Rebel Rescuer

Just say no. Hell no.

Slow day here in Rebville as PG worked on some technical stuff and I slept later than a hungover prom queen.

Then we had a little meeting with some people I know from online, which was a good time.  Nice people and nice to put faces with names.

So Nicko (being the sick bastard that she is) is trying to convince me to write porn novels.  You know, the kind you find at big book stores under "Anonymous".  I told her to pack sand.

And then we both laughed a lot.  Mostly about potential pen names.

Which I'll spare you from, as this is mostly a family friendly blog.

Or not.

So of course my argument was that they say (you know "they"...the ones that make all the rules),  anyway, they say that you should write what you know.  And while I don't pretend to be some kind of angel, I'd be better off writing technical manuals for Japanese management training than trying to write dirty books.

Besides, who wants to admit at the family get togethers that they write racy books?  OK, some people might be OK with that, but I for one, would hate to have the following in my Christmas letter....

"Happy Holidays from Muffin Van Slickpole!  Hopefully this letter finds you in good health!  My first adult novel, "Pirates of the Crotch Region" has sold more than three hundred copies!  That more than doubled the publisher's expectation and I've received a bonus of $23.95!  Oh, and I've been invited to give a speech at the world famous Dirty Book Awards Ceremony in Broken Bow, Oklahoma!  I know!  Watch for me on Perez Hilton!  Walmart offered to send me some clothes for the red carpet.  And although I may never make Oprah's Book Club, at least I can retire on my earnings....for a good week or so anyway!

Oh, and thanks to my new career, my family has disowned me.  This might sound like a bummer, but it really saves when it comes to buying gifts!  I'm not sure why they flipped out so bad when they saw my photo in Hustler's Fiction Review section.  It's not like Grandpa should be reading that stuff at his age anyway.  Who'd have thought that his heart would give out like that?

Early next year, my second novel "Every Cloud Has A Silver Loining" will be on the shelves.  Let me know if you'd like an autographed first edition copy!  Actually, there may never be a second edition, so you might want to grab them quickly.

Happy Holidays

Muffin Van Slickpole

So to Nicko the Sicko, I say this...

Not only no.  But hell no.

Tech Guy and the Debbil Chick

Tonight PG spent the evening doing this....

 

And some of this....

 

And yes, the cigarette lighter was for heat shrinking something or another.

So of course, I said, "Don't cut the wrong wire or Danny Glover's gonna get his ass blown off the toilet!"

 

He wasn't amused.

But he was busy putting ends on wires for several of these....

 

Which are none other than infrared video cameras.  Handy little ghost hunting tools, these are.  And me (being one to plan ahead) married a guy that can not only handle the tech portion of ghost hunting, but is also great in the sack at keeping me equipped with the cool stuff that it takes to snag the elusive little spirits.

Meanwhile, ya know since he had all the equipment out anyway, I decided to take some scary photos of myself.  Because well, I have the mentality of an eight year old.

RUN!!  ITS DEBBIL CHICK!

 

DEBBIL CHICK SEES YOU DOWN THERE LITTLE TINY HOUND DOG!

 

PG was not amused to have the lights turned off in the middle of his work.  I told him it wasn't me...it was DEBBIL CHICK.

I think it turned him on. 

The question that crushes.

When something bothers me, I tend to stew on it.  I think that's how I got this ulcer.  I envy those that can give a big "F You" and forget about it.  I for one, can't always do that.

The other night, PG and I were playing cards with a group of people that we've known for years.  And a few that we haven't know for very long.  Some of them are like a second family to us...many of them work with PG's dad.

We were all talking about different things we'd done during the day.  Of course, my big excitement was that the next day was trash day.  And then it went like this....

Young Guy:  Don't you work?

Me:  Um, no.  (Sweating because this is a sore subject for me.)

Young Guy:  Why not?  Are you lazy?

Ouch.  Yeah, that would be one way to crush me.  And of course, I had no comeback because well, any and all oxygen had escaped my gut at that moment.

With one sentence, this guy had demolished me.

I wanted to say, "No, I'm not lazy.  I work my ass off helping dogs.  I work my ass off on my house.  I work my ass off helping anyone that needs it.  I work my ass off helping PG."

But instead, I walked outside quietly and rested my cheek on the cold wall and took deep breaths.

I wanted to tell him that a year and a half ago, the doctors made me choose between my job and the rescue.  I wanted to tell him that when they made me choose, it was me choosing between a fate that I didn't ask for, but live for, and a job that was ingrained in me to my core.  I wanted to tell him that I had to choose between having lots of extra money, or helping those that had nothing at all.  I wanted to tell him that I gave up the prospect of new cars, vacations, running a national committee, and all that goes along with it.  I wanted to tell him that I hated that my body was betraying my mind because it just couldn't handle the call outs in the middle of the night anymore, the 36 hour stretches with no sleep.  My mind wanted nothing more than to do it all, it loved the rush.  But my gut just couldn't keep up.  I wanted to tell him that I never asked for that, that for some reason God sends helpless dogs to me and that my life of crime fighting is where I'd sent myself.  But somehow I couldn't do both.

I couldn't do both.

And that, my friends, is a huge defeat to someone that must try to do it all.  A tough pill to swallow.  A humbling dose of "you're human".

I wanted to tell him that another night in the ER on morphine would drive me over the edge.  I wanted to tell him that I bear the looks when people hear that I am "merely a housewife" and those looks hurt.  I wanted to tell him that when I run into someone from the department and they ask what I'm doing, its like reliving my last day there over and over.

And I wanted to tell him that my serving and protecting didn't stop when I left.

But mostly, I just wanted to go home and cry.

