I'm so much better conscious?

Or at least more predictable anyway...

I do stuff when I am asleep. I should be grateful because I used to do way more things. Unconscious me has decided to narrow it down to phone usage. I used to walk around, sometimes outdoors and for a small spell I would often wake up in the craziest of places. Is unconscious me getting lazy? No one really knows because conscious me is kept in the dark about the whole thing. Anyway, I find myself checking my phone in the morning and often times finding the most awful things have happened. Whacko text messages, voicemail from people wondering what the hell I was talking about, the likes. I go to take a break the other day (making people shocked is just draining) and thought I would play a little phone game while taking said break. I open my games apps and what do I find? PacMan! Is unconscious me trying to tell me something? Does she think I need more fun in my life or is she just trying to show me she is not just some crazy bitch who sets me up to run damage control after she wreaks havoc? Or maybe this is her way of apologizing for all the other shit she happily partakes in? Again, this will remain a mystery because conscious me and unconscious me do not communicate. The ironic part is that I don't even really enjoy PacMan all that much. I have never been especially good at it. They say practice makes perfect and it has been downloaded so I am making the best of it. Death to little colorful ghosts and all that jazz.

Who's bad as using their "inside voice"?

I have been working up the street a ways at Jordan Furniture installing all their graphics for the Enchanted Village. I was kept on a pretty short leash today as a lot of the "higher ups" came in to scrutinize all the work that is being done. In fact, Eliot the pony tail wearing hippy looking owner dude of Jordan Furniture showed up to see the enchanted going ons.



At the risk of being redundant and lame, he seemed completely enchanted by everything. He also looked me straight in the eye and asked me how my day was going. I answered a bit to cheerily or loudly or something because everyone gave me "the look" (I get that a ton when they "higher up professionals" are observing our work) and he seemed slightly creeped out but he mustered up a smile and moved on. Whatever man, I'm having a FANTASTIC day making your shit look it's best. Why should I hide my extreme pleasure from some pseudo famous guy with a pony tail? Never mind the fact that in the end I seriously doubt he gives a shit what I say. He's a multi millionaire, I'm the graphics girl. Seriously. They also filmed Chronicle today so I got "the look" and shushed a lot while that happened. At one point in the beginning (when in my defense I had no clue anything was being filmed) I was turning "I'm blind! How can I work when I am blind?" into a cute little repetitive song because they had turned all the lights out J (my boss) came running over as fast as he could to stop me. Then I ended up questioning what Chronicle meant, and then asking if it was that show that is like 60 minutes but no one watches it? Everyone heard. Even the people from Chronicle. Because apparently they were on the other side of the half wall I was working on. It happens. But, over all I think it went swimmingly because all the big wigs kept going on and on about what great work we do and how terrific everything looks. J just kept me moving because he knows compliments and conversation gets me all excited and unpredictable. I can't be trusted. He knows this because I worked for him years ago for about a two year spell. However, he kept asking me to do things and I kept telling him I don't know how. I'm not pulling a fast one, I legitimately don't know how. So at the end of the day he's all, you worked for me for two years! How do you not know how to install?! And, You worked for me for TWO YEARS! How do you not know how to run the machinery to cut vinyl?! It's kind of funny. Those two years were me doing practically nothing. I got paid to dance about and drink coffee for the most part. When I went on installs and asked what I should do, they'd tell me not to worry about it and that they could handle it. When I asked to learn the machinery, they told me they were to busy or that they'd do it for me. Never one to ignore the full potential of a situation, I never pushed for any of it and enjoyed getting paid to do the easiest of jobs. Now I am just a stand in until I move back to AZ so as much as I want to take the job seriously, I cannot. Let's face it, work is now the most relaxing fun I have so I am going to live it up. It never matters in the long run because everyone ends up thinking I am a scream or white trash. Either one totally works for me, especially when I am dead sure I am never seeing any of those yahoos again. Also, if the end of the world comes I'm pretty sure I can hunt and cook my own food. They'll just be good at talking down to people and looking down their noses while scowling. Cook food on a scowl bitches.

While waiting for J the other morning because he was super late, I thought I would take a stroll though Home Depot for kicks. It was the best and the worst all in one. The best is that I finally had the time and memory to pick up the last pieces needed for the butterfly mobile!! Yeah! I am now going to lay this fucker out and get to building as soon as I have the time and patience. The worst started back at the house when the plug on the vacuum lost a prong in the wall. Now it needs a new plug. Since no one in my house knows how to take the first step, all these small projects land on me. I have no idea how to change a plug and the last time I tampered with electricity I blew out half the house and the electrician looked so stricken that I am extremely hesitant to try electricity as a hobby again. There I was in the isle that is loaded down with 5 billion plug heads and when I flagged down an employee he refused to help me because the "electrician won't be in for three weeks". I asked him to find someone who had done this type of thing before because I just needed to get it done. Please. There has to be someone? Please. Then I promptly freaked the fuck out. Big time. Picture insults, swearing, crying. Yup, chalk that store up as yet one more place I will not be going back to. I'm not sure what happens at those points, but wow do I feel refreshed afterwards... The aftermath of this shitshow is that my brother stopped by, blew us all away, and changed the plug. Miracles never cease.

