I moved. Again. This time I moved all the way to Ogallala, Nebraska. I've been here about a month now, and I have to say, it seems awfully boring without all the transients and interesting people I encountered on a daily basis on the Rosebud.
But, of course, this is still my life and weird stuff still happens. For instance, my first week here I had a fun little experience.
I live in a duplex. The living quarters are separated by a garage, the only parts that are connected are the utility rooms. This is where the washer/dryer hook-ups are. This is where my cats got through a hole in the wall into my neighbor's house. My neighbor also happens to work where I do. Fun times.
He was nice about it...the first time.
Having cats has reminded me why I'm a dog person. They make no sense to me whatsoever.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Friday, October 15, 2010
Ridiculously Routine
The bread and butter of this blog are the records of the weird/funny things that seem to happen on a regular basis. However, I've realized something: I'm becoming rez desensitized. At least a little.
There are things that would have made me stop and say, "really?" 10 months ago that I don't even notice anymore. And, to be quite honest, since I'm not even sure anyone reads this, if something interesting does happen, it tends to get a Facebook status quicker than a blog update.
But anyway.
Here are the two funnies things that have happened recently:
1. Went to church, and the pastor made me and about 3 other people stand up front and sing "Zaccheus was a wee little man" for the other 10 people in the congregation. I did not care for it. And I'm still really not sure why it needed to happen.
2. Went to an event in St. Francis (which will likely be expounded upon in a later post), and drove past a car without a hood over the engine. Just drivin' along. It also had multicolored fenders, but the lack of a hood was the biggest attention getter. So I was telling one of my coworkers about it today, and his response was, "Well, it is the rez, Candy." And we just kinda chuckled about it.
Later that afternoon as he was driving to a game, he called the office to say he saw the car and thought about pulling over to take a photo, but didn't get it done quite in time. Darn!
3. Was in a parade. Again. This time in St. Francis, for its Homecoming. And this time we used my car. Two things are notable about this. First, I sat on the hood of my car with my coworker's granddaughter and threw out candy and the special papers we made for the event. It was windy, it was cold, and I had planned on driving. But the little girl got scared at the last minute and didn't want to sit up there by herself. So. That happened. Secondly, my car has developed a new and SUPER fun quirk: It won't idle. If it sits with the engine idling for too long, it just shuts off. I don't know if it's trying to be more eco-friendly, reduce its own carbon footprint, what, but it's kind of annoying. It did it to me for the first time when I got stuck in construction last Saturday. I forgot about it until I felt it shut off the first time on the parade route. Whoops. We made it through, anyway.
And with that, I think my long and illustrious career of being a parade personality has come to an end. I'm ok with that.
There are things that would have made me stop and say, "really?" 10 months ago that I don't even notice anymore. And, to be quite honest, since I'm not even sure anyone reads this, if something interesting does happen, it tends to get a Facebook status quicker than a blog update.
But anyway.
Here are the two funnies things that have happened recently:
1. Went to church, and the pastor made me and about 3 other people stand up front and sing "Zaccheus was a wee little man" for the other 10 people in the congregation. I did not care for it. And I'm still really not sure why it needed to happen.
2. Went to an event in St. Francis (which will likely be expounded upon in a later post), and drove past a car without a hood over the engine. Just drivin' along. It also had multicolored fenders, but the lack of a hood was the biggest attention getter. So I was telling one of my coworkers about it today, and his response was, "Well, it is the rez, Candy." And we just kinda chuckled about it.
Later that afternoon as he was driving to a game, he called the office to say he saw the car and thought about pulling over to take a photo, but didn't get it done quite in time. Darn!
3. Was in a parade. Again. This time in St. Francis, for its Homecoming. And this time we used my car. Two things are notable about this. First, I sat on the hood of my car with my coworker's granddaughter and threw out candy and the special papers we made for the event. It was windy, it was cold, and I had planned on driving. But the little girl got scared at the last minute and didn't want to sit up there by herself. So. That happened. Secondly, my car has developed a new and SUPER fun quirk: It won't idle. If it sits with the engine idling for too long, it just shuts off. I don't know if it's trying to be more eco-friendly, reduce its own carbon footprint, what, but it's kind of annoying. It did it to me for the first time when I got stuck in construction last Saturday. I forgot about it until I felt it shut off the first time on the parade route. Whoops. We made it through, anyway.
And with that, I think my long and illustrious career of being a parade personality has come to an end. I'm ok with that.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
'Two' much
I was in a parade. A homecoming parade, no less. We spent the whole morning "decorating" my coworker's pickup with streamers, papers, posters, and the stuff you use to write on windows. Then I got to sit in the back of said pickup and throw out papers and candy. Things that went wrong:
1. Bought all items the day of the event (enhancing stress level)
2. Yellow window-writing stuff exploded onto my clothing, permanently staining a shirt, my shoes, and one of my nicer pairs of jeans.
3. Printer quit working, so we could not print off the graphics we wanted to use for our posters.
4. Half the balloons fell off on the way over to line up for the parade.
5. Ran out of candy AND papers before we were even halfway through the parade, so I just got to smile and wave at the good people of Mission.
So that was fun. Then the boys lost (by a lot) their homecoming football game. THEN the next day, I got to go take pictures of another parade for 'Welcome Neighbor Day'.
The parade, which ran an hour late, only lasted about 5 minutes. The day ended with "Native Idol" which had 22 people sign up (only 12 of whom actually performed) and started about 2 hours late. Oh well. The weather has been gorgeous lately.
And, of course, have had three more hobo encounters in the last two days. One man came up to me and tried to sell me a flashlight so he could buy food. I gave him a box of poptarts instead.
1. Bought all items the day of the event (enhancing stress level)
2. Yellow window-writing stuff exploded onto my clothing, permanently staining a shirt, my shoes, and one of my nicer pairs of jeans.
3. Printer quit working, so we could not print off the graphics we wanted to use for our posters.
4. Half the balloons fell off on the way over to line up for the parade.
5. Ran out of candy AND papers before we were even halfway through the parade, so I just got to smile and wave at the good people of Mission.
So that was fun. Then the boys lost (by a lot) their homecoming football game. THEN the next day, I got to go take pictures of another parade for 'Welcome Neighbor Day'.
The parade, which ran an hour late, only lasted about 5 minutes. The day ended with "Native Idol" which had 22 people sign up (only 12 of whom actually performed) and started about 2 hours late. Oh well. The weather has been gorgeous lately.
And, of course, have had three more hobo encounters in the last two days. One man came up to me and tried to sell me a flashlight so he could buy food. I gave him a box of poptarts instead.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Kitty sabotage
You know what's fun? hearing the door "click" shut behind you and knowing, in that instant, that you have just locked yourself out of your own house.
After several hours of searching, I finally discovered the keys where my kittens had stashed them....in a hole up underneath the mattress of my bed. Ay yi yi.
After several hours of searching, I finally discovered the keys where my kittens had stashed them....in a hole up underneath the mattress of my bed. Ay yi yi.
Lover's spat...?
I sent an email to the high school volleyball coach asking for a player's number ID, because there was no "number 1" on the program. This was her response..."Her name is ____. Her original number is 4, but her boyfriend shredded her uniform, so she is borrowing number 1 for now."
I did not ask any more questions.
I did not ask any more questions.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Rez life in the Hobbit House
It was absolutely gorgeous outside today. And tonight was just...oh, man. No words. I just couldn't be inside.
So I did what I love to do: went for a walk. I am once again struck by the fact that walking anywhere other than Oxford or the gravel road where I grew up just..well, it sucks.
First of all, there are dogs EVERYWHERE here. This is not a stereotype. If you talk to your average, white, non-reservation South Dakotan and hear them make some sort of joke about dogs on the rez, you might think they're being mean or racist. They are not. Well...I guess they could be, but it's still a fact that there are way too many loose dogs 'round here. There's no animal control officer on the entire Rosebud Reservation (which I believe I read is roughly the size of Rhode Island.) and many people do not believe in leashes or fences. So dogs run wild. Literally.
This is not fun when you're a pedestrian. Maybe I'm just already a cranky old woman, but I don't enjoy being constantly barked at when I'm out for a walk. I like to walk to unwind and relax, not be constantly on guard, wondering "Ok, is this a nice dog or a mean dog? Is that dog tied up? Is that a dog or a small pony?!? WOW, I hope that large, angry looking animal's chain doesn't break!"
There's also the fact that my favorite time of day is twilight, which is right about the time one should probably not be walking alone. Anyway.
The beginning of my walk was also punctuated by a particularly shrill and long-lasting set of sirens. I don't know if it went cop-ambulence-cop, or ambulence-cop-ambulence (I think the first), but it was there. Also not the best way to enjoy a peaceful commune with nature.
(Note: I have never lived IN town before. I have lived just outside of town, I have lived on a college campus...and I guess I stayed with my sister in North Platte, Neb. for a couple months...but I have never lived IN town. I like my privacy. Especially when I go for a walk.)
Sooooooo, needless to say, it was a short walk. Then I watered the tomatoes. My very first tomato plant - a hanging tomato plant, no less - produces the cutest little cherry tomatoes!!! So excited! I ate one, and it was delicious. Next year I might get ambitious and plant two.
And then I got the perfect end to my night when I was in the kitchen talking to Javier about getting the oven fixed, because the inside of it doesn't work. So he opened it to look inside, and surprise!
"Oh hey, there's stuff in there!"
After I got done laughing, I discovered that the oven had become a closet for ramen noodles and a pot filled with the grease they use to make fries. He said it's just like how they cook fast food. I told him that's gross. He said he'll probably throw it out. I hope so.
So I did what I love to do: went for a walk. I am once again struck by the fact that walking anywhere other than Oxford or the gravel road where I grew up just..well, it sucks.
First of all, there are dogs EVERYWHERE here. This is not a stereotype. If you talk to your average, white, non-reservation South Dakotan and hear them make some sort of joke about dogs on the rez, you might think they're being mean or racist. They are not. Well...I guess they could be, but it's still a fact that there are way too many loose dogs 'round here. There's no animal control officer on the entire Rosebud Reservation (which I believe I read is roughly the size of Rhode Island.) and many people do not believe in leashes or fences. So dogs run wild. Literally.
This is not fun when you're a pedestrian. Maybe I'm just already a cranky old woman, but I don't enjoy being constantly barked at when I'm out for a walk. I like to walk to unwind and relax, not be constantly on guard, wondering "Ok, is this a nice dog or a mean dog? Is that dog tied up? Is that a dog or a small pony?!? WOW, I hope that large, angry looking animal's chain doesn't break!"
There's also the fact that my favorite time of day is twilight, which is right about the time one should probably not be walking alone. Anyway.
The beginning of my walk was also punctuated by a particularly shrill and long-lasting set of sirens. I don't know if it went cop-ambulence-cop, or ambulence-cop-ambulence (I think the first), but it was there. Also not the best way to enjoy a peaceful commune with nature.
(Note: I have never lived IN town before. I have lived just outside of town, I have lived on a college campus...and I guess I stayed with my sister in North Platte, Neb. for a couple months...but I have never lived IN town. I like my privacy. Especially when I go for a walk.)
Sooooooo, needless to say, it was a short walk. Then I watered the tomatoes. My very first tomato plant - a hanging tomato plant, no less - produces the cutest little cherry tomatoes!!! So excited! I ate one, and it was delicious. Next year I might get ambitious and plant two.
