Don't Call Us, We'll Call You...

I found out this week that I will not be working Gardner Village this October. Did they call and say, "Thanks for doing the witch thing for us but we're going in a different direction this year." No. Did they send us a pink slip to let us know we were no longer of service? No. How did I find out then, you might wonder…

I went on their website and looked on their October Calendar, where it states that "Ride to a Witch" will take place select weekends from Oct. 1—31, and you ride on a restored antique truck…



Okay, so that means we're out. Because I don't haul the folks around on the bed of a restored truck (which, by the way, is beautifully restored. And I hope it's mechanically sound. Because we kept two tractors out there, just in case one broke down, and two flatbed trailers, for the same reason. At one point last year Hard Rock had to run to a tire store and buy a new one because he got a flat and the tire shredded. So if their truck breaks down, they're f*cked. Because for $5, nobody's gonna "Walk to a Witch.")


Sigh.

I'll miss Gardner Village. It was an easy yet lucrative gig; it was eight minutes from my house, and I was home and in bed by 10 O'clock. Plus I got to work with Ro, which is always fun.

Okay, onto the "real" blog.

Last week carriage driver Kar and I were standing around shooting the breeze, trying to look busy when she suddenly said, "Guy in a skirt."

I, being my usual intelligent and observant self replied, "Huh?"

Kar pointed down the sidewalk and repeated, "Guy.in.a.skirt."

So I squinted, and tilted my head sideways and finally saw him waaaaay down the block.




Now, being me, I grabbed my camera and tried to get a photo but of course he was so far away it was difficult to make him out. So I left my camera on my carriage within grabbing distance and waited. Eventually he arrived at our location and instead of giving us a "WTF are you looking at me for" look he walked right up, introduced himself, and asked us if we would be willing to write down our idea of "The American Dream."

So I ignored that and right away asked if I could take his picture.




He actually has okay posture, he's just all hunched over like that because of the backpack. Turns out his name is Aaron Heideman and he's travelling the lower 48 states, asking people to record for him their version is of the American Dream. Yes, citizens, he's a writer. Now, back to the skirt. It's not often we see men wearing what is traditionally considered women's apparel. And when we do, they usually have their arms wrapped around a set of bagpipes, which indicates that they are not in fact in a skirt but are wearing a kilt which is different. Plus if you call it a skirt they will beat you senseless with their bagpipes. Anyway, what Aaron is wearing is not a kilt, nor it it exactly a skirt, it's a utilikilt. And he says it is very comfortable and good to travel in.

Imagine if Carhartt made cargo skirts in that ugly Carhartt tan, for men. Now imagine if all the construction workers started wearing them. Now imagine they all have to climb ladders, and ask you to hold the ladders for them.

Ugh. Never mind. That's just nuts.

Anyway, you can read all about Aaron's exploits at
American Dream Or Bust

There Is No Warranty Against Insanity

I have a pool. It's nothing grand; people who usually vacation at the Atlantis Resort on Paradise Island in the Bahamas will not flock to my backyard any time soon. It's large enough for me to get into, as opposed to Luna's pool,
Luna's Pool
which I would not want to get into because it's dirty and has a distinct "Eau de Moist Chien" aroma about it.

Anyway, I purchased a solar cover for my pool. Living as I do in the desert with the low humidity, it can be very hot during the day but as soon as the sun goes down it rapidly cools. With a solar cover, the idea is that as the sun warms the pool, the little bubbles create extra mass (similar to a serrated blade being "longer" than a straight blade. The serrations add length; the bubbles add surface space or volume.) The cover also allows the air in the bubbles to heat up with then helps heat the water, and the cover helps retain the heat and also decreases evaporation.

So, I have a solar cover. Over this past spring into summer I've noticed after removing the solar cover a bunch of the "bubbles" have remained in the pool. In fact, often times it looks like I'm swimming with a jillion contact lenses, or very tiny appendage-less jellyfish. So, unable to locate my receipt (of course) I called the company I purchased it from, asked them to look up my sale via my customer number, and found out that, contrary to usual M.O. I did not in fact buy the cheapest piece of crap they sell, but one with a 2 year full and 8 year partial warranty.

And, the item is still under warranty. The helpful operator advised me the steps I needed to do to submit a claim:

Cut a 12x12 piece of the cover out.




Write a letter with my information on it so they can verify the purchase.