5 days out of my week are spent in gridlock traffic. Twice every day I see helicopters reporting the traffic "news". Twice a day I hear the weather reported. I want to start my very own radio station. I would not own helicopters. I would not have a weather casting team. The traffic would go something like this: Okay folks here's traffic! It's a weekday at 5 o'clock! Do the math! The weather would be equally well thought out: All right then everyone! Time to open the closest window or go outside quick like! Is it cloudy? Could rain then don't you think?

Happy 200th entry

While driving about with G in his big old car moving CB capable truck I got to see the inside of the trucker world. It was better than those shows where you go "inside a prison" and I am wicked into those. The trucker world is full of G rated, pop beat, top 40 music (what the fuck else are they going to do really?) and CB radio conversations. I am so glad to have gotten a peek into this world because now that I am little Miss drive in hellish traffic every day with nothing to do besides sleep (I have now fallen asleep behind the wheel so many times I am dubbing myself irresponsible and driving is the one area I am more often than not, responsible), rock out to awesome songs and make ring tones. I am soooo getting a CB radio! Breaker breaker 59! I have this dream where I become a CB legend and the day I am no longer heard over the airwaves trucks everywhere pull over and have a moment of silence. I need to figure out a handle for myself. While talking with G, I told him my dream (he's going to help me purchase and install this beauty) and he said he's all about the legend idea. I think we should go national quite frankly. I wanted to call myself West Coast and have him take the name East Coast and carve our way across the US when I head back west. He believes West Coast is probably all ready taken so I might just go with The JH. Normally my paranoia would never allow me to do such a thing so I wonder if I am being rash with this idea. It's my initials after all...

I saw the most awesome of traffic wars today. It involved a super tight one way residential street, traffic and you guessed it, a trash truck. I never get upset when I am stuck behind a trash truck. It's not like they are being spiteful and blocking the way just cause. They really are just doing their job, so I usually sit tight and smile brightly whenever they look in my direction. I promise you, bright smiles gets you past a trash truck far faster than a sneer or horn will any day. They're usually searching for a way to let me by after a while of my sickeningly sweet take your time and do your job without the added stress of having some unruly cunt mouth behind you smiles and gestures. Not today. Today was cunt mouth day. The mini van in front of me was tailgating the truck so closely that there were moments the trash guys couldn't get the trash receptacles behind the truck and therefor couldn't empty the trash out of them. I'm not sure what he thought that was going to accomplish but it made things really heat up. Then the chick behind me starts laying on her horn yelling at ME to drive my fucking car. I gave her the helpless both hands in the air shoulder shrug and she goes into a rage and tells me I should go fuck myself, to which I wholeheartedly agree with her about and tell her she apparently has an awesome response for everything. Oh! Done! She's livid! I'm laughing because holy shit who fucking cares, not to mention the minivan vs. trash truck is just getting started. The trash truck turns left onto yet another one way tight squeeze road. They are just about to back up when the minivan makes his move. He hammers the gas, fishtails around the back of the truck narrowly missing the poor dude giving the truck driver reverse instruction and smashes the minivan up onto the sidewalk to get around the truck. There is a dumpster ahead but there is just enough room where he can get in front of the truck. That is, until the truck pulls forward and blocks the pass. AWESOME! The minivan dude FREAKS THE FUCK OUT and while he's screaming about the trash truck being in his way the truck driver is verbally assaulting him like nothing I have ever heard. There was much mention of only homo fags drive minivans and the likes and the minivan driver was starting to chill out when his brain picked up on the 2 to 1 ratio and that he was blocked by said 2 people. Keep in mind that the huge gaping gash of a bitch behind me has continued to hit the horn and scream here and there. It was just the right mix of crazy to make it like I was hearing it in stereo. The highlight was when the truck ever so slowly backed up and out of the minivans way and the driver used the word "mooley" right before letting the minivan escape. It has been quite a while since I have heard that slang used appropriately. It's Italian slang and the driver was very very Italian. And the driver of the minivan had a dark skin tone. It was like the perfect ending to the perfect fight. Needless to say, I got to work euphoric.

