While I don't mind going out to dinner, if I'm given a choice I'd rather go out to lunch and stay home for a light supper. Going out to dinner requires slightly fancier clothing and then there's the "how much should I drink" question. Having a cocktail out at a restaurant costs nearly as much as a trip to the Bahamas. If you have two cocktails, be prepared to leave your car as a down payment on the check. It's ridiculous. And then there's the whole designated driver issue and no one wants to get pulled over, breathalyzed, yadda, yadda, yadda. Solution? Go out to lunch. It's cheaper, just as much fun and no booze makes for safer travel.
Today Jonathan and I went to the local French bistro in town for lunch. We found a gift certificate that we'd been given a long time ago, so it seemed like a good thing to do on a cold Monday afternoon. When we got into the middle of the village I realized it was crowded because of President's Day. Scores of city folks clad in their country attire were parading up and down the sidewalks. Quilted parkas and rabbit fur lined caps for the men and long down coats and goggle sized sunglasses for the women. Millbrook is a destination spot for New Yorker's who are desperate for fresh air, beautiful country views and an escape from the hustle and bustle of the city. What they don't realize is that they BRING their own form of hustle and bustle to our quiet little town. Oh well, we decided to persevere with our lunch plan and parked the car.
When we opened the door to the restaurant we were greeted by a melange of tantalizing aromas. We were also greeted by the sound of conversations. Lots of conversations. This isn't a big space and the tables are nestled into two separate dining areas, both of which appeared to be bursting at the seams. No matter, we wanted to have a good lunch and this place always serves amazing, authentic French fare. The hostess escorted us to a table in the far corner, which was nearly on top of the neighboring table occupied by a couple. I slithered into my seat trying to avoid putting my ass in the face of the gentleman next to me. I'm not going to lie and tell you that I don't like to check out fellow diners. It's not a good habit and even worse is to be busted peering at their faces as they chewed, swallowed and sipped. The couple next to us proved to be an odd match, and I knew I had to be careful in how I checked them out. Once Jonathan and I placed our orders for iced teas, I set about my surreptitious glancing. The young woman, who was facing me appeared to be much younger than her male companion. She was Korean, quite pretty, with carefully applied makeup and long, flowing black locks, which she gathered up in both hands behind her head and then dramatically allowed to cascade back down in a suggestive manner. Good Lord, I think she'd watched too many cheap porno movies. The man was a thick set Italian type, probably in his mid to late 40's. He was hairy to the point of apeish, yet the hair on his head was beginning to bald in a most unattractive manner. Thick patch in the front and back and thinning swirls on the crown, giving it a mange like effect. Jonathan and I smiled at each and chatted quietly, amidst my stolen glances. A table of raucous folks were behind me, laughing in sporadic, deafening, hyena-esque cackles. I lamented that I hadn't sat in Jonathan's seat so I could watch them, too, but it was probably for the best since I had my hands full with our neighbor's antics.
As we tucked into our entree's, our neighbors conversation was stilted and awkward. "What's crepe suzette?" the ape man asked in a thick NY accent. "What makes you think I know about French food?" little missy replied giggling. "You seem to know about French stuff," he said as he reached over and stroked her forearm, causing me to choke down an ill timed mouthful of tuna nicioise. Oh gross, I thought, they aren't just friends, but more likely...lovers. What is wrong with this young girl? Why is she with Guido the pimp? Is she a hooker? A thousand questions and images swirled through my mind, all of them inappropriate and nausea inducing. I went back to focusing on Jonathan, who has long since given up on trying to keep me from my voyeuristic ways, and we finished up our meals and then ordered a post lunch coffee. As luck would have it, we were ready to leave at the same time as the folks next to us. Standing up to put on my coat, I watched the young woman don a large, floppy felt hat. She had on a short, tartan red skirt and tall, high heeled black boots, just like a naughty school girl outfit. The man, who was all of 5 ft tall, leered over at me as I was busted checking out his "girlfriend". Shamed, I ducked my head and fumbled in my pockets until they turned to leave.
"Well, that was different," I said to Jonathan as we walked through the cold wind to our car.
"Yup," he replied. "I'm pretty sure he was looking at naked pictures of her on his phone during their dessert."
We giggled about our "lunch dates" all the way home. Looks like I've turned Jonathan into just as much of a voyeur as I am. Have I mentioned how much I love going out to lunch?
Monday, February 18, 2013
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
One step at a time...