Slip the cover sample and the letter into a padded envelope…

???



Excuse me? A PADDED envelope? To ship stuff that is essentially really thick bubble wrap?

Insane.

Rock Of Ages

I don't have all of my ticket stubs, but I do have quite a few...

Nope, I didn't suddenly curl up and die. I got new bedroom furniture which precipitated a round of painting the walls and moving stuff around and… well, you get the picture. I was busy!

Friday night we attended a concert for which I've had tickets in my possession for eleven months now. It was supposed to happen last November but then one old man got sick, then the other old man got sick and…well it was rescheduled.

I have been an Elton john fan since I was fourteen years old. I mean, a big time EJ fan. The first concert I ever attended was the Elton John Band performing at the Chicago Stadium. I went with my two best friends, Lynn and Carol, their mothers, and Lynn's brother Tommy. My friend Carol's Tanta (Aunt) Frieda had a nephew who was working his way through medical school by scalping tickets. (In Chicago it's not about who you are, it's all about the friend of a buddy who knows a guy…) He was able to get us main floor, third row center seats and generously charged us face value.

We ponied up $8.95 a ticket. A man seated next to us using a zoom lens on his camera told us we were 17 feet away. It was the best concert I've ever been to.

A few of the photos from the 1977 Elton John concert I attended. he jumped around a lot more then.







Over the years I've seen Elton a number of times, and in 2001 my older brother bought me a pair of tickets to see Elton John and Billy Joel during the Kansas City stop in their Face to Face tour for my 40th birthday.

That concert was awesome.

I also drove from Kansas City to Chicago with The Kid and my friend Shelley to see Bernie Taupin's (Elton's lyricist) band Farm Dogs perform at the House of Blues. I was able to tick off an item on my "bucket list" of "Meet Bernie Taupin" before I die.

Bernie Taupin with Slave Driver from 1999 or so.



That's how dedicated (and insane) of a fan I am.

Several years ago we took The Kid to an EJ concert, and before the encores she was telling us, "It's a school night and we should be leaving because I have to get up early tomorrow morning."

I laughed at her. She's not a fan. I should have omitted her ticket and used the extra money to get us better seats. She is however, a Billy Joel fan, and that's all my fault. We used to cruise the gravel roads of Platt County, Missouri in a Le Baron convertible with the top down and the stereo cranked, blasting Billy Joel tunes out into the universe. Her slightly warped version of a bucket list (it's good she's starting young) included "See Billy Joel before he dies."



I guess, given the age difference, it's all a matter of perspective.

Billy Joel



So we went to the concert last week and it was phenomenal. I expected that, being that they are two consummate performers.

Elton John



The Piano Men

What I didn't expect was the variety of people in attendance. We noticed an elderly gentleman (70's or so) being assisted up the stairs by another gentleman in his 50's. The Kid sat next to a woman who looked about 10 years older than myself (she was alone) and the two of them danced the entire night, a 16 year old and a 60-ish lady, having a grand time together.

The Kid and her new friend bustin' a move




So that's why I've been MIA. Sorry, but once in a while I have to ditch the internet, and deal with real things.

Pssst...

I know, I know, I was supposed to post yesterday, but really, people, I got nothing', unless you absolutely must hear how I've done laundry for two days straight. Or maybe my shopping trip to Sam's Club where I stocked up on toilet paper so my family won't have to go without and use my State Line Tack catalog while I work Sundance...

Seriously, there's nothing going on. Except the Bob Mayer workshop in June, but you don't get in on that yet, because you're not URWA. You non-URWA people must wait until March to sign up for that. But all of you are welcome to the book signing; To buy, that is, or just ogle. You must be URWA to participate. And, of course, you must have written and published a book, also. Very important in a minor detail sort of a way.

Anyway, I'm rambling. I have the Sundance Volunteer party tomorrow night so here's hoping something interesting happens. Something worth blogging about. Not, you know, like somebody had clean clothes...


PS;




(This is Rudy. He is one of the barn dogs. Last Friday we took Ro out to lunch for her birthday. When we returned, Rudy was waiting by the front door. Ro thought he had dragged a huge rock out front; turns out he stole a loaf of home-made bread off the counter and was parading around with his trophy in his mouth prouder than shit. He's a naughty dog, but Ro loves him anyway. And hey, it wasn't her loaf of bread...)