I love traffic fights. I'm never in them anymore (I'm a happy driver now that I have contained the rage) but I do like watching them so I am stoked when one happens in close proximity. Maybe tomorrow will grant me another hate filled ride. I am crossing my fingers...

No habla espanol bitch

I measured some windows at a school where immigrants learn the English language. The woman who was in charge could barely speak English (as hard as it may be for me, I'll leave that one alone and just say the word IRONY) and at one point it got a little hairy. If you are going to get hostile with me, you need to know English. Otherwise, I can't insult you to the point that I find satisfactory.

Short version: I'm telling this chick I need a CD with the graphics, a check and to know which windows to measure. She narrows her eyes and tells me I don't have a voice. There was about 20 minutes of us going back and forth with me trying to explain that she was listening to my voice and asking her what the fuck that has to do with anything. Then she starts in with paperwork and I realize, oh, invoice. 20 more minutes of me explaining the difference between "INvoice" and "voice". Needless to say, I probably won't be allowed back there.

The long version is super insulting and considering how fucking liberal everyone is and how gung ho we are supposed to be about equality or whatever, I'll probably just end up with a shitload of enemies were I to tell it.

All I'm saying is that if you are going to throw all kinds of attitude and try to be the all mighty powerful vagina, you might want to be able to speak the language of the person you are trying to intimidate.

On a different note, I am still able to entertain myself in gridlock traffic. I see this as a good sign. A friend visited from AZ and was horrified by the traffic and asked how I did it with a smile. I figure it comes with the territory. If you don't want to sit in obscene traffic, don't move to a major city where people are quite literally piled on top of one another. Anyway, today I figured out that I can turn my voice note recordings into ring tones. My new ring tone is off NPR and has people talking about medicinal marijuana and how they are trying to legalize pot. Funny and appropriate. I do regret not getting the dude from KY going on about the fact that you never hear about anyone overdosing on marijuana. Just awesome. Maybe next time...

So there I was...

Or wasn't. Not for a while anyway. I went from gung ho making a mobile to working six days a week. Needless to say the mobile and blogging went on major hold until I found my groove. Almost found it... Not that I am complaining mind you, I am really enjoying the time spent. I am helping a buddy in his vinyl graphics store. I used to work there years ago so I pretty much know what I am doing and I love the crowd. Also, he has all the tools I am going to need to finish this mobile. Yeah baby... AND one of my best friends lives in the next building. Stop it. I can't.

Since I haven't been here and really have nothing to say, I'll just show you a bunch of pictures taken off my phone. I am getting it ready for the big switch. The volume on my phone stopped working. At first I really enjoyed that, but after a million missed call I decided I need volume sometimes. Well, here they are:

The bogs. Always the bogs...




A little fall, a little dog. Perfection really.


She laid like this for about a half hour the other night just staring at me, wagging her tail. It was so funny that I eventually had to take a picture...


I love the summer. I quite literally spent most of it from this view catching the rays and breathing.


Bitches that sunbathe together, stay together.


Yin Yang?


GET THAT! Practicing the jump.


This is one of my favorite pictures of them. It's the wallpaper on my phone. That's how much I love it.


Well, I'm outtie. Big day tomorrow. One day I'll be back blogging my ass off. Until then, suffer.

My mobility makes mobiles

I haven't been here in a while. That is either how incredibly boring my life is, or how much I don't share. I'm going to go with a little bit of both and a splash of how much I didn't care about blogging due to being stuck in an awful funk. If you can stand it.

I have started my next project and thought that was something fun and blogworthy. It's another mobile. I promised a little someone I would make one for them, this time using butterflies and thought maybe I should come through. It's one thing to let down a big someone, it's a whole other issue to let down a little someone. A dirty uncalled for issue that should be avoided at all costs.

Here's the sketch:




The butterflies have been ordered and I only have about 5 more packages to wait for until I can commence the awesomness.

I really dig making these. I don't know why I didn't think of this sooner.

Hey, is that lady singing?

I have wanted to see Cirque du Soleil since I was about 8. Went to see Alergria the other night. Just found out Alegria translates into Joy. I am now 100% obsessed with Cirque du Soleil.

I am never blogging that tired again...

mostly because it reminds me how little shame or pride I actually have. Or should I say don't have? I will cringe every time I see the silliness my mind produced but yet feel no need to correct it.

On that note, I am off to get some much needed rest. F.

So sorry CN. I stand corrected.

After talking mad shit about CN, I got a little what for about how wrong I am and how much it has to offer. Yesterday, G (as in his name starts with G, not as in yo homie G) and I went and explored the Mystic Coast and no kidding, it was pretty great. The original plan was to go and see the Charles W. Morgan after I read about it and became interested. Ends up she's trapped behind some fence where you can check out all the interesting historical aspects of the Mystic Coast. Excellent.