And then I got the perfect end to my night when I was in the kitchen talking to Javier about getting the oven fixed, because the inside of it doesn't work. So he opened it to look inside, and surprise!
"Oh hey, there's stuff in there!"
After I got done laughing, I discovered that the oven had become a closet for ramen noodles and a pot filled with the grease they use to make fries. He said it's just like how they cook fast food. I told him that's gross. He said he'll probably throw it out. I hope so.
Hopeful Hobo
Last week, an intoxicated hobo with a large decorative staff came into the office right around closing time. He walked through the door, waved his staff around a bit, and looked around expectantly.
"Can I help you?" I asked, like a good little employee.
"Probably," he says, with a condescending look on his face. "Probably."
Then he just kind of looks at me for awhile. As if my knowing that I can "probably" assist him is really all the information I should need.
He spends about 5 minutes getting his staff to stand up the way he wants it to against our table, then eventually wanders over to me and asks if I can make a copy of a very crumpled up piece of paper for him. Five copies, actually.
"Sure," I say. "That will be $1.06."
"Oh...I don't have any money," he says and looks at me like it's my fault. I mean, I suppose it could be, but I fail to recognize how.
I explain that it's .25 cents per copy (plus tax), sorry. So he says, "Well, I have a quarter."
"Ok, I can get you one copy for that," I say, figuring I can spot a homeless guy two cents to cover the tax. (Which reminds me...I forgot to put that in the till. Whoops. Now writing myself a note on the back of my hand.)
So I make him a copy. He then proceeds to ask if we can publish this short story, which I believe had something to do with a forlorn dog who finds happiness, in our paper.
"I think people would really appreciate that," he says.
"Of course they would," I say. I then explain that it would probably have to go on our opinion page, but we could possibly feature it as a local Lakota artist type of thing. But, this would be up to my boss. He nods, then repeats to me why he thinks it should be published.
Now, I don't know when exactly it was that I realized just how drunk this man was, but it was much prior to this point in the conversation, so I just nodded along and explained things as best I could. However at this point, I was beginning to get tired of repeating myself.
I re-show him the op-ed pages, where it could go, and he nods along saying that would be good.
"People will really like it I think," he nods again.
I tell him again my boss' information, when she's in our office, et. cetera. He says he'll come back when she's in. Then he takes his staff and stumbles out.
Fairly tame, really, compared to some of the others that have come in.
Fast forward to today. Apparently, he came in while I was on my lunch break. And asked for me. Not my boss. Me.
"Oh shoot, I can't believe I missed him...." I say to my coworker. (Yes, sometimes I'm a terrible person.)
"Oh, don't worry - he said he might stop back to see you," my coworker replies with a smile.
He did not. And none of my pages had to be re-sent. Thus I consider my day a success.
But tomorrow is only a day away...
"Can I help you?" I asked, like a good little employee.
"Probably," he says, with a condescending look on his face. "Probably."
Then he just kind of looks at me for awhile. As if my knowing that I can "probably" assist him is really all the information I should need.
He spends about 5 minutes getting his staff to stand up the way he wants it to against our table, then eventually wanders over to me and asks if I can make a copy of a very crumpled up piece of paper for him. Five copies, actually.
"Sure," I say. "That will be $1.06."
"Oh...I don't have any money," he says and looks at me like it's my fault. I mean, I suppose it could be, but I fail to recognize how.
I explain that it's .25 cents per copy (plus tax), sorry. So he says, "Well, I have a quarter."
"Ok, I can get you one copy for that," I say, figuring I can spot a homeless guy two cents to cover the tax. (Which reminds me...I forgot to put that in the till. Whoops. Now writing myself a note on the back of my hand.)
So I make him a copy. He then proceeds to ask if we can publish this short story, which I believe had something to do with a forlorn dog who finds happiness, in our paper.
"I think people would really appreciate that," he says.
"Of course they would," I say. I then explain that it would probably have to go on our opinion page, but we could possibly feature it as a local Lakota artist type of thing. But, this would be up to my boss. He nods, then repeats to me why he thinks it should be published.
Now, I don't know when exactly it was that I realized just how drunk this man was, but it was much prior to this point in the conversation, so I just nodded along and explained things as best I could. However at this point, I was beginning to get tired of repeating myself.
I re-show him the op-ed pages, where it could go, and he nods along saying that would be good.
"People will really like it I think," he nods again.
I tell him again my boss' information, when she's in our office, et. cetera. He says he'll come back when she's in. Then he takes his staff and stumbles out.
Fairly tame, really, compared to some of the others that have come in.
Fast forward to today. Apparently, he came in while I was on my lunch break. And asked for me. Not my boss. Me.
"Oh shoot, I can't believe I missed him...." I say to my coworker. (Yes, sometimes I'm a terrible person.)
"Oh, don't worry - he said he might stop back to see you," my coworker replies with a smile.
He did not. And none of my pages had to be re-sent. Thus I consider my day a success.
But tomorrow is only a day away...
Monday, September 6, 2010
Hobbit House, moving in: Part deux
Two things of note:
1. Couch moving = fail.
2. I (and by I, I really mean Javi) just duct taped the hinge on my door so the bolts won't fall out after almost getting stuck inside my room because the door flopped out.
Perfect end to my day, really.
1. Couch moving = fail.
2. I (and by I, I really mean Javi) just duct taped the hinge on my door so the bolts won't fall out after almost getting stuck inside my room because the door flopped out.
Perfect end to my day, really.
Little Hobbit House on the Prairie
I moved out of my pink trailer on August 7. Today, one month later (almost exactly), I am officially moved into my new place. (Granted, I could have started moving in last Friday, but I was out of town.) The past few weeks have been interesting, but people have been very kind and generous in allowing me to stay with them while waiting for this house to become available. Special thanks to Walt and Sonja - you rock.
I moved into an underground house in town. And by underground, yes, I really do mean underground. Like a hobbit house. It's like a basement...except that's the house. There's an attic "upstairs" (which is actually ground level), and then the "main" level of the house is the underground/basement part. It's peachy, except for moving in furniture and cell reception. Those two things, not so much. But I knew that coming in.
So, before I relay some of the day's comical events, let me just start by saying that it is WONDERFUL to have my own space again. It is wonderful to have a closet instead of a suitcase. And it is wonderful to have a housemate, and someone that I have known for a while so we don't have to go through the awkward "getting to know you" stuff. (I hope.) Being so uncertain of where I was going to be from one day to the next has taught me a very basic lesson: a bed and a roof are really all you need.
That being said, let's dig into the "Candy's ridiculous life: take 12,000." First of all, I "moved" straight into the house the night I got back from my vacation in Indiana...at around 11:30 p.m. Being out by myself at night has always creeped me out, and especially in a place that has a "night life" the way Mission often can, I disliked the timing of my arrival. But it's a 12-hour drive, and I don't like getting up at the crack of dawn to sit in a car all day.
Anyway. I spent about 10 minutes extracting the key from the hiding place created by my friend. (Mostly because my coordination was limited due to how tired I was. So once I finally got into the house, I made my way into my bedroom. This is when I realize, "Oh, huh. I don't have any of my bedding."
Luckily, my very nice friends left sheets on the bed. However, with no blanket, I got a wee bit chilly. I'm still not sure where my blankets are. (I found a substitute for now.) My stuff was (still is, to a point) interspersed between the attic of this house, my parents' house, the trunk of my car, and stashed under my desk at work. You can understand why I'm not sure what all ended up where.
That first night was just super fun, because not only did I wake up cold, I had a heck of a time falling asleep in the first place because right as I lay down, this story my coworker told me last week popped into my head. I guess some of her friends were asleep, and they woke up to this guy standing in their bedroom doorway, staring at them. He had broken in - through a basement window, no less - to their house and was being very creepy. I believe they chased him, but did not catch him. Naturally, my bed is right underneath the window without any kind of drape or curtain over it. So I spent about the first 45 minutes in bed just staring, wide-eyed, at that window. I think I left every light in the main part of the house on that night. Didn't sleep well.
So then I went to work the next day. And the next. And then I went to my parents' house for a couple days. So really, I didn't start moving in until yesterday (Sunday) afternoon when I got back. And by moving in, first I mean cleaning. My friends got back and did a ton of cleaning as well, and THEN I started to fully move all my crap in.
Once again I realize: I have too much stuff. And it's not like it's just stupid stuff I don't use...usually. Plus I went from my very own two-bedroom trailer all to myself to half of a two-bedroom house. So there's that.
So yesterday, after Javier repeatedly made fun of my teeny-tiny TV (deservedly so, it's ridiculously small), Rich and I moved my ghetto fabulous TV-console all-in-one downstairs. Got it all hooked up, got the remote programmed...couldn't get the satellite to work. First it was just showing us this infomercial thing; then it was stuck on HGTV.
Well later I'm in the living room and notice it's now on ESPN. This happens to be the same channel playing in Javier's room. So we tell Rich to change the channel in there. Sure enough, it changes the TV in the living room. Sooooo, can't really watch TV in the living room unless I want to watch whatever Javier is watching.
Which is fine, because that this point, the only place to sit in the living room is my beanbag chair. Have not as yet been able to find help to move the couch. And even if we find help, we're not sure it will fit. This process will be mucho frustrating, I have a feeling. Ay yi yi.
Other fun developments: The plaster in my ceiling has a gaping hole and is falling down; the door to my room came off its top hinges; my closet only has one of its two doors, and that door no longer fits/slides in the runner (it is now hiding behind my defective bedroom door...I thought they should be friends); Javier freaked me out by telling me about the time he saw a garden snake try to fit through the window; and finally, I think it's safe to say that every room in this house needs to be painted in some fashion.
But. It is a place to live. I have a comfy bed. I now have the windows curtained for my own peace of mind. It is close to work. It is cheaper than where I lived before because I'm splitting costs. I get to see another human being when I come home. And I have something of a yard to wander around in...during the daytime.
So that's the introduction to the hobbit house, my second permanent dwelling on the rez. I'm guessing that if we attempt to move this couch, it will provide material for a second blog.
Oh, and Happy Labor Day!
I moved into an underground house in town. And by underground, yes, I really do mean underground. Like a hobbit house. It's like a basement...except that's the house. There's an attic "upstairs" (which is actually ground level), and then the "main" level of the house is the underground/basement part. It's peachy, except for moving in furniture and cell reception. Those two things, not so much. But I knew that coming in.
So, before I relay some of the day's comical events, let me just start by saying that it is WONDERFUL to have my own space again. It is wonderful to have a closet instead of a suitcase. And it is wonderful to have a housemate, and someone that I have known for a while so we don't have to go through the awkward "getting to know you" stuff. (I hope.) Being so uncertain of where I was going to be from one day to the next has taught me a very basic lesson: a bed and a roof are really all you need.
That being said, let's dig into the "Candy's ridiculous life: take 12,000." First of all, I "moved" straight into the house the night I got back from my vacation in Indiana...at around 11:30 p.m. Being out by myself at night has always creeped me out, and especially in a place that has a "night life" the way Mission often can, I disliked the timing of my arrival. But it's a 12-hour drive, and I don't like getting up at the crack of dawn to sit in a car all day.
Anyway. I spent about 10 minutes extracting the key from the hiding place created by my friend. (Mostly because my coordination was limited due to how tired I was. So once I finally got into the house, I made my way into my bedroom. This is when I realize, "Oh, huh. I don't have any of my bedding."