The time has come in my life where I'm not as nimble as I once was in my youth. My back is stiff, my shoulders are stiff, my neck is stiff, and I bruised my chest plate a year and half ago, which is still plaguing me to some extent. I feel like a fossil. A piece of ancient rock, with the flexibility of an iron rod. Yet, I soldier on, day by day, mucking stalls, throwing around hay bales and riding horses, like I always have, but I've decided that at my age I need to be in better shape. And working through pain is B.S. Last week I set up an appointment with a personal trainer and today was the day that we met. I could feel her assessing me when I walked in. I decided a black workout outfit was a good choice. Black stretch pants, slight flare and a black t-shirt, not too tight. At first glance, I look like a strong, fit, 40+ yr. old, with Popeye arms and strong thighs from wrapping them around young warmbloods day in and day out (get your minds out of the gutter folks, I'm talking about horses here!). She asked me a bunch of questions, I filled out some forms, which included an emergency number (good lord!) and then we got down to brass tacks. Exercise and stretching.
The first few exercises were tolerable. I could feel my tiny abs (deeply ensconced in a layer of belly fat, to protect them from being cold, it's what I tell myself, Shut up!), straining, but it was a good strain. My legs did their duty. In my case that means they took some of the brunt of the exercise to keep the poor petite abs from working too hard. Twenty minutes into the exercises I could smell that my deodorant was beginning to fail me.
"Damn you, Old Spice!! C'mon," I said under my breath.
I could hear that whistling from the vintage Old Spice commercials and see the brawny man, chopping wood with a smile on his manly, 70's mustachioed face. He didn't stink. But I was getting riper by the minute. Ugh. More exercises, more leg lifts. Help me, God. Then we moved into a laying down position on a mat. Much more my style. Prone. However, my trainer asked me slowly bring my body up, with my arms reaching forward. I actually chuckled when she asked me to do this move.
"This could be interesting," I giggled. She didn't giggle. I struggled upwards, like a quivering mass of jello, swaying from side to side as if a stiff wind was blowing through the exercise studio, whipping my aching body to and fro.
"Okay," the lithe, young trainer said. "Let's make it easier by bending your legs."
Well, that helped a little. Also, the two large cracks from my protesting spine made the exercise more plausible. Okay, 40 minutes into the workout. I was still alive. I must say, this trainer was so patient, very attentive and didn't push me to the point of near death. We did a full hour of stretching and exercises that paid special attention to my weak points, but kept clear of hurting my old injuries. At one point, my ab muscles were trembling while holding a pose intended to work on my lower back and abs. Try as I might, I couldn't make the trembling stop. I felt so pathetic. My lack of muscle tone in my core had reached the brink. I realized that I'd failed to impress the trainer with my preternatural ability to fight through muscle fatigue, so I just gave in to the quivering muscles and hoped she couldn't feel the studio floor moving as the earthquake in my gut reached Richter scale proportions. I grimaced, shut my eyes and kept going.
Trying not to look at the clock on the wall, I refrained from asking for a "High Five" when the hour was up. Sarah was a total professional as we went over the next step in my new fitness routine. However, she showed her first sign of a sense of humor when a smile slipped over her lips and she said, "Well, you look a lot stronger than you really are. I was surprised those exercises were that hard for you." I refrained from saying, "I told you so, Bitch! That's why I'm here! I'm an aging, out of shape, on my way to battle axedom woman!" Instead I told her that I'd be in touch for a follow up session. I'm determined to get in better shape. Tonight, thanks to Advil I can still move. I did stalls, body clipped a horse and various other barn chores when I got home this afternoon. My core is sore, but my determination is intact. An acupuncture appointment on Fri. will help my creaky bod get back on track so I can go back for more punishment. This is going to be a slow process. One step at a time. One slow, small, painful step at a time...
The first few exercises were tolerable. I could feel my tiny abs (deeply ensconced in a layer of belly fat, to protect them from being cold, it's what I tell myself, Shut up!), straining, but it was a good strain. My legs did their duty. In my case that means they took some of the brunt of the exercise to keep the poor petite abs from working too hard. Twenty minutes into the exercises I could smell that my deodorant was beginning to fail me.
"Damn you, Old Spice!! C'mon," I said under my breath.
I could hear that whistling from the vintage Old Spice commercials and see the brawny man, chopping wood with a smile on his manly, 70's mustachioed face. He didn't stink. But I was getting riper by the minute. Ugh. More exercises, more leg lifts. Help me, God. Then we moved into a laying down position on a mat. Much more my style. Prone. However, my trainer asked me slowly bring my body up, with my arms reaching forward. I actually chuckled when she asked me to do this move.
"This could be interesting," I giggled. She didn't giggle. I struggled upwards, like a quivering mass of jello, swaying from side to side as if a stiff wind was blowing through the exercise studio, whipping my aching body to and fro.