I am a speed tourist, so I just run around full throttle snapping pictures and yelling about how awesome everything is and then leave. I find it's the best way to do things and really enjoy myself. Luckily G can keep up and we crawled around on the Charles W. Morgan.


She is getting a bit of a make over and doesn't look like much now, but back in her hay day she was spectacular and I bet once they're done with her, she's going to look swell again. We also went aboard the L.A. Dunton which wasn't as large as the Morgan but appealing in her own way.



There were ducks floating around pretending to sleep and no matter how much noise we made, they couldn't have cared less and refused to look up. I found it kind of unnerving and snapped their picture.

What kind of duck pretends to sleep and doesn't at least put it's head up to check you out when you try to scare it? Brave ducks? Is there any such thing? They always seem rather fretful to me...

They have this building full of ship figureheads and it was dark and somber. I can't decide whether I should have at least given the flash a try.






That's it that's all. Lady Liberty is still on the list of things to do. I'm pumped and if anyone has any suggestions of super rad things to do on the east coast, I am all about collecting the knowledge. After this whole CN deal, I especially enjoy when it comes with a tongue lashing about how wrong I am with my harsh judgement and ignorance. I have never enjoyed being proved wrong so much before this...

Click!

You're Welcome

Everyone is a winner

Not that I want to make anything a competition. Mostly because I am not the competitive type to begin with but also because someone once mentioned that being a loser move. I like to think we're all on the same team with the same objective. There, isn't that nice?



Also, check out this little dude. How frigging cute is he?

If I had two rows of teeth, I would bite twice as hard.

I watched Molly this weekend. She's a little firecracker just looking for someone to bark at menacingly. She also bites. I love her. The barking and the biting were under control by today. Just in time to go home. Perfect.

There was one incident that sort of set the theme if you will. I guess Molly doesn't like to be disturbed while sleeping by your feet on the bed. I was sound asleep and must have shifted a bit and the next thing you know, the little bitch is biting my foot. I freaked out. Ever had something attack your feet while you are sleeping? I have not so my response was mostly hysterical and not all that amicable. I was kicking and yelling and throwing pillows and before I had fully regained consciousness, Molly had been booted around, whacked with pillows and unceremoniously dumped off the bed. I didn't apologize and the unsolicited attack didn't happened again, although there was some slight forgivable grumbling. And it wasn't like she didn't get back on the bed after regaining her dignity. All in good fun until someone gets dumped off the bed.

As I am an avid dog fan, I bring my canine charges everywhere I go. This rocked the Mollster's world as it's not often she is dragged all over the globe. She also behaved like a globe dragged champion which earned her big points.

While the James and Tabitha made a ruckus in the water...


Molly had herself a little siesta on the creature comforts provided by the most thoughtful person. In. The. World.


Back from the bogs, hanging in the kitchen, hoping for the best.


This is the "if I hold still and look at you, will you get that thing out of my face and stop telling me what to do?" look. The answer was yes. Everyone wins.


Have a fantastic week. I know I will.

I'll believe it when I see it...

And see it I did.

Did you get that email about the statue/structure sent to us by Russia after the whole 9/11 ordeal? I received it and for some reason, I just didn't believe it to be true. I kept thinking the media would have covered it, right? After all, Russia was one of the places that flew their flags at half staff. Why wouldn't it be covered? And also, seriously, they put it in Jersey? Stinky crime infested Jersey? Is that like a thanks, but no thanks? We want the easily led American people to never see this structure and continue to believe you only want to steal our identity and kill us? The idea that it might be there has been just killing me... AH HA! Maybe they do just want to kill us and figured they would begin with breaking us down psychologically! Or maybe not. Whatever the deal is, I have been aching to go and find this statue. However, find someone who wants to do a day trip to Jersey. Right. Also, I think my exuberance when regarding a statue I didn't think existed and the fact that I had no idea where said maybe not statue was located kind of threw people. Exploring isn't about exacts people. F.

Aren't I talking to G the other day and asking him about what he does and all that preliminary crap? Doesn't he say he drives a truck, sometimes as far north as Maine and as far south as, you guessed it, NEW JERSEY! I informed him of the days that worked best for me and that I would bring lunch. The plan ball started rolling. True to his word, he picked me up at 2:15 a.m. on Tuesday morning and off we went. This was a triple hitter. 1. Gas was paid for. 2. G's company was 100% satisfactory. 3. He knows Jersey. Getting lost was a thing of the past! No stress, no strain.