Luckily, my very nice friends left sheets on the bed. However, with no blanket, I got a wee bit chilly. I'm still not sure where my blankets are. (I found a substitute for now.) My stuff was (still is, to a point) interspersed between the attic of this house, my parents' house, the trunk of my car, and stashed under my desk at work. You can understand why I'm not sure what all ended up where.
That first night was just super fun, because not only did I wake up cold, I had a heck of a time falling asleep in the first place because right as I lay down, this story my coworker told me last week popped into my head. I guess some of her friends were asleep, and they woke up to this guy standing in their bedroom doorway, staring at them. He had broken in - through a basement window, no less - to their house and was being very creepy. I believe they chased him, but did not catch him. Naturally, my bed is right underneath the window without any kind of drape or curtain over it. So I spent about the first 45 minutes in bed just staring, wide-eyed, at that window. I think I left every light in the main part of the house on that night. Didn't sleep well.
So then I went to work the next day. And the next. And then I went to my parents' house for a couple days. So really, I didn't start moving in until yesterday (Sunday) afternoon when I got back. And by moving in, first I mean cleaning. My friends got back and did a ton of cleaning as well, and THEN I started to fully move all my crap in.
Once again I realize: I have too much stuff. And it's not like it's just stupid stuff I don't use...usually. Plus I went from my very own two-bedroom trailer all to myself to half of a two-bedroom house. So there's that.
So yesterday, after Javier repeatedly made fun of my teeny-tiny TV (deservedly so, it's ridiculously small), Rich and I moved my ghetto fabulous TV-console all-in-one downstairs. Got it all hooked up, got the remote programmed...couldn't get the satellite to work. First it was just showing us this infomercial thing; then it was stuck on HGTV.
Well later I'm in the living room and notice it's now on ESPN. This happens to be the same channel playing in Javier's room. So we tell Rich to change the channel in there. Sure enough, it changes the TV in the living room. Sooooo, can't really watch TV in the living room unless I want to watch whatever Javier is watching.
Which is fine, because that this point, the only place to sit in the living room is my beanbag chair. Have not as yet been able to find help to move the couch. And even if we find help, we're not sure it will fit. This process will be mucho frustrating, I have a feeling. Ay yi yi.
Other fun developments: The plaster in my ceiling has a gaping hole and is falling down; the door to my room came off its top hinges; my closet only has one of its two doors, and that door no longer fits/slides in the runner (it is now hiding behind my defective bedroom door...I thought they should be friends); Javier freaked me out by telling me about the time he saw a garden snake try to fit through the window; and finally, I think it's safe to say that every room in this house needs to be painted in some fashion.
But. It is a place to live. I have a comfy bed. I now have the windows curtained for my own peace of mind. It is close to work. It is cheaper than where I lived before because I'm splitting costs. I get to see another human being when I come home. And I have something of a yard to wander around in...during the daytime.
So that's the introduction to the hobbit house, my second permanent dwelling on the rez. I'm guessing that if we attempt to move this couch, it will provide material for a second blog.
Oh, and Happy Labor Day!
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Rez Life
My undergrad alma mater, Indiana Wesleyan University has something called "rez life." It's short for "residence life," and it's geared toward the students at IWU. There's even a whole "rez life week," which involves lots of team spirit and dorm games that I never really felt the need to over-participate in.
It's been one year and four months since I walked across the stage, heard my name mispronounced, and received my empty diploma case from the President of IWU. It's been one year and a few weeks since I officially graduated with a double bachelor of arts in English and Journalism, officially ending my student "rez life" experience.
I suppose to commemorate my one-year anniversary of being a "grown-up," I returned to IWU to help with something near and dear to my heart: Sojourn staff training. Two of my favorite staff writers asked me to speak, so I drove 800 miles to spend a few hours with the student publication I gave up so much time, energy, sleep, and GPA points for. When I was in college, my housemates, editorial staff, and I sometimes wondered if all the effort was worth it. Unexpectedly and extravagantly kind words from the Sojourn staff make me think it was.
I'm now part of a new sort of "rez life," a more literal kind: life on an Indian reservation, a.k.a, "the rez." (No, this is not a politically incorrect term to the people who live here, so please don't be offended.)
The two Rez Lives couldn't be more opposite. One life is squeaky clean, the other's covered in trash. One has money and new buildings, the other is in the fifth poorest county in the U.S. One life is covered with some of the best and brightest high school graduates, ministers, and decorated academics in the country, the other has one of the highest drop-out rates in the state of South Dakota.
Both have challenged me. Both are filled with people - some wonderful, some not. But people created in God's image; people who have had a hand in shaping the person I am, and the person I'm becoming.
This new Rez Life is making me ask some of the old questions, and experience many of the old doubts. "Does what I'm doing matter?" "Am I making a difference?" "Does anyone even care?"
I get discouraged. I get stressed. I get frustrated. I get down on myself. Except, this time, I don't have my housemates checking in on me to make sure I didn't fall asleep on my keyboard when I'm supposed to be writing a paper or editing a story. I don't have the fellowship of thousands of other young believers. I don't have professors giving me constant feedback, showing me how to become better at what I'm doing.
I don't know why I'm here. I don't feel like I've made a positive impact. I've been a terrible "ambassador for Christ."
I. I. I. Me. Me. Me. I don't, I can't, I won't. I read an entry from "My Utmost for His Highest" today that made me realize how self-centered I can be sometimes. Both in college, and now, the times when I feel my personality and my joy being drained away are the times when I become completely self-focused.
As I return from my brief, refreshing visit to IWU and four of the best friends a girl could have, a couple things stand out.
1. I wasn't trying to "impress" the two staffers that I apparently made such an impression on. I was just doing what I was passionate about, which was make a better paper by building better writers. And I had no idea at the time that it made the impact on them that it did. I'm glad.
2. Even if they didn't remember me, if I'd made no impression on anyone at IWU or the paper - does that mean I should have done anything differently? Well, I should have done a lot of things differently, most likely - but nothing in the way of less effort. My only regrets are the things I didn't do, not the things I did.
So, about this new Rez Life. Nine months after leaving the old Rez Life, I started this one. Today marks the 8-month anniversary of my time here. It has been tempestuous. It has been very hard at times. It has been friggin' cold. But it has been good.
This is Labor Day Weekend, and tomorrow is the 6-month mark for this blog. As we start a new month, I'm thinking of taking this blog in a slightly different direction (which I promise will not be a string of timelines...like this post...). Up to this point, it's been mostly a record of all the ridiculous things that I witness on an almost weekly basis. Like, the lady who stashed her cigarette on the sidewalk while she went into the post office, then picked it up again on her way out.
See, when I first moved out here, it took me a month to find a place to live. When I found a place, it was a pink trailer house on the yard of a Mormon family with 10 children, and a bun in oven. (Note: pink is my least favorite color.) Then it was just a rapid succession of ridiculousness that I had to find funny, because quite frankly, I would have lost my mind otherwise.
So I started the blog to record these things, because they make me laugh. And I like to make other people laugh. And I wanted to steer clear of any melodrama or pretensions in my writing, so I steer clear of serious topics.
However, a couple of friends challenged me to write about life on the Rez. Real, honest, "this is how it is," (from my perspective) life on the Rez.
It will still include the ridiculous stories - because that's part of my life here (and anywhere, really). It will just also include some of the other, maybe not-so-funny things that happen here.
It's been one year and four months since I walked across the stage, heard my name mispronounced, and received my empty diploma case from the President of IWU. It's been one year and a few weeks since I officially graduated with a double bachelor of arts in English and Journalism, officially ending my student "rez life" experience.
I suppose to commemorate my one-year anniversary of being a "grown-up," I returned to IWU to help with something near and dear to my heart: Sojourn staff training. Two of my favorite staff writers asked me to speak, so I drove 800 miles to spend a few hours with the student publication I gave up so much time, energy, sleep, and GPA points for. When I was in college, my housemates, editorial staff, and I sometimes wondered if all the effort was worth it. Unexpectedly and extravagantly kind words from the Sojourn staff make me think it was.
I'm now part of a new sort of "rez life," a more literal kind: life on an Indian reservation, a.k.a, "the rez." (No, this is not a politically incorrect term to the people who live here, so please don't be offended.)
The two Rez Lives couldn't be more opposite. One life is squeaky clean, the other's covered in trash. One has money and new buildings, the other is in the fifth poorest county in the U.S. One life is covered with some of the best and brightest high school graduates, ministers, and decorated academics in the country, the other has one of the highest drop-out rates in the state of South Dakota.
Both have challenged me. Both are filled with people - some wonderful, some not. But people created in God's image; people who have had a hand in shaping the person I am, and the person I'm becoming.
This new Rez Life is making me ask some of the old questions, and experience many of the old doubts. "Does what I'm doing matter?" "Am I making a difference?" "Does anyone even care?"
I get discouraged. I get stressed. I get frustrated. I get down on myself. Except, this time, I don't have my housemates checking in on me to make sure I didn't fall asleep on my keyboard when I'm supposed to be writing a paper or editing a story. I don't have the fellowship of thousands of other young believers. I don't have professors giving me constant feedback, showing me how to become better at what I'm doing.
I don't know why I'm here. I don't feel like I've made a positive impact. I've been a terrible "ambassador for Christ."
I. I. I. Me. Me. Me. I don't, I can't, I won't. I read an entry from "My Utmost for His Highest" today that made me realize how self-centered I can be sometimes. Both in college, and now, the times when I feel my personality and my joy being drained away are the times when I become completely self-focused.
As I return from my brief, refreshing visit to IWU and four of the best friends a girl could have, a couple things stand out.
1. I wasn't trying to "impress" the two staffers that I apparently made such an impression on. I was just doing what I was passionate about, which was make a better paper by building better writers. And I had no idea at the time that it made the impact on them that it did. I'm glad.
2. Even if they didn't remember me, if I'd made no impression on anyone at IWU or the paper - does that mean I should have done anything differently? Well, I should have done a lot of things differently, most likely - but nothing in the way of less effort. My only regrets are the things I didn't do, not the things I did.
So, about this new Rez Life. Nine months after leaving the old Rez Life, I started this one. Today marks the 8-month anniversary of my time here. It has been tempestuous. It has been very hard at times. It has been friggin' cold. But it has been good.
This is Labor Day Weekend, and tomorrow is the 6-month mark for this blog. As we start a new month, I'm thinking of taking this blog in a slightly different direction (which I promise will not be a string of timelines...like this post...). Up to this point, it's been mostly a record of all the ridiculous things that I witness on an almost weekly basis. Like, the lady who stashed her cigarette on the sidewalk while she went into the post office, then picked it up again on her way out.
See, when I first moved out here, it took me a month to find a place to live. When I found a place, it was a pink trailer house on the yard of a Mormon family with 10 children, and a bun in oven. (Note: pink is my least favorite color.) Then it was just a rapid succession of ridiculousness that I had to find funny, because quite frankly, I would have lost my mind otherwise.
So I started the blog to record these things, because they make me laugh. And I like to make other people laugh. And I wanted to steer clear of any melodrama or pretensions in my writing, so I steer clear of serious topics.
However, a couple of friends challenged me to write about life on the Rez. Real, honest, "this is how it is," (from my perspective) life on the Rez.