"Okay," the lithe, young trainer said. "Let's make it easier by bending your legs."
Well, that helped a little. Also, the two large cracks from my protesting spine made the exercise more plausible. Okay, 40 minutes into the workout. I was still alive. I must say, this trainer was so patient, very attentive and didn't push me to the point of near death. We did a full hour of stretching and exercises that paid special attention to my weak points, but kept clear of hurting my old injuries. At one point, my ab muscles were trembling while holding a pose intended to work on my lower back and abs. Try as I might, I couldn't make the trembling stop. I felt so pathetic. My lack of muscle tone in my core had reached the brink. I realized that I'd failed to impress the trainer with my preternatural ability to fight through muscle fatigue, so I just gave in to the quivering muscles and hoped she couldn't feel the studio floor moving as the earthquake in my gut reached Richter scale proportions. I grimaced, shut my eyes and kept going.
Trying not to look at the clock on the wall, I refrained from asking for a "High Five" when the hour was up. Sarah was a total professional as we went over the next step in my new fitness routine. However, she showed her first sign of a sense of humor when a smile slipped over her lips and she said, "Well, you look a lot stronger than you really are. I was surprised those exercises were that hard for you." I refrained from saying, "I told you so, Bitch! That's why I'm here! I'm an aging, out of shape, on my way to battle axedom woman!" Instead I told her that I'd be in touch for a follow up session. I'm determined to get in better shape. Tonight, thanks to Advil I can still move. I did stalls, body clipped a horse and various other barn chores when I got home this afternoon. My core is sore, but my determination is intact. An acupuncture appointment on Fri. will help my creaky bod get back on track so I can go back for more punishment. This is going to be a slow process. One step at a time. One slow, small, painful step at a time...
Friday, February 1, 2013
Grody to the MAXIMUM!!!
I think my animals are having a contest this week. It's called, "Who can gross out Michele the most". Becks, the Aussie was in the lead after his beautifully executed rat assassination in the barn aisle the other night. I applauded the kill, but not the fact that I had to pick up the wretched dead thing in a pitchfork and escort it to the manure dumpster. Super gross. The thing was enormous. I think Becks killed the rat equivalent of a latter years Marlon Brando. The rat group in my barn just lost a major player. A head honcho. They must be in mourning, because I haven't seen one since that night. Becks seems disappointed, but I admit that I'm not. Those fuckers are creepy s.o.b.'s. And I thought that was bad...
This morning I was sitting at my desk, sipping a cup of coffee and playing around on the computer (read:wasting time on Facebook). Zeke, our large teenage tiger cat who was born in our tack room16 years ago, moseyed into the room and went into the litter box that lives behind the door to take care of some business. I payed no attention as he scratched around in the box, but as he was exiting he paused, and then he began the inimitable "cat retching maneuver". Anyone who has had cats knows what I'm talking about here. No cat can just quietly puke. They have to draw it out, just to make sure we know they're puking. After four, or five good retches, he managed to expel the majority of his morning feast of very expensive Wellness moist cat food, shook his head and politely left the scene.
"I know how you feel, Big Zekie," I called after him. "The litter box has that effect on me sometimes, too."
Now since I was busy catching up on all my FB friends business I didn't jump right up to pick up the barf. Then a smell wafted over to my quadrant of the office, which I tried to ignore, but it was too powerful, too fresh, too disgusting. One might think that was the gross part. It wasn't. I grabbed a giant spool of paper towels from the kitchen and steeled myself for a moist, still warm, cat barf pick up. Never a good moment, but I've done it before. I love cats, but they do puke, shit, piss and kill small animals and birds in my house. Good Heavens. Most people would probably look away from the pile of barf they're about to pick up, but I'm a sick bitch and I chose to look right at it. Holy shit, the barf was moving!!! Amidst the expensive, recently expelled vomit was a VERY LARGE tapeworm!!!! EWWWWWWWWWWW!!!! With a shudder, I carefully layed down the paper towels over the pile and backed away. I just couldn't pick it up. Not right away. It was f'ing MOVING! A GIANT TAPEWORM!!! A huge, writhing, long white worm!!! Like your worst nightmare, or the grossest horror movie. I can see the title, "The Giant Tapeworm Who Reared Up and Ate Your Face". Good Lord. I knew I couldn't ask Jonathan to help (he always says the cats are my animals, though he does love them-secretly, but whatever, I catch him patting them all the time and Marbles, the calico has a huge crush on him).