The TV That Ate The Livingroom

There's been a bit of a kerfluffle going around in Casa Del Slave Driver the past couple of weeks. Mr. Slave Driver got a line on a big screen TV from a friend of a guy that he works with. For. Sale. Cheap. It only needed minor repair. Every man's dream, a high Def Jumbo-Tron in the basement/man cave for very small change.

I wasn't overly thrilled- although I admit that the television in the basement has been acting up over the last couple of years. We call it the "Mystery" TV. The mystery part being if once you hit the power button will it go on or not. Mostly you hit the power and it will turn on, eventually, many times scaring the bejesus out of you when, an hour after you hit the button and gave up on it and moved on to reading a book, it springs to life flaunting Oprah (shudder) or Regis (double shudder.)

Anyway, so I suppose we could use a television that responds the way an electronic device is designed to- on demand. I said, "Merry Christmas. That's your gift, I guess." And left it at that, getting occasional updates as to how the Jumbo-tron was doing at the TV infirmary. Yesterday it was ready. Fixed up, healthy, and ready to be transported home. Mr. SD got a buddy (the same buddy that incited the saga in the first place) to assist in the retrieval of the Jumbo-Tron and they delivered it while I was at work.

It won't fit in the basement. In fact, it won't make it around the first corner in the living room to the basement.



So I guess it'll be going in the living room. Where it will take up the space that used to be occupied by a TV and an entertainment center complete with shelves full of horses, photographs and nicknacks.

Sigh.

Folks, I have to tell you, I've owned automobiles smaller that this TVzilla. It comes up to my nose. (Okay, I admit that I'm not tall but holy crap!)



Well, at least I'll never worry about it getting stolen.

It makes the 32 inch TV look like a toy, doesn't it? Maybe in the summer we can park the car on the front lawn and watch it through the front window- pretend we're at the drive-in.

Ouchie Wha-Wha…

My friend Stacey over at Jumping-Percheron got whapped in the leg by her horse and I'm sure that will leave a mark. Over here, I haven't been hurt by a horse since Annie jerked me and pulled a muscle in my shoulder which hurt like hell for a week or two.

Right now I'm suffering, and mind you I have a very high tolerance for pain, so when I say suffering it means a lot. Right now, for example, I am sitting in a chair that I never sit in to type because I cannot get up off of the couch I usually work at.

What the heck did I do? I don't know, but I've had it before. It's called Costochondritis. There is a spot on the left side of my chest that feels like I've gotten hit by a National League Fastball. Imagine, if you will, that every time you move, lean, twist, sneeze, cough, or breathe, someone sticks two or three forks in the spaces between your ribs. Rusty forks. With metal spurs.

Anyway, I went to the doctor and got lots of drugs so I can kick this things ass before Black Friday, when I'll be working all day long and on and on for 5 days straight.

I.must.get.well.now.

So sorry this is a short blog (in fact for many of you it's probably a relief) but the meds have kicked in and I must rest.

Have a great week.

Rules? Nobody Told Me About Any Stinking RULES!

New rules for bloggers: If you review or endorse something, you must disclose if you received any compensation for doing so.

Okay, that's fair. But here's the deal…I had no idea that there were any rules to begin with. Now, I'm familiar with the term libel, and rarely go far enough in my rants to open myself to a lawsuit. I'm also smart enough to follow the old adage, "You never shit in your own backyard." But that's more of a guideline than a law, anyway. So hearing that they were rules regarding bloggers which fall under advertising…

News to me.

So, in the interest of full disclosure, I want to advise all of you about the following items which I use and endorse and if someone wants to PAY me to endorse them, well, bring it on…

Cash: I use cash. I like it a lot. Cash is my favorite kind of currency. If you currently manufacture cash and are looking for an enthusiastic cash endorser, I'm your girl. I'll even be happy to do an info-mercial and demonstrate how cash is used and the way it works. By the way, any samples of cash you give me for demonstration purposes, I get to keep.

My tag line: Cash, it's what the world wants.

Food: I like food, and am willing to endorse food. Except for tofu, you can keep that shit all to yourself. I'm talking real food, the kind of food that things must die in order for you to get it. Beef, popcorn, cheap wine and chocolate top my personal food pyramid, so if you have any of those things and want me to endorse them, bring it, I'm game.