Here are the pictures of the statue that might not have been:



Look at it all shimmery in the sunlight. Just awesome. If you look at the one below, that is G standing in front of it, checking it out. This thing is huge people!





This is a memorial for the people specifically from Bayone, NJ. That's where it is after all. Located in the northeast corner where all the cruise ships come into the dock. And yes there is a reason for this. It's not just to thumb our nose at Russia.



This little plaque is on the side of the actual structure to let us know that Russia sent it along.

Здравствуйте! к Соединенным Штатам. Мы надеемся что вы любит наша статуя!

These are all the people who died on 9/11.



And here we have a nice little explanation on what the hell is up with the Jersey deal. Looking at NYC, the statue is located between our Lady Liberty and where the two towers once stood. Now I get it.

This picture is an awesome accident. See the statues reflection? JH #1. Again.

That's it then. I am now going to find my next mission. Until then I shall work and run the dogs at the bogs. Life is sweet.

Take a picture of my new enemy

I haven't had anything to talk about. I have had quite a bit to bitch about but I am practicing grace so I am trying to spare you the onslaught of snarly commentary. I'm pretty sure snarly has nothing to do with grace. I bet they wouldn't even like each other if they were to meet at a well put together cocktail party where they just happened upon one another at the punch bowl and felt small talk was in order due to the need to be polite at social engagements. However, if I have learned anything lately, it's that grace would walk away being okay with their differences and snarly would not. I'm not so big on snarly right now. Bitch.

I finished reading some books. I have this theory that I am now practicing. It goes something like this:

Forgiveness isn't about forgetting or becoming less angry. It's simply taking your hands off someone's neck. Grace is what gives you the ability to remove your hands from their neck.

Off I go to be an inherently good person.

It might be raining

but we are playing the meanest game of Find It.

If I see one more super cute baby animal

I am going to go into loving spasms of ecstasy and end up writhing straight into a black hole of tiny adorable oblivion.



These little dudes were under the tall pine tree. You know the one by the far end of the pond? No, not the cool one holding up the boulders with it's roots, the one right before that. Yeah. That one. They have a nice little shelter that has been dug out. I'm not sure their mother is still with them so I check on them every now and again just to make sure they're okay. If they show any signs of illness or starvation, you know I am taping their little tails to their back legs and taking them to the wildlife center. These people don't even know what I am capable of. The tail taping thing isn't a joke, I guess they can't spray you with their tail kept down. Works for me. These little guys know all about it too. When they see me, they get all nervous and one of them turns his wee little ass towards me with his itty-bitty tail straight in the air. Oh man. I can hardly stand it... so endearing. Then Jim comes over and everything goes to shit once he starts looking around for the attention getting baby prey. Also, he is not afraid of skunks and has been sprayed more times than I would like to admit. He was sprayed in the same night, by the same skunk, four times in a row. Back to back spray fest. It was one of the worst nights of my life. I now keep a bottle of skunk off on reserves. That shit just isn't funny. It's even less funny when it's about 2 in the morning and the only reason you are out is because you feel guilty for how much you have been away that day so you might as well take the dogs (who are not showing signs of being tired) to the local field to stroll around and show them you love them. In my face. Or more specifically, Jim's.

This no camera thing is getting stupid. I'm going to empty the pictures onto my desktop in a folder labeled "hoping for the best" and if I lose them all I don't care. Baby animals are aching for their chance with the lens. There are baby turtles all over the pond, baby skunks, baby birds, baby everything everywhere and I'm sitting here worried about losing a picture or two.

I found a job. It's going to take away from my time with nature but some things must be sacrificed up for sanity's sake. I think I am really going to enjoy this anyway...

The Snapper Delux!

Guess where I was today? That's right! The bogs! We were coming around the third bog area when what do I spy with my little eye? This dude gal-umping across the path from the smaller murky (and now slightly creepy) little pond under the trees by the entrance.



I have spotted him in the pond opposite of where Jimmy kills and Tabbie swims but apparently he gets around. I saw him and grabbed Jim because that is a sure fire vet visit. After trapping the dogs in the car, I went back where my mom was yelling to grab a stick and lets see if we can get him to bite through it. I was so in. Lucky you, I also grabbed my phone.

Side Note: No seriously, I have been keeping my camera in my car. The fucking day I take it out, I get what would have been a fantastic shot of this guy. I shit you not. I'm not amazed anymore. But still.

I tried and tried to get him to bite through the stick but the best I could get out of him was a very menacing stance and long drawn out pissed off hiss by poking him gently in his tender underside. He wasn't about to bite the stick but when you think about it, I bet he knows what a stick is. He was probably hoping I'd try rubbing his underbelly with my hand. Then I bet he would have tried breaking something. What a guy.

They were wrong about you Jimmy!