After much teeth gnashing, pacing and another cup of coffee, I managed to pick up the disgusting pile of MOVING barf. I just went to my happy place. La la la la, I'm not picking up a giant disgusting worm, la la la la. Gahhhh!! Eww, into the trash it went and then out to the garbage dumpster. My life is ridiculous and macabre. Fortunately, I have a fabulous small animal vet who dispensed cat wormer pills with no trouble. She cackled when I told her what I had to deal with this morning. I love this woman. Honestly, she's the best small animal vet I've ever used. She gave me careful instructions about giving the pills to avoid being bitten, which I took seriously. She's good. I know this. I ended up coating Big Zekie's pills in butter and wouldn't you know the little devil gobbled them up like candy! Of course! He's had a tape worm that's a mile long living in his body! He's starving!!! So ironic and gross at the same time. It's Big Zekie's fault, because he likes to supplement his diet with small rodents, moles to be exact. They carry this disgusting parasite, so alls fair. Serves him right, but I'm scarred beyond belief. Thanks, oh mighty hunter.
So, phew let's hope this little contest is over. I cant take much more. Really, I can't. Did you hear that animals?? I can't!!
This morning I was sitting at my desk, sipping a cup of coffee and playing around on the computer (read:wasting time on Facebook). Zeke, our large teenage tiger cat who was born in our tack room16 years ago, moseyed into the room and went into the litter box that lives behind the door to take care of some business. I payed no attention as he scratched around in the box, but as he was exiting he paused, and then he began the inimitable "cat retching maneuver". Anyone who has had cats knows what I'm talking about here. No cat can just quietly puke. They have to draw it out, just to make sure we know they're puking. After four, or five good retches, he managed to expel the majority of his morning feast of very expensive Wellness moist cat food, shook his head and politely left the scene.
"I know how you feel, Big Zekie," I called after him. "The litter box has that effect on me sometimes, too."
Now since I was busy catching up on all my FB friends business I didn't jump right up to pick up the barf. Then a smell wafted over to my quadrant of the office, which I tried to ignore, but it was too powerful, too fresh, too disgusting. One might think that was the gross part. It wasn't. I grabbed a giant spool of paper towels from the kitchen and steeled myself for a moist, still warm, cat barf pick up. Never a good moment, but I've done it before. I love cats, but they do puke, shit, piss and kill small animals and birds in my house. Good Heavens. Most people would probably look away from the pile of barf they're about to pick up, but I'm a sick bitch and I chose to look right at it. Holy shit, the barf was moving!!! Amidst the expensive, recently expelled vomit was a VERY LARGE tapeworm!!!! EWWWWWWWWWWW!!!! With a shudder, I carefully layed down the paper towels over the pile and backed away. I just couldn't pick it up. Not right away. It was f'ing MOVING! A GIANT TAPEWORM!!! A huge, writhing, long white worm!!! Like your worst nightmare, or the grossest horror movie. I can see the title, "The Giant Tapeworm Who Reared Up and Ate Your Face". Good Lord. I knew I couldn't ask Jonathan to help (he always says the cats are my animals, though he does love them-secretly, but whatever, I catch him patting them all the time and Marbles, the calico has a huge crush on him).
After much teeth gnashing, pacing and another cup of coffee, I managed to pick up the disgusting pile of MOVING barf. I just went to my happy place. La la la la, I'm not picking up a giant disgusting worm, la la la la. Gahhhh!! Eww, into the trash it went and then out to the garbage dumpster. My life is ridiculous and macabre. Fortunately, I have a fabulous small animal vet who dispensed cat wormer pills with no trouble. She cackled when I told her what I had to deal with this morning. I love this woman. Honestly, she's the best small animal vet I've ever used. She gave me careful instructions about giving the pills to avoid being bitten, which I took seriously. She's good. I know this. I ended up coating Big Zekie's pills in butter and wouldn't you know the little devil gobbled them up like candy! Of course! He's had a tape worm that's a mile long living in his body! He's starving!!! So ironic and gross at the same time. It's Big Zekie's fault, because he likes to supplement his diet with small rodents, moles to be exact. They carry this disgusting parasite, so alls fair. Serves him right, but I'm scarred beyond belief. Thanks, oh mighty hunter.
So, phew let's hope this little contest is over. I cant take much more. Really, I can't. Did you hear that animals?? I can't!!