My tag line: Food, it's what's for eatin'.

Sleep: I love sleep and get as much sleep as I possibly can, although there are times when it seems that sleep is in very short supply around here. So, if you want to pay me to sleep for you? I can do that. I'll even give you a "sleep endorsement" discount.

My tag line: Sleep, so easy you can do it in your sleep.

(It should be clear to you now why I never dabbled in advertising)

I also endorse such random things as personal hygiene, television and movies, music, and clothing. Especially clothing, except anything made from Lycra. There are very few people in the world who can pull off Lycra. I know I can't, and my eyeballs are tired of being traumatized by those who think they can, but can't. Seriously. Which is why I also endorse mirrors, and I mean real mirrors, not the fun house kind that make short fat people look all tall and thin. And if you are not sure if your mirror is operating properly, you might need to have it calibrated. To do this you weigh yourself (top number), and measure for height (bottom number). If the top number greatly exceeds the bottom, you cannot wear Lycra, which your mirror should plainly prove. For example, my numbers are 154/65. That translates to "No Lycra for me."

My tag line: Mirrors, they should not be ignored.

I also endorse books, and to demonstrate my endorsement, I'm going to end this and get back to editing mine.

Paid endorsement proposals can be directed to:

SLCSlaveDriver@gmail.com

Thank you for your support.

Mares Eat Oats, And Does Eat Oats, And Little Lambs Eat...Oh, Crap!

It's been an exciting weekend around here, sports fans. Let's see; first I went camping for the weekend, not too far away, just over to Nunn's Park in Provo Canyon.

Ro stopped by, with her son, to see Bridal Veil Falls because she's never been there, although she was born and raised in Utah.



(Insert eyeroll here.)

Then on Sunday morning I checked my mail on my phone and I got an email from a person I know in NYC who is in the carriage industry asking if everything out here was alright. She knew about the runway.

"Runway?" I say to myself. "What about the runway? Out by the airport? I don't live by SLI; the carriage barn isn't by the airport…WTF is going on at the …" I read the message again and it says "Runaway". Okay; in my defense I didn't have my reading glasses on and I neglected to hold my phone at arms legnth. So, now I start to tweak. My friend ~A~ was working last night. My other friends were working last night. What the heck… so I call Ro.

Ro has no idea what I am talking about. She tells me to call Kar. But first I call ~A~, but she doesn't answer. Then I call Kar. As it ends up she did not work last night due to an unrelated injury. Finally it's Marky-Mark who I call, last because I figured he was in church, but he gave me the skinny and you can have it too, right here

And here:

Aaaannddd here and here and, well, you get the picture.

A horse has an episode, does a small amount of damage to a parked car, freaks some people out, runs over a cop's bicycle (which he kind of ditched under the carriage when he came to the aid of the driver) and it MAKES THE NATIONAL NEWS.

Hey, guess what? Last week the guy who lives at the end of my block ran a red light and got T-boned by a semi. He was killed instantly. Also last week a guy ran over his kid and it died. Ted Kennedy succumbed to brain cancer. Will you be seeing stories about brain cancer, distracted driving and Spot the Tot? No. Why? Because, PETA wants you to believe that animals are more important than people, that's why. And because there is no organization full of zealots called PETP.

Bad things happen around the world every single day, and much of it will never hit the national wire services. A lot of it won't even make your local news. Why? Because stories about things that we have been desensitized to are just not "news". 120 years ago a "story" about a horse that runs off was not news. Today it's a sensation. A call to arms.

Which makes me ask, where were the boo-hooers and the hand wringers when a guy pulled his horse out of a trailer out in Utah county, shot it, and left it to rot in a ditch? Where were the online news story commenter's when they found five dead horses out in the Grantsville/Tooele area?

And where are the ALF folks when the person in charge of the Norfolk, VA humane society left her dog in her car for four hours on a hot day, and then it succumbed later that night because of the heat?

Oh, yeah, they're going to be sitting in their air conditioned offices raging because Jim decided to spook. That's where.

Silly me.

So, here we were at lunch today, discussing the incident. Property damage. Minor (very minor) injuries to the driver, Jim the horse walks away unscathed. We discussed how it hit the AP wires, and what the other possible fallout could be, besides the owners being responsible for the damage to the car and the bike. We go our separate ways.