It will still include the ridiculous stories - because that's part of my life here (and anywhere, really). It will just also include some of the other, maybe not-so-funny things that happen here.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Scaredy cat
Rachel, Patrick and I went to Cracker Barrel for lunch. In the land of the civilized, (and commercialization), Halloween decorations are out already. As we walked in, there was this broom with a witch's hat on top sitting in the middle of the floor. So Ray touched it as she walked past.
It moved. It also made noise.
I jumped, about five feet in the opposite direction.
Not only did Rachel and Patrick find it amusing, but so did all three Cracker Barrel host/employees who saw the whole thing. Awesome.
It moved. It also made noise.
I jumped, about five feet in the opposite direction.
Not only did Rachel and Patrick find it amusing, but so did all three Cracker Barrel host/employees who saw the whole thing. Awesome.
AT&T? AllTel? Who's to blame?
Thursday, I'm gonna say around 10 a.m., cell service went out. And I don't mean just my phone, or a dead zone or something - everyone's cell service was out. No calls. No texting. Nothing over the airwaves. Silence.
Normally, this would just be an inconvenience, but of course on this day there's breaking news and we need to get ahold of Tribal officials. But the Tribal buildings are closed. My coworker has half of the Tribe in her cell phone address book, but again, no service.
So we waited.
THEN, I got fed up and went over to AllTel to see what the deal was. "No comment," I got told. I was told to call back to talk to a manager. I did not have time. So, we don't know for sure, but we're fairly certain that AT&T must have been attempting to overlay the cell towers with their new "upgrades." Like I said, we don't know, because no one said anything. At all. Great customer service.
So once cell service resumed, it was still sketchy. Whenever I tried calling people, we would get connected but be unable to hear each other. That happened with about 3 or 4 different people. Then, when my mom tried to call me that evening, when I answered all I heard was this woman describing (in great, boring detail) about a tour of some really neat building she went on.
Fascinating.
Mom said on her end all she heard was this guy saying, "uh huh...yeah...yeah...uh huh." So I don't know if we both got one half of the same call or what, but it was weird.
So then, about 10 minutes later, one of my best friends tries to call. I answer. It's some guy, talking in an uber-creeper voice, and all I catch is him saying something to the effect of "I know I'm a pain in the ass."
I hung up. And laughed. (And when I tried to call her back, she didn't answer.)
My coworker said the same thing happened to her...she tried to call her daughter and some dude answered.
So much for a 'smooth transition.'
Normally, this would just be an inconvenience, but of course on this day there's breaking news and we need to get ahold of Tribal officials. But the Tribal buildings are closed. My coworker has half of the Tribe in her cell phone address book, but again, no service.
So we waited.
THEN, I got fed up and went over to AllTel to see what the deal was. "No comment," I got told. I was told to call back to talk to a manager. I did not have time. So, we don't know for sure, but we're fairly certain that AT&T must have been attempting to overlay the cell towers with their new "upgrades." Like I said, we don't know, because no one said anything. At all. Great customer service.
So once cell service resumed, it was still sketchy. Whenever I tried calling people, we would get connected but be unable to hear each other. That happened with about 3 or 4 different people. Then, when my mom tried to call me that evening, when I answered all I heard was this woman describing (in great, boring detail) about a tour of some really neat building she went on.
Fascinating.
Mom said on her end all she heard was this guy saying, "uh huh...yeah...yeah...uh huh." So I don't know if we both got one half of the same call or what, but it was weird.
So then, about 10 minutes later, one of my best friends tries to call. I answer. It's some guy, talking in an uber-creeper voice, and all I catch is him saying something to the effect of "I know I'm a pain in the ass."
I hung up. And laughed. (And when I tried to call her back, she didn't answer.)
My coworker said the same thing happened to her...she tried to call her daughter and some dude answered.
So much for a 'smooth transition.'
wow.
I was in the office by myself on Thursday, and of course, was swamped. I had about 18 things to finish before leaving on vacation, the phone kept ringing, and customers kept coming in. Oh, and cell service was out all afternoon and the Tribal offices were closed, so we couldn't even get ahold of anyone we needed to, either.
So sometime that morning, a guy calls in. He's looking for an obituary for his mom. Except he is kind of an angry fella, and all he tells he is that she died in 2002. When I tried to explain that all we have are hard copies, we don't have an online database, he got angry. When I said that if we research it ourselves and it takes very long, we have to charge $15/hour, he got rude. Eventually he hung up on me.
So about two hours later his brother called back. He apologized, saying that "My brother is kind of an angry person...he's an alcoholic..." all this stuff. He gave me some more specific info on the obituary, and I found it in about 5 minutes. He said he's send us an addressed, pre-paid postage envelope w/ a money order, and we could send him the copy of the obit. Fine, i said.
Then he goes back to explaining how troubled his brother is, and ended by saying, "the way things are going, it looks like I'm gonna be going to the rodeo by myself....so if you're not doing anything this weekend...?"
So I got asked to go to the Rosebud rodeo by a call-in customer because he didn't want to go with his alcoholic brother. Pity, I had prior plans.
fml.
So sometime that morning, a guy calls in. He's looking for an obituary for his mom. Except he is kind of an angry fella, and all he tells he is that she died in 2002. When I tried to explain that all we have are hard copies, we don't have an online database, he got angry. When I said that if we research it ourselves and it takes very long, we have to charge $15/hour, he got rude. Eventually he hung up on me.
So about two hours later his brother called back. He apologized, saying that "My brother is kind of an angry person...he's an alcoholic..." all this stuff. He gave me some more specific info on the obituary, and I found it in about 5 minutes. He said he's send us an addressed, pre-paid postage envelope w/ a money order, and we could send him the copy of the obit. Fine, i said.
Then he goes back to explaining how troubled his brother is, and ended by saying, "the way things are going, it looks like I'm gonna be going to the rodeo by myself....so if you're not doing anything this weekend...?"
So I got asked to go to the Rosebud rodeo by a call-in customer because he didn't want to go with his alcoholic brother. Pity, I had prior plans.
fml.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Friday the 13th
This morning, the server wouldn't work, Photoshop and InDesign crashed multiple times, and I made about 15 phone calls that got me absolutely nowhere. Yet, the Rapid City Journal seems to have a source down here on the rez, because today they, yet again, had a story about things happening here on the Rosebud. Why. Don't. We. Know. This. Stuff?!?
I had completely forgotten that today is Friday the 13th until my cousin commented about it on Facebook. And I didn't think, "Oh, now I know why all that stuff went wrong at the office."
No, this morning was fairly mild compared to the last few weeks.
Instead I thought to myself, "Wow, that's weird."
Because it would just figure that Friday the 13th, supposedly bad luck, is one of the best days I've had in a while. The weather was nice. I was out of the office allllll day, helping with/taking photos of the County Fair, and being social.
It was a good day. So yeah, really, why wouldn't everyone else's bad luck day be my best day in a while? Makes sense. Oh well. I'm not complaining. I'll take a good day any way I can get it. Hope Friday falls on the 13th again soon!
I had completely forgotten that today is Friday the 13th until my cousin commented about it on Facebook. And I didn't think, "Oh, now I know why all that stuff went wrong at the office."
No, this morning was fairly mild compared to the last few weeks.
Instead I thought to myself, "Wow, that's weird."
Because it would just figure that Friday the 13th, supposedly bad luck, is one of the best days I've had in a while. The weather was nice. I was out of the office allllll day, helping with/taking photos of the County Fair, and being social.
It was a good day. So yeah, really, why wouldn't everyone else's bad luck day be my best day in a while? Makes sense. Oh well. I'm not complaining. I'll take a good day any way I can get it. Hope Friday falls on the 13th again soon!
What?
Netflix just created a 'row' entitled "Father-Son Dramas based on real life" supposedly "based on [my] preferences."
Really?
Really?
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
You must be smarter than the door
I've been house-sitting for the past 4 days (along with moving and working) for my friends. They get back tonight, so I did what I usually do when people are returning - swept the floors, washed dishes, emptied the trash, and stripped the bed to wash sheets.
Trouble is, the washer and dryer are in the bathroom. And somehow I locked myself out.
I didn't even know the door locked. So I tried to open it, unsuccessfully for about 20 minutes, until I had to go teach a little girl how to train her dog. Her mom found out about my "situation" and loaned me a wire hanger.
I got the door open. I feel dumb.
Trouble is, the washer and dryer are in the bathroom. And somehow I locked myself out.
I didn't even know the door locked. So I tried to open it, unsuccessfully for about 20 minutes, until I had to go teach a little girl how to train her dog. Her mom found out about my "situation" and loaned me a wire hanger.
I got the door open. I feel dumb.
Hobos anon.
There are a lot of homeless people in Todd County, unfortunately. Many of them are in a perpetual state of *something* - drunk, high, etc. There is also a lot of hitchhiking through Indian Country. It's not at all uncommon for "street people" to come into our office and try to sell something.
This is what happened yesterday.
A man came in, and approached my coworker. He said he was a writer - poetry, short stories - and homeless (made me feel wonderful about the profession I chose) and looking for some money to get to where he's going. He was also very not quite right. After Marie told him he had no money, he kinda tried to stare her down. She doesn't stare down very well, so he asked if he could come talk to me (I'd been hiding in the corner).
He walks up to my desk.
"Ma'am?"
"Yes?"
"I was wondering if you could take a picture of me and put it in your paper."
"Um...well why? I mean, what's the story?"
"Homeless person."
"Oh...ok...well...um, yeah...I'm sorry...I don't think we can do that."
Since I told him no, he then asked if he could borrow a dollar.
I told him that I didn't have any money either, being rather homeless myself at the moment, and I was sorry.
So, Mr. Hobo then tried to stare me down. When that didn't work, he asked if he could have a cup of coffee. I stuttered out something about how if he had a cup, then sure. So he asked Marie, who was just making a fresh pot. She said we were out and he'd have to wait a few minutes but then he could have some. He was starting to get a little bit angry and semi aggressive at this point, so he plopped down in a chair in the office. for about 5 seconds. Then he stomped outside, and said "I'll be back" over his shoulder as he left. He did not come back.
I saw him a little bit later at the post office, talking to people as they came out and got in their cars. Then he kept walking east. I truly wish him well.
This is what happened yesterday.
A man came in, and approached my coworker. He said he was a writer - poetry, short stories - and homeless (made me feel wonderful about the profession I chose) and looking for some money to get to where he's going. He was also very not quite right. After Marie told him he had no money, he kinda tried to stare her down. She doesn't stare down very well, so he asked if he could come talk to me (I'd been hiding in the corner).
He walks up to my desk.
"Ma'am?"
"Yes?"
"I was wondering if you could take a picture of me and put it in your paper."
"Um...well why? I mean, what's the story?"
"Homeless person."
"Oh...ok...well...um, yeah...I'm sorry...I don't think we can do that."
Since I told him no, he then asked if he could borrow a dollar.
I told him that I didn't have any money either, being rather homeless myself at the moment, and I was sorry.
So, Mr. Hobo then tried to stare me down. When that didn't work, he asked if he could have a cup of coffee. I stuttered out something about how if he had a cup, then sure. So he asked Marie, who was just making a fresh pot. She said we were out and he'd have to wait a few minutes but then he could have some. He was starting to get a little bit angry and semi aggressive at this point, so he plopped down in a chair in the office. for about 5 seconds. Then he stomped outside, and said "I'll be back" over his shoulder as he left. He did not come back.