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Hay Delivery: Otherwise known as you just paid the amount of a five star European getaway for dried grass
Yesterday I had the good fortune to welcome a giant truckload of hay into our nearly empty hay loft. If you were wondering why you didn't hear from me, it was because after I wrote the check to pay for said hay I was cast in a corner in a catatonic state, complete with epic string of drool dangling from my quivering lip. I know it isn't my hay guy's fault that hay is so bloody expensive nowadays (I love that word, but why don't we say thenadays?), but he brought me fifty bales more than I asked for, therefore boosting the cost by quite a few nickels. And as usual, after basically emptying my bank account to pay for a stupid amount of dried grass I got the classic tale of the woebegone hay man. I wish I had audio on here, because this guy has such a distinct voice, but I don't so just imagine what the vocal chords of a 50+ year old man who has inhaled enough hay chaff over the years to choke the entire cast of Gossip Girls (if only!!) look like and...cue hay man:
"Well, you know it was kind of a tough year for hay last year."
*Sorry to interrupt, but according to all hay guys anywhere in the universe there has NEVER been a good year for hay. EVER. PERIOD. This is the standard intro they use directly after you've sold some valuable family heirlooms to pay for dried grass that half the horses in your barn will trample and shit on. Okay, back to the hay guy:
"We had a lot of rain back there in May, which made it hard to get a good first cutting. Then it got so dry, the second cutting didn't want to grow, but then it rained again for a good spell and that made it hard to get the second cutting cut. I got this truckload from a farmer up near the Canadian border and he said that he had to sell half his loads to the cow people this year, because the horse people didn't want to buy it. But don't worry, this is a good batch of second cutting. It might be a little stalky, but that's what happens when it rains before you get to cut second cutting. I'll stand behind this load. Now I'd best get going because I have six more deliveries to make before sundown and then I have to go home and feed my horses, cows and pigs, which will take me till around 11:30, then I have to get up at 3:30 to go pick up another load of hay in Ohio. Take care, now."
And just like that, he shimmies up into the seat of his semi-truck, artfully backs the mile long trailer out of my driveway, which is akin to threading a needle with a piece of baling twine, and heads off down the road with a toot of the air horn. A wave of loose hay flies off the truck bed in his wake, like congratulatory confetti, but I don't feel like being congratulated. Instead, I feel a little weak in the knees and I check my watch to see if it's too early in the day for a cocktail.
Last night after a stiff drink helped me somewhat recover from writing that hefty check, I went down to the barn. Bless their big ole hearts, the horses were all munching away on the new hay with gusto, barely pausing to glance up at me as I walked down the aisle. Well, that's was a good sign at least. I climbed the ladder on the wall into the hayloft, which isn't terribly easy dead sober and quite a feat after a little drinkie and took a deep inhale as I walked between the towers of newly stacked hay. A few hours earlier the hayloft had been swept nearly clean, just a few cobwebs dangling from the rafters and couple of old bales covered with dust in the corner. I paused to reflect how funny it is that for a barn owner filling the hayloft offers some strange comfort, even though the cost to do so is staggering. It's ironic, really. And then I realized what an ass I was to be up in the hayloft at night in January, standing amongst ginormous stacks of dried grass that I'd recently written a four figure check for and having the profound pontification's of a slightly tipsy and crazy person. Sighing, I fumbled my way down the death trap ladder, checked on the ungrateful beasts that eat us out of house and home and expect continual servitude from yours truly and made myself repeat out loud, "You are so lucky to do what you love for a living". At that moment, my dog Becks darted across the aisle and snagged the biggest, grossest, fattest rat I've ever seen in my life. Good boy, I told him in a weak voice. Then I got the pitchfork, averting my eyes I scooped up the dead beast and walked it to the manure pile, whispering, "you are so f'ing lucky, so, so very lucky..."
"Well, you know it was kind of a tough year for hay last year."
*Sorry to interrupt, but according to all hay guys anywhere in the universe there has NEVER been a good year for hay. EVER. PERIOD. This is the standard intro they use directly after you've sold some valuable family heirlooms to pay for dried grass that half the horses in your barn will trample and shit on. Okay, back to the hay guy:
"We had a lot of rain back there in May, which made it hard to get a good first cutting. Then it got so dry, the second cutting didn't want to grow, but then it rained again for a good spell and that made it hard to get the second cutting cut. I got this truckload from a farmer up near the Canadian border and he said that he had to sell half his loads to the cow people this year, because the horse people didn't want to buy it. But don't worry, this is a good batch of second cutting. It might be a little stalky, but that's what happens when it rains before you get to cut second cutting. I'll stand behind this load. Now I'd best get going because I have six more deliveries to make before sundown and then I have to go home and feed my horses, cows and pigs, which will take me till around 11:30, then I have to get up at 3:30 to go pick up another load of hay in Ohio. Take care, now."
And just like that, he shimmies up into the seat of his semi-truck, artfully backs the mile long trailer out of my driveway, which is akin to threading a needle with a piece of baling twine, and heads off down the road with a toot of the air horn. A wave of loose hay flies off the truck bed in his wake, like congratulatory confetti, but I don't feel like being congratulated. Instead, I feel a little weak in the knees and I check my watch to see if it's too early in the day for a cocktail.
