing, I would do. Nothing that he listed is anything I have a problem with, so I'm cool with that. I had to grin at hearing the phrase "Girl Friday" because its been a while since I've run across it, and then it was in an old detective drama novel.

He seemed really excited about hiring me, right then and there, then he asked about my schedule, and winced.

He's going to try to figure out how to make it work, and call me within a week. He even said that if he could figure out a way to make the schedule sit up and dance, we could try it for two weeks. He was impressed with my volunteering to work after normal business hours, I think.

Of course, he also seemed pleased with my experience at bottle feeding various mammals, and my experience with cattle.

So, if he doesn't call me in a week, I'm supposed to call him. I've got my fingers crossed on this one because he seems like he would be a lot of fun to work with.

Oh, and because of the office cat, who has one of those "I'm so stupid I'm cute!" faces, and three legs. Not that it slows the cat down any. We played and petted and fought while I was waiting for my interview.

Also talked to the sister in law's stepmom about a telecommuting job thingy that she had done, which is one that I'd found already, but its a bonus to know that its legit, even if it is being a home-based call center rep. Not gonna get involved with that one until I know I can't get anything else that I've applied for, though. The application for it is online, and I'll hear one way or another from it in a short enough period that I'm pretty comfortable not starting the extremely involved process until I know I need to.

Two weeks from tomorrow, I have my first class. YAY! and DANGIT! I'm glad to be going back to school but I would dearly love to have just a teensy bit more time. Ah well, I don't, so I'll deal with what I have.

Threatened with a Puppy

I'm being threatened with a schnauzer puppy.

One of my friends' daughter received a white schnauzer puppy for Christmas. When my friend told me how rare white schnauzers are, I mentioned that since the puppy was female and already guaranteed to be carrying the gene for the white color, she might be able to start breeding her when she reached maturity and maybe make the money she'd spent on the pup back, and a little more.

Apparently, she laughingly passed this on to her husband, who promptly went out and bought another schnauzer puppy. This one black.

So now my friend is threatening to gift me with a puppy from the first litter. I've delayed this occurrence by making a recommendation that they wait until at least the second heat to breed the little female, since she was the runt, and the male is already larger than she is, even though he's a couple of months younger.

But I think she's gonna cheat and have her daughter give the puppy to me. She knows me well enough to know that I won't refuse a gift from a seven year old, and hurt the little girl's feelings.

*Sigh* At least its not a great dane, right?

Time's A-Wastin...

Well, time is rolling on towards school starting and I'm figuring things out slowly but surely.

F'rinstance... I just applied for a student loan. A $3500 student loan will cover eight months worth of rent, and I'll probably pay it in advance. Just so's I don't have to worry about it.

In the mean time I have enough to pay my first month's rent, so first thing Monday I'm calling the apartment complex and jumping all over the one remaining one bedroom.

If I don't, it'll probably be gone. As a matter of fact I may try calling tomorrow, set up to go sign the lease Monday. And cross my fingers that some better-financed person hasn't already snapped it up.

If I don't get the loan... I've got a couple of leads on jobs, which I'll check out Monday.

Monday is going to be a very busy day, I think.

Inspiration... sort of.

Reading the collaborative post between MattG, Ambulance Driver, and BabsRN has reminded me of things that I normally leave hovering in the back of my mind.

They're the crappy things that happen when you're growing up that you try to forget, until the memories pounce on you from out of nowhere, and sometimes out of everywhere.

See, the part about the kid dying... thats what did it for me. We have about one major wreck involving one of the young people a year, usually around prom time.

One year, it was Mitch.

Mitch was being a nice guy, giving a drunk friend a ride home after the after-after prom party. She lived out in the country... Mitch never made it back to town. They figured that he either fell asleep, or was leaned over looking for something in the floorboards, when he went head on with a semi.

They had a hard time sorting him and his dog out, afterwards.

There are three different crosses on the side of the road for Mitch, and his family keeps the area mowed, they decorate for Christmas... one year someone impaled a jack-o-lantern on top of one of the crosses, but that didn't last long.

That was the kind of thing Mitch would have loved, though. My clearest memories of him are from junior high, not long before he died, when he would come running through our cheerleading practices quoting Beavis and Butthead at the top of his lungs. If you looked down, he'd hug you. If you looked upset, he'd hug you and ask what was wrong. He always tried to make people laugh. Thats what I remember, the things that made me smile, rather than the shock the next morning.