Later Ro calls and tells me: Hey, I got a call from a lady this afternoon. She saw the report on the news this morning, and she says, "My daughter is getting married and I thought what a nice way to have them leave the reception. So I copied the phone number down from the video and called to book a carriage."

(Insert Ro and I, ROTFLOAO)

I guess there is no such thing as bad publicity.

There's a UFO in My Yard...

That's right, I said it, a UFO.

No, I'm not one of those folks who wears a metal colander to keep "Them" from reading my brainwaves, and my windows are not decorated with curtains made of tin foil...

I have an Unidentified Flowering Object in my front yard.

When the subject is horticulture, I am as sad and pathetic as they come. A complete idiot. When I buy plants I have to keep those plastic name/planting directions tags with the plant or else I can't for the life of me remember what the heck it is. That's also helps me remember what is a weed and what is a plant, so when I do a slash and burn in my flowerbed I don't kill the stuff I've paid for.

Anyway, I was weeding this morning and came across this guy:




Now, I have Columbine, which looks like this:


And the leaves on the new guy kind of resemble those of the Columbine:


New Guy


Columbine leaves


but,


I don't remember buying this plant, and there's no plastic tag around to tell me what it is. So...

If you have any idea, could you clue me in? Then I'll know if I should pull it or enjoy it.

And thanks, because you know it takes a village to raise an idiot.

STAN! The Musical!

(On 4/22/09 this entry was edited to add:
For you newbies, "Stan" is the name I've given to the Sarcoid Tumor that has taken up residence on my horse Dreamer's leg. I gave it a name because it was either name it or give it a ZIP code.)

To fully appreciate this post you need to understand a few things:

1) I have a LOT of free time
2) I am known to make up parodies of songs because I'm weird
3) I'm weird
4) You should have already figured that out by now
5) I love music and have a propensity to remember and sing the lyrics to popular song for years yet I'll forget your name within 30 seconds of being introduced to you.


So it's no surprise that today while re-potting some Fuchsia plants I got over the weekend and expect to kill in just a few days, I was pondering the Stan problem and humming a tune.

This is what you get when I combine them:

"Stan", sung to the tune of "Ben", by Michael Jackson, theme song from the movie "Willard"

"Stan, both Buzz and I should look some more,
We've not found the cure we're searching for,
With a Vet to call my own, I don't fight you alone,
The tumor that you be, dried up and dead to me,
(Dried up and dead to me)

Okay, maybe not. How about something a little more upbeat:

"Hello Stanley", sung to the tune of "Hello Dolly" by Jerry Herman

Hello Stanley, gotta go, Stanley,
It's so nice to send you back where you belong,
You look like hell, Stanley.
I can tell, Stanley,
We keep sprayin', you keep stayin', you keep getting red
But not for long, Stanley,
Must be gone, Stanley,
Just like the skin appeared here way back when, friend…

Nope, that’s too peppy. Maybe something a little more dramatic.

Xxterra Rhapsody, sung to the tune of "Bohemian Rhapsody", By Queen

Mama, I'm killing Stan,
Put the ointment on his head,
used Xxterra, wished him dead,
Mama, Stan just can't be killed,
I took that cash and threw it all away…

Mama, ooooooooh,
Didn't mean to waste my time,
When I come to the barn again tomorrow,
I'll smear Stan, I'll smear Stan,
Cuz the money doesn't matter…

Too late, Stan's time has come,
Sends shivers down my spine,
checkbooks empty all the time,
Goodbye sarcoid tumor, you've got to go,
Gotta leave my horses leg and go away.
Mama, oooooooooh
Stanley just won't die
I wish that he had never showed up at all…

I'm just a sarcoid, nobody wants me
(He's just a sarcoid from the wart family
Spare my poor horse from this monstrosity)
Easy come, just won't go,
Tell me why Stan won't go…

Okay, maybe that's too operatic.
How about something a little more sublime:

Sarcoid Love sung to the tune of "Muskrat Love" by America

"Sarcoid tumor, named him Stan,
Grows on Dreamers leg out in stable-land,
And you're yucky, Dreamer's not lucky,
Sarcoid tumor, warty Stan,
Gonna kill you off with my own two hands ,
And you're smelly, oozing like jelly,
And we spray, and we smear and we slice you
Ginsu off pieces and dice you,
Wrap you in a layer of goo,
Oh Stan, we'll kill you, oooooooooooooh"

I can see "Stan Karaoke Night" being a popular pastime at Casa Slave Driver. I'm sure I can come up with a suitable tune. Maybe something by Nirvava…

Pappa's Got a Brand New Bag...