Last night after a stiff drink helped me somewhat recover from writing that hefty check, I went down to the barn. Bless their big ole hearts, the horses were all munching away on the new hay with gusto, barely pausing to glance up at me as I walked down the aisle. Well, that's was a good sign at least. I climbed the ladder on the wall into the hayloft, which isn't terribly easy dead sober and quite a feat after a little drinkie and took a deep inhale as I walked between the towers of newly stacked hay. A few hours earlier the hayloft had been swept nearly clean, just a few cobwebs dangling from the rafters and couple of old bales covered with dust in the corner. I paused to reflect how funny it is that for a barn owner filling the hayloft offers some strange comfort, even though the cost to do so is staggering. It's ironic, really. And then I realized what an ass I was to be up in the hayloft at night in January, standing amongst ginormous stacks of dried grass that I'd recently written a four figure check for and having the profound pontification's of a slightly tipsy and crazy person. Sighing, I fumbled my way down the death trap ladder, checked on the ungrateful beasts that eat us out of house and home and expect continual servitude from yours truly and made myself repeat out loud, "You are so lucky to do what you love for a living". At that moment, my dog Becks darted across the aisle and snagged the biggest, grossest, fattest rat I've ever seen in my life. Good boy, I told him in a weak voice. Then I got the pitchfork, averting my eyes I scooped up the dead beast and walked it to the manure pile, whispering, "you are so f'ing lucky, so, so very lucky..."
Friday, January 25, 2013
Breaking Point
" I have to confess that I'm getting cranky, Cold Snap. The first day and half that you were here was like a challenge, or endurance test, like Surviver. I was all, YES and fist pumping every ten minutes, like I was stoked to see you. I'm not going to lie to you though. After you've been here for an entire week, I really think you're rude. I'll go so far as to call you an A-hole. That's right, I said it! You my friend, are a total A-hole! And your little buddy, Single Digit? He's a F'ing liar. He was only supposed to be here at night and that sneaky little shit has been lounging around until noon this past week. I keep checking to see if he's gone, but Noooooo, he's still here just lurking around like some kind of creep. WTF? And what's up with his smirk? I'd like to slap it right off his face! I haven't gotten any work done this week, because I can't be outside for more than five minutes at a time, or that dickhead Frostbite shows up and gets all up in my grill."
"Okay, so maybe I have been drinking, and I'm being a little harsh, but the jig is up, Cold Snap. I want you to pack up your shit, gather up your idiot group of friends and shove off back to the f'ing arctic circle, or Greenland, or wherever else you freaks hang out all year. Five days is ENOUGH of you."
"Hey, truth hurts sometimes, C.S. I don't think I'm being insensitive to your needs! What about MY needs, huh? I'm going broke buying vodka, eating like a hog, and I've lost my sense of humor! I already told you that having you around for a couple of days is fine, but you're pushing it, pal. I seriously can't take much more of you. If I had to live where you are year round, I'd be a full on, raging, foaming at the mouth alcoholic. I'm this close to the edge, C.S.! This close!!!"
"C'mon, man...you know I don't hate you! Well, alright I do hate you a little, but I can let that hate go if you would just take off! You made your point here! The ground is frozen as hard as a rock, the driveway has been a skating rink for days, taking a deep breath is akin to swallowing a thousand tiny pieces of glass into your lungs, my business has ground to a halt, what more do you want?"
"That's it. I have nothing else to give. I'm done. It's you, or me C.S. Too bad if you don't like ultimatums, because I'm done. I'm going to mix up a little morning cocktail and when I'm finished with it I expect you and your friends to be packed and ready to go. I want my life back and in order for that to happen, you must go. And tell that liar Single Digit if he smirks at me one more time, I'm not responsible for my actions. I will cut him."
"Okay, so maybe I have been drinking, and I'm being a little harsh, but the jig is up, Cold Snap. I want you to pack up your shit, gather up your idiot group of friends and shove off back to the f'ing arctic circle, or Greenland, or wherever else you freaks hang out all year. Five days is ENOUGH of you."
"Hey, truth hurts sometimes, C.S. I don't think I'm being insensitive to your needs! What about MY needs, huh? I'm going broke buying vodka, eating like a hog, and I've lost my sense of humor! I already told you that having you around for a couple of days is fine, but you're pushing it, pal. I seriously can't take much more of you. If I had to live where you are year round, I'd be a full on, raging, foaming at the mouth alcoholic. I'm this close to the edge, C.S.! This close!!!"
