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.
Sunday, September 26, 2010
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!
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