Thursday started off like most Thursdays do. Read the newspaper, coffee, checking e mail and blog status. I noticed on the Feedjit that someone visited from Murray, Kentucky by Googling "morgan freeman, d.v.m." He's our barn Vet. I didn't check the link, which I do sometimes because I'm 50% anal-retentive and 50% curious.

On a whim I called Ro, barn manager extraordinaire. She works Thursdays, Fridays and Mondays and sometimes I drive downtown and we have lunch together. Occasionally we are joined by MBA, The Fabulous Todd, or the carriage company owner, but today it was just the two of us.

During lunch I mentioned the Murray, Kentucky blog visitor. We hurried through our meal because she needed to get back to the carriage barn. Kid, one of the longest employees of Carriage for Hire, was being retired and Crazy Shelley, a driver of ours, was meeting us there at 1:00 pm to fill out the paperwork. Crazy Shelley, who is not as crazy as her name denotes, works for the Hippotherapy program where Kid was retiring. I guess retiring is not what happened to Kid, but for a carriage horse to go from working one or two days a week pulling carriage to walking around a soft arena with a little kid on his back an hour or two a day is the equivalent of a steelworker going from working the mills to becoming a greeter at Wal-Mart. Enough mental and physical exercise to keep them sharp, but not enough to wear them out. For Kid, who is broke to drive and ride and absolutely loves children, it's a perfect match.

When Crazy Shelley arrived I asked her about the program Kid was entering into. She told me it was called Courage Reins, and advised that Kid would be well cared for and loved. The love part is very important to us. (Right, Belle's Personal Assistant?) We do do love our equine co-workers, and it's good when they leave us for a place where they are showered with as much affection as they get from us. Marky-Mark, for example, will be heartbroken.

I had to leave, errands calling me away from my final fare-well to kid. But I took a couple of pictures with my cell phone for my virtual scrapbook.

Ro styled Kid's forelock. I think it’s called the "Sideshow Bob" look.






Anyway, I took off and went to Wal-Mart where I bought some lettuce starters. I had a big garden when we lived on the farm in Missouri, and miss the lettuce the most. Being able to walk out your door and pick a salad is handy and rewarding. I just don't eat enough greens these days.

When I returned home Ro called and asked if I could work; they were desperate, having booked three appointments all at 6pm and only having two drivers scheduled for the evening. So, after some whining and finagling, I agreed. But before I left the house to return downtown, where I had just been, I checked the Feedjit again, clicking on the Murray, Kentucky link out of that anal-retentive curiosity.

A Morgan Freeman, D.V.M. inquiry brings up only two links: Confessions of a Slave Driver, Cletus Master of the Urineverse and Courage Reins.

How freaky is that?

And, on a totally unrelated note, Carriage Driver Kar told me that last week she was explaining to some children what a horse's Chestnuts are. If you don't know, go here. Anyway, when she'd finished her lesson she was approached by a man who called her a "Blasphemous Blasphemer." You know, it's an evolution vs creation thing. She was mildly impressed that he could say it so fast without tripping over it like a tongue-twister.

So, from now on Carriage Driver Kar's nickname is "BB, Darwin's Satanic Imp."

"Bill, There Are Strange Things Afoot at the Circle K"

"I don't want you taking no more stinking pictures of me!!!"

It's been an odd week.

Monday morning my neighbor called. Her ex is a cop. She advised me to go into lockdown mode because some suicidal nutjob was walking around our neighborhood, sporting a handgun. I had to go outside and bring the old blind/deaf dog in. It's difficult to keep a low profile if you're standing out in the backyard in your jammies yelling "COWBOY!!! Get your ass in the house!!!"

I wasn't scared. After all, my home protection equipment includes a deaf/blind/circling the drain Border collie whose gas passing could subdue even the most hardened of criminals, and the accessory dog, a Pomeranian, who I could easily throw at an intruder. Believe me, her breath would knock you out. Plus I have a gun. I just can't remember where I put it. Someplace safe, I'm sure. Eventually they found said nutjob, all in one piece, the next street over. The last time something like this happened a mountain lion was three doors down.