I saw him a little bit later at the post office, talking to people as they came out and got in their cars. Then he kept walking east. I truly wish him well.
Friday, August 6, 2010
Seriously unfortunate events
So, Friday was one of those days that was so bad in the office that all we could do was laugh. So we did. We laughed a lot. That's what I loved about working here.
Then I had a wonderful weekend. I got to see a dear, dear friend whom I hadn't seen in quite some time. I went to a good movie with some great friends (almost got kicked out of the theater). I got to play with my dog. I got to see kitties just opening their eyes. I got to go to my home church and tithe. I got to see some more dear friends I haven't seen in a long time. I got to eat Chinese with friends and my Momma. It was good.
Then I came back.
Monday and Tuesday were progressively worse than Friday, with Monday ending in my landlord informing me I had to be out of my house by the end of the week (not because of anything I did, because his daughter moved home and needed the house). The house I plan to move into will not be ready for about a month. So then Tuesday was ridiculous, with the coworkers and me becoming almost slaphappy as we feverishly tried to get everything done. We worked our butts off, then went home thinking, "hey, we worked hard. maybe things will be better."
Nope.
Wednesday. Everything was fine, until about 3 p.m. Suffice to say: drama.
Now, I have to move today. I'm moving from my pink trailer on the rez to an underground house. The common question I receive is, "What, are you a hobbit?"
Silver lining: Mom and Dad are coming today to help me move.
Then I had a wonderful weekend. I got to see a dear, dear friend whom I hadn't seen in quite some time. I went to a good movie with some great friends (almost got kicked out of the theater). I got to play with my dog. I got to see kitties just opening their eyes. I got to go to my home church and tithe. I got to see some more dear friends I haven't seen in a long time. I got to eat Chinese with friends and my Momma. It was good.
Then I came back.
Monday and Tuesday were progressively worse than Friday, with Monday ending in my landlord informing me I had to be out of my house by the end of the week (not because of anything I did, because his daughter moved home and needed the house). The house I plan to move into will not be ready for about a month. So then Tuesday was ridiculous, with the coworkers and me becoming almost slaphappy as we feverishly tried to get everything done. We worked our butts off, then went home thinking, "hey, we worked hard. maybe things will be better."
Nope.
Wednesday. Everything was fine, until about 3 p.m. Suffice to say: drama.
Now, I have to move today. I'm moving from my pink trailer on the rez to an underground house. The common question I receive is, "What, are you a hobbit?"
Silver lining: Mom and Dad are coming today to help me move.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Mario Kart: Real Life
Yesterday was a Mario Kart day.
As I drove to work, I ate a banana. When I finished the banana, I threw the peel out the window. As I did, I couldn't help but check the car behind me in my rearview, to make sure he didn't spin out on said banana peel. He did not.
Then, at the end of the day, my former roommate calls me to say that she also had a Mario Kart moment. She was walking to the post office, and as she walked past a guy's car, she heard the noise that signifies someone just used a mushroom and is about to get huge. (Nintendo fans, you know the sound I mean.)
She stopped. Looked around to make sure she was, in fact, in the real world, and then looked at the car. The car was empty.
We're not sure what sort of power it holds, but if you're in northern Indianapolis - be on the lookout. Cars could start growing at any moment.
As I drove to work, I ate a banana. When I finished the banana, I threw the peel out the window. As I did, I couldn't help but check the car behind me in my rearview, to make sure he didn't spin out on said banana peel. He did not.
Then, at the end of the day, my former roommate calls me to say that she also had a Mario Kart moment. She was walking to the post office, and as she walked past a guy's car, she heard the noise that signifies someone just used a mushroom and is about to get huge. (Nintendo fans, you know the sound I mean.)
She stopped. Looked around to make sure she was, in fact, in the real world, and then looked at the car. The car was empty.
We're not sure what sort of power it holds, but if you're in northern Indianapolis - be on the lookout. Cars could start growing at any moment.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Butterflies go bye-bye
Message to Kelly Reynen, the gifter of the Butterfly Sunglasses:
I am sad to report that the sunglasses you gifted to me in Ohio died tragically, Friday, July 23, around 3 p.m. CST. Cause of death: broken ear thingy(?). Reason: unknown. Burial: Tribune trash can, me presiding.
Though the Butterfly Sunglasses only shaded for a short while in S.D., they did their task with honor, reflecting rays, protecting an aspiring reporter's retinas, and making highway driving safer for at least 15 people.
Why these Butterflies, as they came to be known, chose to end so abruptly is unknown; though, their former owner surmises it could have been a desperate attempt to avoid further punishing times in the abyss known as "the purse." Upon the even more tragic and untimely death of the Sunglass Visor Clip fastened in previous owner's crappy white-trash car, Butterflies had nowhere else to go besides said purse, or to lie covered in a pile of papers on Owner's desk. Thus, it could have been an act of grief and desperation.
Or it could have been an accident, brought on by Owner's freakishly big head.
But all this is merely speculation. All we know is that the Butterflies performed their Sun-Shielding task with honor, and will be remembered fondly.
Their replacement was discovered on a cheapie rack in Valentine, Neb. Lacking the sentimental attachment of the previous pair, having been gifted by a favorite soulmate, these new glasses have large shades to fill. (Though they are a snazzy shade of grey).
R.I.P. Butterflies. R.I.P.
I am sad to report that the sunglasses you gifted to me in Ohio died tragically, Friday, July 23, around 3 p.m. CST. Cause of death: broken ear thingy(?). Reason: unknown. Burial: Tribune trash can, me presiding.
Though the Butterfly Sunglasses only shaded for a short while in S.D., they did their task with honor, reflecting rays, protecting an aspiring reporter's retinas, and making highway driving safer for at least 15 people.
Why these Butterflies, as they came to be known, chose to end so abruptly is unknown; though, their former owner surmises it could have been a desperate attempt to avoid further punishing times in the abyss known as "the purse." Upon the even more tragic and untimely death of the Sunglass Visor Clip fastened in previous owner's crappy white-trash car, Butterflies had nowhere else to go besides said purse, or to lie covered in a pile of papers on Owner's desk. Thus, it could have been an act of grief and desperation.
Or it could have been an accident, brought on by Owner's freakishly big head.
But all this is merely speculation. All we know is that the Butterflies performed their Sun-Shielding task with honor, and will be remembered fondly.
Their replacement was discovered on a cheapie rack in Valentine, Neb. Lacking the sentimental attachment of the previous pair, having been gifted by a favorite soulmate, these new glasses have large shades to fill. (Though they are a snazzy shade of grey).
R.I.P. Butterflies. R.I.P.
Seems shady
Third pair of sunglasses in about 4 months broke yesterday. Same as last time, they just kind of fell apart when I went to put them on my face. Kind of disconcerting when it happens.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Put down the weapon, please
An intoxicated hobo came into the office today, wanting to sell a knife. Now, the knife was actually kinda cool, but he kept unsheathing it and waving it around and then looking at me when I said I didn't have any money.
It makes me nervous when drunk people have weapons. Or fireworks. Or phones, for that matter (drunk dialing = no fun). I especially dislike it when unstable people can brandish weapons when I'm not doing what they want.
So then he decided to tell me a story. He made a point of telling me that his girlfriend lives in town. I must have been unable to hide my romantic interest.
Luckily, Rich got back and Hobo left. Just another day at the office.
It makes me nervous when drunk people have weapons. Or fireworks. Or phones, for that matter (drunk dialing = no fun). I especially dislike it when unstable people can brandish weapons when I'm not doing what they want.
So then he decided to tell me a story. He made a point of telling me that his girlfriend lives in town. I must have been unable to hide my romantic interest.
Luckily, Rich got back and Hobo left. Just another day at the office.
Baking Banana Bread: Why Mom knows best
All I wanted to do was make banana bread. That's how it started.
So, I find a recipe and look through what it requires (thank you, Special Foods for teaching me to ALWAYS read through a recipe before actually starting anything).
List of things I do not have: flour, sugar, baking powder, shortening, etc. etc. etc.
More things I don't have: A mixer, and a bread pan.
I don't like grocery shopping, and having been "about to move" for 3 months now, I keep saying "I don't want to buy a bunch of stuff I'm just going to have to move." Well, finally I caved.
So I call my sister. I figure, "she's all domestic, she should have extra supplies floating around."
Success! She has extra bread pans, and she'll bring them to me when we hang out the weekend before my birthday (which would be the Weekend of the Sunburn, for those keeping track). Not only does she bring me a big pan and a little pan, but - ah ha, how did you know??? - a hand mixer. Of my very own.
So, two weeks later, I'm finally back in baking mode. I go grocery shopping. It's the most I've spent grocery shopping in several months (which was still not much).
Get home, start mixing, only to discover that I forgot the baking powder. So I just decide to go put gas in my car and get the baking powder at the same time.
Apparently, 7 p.m. is when EVERYONE decides to put gas in, because there were lines almost back to the pop cooler. Takes 1/2 an hour to get my car's tank filled.
BUT, I figure, not a total loss - they had baking powder. And as I'm looking at the shelf, I see baking soda and shortening right next to it. I say to myself, "Hey, I don't have that stuff, maybe I should get it." Then I think, "Nah, I'm not buying anything I don't need."
Turns out, I needed it. Get back home, have stuff halfway mixed, realize that shortening was in fact part of the recipe. How I missed that the first 3 times, I don't know (proof reading skills had shut down for the day, I guess). Rather than go back to the store, again, I do what any smart girl does to problem solve: call Mom.
After several dropped calls and my phone shutting off in the middle of my sentence (fun feature of the LG), I finally get to the heart of my problem:
"Mom! All I want to do is bake banana bread but I keep not having the right ingredients and I don't want to go back to the store!"
"What don't you have?"
"Shortening."
"Ok, you can use ...."
And she lists of several substitutes. She also critiqued my recipe and gave me hers, which is now written in the margins of my cookbook.
This led to a lengthy discussion on the disproportionate change in the amount of sugar used between her recipe and mine (3/4 c. vs. 1 1/2 c., for anyone interested).
So, Mom and I came up with an experimental combination of the two recipes. We split the difference and used 1 c. of sugar, and kinda played around with some of the other stuff.
I figure now I'm in the clear. Now I can bake in peace.
False.
It took almost 2 hours for the dumb thing to bake. I followed the recipe, so I don't know if it's just my oven or what, but...I made French toast, ate French toast, cleaned up the dishes from French toast, cleaned the kitchen, changed a light bulb (which is an obnoxious process with the light fixtures in my house in and of itself), re-organized my cupboards, and had a good chat with Gramma while waiting for the bread to bake. It was almost 10 p.m. by the time I finally wrapped the bread up (literally).
You might be thinking, "What a ridiculously long blog just about her baking bread. Jeez." Um, yeah. That's how I felt.
Like I said, all I wanted to do was make banana bread. Nothing is ever simple for me.
*Note: Despite the ridiculous process, it ended up quite tasty. My coworker said he now expects zucchini bread on Monday. We'll see.
So, I find a recipe and look through what it requires (thank you, Special Foods for teaching me to ALWAYS read through a recipe before actually starting anything).
List of things I do not have: flour, sugar, baking powder, shortening, etc. etc. etc.
More things I don't have: A mixer, and a bread pan.
I don't like grocery shopping, and having been "about to move" for 3 months now, I keep saying "I don't want to buy a bunch of stuff I'm just going to have to move." Well, finally I caved.