Today is obviously a procrastination day. But I give myself kudos for keeping my snarky comments toward my sister to myself (this is hard work for me, believe it), cleaning up a bit, flipping the compost pile and taking the dogs for a run/hunt at the bogs even though it is raining. I am that dog owner that even I dislike at times. Mostly when it's raining.

Tabitha and The James are two totally different dogs. He is a solid pillar of a dog that couldn't care less about what I am saying. She is a shipwreck, constantly in code red, focusing on me with rapt attention to the point where it can be unsettling. It's really helping with training though. I raised both dogs totally different. Jim got the semi knowledgeable exposed to anything and everything training. Tabitha got the pretty dog training savvy approach with limited exposure. Jim was raised in the crowded vibration of Boston where everything is a walk, bus ride or train ride away, everyone wants to meet your new puppy and dog socials are everywhere. Tabitha was raised in Phoenix where community is very lacking, nothing is walking distance and due to that you just use your car and ignore the bus system. Add to that the summer where no one/nothing goes outside for any reason (because they will quite literally drop dead from the heat) and you have some limited general public socializing time but tons of indoor training time. Also, when you use different techniques, everything changes. Jimmy will work for treats. Tabitha will do anything for a toy (this is the method I am sticking with as it's heavenly). So these two animals in my house are quite unlike one another. However, it is in ways that pretty much kick ass no matter how you cut it.

Anyway, we started going to the bogs and at first Jim ran amok here and there in the grass looking for land creatures to kill. Tabitha has always just wanted to play with her ball and I am so okay with that. We practice training while Jim practices the art of stealth. Poorly at that. After a while I felt bad for him and showed him frogs and sometimes I would egg him on and convince him he needed to find them and kill them. Every last one. All frogs must die. Well, I got all cocky the other day and said, "He's not fast enough. He'll never catch one." and followed it up with a mighty scream of HURRY JIM! GET THOSE FROGS!

I was so asking for it. That was the day he figured out he was moving to fast and they were jumping out once he had past by. The next thing you know, he's moving super slow and really focusing and then smashing a huge frog to death with his muzzle. I don't know if I have told you, but Jim does not kill things by putting them in his mouth. No no, biting gets you in trouble and he takes this rule very seriously. First he catches it by scooping it towards him with his feet and giving it one good pound with his muzzle. Then he holds the broken little creature under his paws and proceeds to crush them to death by essentially head butting them with the front of his tight lipped muzzle. It's brutal to say the least and I cringe every time I watch him but end up cheering in the end because he's always so proud of his victory.

Frogs pop. Did you know that? Apparently, one good whack can make their to tight body burst wide open. Jim is a frog popping machine. It makes our bog trips a little less exciting and a little more exciting. For once he's doing something and wagging his tail the entire time. Total 100% bliss. When I consider that, I can handle the fact that the frog population is going to suffer this year. A happy Jim is a happy JH. So long as I have one dog that will sit and stay, the other can murder away. It's a fair trade.

Working out is painful good for you OR Lopsided flirtatious belly

For the longest time I refused to work out. Well hold on. When I was in school I worked out. In the morning I ran as hard as I could until I didn't think I would be able to run back without collapsing and then I turned back for home. I did this stairmaster thing for about 20 minutes and then I would swim 50 laps minimum. It was excessive but it was either that or get in even more trouble in school. A tired student is a good student. ADHD paired with OCD keeps you in bad ass shape. You could have bounced a quarter off my ass like a perfectly made bed.

Then I stopped working out and instead took jobs like landscaping the grounds of an entire family apartment site (biking back and forth to said place of employment), grooming dogs (which is pretty physical work all said and done) or walking dogs (speaks for itself and when you add all the flights of stairs it becomes a fabulous work out). So the need to torture myself prior to starting the day waned and I just killed myself during the day instead. I have always found that preferable as there is usually a check involved.

Once in AZ for the summer months I had to do something. I hate hate hate lifting weights. It doesn't make me feel good at all. My brain can't even appreciate it. So I started looking for something that I could do that would pacify my head and give my body a nice tough going over. I chose pilates. I am repulsed by the idea of gyms (I won't get into it) so I tried DVD after DVD with not much success. They were either way to easy or just plain boring. There was the one where you did a little dance routine on your pilates ball. I can't help but wonder if it was a good workout but I couldn't get past how ridiculous I felt using my ass to "dance" and swing my hips on this huge rubber ball to this super corny tropical wonderland music. I don't want to pretend I suddenly found shame, I'm just saying.