Then there was Aaron. Aaron was a great guy, a couple years older than my brother, but never too busy to listen, and help if he could. I remember spending hours talking about stupid problems while he patiently listened, offered advice, and tossed pizza dough at his job. I remember shedding a couple of tears when he went away to the Air Force. I would miss him, but I knew I'd see him again.

He came home after Basic, or whatever they call it in the Air Force. I knew he was in town but hadn't had a chance to catch up with him yet, and I was looking forward to it.

Then one night mom took me aside. She told me that Aaron had died, stepped in front of a train. I remember my knees going out from under me, they just wouldn't hold me anymore. I remember going out, even though it was late, looking for more information. For some reason I thought if I could find out what had happened, it would all be ok.

I found out, and it wasn't ok. Apparently Aaron must've had a hard time of it since he left home, because he was a little depressed by the time he got back... and then found out his "girl back home" had been playing "girl next door" for several guys. She Dear Johnned him, and he decided there wasn't anything left for him.

I remember running into her. I remember her laughing about something, laughing on that night of all nights... and then I remember two of my brother's friends holding me against a vehicle, talking some nonsense about how she wasn't worth it. To this day I can't remember what I did in between. Grief does strange things to you, I guess.

Months later, my gym class was having a mandatory alcohol education session, and the teacher made the mistake of saying "Yeah, alcohol makes you think you're tough as nails... or tough as rails..." and chuckling.

Most of the class sat there slack jawed, one girl ran from the room in tears, and I forgot everything I'd ever learned about respect for your elders. That teacher and I had a "discussion" right there.

No faster way to lose my respect than to mouth off about things you're only half-informed about, and make a joke out of the death of one of my friends at the same time.

Yes, there was alcohol at the scene. Yes, there was a six pack of corona, minus two, in the car. Yes, its entirely possible that Aaron had had a couple before he stepped in front of a train with a beer in each hand and his favorite song blaring on his car stereo. But he wasn't completely drunk. He didn't step in front of a train because he didn't know what he was doing. He made a choice. A choice that, sometimes, still makes me want to bring him back just so that I can kick his ass, but a choice nonetheless.

I'll never stop missing Aaron. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to forgive him, either, but I'll always miss him.

Working Out The Kinks

90% of having a good horse is working out the kinks.

Whether you've raised a foal from birth and patiently worked with it to make friends, taught it that doing what you ask is a good thing, and developed a close and loving bond, or went to the sale and bought the best thing you can afford... there WILL be kinks to be worked out.

Kinks can be anything from an annoying habit of dragging feet, to dangerous behaviors such as rearing, wheeling, or kicking.

Kinks can also be personality quirks that your best option is to learn to live with them.

My dad had a horse when I was growing up, with the use-name of Goofy. This would be because he was a big goofy sucker and always up for a laugh. This horse had plenty of personality quirks, his most famous practiced only on my dad.

See, Dad and Goof had a game. Whenever cattle were to be moved, and dad rode Goof, the horse would stand patiently to be saddled, accept his reward of scratching the itchy spots and a pat on the shoulder, with possibly a nuzzle of affection to top it off...

Until dad mounted up. Then, the other riders, saddling up on the opposite side of the trailer, would hear a whoop, look up and see dad and the horse over the top of the trailer, and they'd be gone.

A half a mile run, and they were back, ready to work.

That horse would never even offer to buck or run away for anyone else... but he also never worked as well for anyone else.

Another horse I've ridden, Pud, has many, many quirks. Since he's not my horse I can't work them out the way I'd like to, so my only option is to deal when them when I have to ride him.

Puddin is a beautiful little palomino, and he knows it. He'll arch his neck and prance around, demand that everyone pay attention to him, and basically make a pain out of himself whenever people are around.

Unless, of course, you've got a saddle on him. You can walk all the way around him, pick up all four feet, stand beside him and jump up and down while singing "Black Betty" at the top of your lungs, and he'll never move, as long as you're petting him... as long as he's not tacked up.

Slap a saddle on that pony and its like doing a tango with an epileptic elephant to even approach the stirrup.

One day I was obliged to borrow Pud, because we had to move a cow that had lost a calf, and hadn't "cleaned out" or passed the afterbirth, and we needed to get her to where we could get her in a trailer and take her to the vet. So, we load up good ol' Pud and take him over to the pasture where the cow is, I tack up and the Farmmom takes the pickup to help haze the cow out of the field and down the road.