So I call my sister. I figure, "she's all domestic, she should have extra supplies floating around."
Success! She has extra bread pans, and she'll bring them to me when we hang out the weekend before my birthday (which would be the Weekend of the Sunburn, for those keeping track). Not only does she bring me a big pan and a little pan, but - ah ha, how did you know??? - a hand mixer. Of my very own.
So, two weeks later, I'm finally back in baking mode. I go grocery shopping. It's the most I've spent grocery shopping in several months (which was still not much).
Get home, start mixing, only to discover that I forgot the baking powder. So I just decide to go put gas in my car and get the baking powder at the same time.
Apparently, 7 p.m. is when EVERYONE decides to put gas in, because there were lines almost back to the pop cooler. Takes 1/2 an hour to get my car's tank filled.
BUT, I figure, not a total loss - they had baking powder. And as I'm looking at the shelf, I see baking soda and shortening right next to it. I say to myself, "Hey, I don't have that stuff, maybe I should get it." Then I think, "Nah, I'm not buying anything I don't need."
Turns out, I needed it. Get back home, have stuff halfway mixed, realize that shortening was in fact part of the recipe. How I missed that the first 3 times, I don't know (proof reading skills had shut down for the day, I guess). Rather than go back to the store, again, I do what any smart girl does to problem solve: call Mom.
After several dropped calls and my phone shutting off in the middle of my sentence (fun feature of the LG), I finally get to the heart of my problem:
"Mom! All I want to do is bake banana bread but I keep not having the right ingredients and I don't want to go back to the store!"
"What don't you have?"
"Shortening."
"Ok, you can use ...."
And she lists of several substitutes. She also critiqued my recipe and gave me hers, which is now written in the margins of my cookbook.
This led to a lengthy discussion on the disproportionate change in the amount of sugar used between her recipe and mine (3/4 c. vs. 1 1/2 c., for anyone interested).
So, Mom and I came up with an experimental combination of the two recipes. We split the difference and used 1 c. of sugar, and kinda played around with some of the other stuff.
I figure now I'm in the clear. Now I can bake in peace.
False.
It took almost 2 hours for the dumb thing to bake. I followed the recipe, so I don't know if it's just my oven or what, but...I made French toast, ate French toast, cleaned up the dishes from French toast, cleaned the kitchen, changed a light bulb (which is an obnoxious process with the light fixtures in my house in and of itself), re-organized my cupboards, and had a good chat with Gramma while waiting for the bread to bake. It was almost 10 p.m. by the time I finally wrapped the bread up (literally).
You might be thinking, "What a ridiculously long blog just about her baking bread. Jeez." Um, yeah. That's how I felt.
Like I said, all I wanted to do was make banana bread. Nothing is ever simple for me.
*Note: Despite the ridiculous process, it ended up quite tasty. My coworker said he now expects zucchini bread on Monday. We'll see.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Lowering my 'level' of respect...
"Time" magazine sent me a laser level/tape measure as a "thank you gift" for subscribing. Just what I always wanted.
I mean, really, "Time"??? A level? I subscribed to your magazine because it provides in-depth, global news coverage. Had I been in the market for a lasered level, I would have subscribed to "Fine Woodworking" or even "Better Homes and Gardens."
And I can't even pretend to use the laser as a weapon, because my new laser level (that is only even remotely cool because of the laser) did not come with batteries. So the only part I was interested in, does not work, and because I did not want/need it in the first place, I am not inclined to go purchase batteries for it.
My message is this: Know. Your. Audience. I already had a tape measure with a level, which I have used maybe 10 times in 5 years. One is sufficient for all my handyman needs. Thus, having two of them - laser or not - seems excessive.
If you want to get me a gift, "Time," send me some free 'time.' Literal or metaphorical, I'm ok with either.
I mean, really, "Time"??? A level? I subscribed to your magazine because it provides in-depth, global news coverage. Had I been in the market for a lasered level, I would have subscribed to "Fine Woodworking" or even "Better Homes and Gardens."
And I can't even pretend to use the laser as a weapon, because my new laser level (that is only even remotely cool because of the laser) did not come with batteries. So the only part I was interested in, does not work, and because I did not want/need it in the first place, I am not inclined to go purchase batteries for it.
My message is this: Know. Your. Audience. I already had a tape measure with a level, which I have used maybe 10 times in 5 years. One is sufficient for all my handyman needs. Thus, having two of them - laser or not - seems excessive.
If you want to get me a gift, "Time," send me some free 'time.' Literal or metaphorical, I'm ok with either.
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Pony Express, I guess
This time, TWO people on horseback rode past the office.
(My office is located just off of S.D. State Highway 18, one of the busier through-roads in the area. It is not normal to see horseback riders on the sidewalk. Or at least, it probably shouldn't be.)
(My office is located just off of S.D. State Highway 18, one of the busier through-roads in the area. It is not normal to see horseback riders on the sidewalk. Or at least, it probably shouldn't be.)
Monday, July 19, 2010
Sunburn Saga: Part 3
I was under the impression that once I shed my extra, sun-scorched skin, the itching and uncomfortable-ness would cease and desist.
It has not. I am NOT happy.
AND, I'm fairly certain that I have permanently tanned/burned my back...cuz it's still a pretty shade of pink...
Whoops!
Epic fail, SPF 50! EPIC FAIL!
It has not. I am NOT happy.
AND, I'm fairly certain that I have permanently tanned/burned my back...cuz it's still a pretty shade of pink...
Whoops!
Epic fail, SPF 50! EPIC FAIL!
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Sunburn Saga: Part 2
Sunday, July 11 - Back hurts a lot. Must go back to the rodeo. Wearing lots of clothes and sunscreen, which does not alleviate the extreme pain.
Monday, July 12 - Happy Birthday! You have a sunburn all over. This one will not fade into a tan, this will blister and peel. Dang it.
Tuesday, July 12 - Coworker pokes sunburnt shoulder. I inform him how unkind that is. He stops.
Wednesday, July 14 - Blisters are now forming.
Thursday, July 15 - Tight, uncomfortable skin. Still can't sleep on my back. Leaning back in my char works.
Friday, July 16 - And the peeling has started. My entire back. It's real gross.
Saturday, July 17 - Sooooooooo, you know what is disgusting? Looking at your back in the mirror and having it be covered with molting skin. Then waking up and seeing little bits of skin in the sheets. So ready for this to be over. Sat in the hot tub for a while - LOVE.
Sunday, July 18 - So most of the skin is finally gone. I do believe I'm going to have scars. And my back still itches like crazy.
Monday, July 12 - Happy Birthday! You have a sunburn all over. This one will not fade into a tan, this will blister and peel. Dang it.
Tuesday, July 12 - Coworker pokes sunburnt shoulder. I inform him how unkind that is. He stops.
Wednesday, July 14 - Blisters are now forming.
Thursday, July 15 - Tight, uncomfortable skin. Still can't sleep on my back. Leaning back in my char works.
Friday, July 16 - And the peeling has started. My entire back. It's real gross.
Saturday, July 17 - Sooooooooo, you know what is disgusting? Looking at your back in the mirror and having it be covered with molting skin. Then waking up and seeing little bits of skin in the sheets. So ready for this to be over. Sat in the hot tub for a while - LOVE.
Sunday, July 18 - So most of the skin is finally gone. I do believe I'm going to have scars. And my back still itches like crazy.
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Sunburn Saga, part 1
Saturday, July 10 - I have been commissioned to cover the 4-H rodeo. But this wasn't just any 4-H rodeo. This was also the Lil' Wranglers/Little Britches Rodeo. My mission, since I chose to accept it, was to find out who the Todd County/Mellette County/Bennett County 4-Hers were and take photos of them.
This required me to sit outside allllllll day. I'm pasty white naturally. I thought that, if I applied my SPF 50 suntan lotion (supplied by my also-pasty white sister, Amy), this would be a good chance to get a tan.
I was wrong.
Six hours later, my back was the shade of raw meat. And it hurts.
I also have a beautiful assortment of other sunburnt body parts, including both knees, the right side of my right leg, my right arm, my nose, my right foot, and my scalp.
*sigh*
This required me to sit outside allllllll day. I'm pasty white naturally. I thought that, if I applied my SPF 50 suntan lotion (supplied by my also-pasty white sister, Amy), this would be a good chance to get a tan.
I was wrong.
Six hours later, my back was the shade of raw meat. And it hurts.
I also have a beautiful assortment of other sunburnt body parts, including both knees, the right side of my right leg, my right arm, my nose, my right foot, and my scalp.
*sigh*
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
The best part of my Fourth of July experience? Was it the lovely weather? The chance to be with family? The spectacular fireworks display by the river? No. It was the drunk man wandering around the hill yelling, "America! This is America!" Astute observation.
He wandered in front of people, looking for them to whoop in appreciation of his chant. When he got to the older generation, who just sort of stared at him, he got closer and said louder, "America! We are Americans!" still no response. "We can do anything if we put our minds to it!" I think at this point he received a polite nod, so he stumbled off.
I will say that he was not drunk enough to bother me or my mother, I'm guessing because he saw my dad and said, "oh he's a big fella!"
He wandered in front of people, looking for them to whoop in appreciation of his chant. When he got to the older generation, who just sort of stared at him, he got closer and said louder, "America! We are Americans!" still no response. "We can do anything if we put our minds to it!" I think at this point he received a polite nod, so he stumbled off.
I will say that he was not drunk enough to bother me or my mother, I'm guessing because he saw my dad and said, "oh he's a big fella!"
Monday, June 28, 2010
house sitting
The kitties decided to go crazy at 4:30 this morning. I was not impressed.
I suppose the silver lining would be that at least I have a reason to be annoyed by the interruption because I'm actually sleeping again.
I suppose the silver lining would be that at least I have a reason to be annoyed by the interruption because I'm actually sleeping again.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Little [Trailer] House on the Prairie
So, when my landlord turns any of the faucets on in the yard, it destroys my water pressure...meaning, my toilet won't flush, I can't do laundry, and it takes 10 minutes to fill an 8 ounce cup with water. Showers take awhile.
It's not uncommon for me to traipse outside in the wee hours to shut off the water that is watering the garden that just got rained on all night. Should be a bumper crop.
It's not uncommon for me to traipse outside in the wee hours to shut off the water that is watering the garden that just got rained on all night. Should be a bumper crop.
Little [Trailer] House on the Prairie
Know what hail on a tin-roofed trailer sounds like?
The apocalypse. That's what.
The apocalypse. That's what.
Little [Trailer] House on the Prairie
(this happened on Monday morning, but I will write it in present tense.)
This morning, I woke up cold. I stumbled into the bathroom, did what you do in bathrooms, and then noticed: a small grey mouse scratching along the surface of my toilet bowl.
I flushed. He didn't go anywhere (I do not have good pressure). Poor lil' fella was pretty wet by this point.
So, since I am unable to kill things, I caught him and put him outside. I wouldn't be surprised if he finds his way back in.
This morning, I woke up cold. I stumbled into the bathroom, did what you do in bathrooms, and then noticed: a small grey mouse scratching along the surface of my toilet bowl.
I flushed. He didn't go anywhere (I do not have good pressure). Poor lil' fella was pretty wet by this point.
So, since I am unable to kill things, I caught him and put him outside. I wouldn't be surprised if he finds his way back in.