Then I convinced Mr. F to get a pilates ball and work out with me. I have to give him credit. Working out on a pilates ball has to feel just as gay as riding around town on a bicycle built for two. But being the good sport he is, he agrees and we run out to get a pilates ball so he can join me in my quest for fitness. Well doesn't the one he chooses come with a DVD? Enter Lynda Leene. She's attractive and cheerful and does the type of workout that makes you feel like you are not quite struggling even though I still can't finish a couple of the sets. It's a full body work out and you're in just enough pain the next day that you know it's working, but not enough to make you want to stop. And I saw improvement in two weeks. Beat that. You can't. Add ten pound weights to the whole thing and it's unbeatable get ready for swim suit season wholesome fun. Add Mr. F who is agreeing that it's a great work out. This is coming from a guy who is in peak physical condition and uses his home gym daily regardless of how he feels. So pilates is the way to go for several logical reasons. Works for me.

I slacked for a little while and just got back into the whole fitness regime. I ache. Today I figured I would cheat on Lynda and just do a little yoga. 40 minutes later I realize yoga is just a fucking hard as pilates and the reason I thought it was easier is because I am simply working out different muscle groups. Now that I am finished I also realize I worked them just as hard as I have been working on the other "resting" ones. I know I should feel great about this. I know I should be all oooo a work out I can do when I take a breather from Lynda pleasantly kicking my ass. I am. Kind of. But it hurts damn it. I would rather just wake up for the rest of my life looking like a bomb shell without having to do anything to maintain said bombness. Although, if I am going to torture myself in the name of physical perfection, it would be super great to have someone here with me to listen to my pussy comments and whining noises while holding the warrior 3 pose and focusing on my breathing. I don't want to brag, but I am getting great at the one where your hands are at heart center and while standing on one foot, you bring your other leg up as far as you can over your back without falling over. Bring it.


I feel like this would be a good time and I might make it a goal

I'm off to flip the compost pile and hopefully not have that one last physical exertion rip my arms off my body. Thank you yoga. Thank you Lynda. Thank you body for showing me who is boss. And it's not pastries. Pastries are boss next week when my bitchiness will reign supreme over everything regardless of how much I pound on myself.

Growing is healthy

My mom is constantly talking about starting a garden. She has been for a very long time now. Along the side of the house that gets the most sun. Wouldn't it be wonderful to grow our own food? Then we wouldn't have to worry about eating who knows what from places like Mexico and Chile. And gardening is therapeutic, did you know that? With produce being so expensive it really only makes sense don't you think? And so on and so forth...

Doesn't she go out to the side yard the other day and weed a rectangular patch, forcing me to take her kind of seriously. Then there were all these vegetables waiting on the back deck to be placed in the ground and the belief system became even more steady. Next thing you know, there are clouds in the sky and she has a sad face on talking about wanting to plant the vegetables before it rains. I got the shovel and ho to till the land while she followed behind me planting the veggies.



I ended up lending her a hand with the planting since running about half naked in the sun while playing with the dogs was less fun with her sweating, working all hard and what not. Besides, she was so pumped about the whole thing, the idea of working in this new growth system was infectious. We gardened for about five hours. We got to experience some fun stuff during that time starting with some serious mother daughter bonding. An incredibly beautiful black swallowtail butterfly paid us a visit.
Cut worms and grubs (gives a whole new meaning to the word "grubby" eh?) were thrown into a coffee cup of doom and later emptied into the bird feeder of doom. This little female cowbird came down and bee bopped around the freshly turned earth caring very little she had two humans near her. There were moments that I swear, my mom could have reached out and touched her and got nothing but a relaxed good day to you friend or something equally as cheerful. We threw some worms to her for her amicable spirit. You can't beat a nonchalant wild bird attitude.

Today I went off to good old Lowes and picked up a soaker hose and some Liquid Fence as the rabbits here are not fucking around. Here's the fabulous finished product:

Front view!


Back view!


Here's what our happy little garden doth grow: broccoli, Big Boy Tomatoes, Better Boy Tomatoes, Pink Girl Tomatoes, cucumbers, chives, green onions, basil, chocolate peppers, freckles romain lettuce, rosemary, parsley, Ambrosia Mellon.

Once the rain stops, the liquid fence will be liberally applied. We're not fucking around either. There are people out there who are not fucking around waaaaay more seriously than we are. I looked up how to deter rabbits. One chick swears by barbed wire, saying that once you see blood and hair all over it you can take it down and not worry about rabbits for a long time. A dude wrote in saying that lead poisoning was the way to go and followed that up with a rabbit stew recipe, which got me thinking. I still need to practice my snaring technique.

Perception

If I took all my angers and hurts, every single life issue, trials and tribulations, all of my celebrations and happiest moments of my entire existence, and handed them to someone else, they wouldn't mean even half as much as they mean to me. They might not mean anything at all. Not because they don't care, but because it isn't theirs. They simply don't know.