Since we parked the trailer outside the pasture, I had to get a gate, so I led the pony over to the gate, opened it up, and went to double check my cinch, since this horse had the habit of blowing up like a beach ball whenever he could get away with it.

Pud stepped back, rotating his hindquarters away from me. Its important to note here that this rotation placed his near fore foot directly on top of my right foot. Not pleasant.

Anyone who has ever worked with horses has probably been stepped on accidentally once or twice, and you know how difficult it can be to shove a large animal off your foot. I'm convinced that this was on purpose, though, since, standing facing his near side checking my cinch, my right foot was further away from his near fore foot than my left.

So I get the horse cussed and pushed off my foot, wiggle all my toes, shake the foot, and go to mount up.

And he does it again. Same foot. Only this time, he puts weight on it... and then *pivots* his hindquarters away from me.

Once again, I shove and cuss at his shoulder until he shifts his weight enough for me to yank my abused foot out from underneath his. Once again, I wiggle my toes... except this time, there's a sharp pain in my littlest toe when I do so.

Grit my teeth, tell Pud "Stand" and grab the stirrup, and he attempts to step on me yet again. This time, I've kept my feet out of his reach, though, and before he can reset to try again, I swing into the saddle.

Setting my right stirrup I realize that I should probably ride more on the arch of my foot on that side, since my normal stirrup position about makes me wet my Levi's, and adjust accordingly, setting off across the pasture to find the cow that caused all of this.

Of course, Pud couldn't just cooperate at this point, so we kept up a running battle of "No, you will NOT go over there because we're going over THERE!" Which, of course, included sudden jumps to either side in an attempt to scare me off his back, a tactic which has never worked with me, but caused me a considerable amount of pain as I braced against his antics.

After all of this, when we found the cow in question... the old hussy had cleaned out in the night, no need for any of it.

Back to the trailer we go, and since we're going in the direction he wants to go, Pud finally begins to cooperate and I relax a bit. That is, I relax until it comes time to dismount.

By then the endorphines had kicked in and I figured that I would have a nasty bruise, but nothing too bad.

'Course, since I've broken bones before, I should know better.

I stepped down off that horse and nearly went all the way to the ground as my right foot took weight and promptly told me to go do something anatomically impossible with myself.

I managed to stay upright through the cunning use of fortifying cuss words... and hanging onto the saddle... and got good ol' Pud untacked and loaded back into the trailer.

At this point Farmmom has asked me multiple times if I'm ok, and the best answer I have is to just get the horse taken back and unloaded before I take off my boot. I had a funny feeling that once I took the boot off, I wasn't gonna want it to go back on... and I was right.

One broken toe later, I'm hobbling around like an old lady and muttering curses at whoever designed the foot so that the little toe is so important...

Oh, and before you ask... no, I didn't go to the hospital. How did I know it was broken you ask? Well, when I got home, I sat down, and I looked at it. There was a ring of dark bruising around the bottom of the toe, and when I pulled on it, it felt like someone was stabbing me with hot files that were rubbing together inside the toe.

So, I taped it up, iced it down, and popped Advil for a couple of weeks while I pounded the pavement for Combined selling accident insurance.

Sometimes, the kinks you encounter with horses are on *you*.......

Ok, I gotta say it....

What is with people and their thinking that the world owes them something??

This thought has been brought up over and over again by my search for work I can do during school.. 90% of what I've found, at a ballpark estimate, has been scams. Of course, all of these scams seem to prey on that one thought, that many, many people seem to have.

The world owes them a living. Or, not even a living, but a free handout, for minimal effort.

Don't get me wrong I'd love to win ten million from Publisher's Clearing House, but I'm not waiting around for the Prize Patrol.

I see it working on the road, too. People just want a paycheck, they wouldn't know a work ethic if it smacked them upside the head with a baseball bat.

How did it come to this? I mean other than mommy and daddy handing kids everything they want. You'd think that eventually people would realize that the world doesn't work that way, wouldn't you?

Or am I counting too much on the intelligence of your average person?

Meanwhile, I'm still looking for a job that will work around my class schedule, and its dang hard to find one.

*Sigh* Anyone want to be a Sugar Daddy?