Modern day Laura Ingalls
I have decided. This blog will be a mish-mash of two things: 1. the stupid situations that gravitate to my person, which leads into 2. my house.
I hope to someday convert it into book form, which will be entitled, "Little [Trailer] House on the Prairie"
It will be a must-read, I'm sure.
I hope to someday convert it into book form, which will be entitled, "Little [Trailer] House on the Prairie"
It will be a must-read, I'm sure.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Mom's Super-Hero Powers
1) Eyes in the back of her head
“I saw that!” you hear, and wonder for the umpteenth time, “How? How could you possibly have seen that when you’re facing the other direction?” So you ask. “Because I’m a mom,” she says. That’s really all the explanation you’ll ever get.
2) Magical healing powers
It doesn’t matter if it’s a broken leg or a paper cut – when you’re little and you’re hurt, nothing makes it better until Mom comes in and kisses it and says it will get better. And when I’m sick, my mom is still the only person I want to take care of me.
3) Super-sonic hearing
“I heard that!” On the off chance that their extra eyes fail them, Moms have a back-up plan: ridiculously tuned hearing. You can be in the next room, whispering, and she’ll hear you. Heck, you can be mouthing the words with no sound and she’ll still know. Somehow, she’ll know.
4) Laser vision
If you spill a crumb, she’ll find it. If you have a hair on your shoulder, she’ll pick it off. And to this day, it amazes me how I can walk into a room wearing an outfit that was clean (or so I thought) when I put it on, and before she even says hi, Mom’s eyes zero-in on a spot, stain or blemish. I might have to get a magnifying glass out to see it, but it’s the first thing she notices, therefore, I have to go change clothes.
5) Story-telling abilities
No professional training necessary – no one reads Dr. Suess like Mom.
6) Built in lie-detector
You have the perfect story. You were outside, playing innocently, and heard something crash in the house - you ran in and saw the lamp broken on the floor. It must have been your sister. Or the cat. Mom walks in, and before you even get past, “I” she shuts you down with one look and two hands on her hips. You hang your head and admit, yeah, you knocked the stupid lamp over. She nods like she saw it happen. How does she do that?
7) The ability to see the future
Somehow, she knows what’s going to happen before it does. And she tries to warn you:
“Don’t set that glass there – it will tip over.”
“You’ll catch cold.”
“Put that away or it will get broken.”
And naturally you disregard her advice, because she just worries too much. Then when your head cold hits and all you want to do is drink the juice that you just tipped over onto your broken stuff, you realize – maybe Mom does know best.
8) Super-sleuth skills
You dropped your contact and can’t see where it went. You can’t find that other matching sock. You swear you left your book on the kitchen table, but it’s not there. And now that you’ve wasted so much time looking for things, you’re running late and won’t have time for breakfast. You turn the house upside down, and then Mom comes to the rescue. In a matter of minutes you’re wearing both contacts, matching socks, book in tow and out the door munching on the toast she made for you. Life. Saver.
“I saw that!” you hear, and wonder for the umpteenth time, “How? How could you possibly have seen that when you’re facing the other direction?” So you ask. “Because I’m a mom,” she says. That’s really all the explanation you’ll ever get.
2) Magical healing powers
It doesn’t matter if it’s a broken leg or a paper cut – when you’re little and you’re hurt, nothing makes it better until Mom comes in and kisses it and says it will get better. And when I’m sick, my mom is still the only person I want to take care of me.
3) Super-sonic hearing
“I heard that!” On the off chance that their extra eyes fail them, Moms have a back-up plan: ridiculously tuned hearing. You can be in the next room, whispering, and she’ll hear you. Heck, you can be mouthing the words with no sound and she’ll still know. Somehow, she’ll know.
4) Laser vision
If you spill a crumb, she’ll find it. If you have a hair on your shoulder, she’ll pick it off. And to this day, it amazes me how I can walk into a room wearing an outfit that was clean (or so I thought) when I put it on, and before she even says hi, Mom’s eyes zero-in on a spot, stain or blemish. I might have to get a magnifying glass out to see it, but it’s the first thing she notices, therefore, I have to go change clothes.
5) Story-telling abilities
No professional training necessary – no one reads Dr. Suess like Mom.
6) Built in lie-detector
You have the perfect story. You were outside, playing innocently, and heard something crash in the house - you ran in and saw the lamp broken on the floor. It must have been your sister. Or the cat. Mom walks in, and before you even get past, “I” she shuts you down with one look and two hands on her hips. You hang your head and admit, yeah, you knocked the stupid lamp over. She nods like she saw it happen. How does she do that?
7) The ability to see the future
Somehow, she knows what’s going to happen before it does. And she tries to warn you:
“Don’t set that glass there – it will tip over.”
“You’ll catch cold.”
“Put that away or it will get broken.”
And naturally you disregard her advice, because she just worries too much. Then when your head cold hits and all you want to do is drink the juice that you just tipped over onto your broken stuff, you realize – maybe Mom does know best.
8) Super-sleuth skills
You dropped your contact and can’t see where it went. You can’t find that other matching sock. You swear you left your book on the kitchen table, but it’s not there. And now that you’ve wasted so much time looking for things, you’re running late and won’t have time for breakfast. You turn the house upside down, and then Mom comes to the rescue. In a matter of minutes you’re wearing both contacts, matching socks, book in tow and out the door munching on the toast she made for you. Life. Saver.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
fun at work
Since I gave my coworker my stuffed Garfield, he's had to find other things of mine to steal. So he took one of my tennis shoes and made a photo copy of it, and then wrote 'help me!' on the copy. He hid the shoe, and put the copy on my desk.
It took me awhile to find the shoe. I now have the copy taped to the side of my desk, so I can read the "help me!" every time I walk into the office and it makes me smile.
(yesterday I hid his banana as revenge - he thought it was our other coworker! victory!)
It took me awhile to find the shoe. I now have the copy taped to the side of my desk, so I can read the "help me!" every time I walk into the office and it makes me smile.
(yesterday I hid his banana as revenge - he thought it was our other coworker! victory!)
Pheasant run
So, last week as I drove home a pheasant decided to commit suicide via my car. He waited until there was no hope of escape, and then flew directly into my grill.
There was an explosion. And I don't just mean feathers. I had blood spatter on my windshield - not ok.
So, he flops up on my hood, then settles back down on the front of my car. I wonder why he hasn't fallen off yet, but chalk it up to the fact that maybe because I was going about 70 (I didn't even try to slow down - it would have been pointless) he was stuck on. So I swerve back and forth. He flops back and forth. Still stays there.
I don't worry about it too much - I'm only about a mile from my parents' house, I figure he'll fall off when I stop.
I pull up to the garage, and slam on brakes, again thinking that a hard stop will shake Mr. Pheasant off my car. Nope.
So, I get out of my car to inspect the damage. Now three cats and a dog flock to the front of my vehicle to inspect the roadkill. I think, "hey, maybe my dog will yank it off there so I don't have to touch it." So I go inside.
I come back out about 10 minutes later - Mr. Pheasant still hanging from my grill. I sigh and realize that he's not coming off without a little help. (note: I was talking to my mom on the phone at this point).
I grab the bird and try to pull him off. No give. This is when I start to get a little concerned. I pull harder. Nothing. Keep in mind that this bird's insides have been almost completely destroyed. It was kind of gross.
So I have this conversation with my mother:
"Mom - this pheasant is really stuck in there!"
mom: "Well, get a knife and cut his head off."
me: "It's not his head that's stuck!"
mom: "Well, then cut his leg off!"
me: "I don't want to cut anything off!"
Yeah, his leg was shoved almost all the way up into the grill. I don't know how. I don't know why. But I can't say it really surprised me all that much. After a few minutes of fruitless effort, I start picturing myself driving 15 hours to Ohio with a dead pheasant flopping around on my hood. Classy.
Luckily, I was finally able to get him out, and as I do, my dad goes "hey, pluck it and take some feathers to your friends in Ohio."
Because that's what every girl wants as a gift at her bridal shower - feathers from the pheasant you mutilated on the drive out.
So, I was able to drive to Ohio pheasant-free, but my car still looked like I'd been part of a hit-and-run. Awesome start to a weekend!
There was an explosion. And I don't just mean feathers. I had blood spatter on my windshield - not ok.
So, he flops up on my hood, then settles back down on the front of my car. I wonder why he hasn't fallen off yet, but chalk it up to the fact that maybe because I was going about 70 (I didn't even try to slow down - it would have been pointless) he was stuck on. So I swerve back and forth. He flops back and forth. Still stays there.
I don't worry about it too much - I'm only about a mile from my parents' house, I figure he'll fall off when I stop.
I pull up to the garage, and slam on brakes, again thinking that a hard stop will shake Mr. Pheasant off my car. Nope.
So, I get out of my car to inspect the damage. Now three cats and a dog flock to the front of my vehicle to inspect the roadkill. I think, "hey, maybe my dog will yank it off there so I don't have to touch it." So I go inside.
I come back out about 10 minutes later - Mr. Pheasant still hanging from my grill. I sigh and realize that he's not coming off without a little help. (note: I was talking to my mom on the phone at this point).
I grab the bird and try to pull him off. No give. This is when I start to get a little concerned. I pull harder. Nothing. Keep in mind that this bird's insides have been almost completely destroyed. It was kind of gross.
So I have this conversation with my mother:
"Mom - this pheasant is really stuck in there!"
mom: "Well, get a knife and cut his head off."
me: "It's not his head that's stuck!"
mom: "Well, then cut his leg off!"
me: "I don't want to cut anything off!"
Yeah, his leg was shoved almost all the way up into the grill. I don't know how. I don't know why. But I can't say it really surprised me all that much. After a few minutes of fruitless effort, I start picturing myself driving 15 hours to Ohio with a dead pheasant flopping around on my hood. Classy.
Luckily, I was finally able to get him out, and as I do, my dad goes "hey, pluck it and take some feathers to your friends in Ohio."
Because that's what every girl wants as a gift at her bridal shower - feathers from the pheasant you mutilated on the drive out.
So, I was able to drive to Ohio pheasant-free, but my car still looked like I'd been part of a hit-and-run. Awesome start to a weekend!
Friday, April 9, 2010
conversation with Rachel:
Ray: anything you need before i head for the land of crap?
Candy: hmmmmm
about $60,000
and my own private jet so I can just fly back and forth from oheeeeo
Rachel: how does 6 dollars and a homemade hot air balloon sound?
Candy: hahahahaha
well, it's a start.
Candy: hmmmmm
about $60,000
and my own private jet so I can just fly back and forth from oheeeeo
Rachel: how does 6 dollars and a homemade hot air balloon sound?
Candy: hahahahaha
well, it's a start.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
what?
Dumbest thing I've read so far today:
1) there is a "Rogaine" (Rugged Outdoor Group Activity Involving Navigation and Endurance)
2) this longest acronym in history is, "sanctioned by the United States Orienteering Federation"
maybe I'm just ignorant, but when I read this I said, "what? what does that even mean?" so then I looked it up and found 3) orienteering - "a competitive form of land navigation." - people do this for fun. not as part of boy/girl scouts, or basic training - just for fun.
wow.
1) there is a "Rogaine" (Rugged Outdoor Group Activity Involving Navigation and Endurance)
2) this longest acronym in history is, "sanctioned by the United States Orienteering Federation"
maybe I'm just ignorant, but when I read this I said, "what? what does that even mean?" so then I looked it up and found 3) orienteering - "a competitive form of land navigation." - people do this for fun. not as part of boy/girl scouts, or basic training - just for fun.
wow.