"C'mon, man...you know I don't hate you! Well, alright I do hate you a little, but I can let that hate go if you would just take off! You made your point here! The ground is frozen as hard as a rock, the driveway has been a skating rink for days, taking a deep breath is akin to swallowing a thousand tiny pieces of glass into your lungs, my business has ground to a halt, what more do you want?"
"That's it. I have nothing else to give. I'm done. It's you, or me C.S. Too bad if you don't like ultimatums, because I'm done. I'm going to mix up a little morning cocktail and when I'm finished with it I expect you and your friends to be packed and ready to go. I want my life back and in order for that to happen, you must go. And tell that liar Single Digit if he smirks at me one more time, I'm not responsible for my actions. I will cut him."
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
A Little Arctic Sarcasm
"Hello Cold Snap! Welcome to Millbrook! We've been waiting for you for some time, so glad you could finally join us and spend some quality time hanging around the area!!"
"What's that you say?"
"OHHH! You invited your pal Gusty Wind to join you!! How fabulous! Love, love, love Gusty Wind! Now I get it when the weather channel says it's 15 degrees out, but feels like -6!! Gusty Wind totally takes my breath away. For realz!!"
"Why don't you just make yourself comfortable and stay for the week? I'm totally cool with wearing ten layers of clothing every time I walk out the door. It's awesome! Our horses just love you, Cold Snap! Your being here along with Gusty Wind makes walking them from the barn to the indoor ring like a total adventure! I'm all, wheeeeee as I hang onto the reins and watch them scrambling on the icy driveway! Ha ha ha! LOL"
"I'm so stoked that Single Digit is going to swing by the area at night, too. That's awesome, cuz he'll make sure that it never warms up too much during the day. Sweet!! Let's high five on that!"
"No, I totally don't mind not really being able to do anything for an entire week. I love it when my business has to come to a complete halt! You just settle in and don't worry about it! Honestly, you're so selfless. It's January, and this is your time to shine! I see that Bright Sunshine is up there in the sky, but she's not able to do much this time of year. She sure does cheer me up, though! See my ear to ear smile?! I'm so happy that I could really be called giddy! Of course I haven't been drinking! Yet!! Ha ha, just kidding!!"
"Okay, if you guys need anything I'll be inside for the next five to six days! Cheers!!"
"What's that you say?"
"OHHH! You invited your pal Gusty Wind to join you!! How fabulous! Love, love, love Gusty Wind! Now I get it when the weather channel says it's 15 degrees out, but feels like -6!! Gusty Wind totally takes my breath away. For realz!!"
"Why don't you just make yourself comfortable and stay for the week? I'm totally cool with wearing ten layers of clothing every time I walk out the door. It's awesome! Our horses just love you, Cold Snap! Your being here along with Gusty Wind makes walking them from the barn to the indoor ring like a total adventure! I'm all, wheeeeee as I hang onto the reins and watch them scrambling on the icy driveway! Ha ha ha! LOL"
"I'm so stoked that Single Digit is going to swing by the area at night, too. That's awesome, cuz he'll make sure that it never warms up too much during the day. Sweet!! Let's high five on that!"
"No, I totally don't mind not really being able to do anything for an entire week. I love it when my business has to come to a complete halt! You just settle in and don't worry about it! Honestly, you're so selfless. It's January, and this is your time to shine! I see that Bright Sunshine is up there in the sky, but she's not able to do much this time of year. She sure does cheer me up, though! See my ear to ear smile?! I'm so happy that I could really be called giddy! Of course I haven't been drinking! Yet!! Ha ha, just kidding!!"
"Okay, if you guys need anything I'll be inside for the next five to six days! Cheers!!"
Saturday, October 27, 2012
The Storm Zombies
Here we are at the end of October already. Where did the summer go? How did September fly by so quickly? All pointless questions at this stage of the game. It's over. There will be no nice weather until possibly April, if we're lucky, but more likely it'll be May. The sky is set in perma-grey mode, about as cheerless a color as one can find in nature. Sure the leaves are all beautiful shades of orange, yellow and rust, but their days are numbered, especially with the advent of the Frankenstorm looming on the horizon. If you haven't heard about this storm you are either stupid, have no access to media of any kind, or you don't speak english. I've never seen so many giddy meteorologists struggle to hide their mirth as they describe what the east coast is about to endure next week. Of course, they don't want to sound like they're happy about this storm since it has potential to destroy, destruct, maim and kill, but the magnitude of the weather system has them all freaking out, like toddlers jacked up on gummy bears and Red Bull.