Stan

Tuesday I went to see how Stan was doing. He's still attached to Dreamer's leg. I was without an assistant, so I had to squat, hold camera with right hand, hold apple with left hand, take picture and avoid having my fingers munched. Naturally, in the midst of this my phone rings, Dreamer lobs apple spuz at my hair, and my pinky gets bit.
It was Ro. She wanted to meet for lunch.
More apples, please...



Later, back home, a young woman came to the door. I think she was selling some magazine thing…she kept talking about points and 200 children and a contest; her patter was very smooth and practiced…I was distracted by her tongue stud, which made her sound like she had a cue ball lodged in her mouth. Now, I'm sure I was staring, and sometimes when I get fixated on a thing I appear to have major retardation problems. She kept instructing me to open or flip the brochure and since I had a difficult time comprehending WTF she was saying, the girl would snatch it from my grasp and open or flip according to the rest of her spiel.

Finally, unable to take the mush mouth hard sell I said, "I don't want any magazines."

She yanked her brochure away from me and said, "Well, it's not about the magazines, it's about the children!" Real snotty like.

I guess that was supposed to make me feel bad. Unbeknownst to her…I don't like other people's children. I am turning into the lady that yells at kids for playing in my yard and confiscates the softballs that are lobbed over the fence. She would have been better off plying me with liquor or puppies. Oh well, her loss.

Wednesday I was Juror number 64705568. Since Friday night I have had to call a phone number every evening after 5PM to see if I was needed the next day. Tuesday night I was the lucky winner. In the morning I arrived at the appointed time (8:30) with a book (highly recommended) in "appropriate attire" (business casual) to do my civic duty. This is not a problem for me, remember, I don't have a "real" job. And they were giving me $18 just to show up. Jackpot!

No, I was not picked. In fact, none of us even got in because the case was continued. So, after 2.5 hours, we were dismissed.

Now, allow me a moment to comment on Appropriate Attire; Business Casual. Apparently, the term "Business Casual" is purely subjective. And, quite frankly, I can see where it would be. After all, who is setting the standard? For me, business casual means I wear black jeans, a white button down collared shirt, and ditch the Tuxedo jacket. Business formal, of course, would require the Tux and a tie along with my hat.

I dressed in khakis, nice blouse, Armani jacket (Hey, don't get all excited, I got it at DI for $8) and shoes without horse crap embedded in them. In other words, respectable looking.

Now, you run, say, an investment firm, business casual might be dress pants and a Oxford shirt, no tie, maybe a sport coat to complete the ensemble. Conversely, if you run, say, the Tilt-A-Whirl, business casual might be greasy jeans and a Motley Crue t-shirt with less than 3 battery acid holes. So, see? Purely subjective.

And I gotta say, way more roustabouts than investment bankers there. Although at this point in economic time I could be wrong. They might all be dressing about the same.

Breaking News!!!

I know it's been a while since I updated the Confessions blog and I could tell you that it's because I have been so immersed in writing, carriage driving, the Sundance Film Festival, and all the other aspects of my totally glamorous and exciting life that I have been too busy to blog, but here is the shameful and dirty truth:

Nothing has been going on. Nada. Zip. Zero. Bupkiss.

Why? Because I haven't worked since December 27, except for going into the barn and stripping my carriage of Christmas decorations. Sundance doesn't start until this Friday, and I lead a relatively quiet and boring life.

But I'm okay with that. Exciting is no good. Boring is fine. If I want exciting I'll watch TMZ, thanks.

Now that I've brought you to the edge of comatose, I will shove you into pure vegetative state with what I have been doing:

I watch a lot of movies in January. In the last 48 hours I have seen

Hamlet 2

Ghost Town

Burn After Reading

The Shining, which was on HBO Monday evening

Mad Dog Johnny, which was a Sundance Volunteer screening last night

Appaloosa. We saw this in the theaters when it came out because it was a Western and The Husband enjoys Westerns. Unfortunately, it was not a good Western. A good Western is a movie like "Jack the Bull" with John Cusack .

I totally forgot that 1) we had seen Appaloosa in the theaters, and 2) it sucked much, so 3) I rented it at Blockbuster by accident. Because it was a Western.

Too bad for me they don't give you a do over because you are an idiot.