Easter spoils...
So, I got the Easter basket as promised. It contained a Wii-mote gun (so now I just HAVE to get some shooting games....), assorted chocolatey goodness, a big-@$$ chocolate bunny, jelly beans, and a special Easter-bunny pen.
It's a 'clickers,' which means that when I push the button to get the ball point to come out, something magical happens. The bunny's cute lil' body pops out!
I literally gasped and then giggled the first time I discovered it. I then sat at the kitchen table clicking it up and down, giggling each time. (yes, I repeat, I am 22 years old and fully on my own in the adult world.)
My mom just looked at me and said, "awww, did someone find a new toy???"
It's a 'clickers,' which means that when I push the button to get the ball point to come out, something magical happens. The bunny's cute lil' body pops out!
I literally gasped and then giggled the first time I discovered it. I then sat at the kitchen table clicking it up and down, giggling each time. (yes, I repeat, I am 22 years old and fully on my own in the adult world.)
My mom just looked at me and said, "awww, did someone find a new toy???"
Easter baskets!
I decided to go home for Easter since I hadn't been able to the entire time I was in college. So, the weekend before I'm chatting with my mom, and rather jokingly (but still hopeful) I ask, "So, Mom, since I'm coming home does that mean I get an Easter basket?"
Yes, I am 22 and on my own. I don't even care. Apparently, neither does my mom, because her response was, "Yep. I already have the stuff."
Best. Mom. Ever.
Yes, I am 22 and on my own. I don't even care. Apparently, neither does my mom, because her response was, "Yep. I already have the stuff."
Best. Mom. Ever.
Indian time
Yesterday, we got a call about a fund raiser that a class of 8th graders from our community were doing a fundraiser with the local police department - basic premise, they "arrest" officers on made-up charges, and then officers have to pledge their ways out.
So, I go over to the department to take some photos. I got there 45 minutes after the event was supposed to have started, and nothing was happening (they run on Indian time out here...it's kinda like "island time," except more extreme.) The parent volunteer told me to meet them at another location in about 45 minutes, they'd be ready then. I gave them my number, told them to call when they were ready.
So, I wait. And wait. And wait. No one calls, so I call the location where they were supposed to be. JDC (the location) has no idea where the kids/officers are, wondered if I knew what time they were planning on coming? Nope.
About half an hour later, I get a call from this parent - to tell me they're not coming. Waste of an afternoon!
So, I go over to the department to take some photos. I got there 45 minutes after the event was supposed to have started, and nothing was happening (they run on Indian time out here...it's kinda like "island time," except more extreme.) The parent volunteer told me to meet them at another location in about 45 minutes, they'd be ready then. I gave them my number, told them to call when they were ready.
So, I wait. And wait. And wait. No one calls, so I call the location where they were supposed to be. JDC (the location) has no idea where the kids/officers are, wondered if I knew what time they were planning on coming? Nope.
About half an hour later, I get a call from this parent - to tell me they're not coming. Waste of an afternoon!
If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all.
Yesterday was such a good day - sun was shining, paper distribution went amazing, coworkers and I had a blast, got a head start on stuff for next week's issue, didn't get one of the migraines that have been plaguing me - just a great day.
Then, about 20 minutes before the day was to end, I spilled some coffee on my keyboard. I turned it over, let it dry out overnight, thinking, "well...just maybe it will be ok."
No. Got to work this morning, and a few very important (almost said "key") keys don't work, like: 'i,' 'p', '8' 'd'...etc.
This is a big problem when 90% of your job involves computers, and specifically, typing.
So, right now I'm using my coworker's keyboard. Not sure what I'll do when he gets back.
Oh my life.
(p.s. - Baloo got stuck on the roof again last night. And I am planning on mailing my "ass on the front page" incident to Jay Leno.)
Then, about 20 minutes before the day was to end, I spilled some coffee on my keyboard. I turned it over, let it dry out overnight, thinking, "well...just maybe it will be ok."
No. Got to work this morning, and a few very important (almost said "key") keys don't work, like: 'i,' 'p', '8' 'd'...etc.
This is a big problem when 90% of your job involves computers, and specifically, typing.
So, right now I'm using my coworker's keyboard. Not sure what I'll do when he gets back.
Oh my life.
(p.s. - Baloo got stuck on the roof again last night. And I am planning on mailing my "ass on the front page" incident to Jay Leno.)
Monday, April 5, 2010
Tinker Bell
One of my favorite activities in life is harassing my mother. She and I have always been extremely close, and we have similar senses of humor. I'm actually a lot like her. And, after having five children - all of whom are just as, if not more, ornery as I – she's fairly unflappable. So, every now and then I have to up the ante. This is one of those times.
We're in Wal-Mart, my mom's least favorite store. And every time I said the name of something, she thought that meant I wanted to look at it, so she would stop and look at me. This resulted in me running into her on several occasions, until she finally said, "Stop saying things - it makes me think you want to look at them!"
This, naturally, made me do the opposite. I started calling out the names of pretty much everything we walked by. (Yes, I am 22 years old and on my own.) She stopped looking after about the third time. Finally, we got to the clothes section and there were these Disney t-shirts. So, I call out the first one that catches my eye and yell "Tinker Bell!"
Mom, without even turning around says, "Candy, knock it off or I'll Tink your Bell!"
After I recovered from laughing, I said, "Wow. That's the best threat ever."
Mom, again, without looking at me, "I'd be a little more concerned if I were you - you don't even know what it means."
I said,
I love my mom!
We're in Wal-Mart, my mom's least favorite store. And every time I said the name of something, she thought that meant I wanted to look at it, so she would stop and look at me. This resulted in me running into her on several occasions, until she finally said, "Stop saying things - it makes me think you want to look at them!"
This, naturally, made me do the opposite. I started calling out the names of pretty much everything we walked by. (Yes, I am 22 years old and on my own.) She stopped looking after about the third time. Finally, we got to the clothes section and there were these Disney t-shirts. So, I call out the first one that catches my eye and yell "Tinker Bell!"
Mom, without even turning around says, "Candy, knock it off or I'll Tink your Bell!"
After I recovered from laughing, I said, "Wow. That's the best threat ever."
Mom, again, without looking at me, "I'd be a little more concerned if I were you - you don't even know what it means."
I said,
I love my mom!
Catch!
This happened last summer. I was living at home, trying to help out my parents. My dad was having some health problems and always has projects that need to be done. But, even at 63 and with myriad health issues, he's still Superman and freakishly strong. This is what happened when he decided we needed to move a 500-gallon water tank out of the back of his shop. Keep in mind, that anything in the back is obstructed by 40 years worth of junk, and directly in front, our model-A tractor that is all taken apart because Dad is fixing/repainting it.
So, here's the conversation that followed:
Dad: Alright, I'm going to go back here, and I'll throw it over the tractor and you just catch it.
(I thought he was kidding. He wasn't.)
Me: Sure, Dad.
*a few minutes later, after "catching" it*
Dad: Now, I spose you want me to come over there and help you.
Me: That would be nice.
So, upon hearing about this, my big brother has something to say about it.
Tony: In Indiana, we just use a net and a volleyball.
Oh, my family.
So, here's the conversation that followed:
Dad: Alright, I'm going to go back here, and I'll throw it over the tractor and you just catch it.
(I thought he was kidding. He wasn't.)
Me: Sure, Dad.
*a few minutes later, after "catching" it*
Dad: Now, I spose you want me to come over there and help you.
Me: That would be nice.
So, upon hearing about this, my big brother has something to say about it.
Tony: In Indiana, we just use a net and a volleyball.
Oh, my family.
Cattin' around
Fun fact: when your cat makes a nuisance of himself batting his water dish around the bathroom while you're trying to unpack, it's his passive aggressive way of saying "I'm thirsty and there's nothing in here."
Friday, April 2, 2010
Whoops...
Fact: it is important to not add an extra 's' to the word 'as', else it detracts from the leading story on your newspaper's front page.
It gave my coworker great joy to point it out to me. I'm awesome.
It gave my coworker great joy to point it out to me. I'm awesome.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Oh, baby
In the middle of a FB chat, my dear Ray O' Sunshine blurts out: "So, you know how babies aren't supposed to be ugly? Ya, i just found one that is."
Thursday, March 25, 2010
God's country
Yesterday, as I sat at my desk typing, I look up and see a man on horseback ride past the Tribune front door.
I love South Dakota.
I love South Dakota.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Arf, arf, part deux
I think it warrants an update that this dog toy says "Play Nice" and now sits at my desk at work. When my coworkers start harassing me I squeak it and say, "Garfield says to play nice!" Or sometimes just to break the silence.
Yes, we're all adults.
Yes, we're all adults.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Arf, arf
My mom bought me a new Garfield beanie baby, which, when I grabbed, squeaked and scared the everlivin' outta me. Because closer inspection revealed that, "Mom,this is a dog toy."
"You're kidding."
"Nope - says it right there."
"Oh. Well I didn't know that. 'Course...I might have gotten it anyway."
"Thanks, Mom."
"You're kidding."
"Nope - says it right there."
"Oh. Well I didn't know that. 'Course...I might have gotten it anyway."
"Thanks, Mom."
Friday, March 5, 2010
Vaccuum fishing
So, I was cleaning out my vacuum's box and the filter fell into the dumpster...and I couldn't reach it. The only thing I could find in my house that was long enough to reach was a frying pan...so there I am at 10 p.m. in my jammies fishing a vacuum filter out of a dumpster with a frying pan.
I'm classy.
I'm classy.
Stabba, Stabba
Today, I stabbed myself with a fork and chopped off about half of the cuticle on my thumb.
Teach me to eat brownies at 8 a.m.
Teach me to eat brownies at 8 a.m.
Cat on a cold tin roof
So Baloo (my cat) was freaking out last night because he wanted to go outside. Tired of him curling around my feet in an attempt to see me face plant, I put him out for a couple of hours. When I open the door to let him in, he is nowhere to be found. He's needy enough that he normally comes when I call him.
So I call, "here kitty, kitty!" and of course my neighbor's two dogs come, but no cat.I can HEAR him, he sounds close - but I still can't see him.
Then I look up. There he is, on my ROOF. And he can't get down. My cat got stuck on the roof of my house. My tin-sided trailer house.
So I had to drive my car up under the awning of my porch, (and by "porch," I mean two levels of cement blocks in front of my door), climb up onto the hood of my car, and drag the cat down.
This is why I'm a dog person. Cats are dumb.
So I call, "here kitty, kitty!" and of course my neighbor's two dogs come, but no cat.I can HEAR him, he sounds close - but I still can't see him.
Then I look up. There he is, on my ROOF. And he can't get down. My cat got stuck on the roof of my house. My tin-sided trailer house.
So I had to drive my car up under the awning of my porch, (and by "porch," I mean two levels of cement blocks in front of my door), climb up onto the hood of my car, and drag the cat down.
This is why I'm a dog person. Cats are dumb.
Boiling Water
Today, I got to work early and put on the coffee. But I missed a very important step, because when my coworker arrived, he looked at the coffee pot and asked, "Who brewed the pot of water?"
My life is average.
My life is average.
Butterfingers
Woke up early, made breakfast, brought treats to work, got here early on layout day...then spilled half a container of Folgers on the floor. Dang it.
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