I'm not really sure how hard we'll get hit in Millbrook. By the looks of things thus far, we'll get a lot of rain and high winds. Power will most likely go out and trees will fall across roads. Jonathan made a prudent point this morning that we'd better stock up the vodka in case power goes out for more than a couple of days. He's super thoughtful like that. We just came back from the grocery store, and the place was a total mob scene. Actually, all the stores in Millbrook are teeming with people that we have nicknamed, "The Storm Zombies".
"Must buy milk, bread and water!''
"Flashlights, batteries and candles!"
"Propane, kerosene, gasoline!"
The Storm Zombies clog the aisles, shuffling along on their big, slow feet, arms outstretched as they grab at items to fling in their shopping carts. Buzzing conversations can be heard all around the stores. "Are you ready for this?" "It's going to be a devastating storm, are you prepared?" "They say it might last for days!!!" "I hope it won't be as bad as is predicted!"
With the timing of the storm landing directly on Halloween, the children are all teary eyed and whiny that Trick or Treat night will be cancelled for the second year in a row. Last year's massive blizzard obliterated Trick or Treat in many areas, and the kids are bitter and shaken that it might happen again. Some parents have ganged up on town officials and lobbied for Trick or Treat night to be moved to Sunday, pre-empting Armageddon. Good thinking, there. The end of the world might be just around the corner, so let's give the kiddies a parting memory of childhood glee so when the house blows down around them they can shove a final tootsie roll in their mouths and say, "Well, at least we had one last Trick or Treat night!" Good heavens.
It's hard to not get caught up in the hype of a major weather event, but it is a curious phenomenon to witness. People are taking this one very seriously, much more so than an ordinary snow storm, or hurricane prediction. This storm appears to be a triple threat, a dangerous hybrid cocktail of every type of horrible storm ingredient all mixed into one. A young man even gave us a flyer on "Storm Preparation" as we left the grocery store. It didn't tell us anything that we didn't already know, but I read it just in case there was one key pearl of wisdom that might keep us from floating into the Hudson when the Frankenstorm hits. I really hope everyone stays safe, especially my friends and family who live on the coastlines. So, lets all brace ourselves for a wild ride and pray that it doesn't cause too much damage, or take any lives, but according the the weather men we don't have a snowman's chance in Hell for getting around this one.
Good luck peeps and may the force be with you.
I'm not really sure how hard we'll get hit in Millbrook. By the looks of things thus far, we'll get a lot of rain and high winds. Power will most likely go out and trees will fall across roads. Jonathan made a prudent point this morning that we'd better stock up the vodka in case power goes out for more than a couple of days. He's super thoughtful like that. We just came back from the grocery store, and the place was a total mob scene. Actually, all the stores in Millbrook are teeming with people that we have nicknamed, "The Storm Zombies".
"Must buy milk, bread and water!''
"Flashlights, batteries and candles!"
"Propane, kerosene, gasoline!"
The Storm Zombies clog the aisles, shuffling along on their big, slow feet, arms outstretched as they grab at items to fling in their shopping carts. Buzzing conversations can be heard all around the stores. "Are you ready for this?" "It's going to be a devastating storm, are you prepared?" "They say it might last for days!!!" "I hope it won't be as bad as is predicted!"
With the timing of the storm landing directly on Halloween, the children are all teary eyed and whiny that Trick or Treat night will be cancelled for the second year in a row. Last year's massive blizzard obliterated Trick or Treat in many areas, and the kids are bitter and shaken that it might happen again. Some parents have ganged up on town officials and lobbied for Trick or Treat night to be moved to Sunday, pre-empting Armageddon. Good thinking, there. The end of the world might be just around the corner, so let's give the kiddies a parting memory of childhood glee so when the house blows down around them they can shove a final tootsie roll in their mouths and say, "Well, at least we had one last Trick or Treat night!" Good heavens.
It's hard to not get caught up in the hype of a major weather event, but it is a curious phenomenon to witness. People are taking this one very seriously, much more so than an ordinary snow storm, or hurricane prediction. This storm appears to be a triple threat, a dangerous hybrid cocktail of every type of horrible storm ingredient all mixed into one. A young man even gave us a flyer on "Storm Preparation" as we left the grocery store. It didn't tell us anything that we didn't already know, but I read it just in case there was one key pearl of wisdom that might keep us from floating into the Hudson when the Frankenstorm hits. I really hope everyone stays safe, especially my friends and family who live on the coastlines. So, lets all brace ourselves for a wild ride and pray that it doesn't cause too much damage, or take any lives, but according the the weather men we don't have a snowman's chance in Hell for getting around this one.
Good luck peeps and may the force be with you.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)