This week I also went shopping for new ski goggles. Now, let me explain something to you about me. I am the most frugal person who ever walked the earth. Cheapness so ingrained in my psyche that I squeak when I walk. So, after having a minor heart attack looking at the prices of ski goggles (I cracked mine, and although still useable they are not exactly good, and I have a birthday coming up…) I took my helmet and descended upon the sporting good stores like a locust, trying on every pair they had until I found just the perfect fit.

Then I came home and bought them on eBay for a savings of $50. Happiness abounds.

Have you fallen asleep yet? If not read on, you will.

The heater in my jeep died last week. I agonized about where I would take it for repair. Luckily for me, everyone was too busy to fit me in. I tore down the dash, diagnosed a bad switch (partial melting on one of the prongs) and walked around the local Pick & Pull junk yard for two hours on Sunday. It cost me a dollar to get in there, and I was pissed because there were no jeep Wranglers to be found. On the upside it was 2 for 1 Sunday so The Husband got in for free, and I let him to carry my tool box while I perused the selection of dead cars. This makes him feel like he's helping. He isn't into fixing stuff like I am. He'd rather go buy a new one. The cheap gene, it ends up, is really a nature vs. nurture thing.

I checked for the part on, you guessed it, eBay, and I could have gotten it for $35 and $10 bucks shipping. Instead I called the local Chrysler and got it from the parts department for $24. Drove the nine miles and picked it up. Installed it and re-assembled the dash in about 20 minutes. I even found all of the screws. YAY! Now I won't have to scrape the windshield on the inside when it's cold out, and I saved myself about $150, if I'd taken it to a mechanic. I'll let the Pick & Pull dollar slide. If you ever need to reinforce to someone the importance of wearing their seat belt, take them for a stroll around a junk car yard. Best dollar you will ever spend.

Also this week I got a call from Ro, carriage barn manager extraordinaire, and listened while she threatened to kill drivers because she can't get any of them to work in January.( It's too cold and you don't make any money.) I reminded her that I am on sabbatical, thus dodging any of her wrath. But I do sympathize with her, and knowing that she has a birthday coming up also I figure I will get her a gift. She is a jewelry hound, and I'm thinking about one of those rings with the compartment you can put powder in to poison someone's drink while their attention is elsewhere because you've said, "Hey, look! There goes Elvis!" (Which, by the way, we do say because we, in fact, have a driver named Elvis.)

Now, I have no idea where one might purchase that type of ring. But I think I'll start with eBay.

Randomness...

A few observations during my down time:

When you get a new cell phone, especially a model you have no previous experience with because, say, it's sleek and sexy looking with lots of fun features; make sure that, besides showing you how to access the internet, games and music, the helpful associate also demonstrates how to actually dial a call.

Unless you live someplace warm, the heater in your car is a necessity.

The minute you think you've put all the Christmas decorations away you will find something either behind the couch or stuck in your dog's tail fur. Most likely both.

Your dog, despite your best intentions, will not appreciate having his tail un-decorated.

If you have nothing to do, the weather will be beautiful. If you have an entire agenda of things that absolutely, positively must get accomplished, it will all go to crap in very short order.

When you find yourself in a hurry, whatever you need to complete the process you are attempting to finish will break down: Most people are unaware that it's due to a mysterious component called a "Critical Need Sensor", and Mother Nature, along with most electric appliances/computers/copy machines and small children have them in some form or another.

Allowing mechanical things to perform "Spontaneous Self Repair" is inexpensive in the short term only.

The Shins should only be listened to with head phones. There are always weird background noises on their tracks.

487 channels on satellite and the only thing worth watching are re-runs of "NCIS".

It's Raining Cats and...Nevermind.

Okay, this is a quickie since I have to go to The Fabulous Todd's Fabulous Christmas Party in a few minutes so…

What is the weirdest horse/barn/farm thing that has ever happened to you?

I'll start:

Once upon a time I was a mare handler for a Quarterhorse breeder in Missouri. The owner and I were standing in the hall of the barn when it suddenly began to rain Kittens.

Okay, it was two kittens. But suddenly two kittens fell from the sky…

Okay, they fell through the trap door for the hayloft above us.

Anyway, two kittens fell from the hayloft and landed smack! on the ground between the two of us. One got up and ran away. The other had a broken neck.

We silently looked at each other, then up at the trap door, as if expecting more kittens. No more came.

Weird, huh?