Isn't that wild? I can't even wrap my head around it.

If I were to live in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

This would be my home.

Rehab is for dying

A lot of time has passed since my last entry and since the whole blog time line deal is lost on me, I don't really give a shit that the previous post doesn't lead into this in a super nice flowing manner. I just promise you, this didn't happen in the last three minutes. The bird, which the rehab center swears is a Blackburnian Warbler didn't make it. I had a strained shred of hope and it was not all that believable since I did in fact drop the wounded soon not to make it bird off somewhere more promising. So I am not all that surprised to be honest. It sort of goes to show you it wasn't meant to be or whatever I am supposed to say to pretend I need to feel better over something that should bother me more than it does.

How bad is this: I'm not sure if I believe it was a warbler. You could have me surrounded by professionals, specialists and factual books on the subject and still not convince me that wasn't a female Baltimore Oriole. At least I can admit I have a problem. But seriously, if you look at the pictures, it resembles an oriole far more than a warbler. Maybe she died from nutritional deficiencies? I jest! I jest! I love that rehab place. They really do kick ass.

I am off to plan the future and what I have in store for it. Pretty exciting stuff. I also have company, so I am off to play the best hostess in the world. If that world were full of me and everyone understood me to the fullest extent anyway...

Rehab is for quitters

I took the bird to The New England Wildlife Center in Weymouth where I found out she is a female Baltimore Oriole. She was so unsteady on her feet and I finally realized that not only her wing was hurt but her leg couldn't hold her weight. I cleaned her wounds and bound her hurt wing loosely to her body so no further damage could be done but the leg was weighing heavily on my mind. I just don't want her healing wrong because I am stubborn and think I know everything. Even though I do. The vet who checked her in said I did a bang up job with the wing and everything else. He was also happy about her eating & bathroom habits. So I feel like I did a great job even though I caved in the end. I just want her released back into the wild. Picturing her in captivity makes me feel a new and different dirty inside. I was reassured that they would do everything they could and euthanasia is dead (no pun intended) last on the list. They are also going to call me and let me know her progress. :)

All's well that ends well?

Birds of a feather

roll around on the ground after getting all busted up and chance being squashed by the James when the reality is they will be saved by the JH. More later.

The bog was very fruitful today. I remembered my camera so I got a couple shots of the puddle jammed full of tiny polliwogs. The only time this puddle freaks me out is when Tabitha gets a drink from it and then pants in my direction with polliwogs stuck all over her tongue. There is just something very unsettling about that...

Here's the puddle. Can you see them all? I'm astounded by the numbers on a daily basis.






As I was walking along with my mother, searching for the Northern Water Snake in hopes to get a better shot of it, I noticed something moving about on the ground in a very jerky and unnatural way. Looked hurt. Jim was hunting frogs so I didn't have the need to freak out and go into full red alert protection mode. It ended up being a very pretty medium sized deep yellow & brown (grey?) bird. He was having a tough time so of course I helped him. I am going to be 100 years old, bringing home broken wild life. I'm cool with that. I have now fed him a ton of inchworms (he eats them right out of my hand! Can you stand it???) and I am trying to identify him. He's very unsteady on his feet and keeps tipping to the side. Something got him but the wound is not to bad. Not even bloody. The more I feed him, the more energy he has and the steadier he is on his feet. I hope he keeps improving or I am going to have to hand him to a wildlife rehabilitation center and I really don't want to. I love watching animals get better and go back where they belong. My mother thinks it's a way I rescue myself over and over again therefore filling a needy void in me. She's probably right. I wish Mr. F were here to give him a check up. He's good with birds and steady enough to really look it over without worrying about hurting the bird or having it drop dead for no rational reason. Sometimes I envy him for his steady eddie attitude.

Anyway, me and the bird are bonding and I have more worms to find before it's dark. I might just head to PetCo and cheat on the bug finding issue.

Snakes rule

I ended up at the bogs sans camera. Again. It was directly after a crap interview and almost dark so I just grabbed the dogs up and went.

As this picture was taken with my phone the quality ended up poor. I messed with it a bit so you can see him more and the muddy water less. He's about 1.5' in length and his body is under the shallow water with his head peeking out... It's the Northern Water Snake I was telling you about!



Apparently what I read about them is true and they are not aggressive. Jim noticed me peering into the water and jumped in to find what it was and ended up stomping all over the snake. I figured the snake would bite him or at the very least leave, but he ended up just going under water for a spell and moving only to stay out from under Jim's feet. What a relief.

I'm guessing I'll see him again and I am hoping next time he's out of the water...