If there's anything I've learned in the last year and a half, its this:  Somehow, your worth as a person has nothing to do with what you do, no matter how well you do it.  It has everything to do with what you earn.  At least that's the way most people see it.  I have to wonder how many other people think badly of me because I don't have a paying job, but they just aren't as forward as this guy.  Would it change their opinion if they knew how hard I worked to help these dogs?  Would it change their opinion to know that many of PG's work-related decisions and ideas come from one lowly housewife?  No, I don't really think so.  They would still think I'm lazy.  Or crazy. 

I didn't ask for this at all.  Rescuing dogs found me, and work found me.  But somehow the two couldn't coexist.   And I had to make a choice that I didn't want to make.  It took me a long time to decide between the rescue and work.  I couldn't NOT rescue dogs, but in giving up my job, I gave up what I'd worked so hard for, I gave up what essentially was my identity for years.

And while I had my cheek pressed against that wall, trying so hard to blink fast enough to keep the tears in, I saw a shooting star.

And I knew that the choice was never in my hands at all.

Happy Chinese New Year!

Tonight we took Nicko to one of her fav places for dinner.  It being her birthday and all.  Anyway, the place is a HUGE Chinese Buffet that we frequent pretty regularly as they have the world's best miso soup and all the cream cheese wontons you can eat.  Today they had cabbages hanging from string from the ceiling.  Who am I to judge?

Anyway, pretty soon we heard a racket in the front of the place, and I started ducking and looking for a way to empty the place through the back door (law enforcement work will do that to ya).  Well, it was firecrackers, drums, and six or eight big, shiny, sequin-covered dragons!

ITS CHINESE NEW YEAR BABY!!

Anyway, the dragons were mesmerizing and consisted of anywhere from two to five people under great big costumes.  These people were responsible for being the dragon's legs, batting his eyelashes, opening and closing his mouth, and wagging his tail.  All in all, there were forty people involved in all this.  Those that didn't make up the dragons beat all sorts of drums and cymbals.

They kind of looked like this...but far more sparkly, fringe-y, and awesome.

 

While they were wagging and dancing around the place, the waiters ran around handing everyone little red envelopes with money inside.  We weren't exactly sure what to do with these until we grabbed a very excited waitress and asked her.  What you do (in case you're as lost as we were) is to put the envelope in the dragon's mouth and that will insure good luck for the coming year!

Let's hope so!

Anyway, the dragons then came back to the center of the place and proceeded to reach clear up into the high beams of the ceiling and "eat" the cabbages and money envelopes that hung there.  They were able to do this only by hoisting each other up, under this heavy costume.  It was amazing, loud, and beautiful!!  We were giddy like school kids!  I can't believe I forgot Chinese New Year!  I usually try to do something fun for it each year (I'm so not Chinese, but its a fun holiday!) and spaced it this year.

Good times for sure!

Here are some predictions for the coming year.

So, happy Chinese New Year!  May the year be prosperous, healthy, happy, and peaceful for you and yours!

A photo meme

This is a photo meme.  Normally I don't do this stuff, but its been a slow day here in Rebville...

What was your first job?

 

What is your dream car?

 

What's your pet's name?  (One of them...)

 

What is your favorite drink?

 

Your favorite band?  (At this minute...)

 

Your dream job?

 

Someplace you'd like to go?

 

A favorite place you've been?

 

Your nickname?

Your grandma's name?

 

Your age on your next birthday?

 

Goosed, and it didn't feel good

So, we've all established that I'm a girly sort of rednecky chick that wears false eyelashes and lip gloss (and sometimes camo), while toting a 40cal that I refer to as "the ladies helper".  And you know that I have no issues with hunting, hunters, etc.

Sidenote - eat what you kill.  Otherwise you're a moron and completely un-sexy and un-cool.  And your weenie will rot off and fall in the dirt and be eaten by fire ants.

Anyway, there are a few things that I myself cannot hunt (or fish) and one of them is the Canada Goose.  Er, Canadian Goose, depending on where you're from.

 

Anyway, the reason I cannot imagine gracing the table with one of these is because they mate for life and a hundred years ago I read a Dear Abby column about them and it scarred me forever and ever.  Amen.  (I'm a softy, what can I say?)

So picture this if you will.

PG and I were headed back from a rescue run tonight, in the dark, which is not exactly the best time for me to be driving ('cause I can't see).  But its better than riding with PG who drives like he has a death wish.  Anyway, rolling along on the highway a few miles from home,  doing 65 and trying to avoid the people doing 105.  Seriously, for 7:30, the freaks were totally out in full force and had brought their lead feet with them.  Lake on one side of the ELEVATED highway, truck stop on the other, assholes on all other sides.

And then a damn GOOSE wanders out in front of me.  On a six lane highway!  That would be three lanes on each side (does that make it six?  or is that three and you only count one direction?  I dunno.)  I saw him about three car lengths ahead of me, just walking right out from the shoulder.  And in the square root of a sixtieth of a second, I judged that the dog in the backseat was safe, we were probably going to get a-holed, and hit the brakes.

HARD.

Without even flinching.

And just a slight dive to the left, but not over the line I'm sure, one jerk honking at me, and waiting for the thud that I knew was going to happen...either from the goose in front, or the tailgater that was on my ass like white on rice.

But no thud!  Hell no!  PG spun around and saw the goose walking back off the highway!  YAY!!  I really think that goose should seek counseling, or antidepressants or something.  He was definitely suicidal.  Or maybe he was just trying to hitch a ride at the truck stop.

Let's hope his near death experience sent him back to the pond from which he came.  If I was his wife, I'd be pissed.

This gave me plenty of fodder to remind PG not to tailgate, "See PG?  That goose was trying to teach you about safe driving distances."

So alls well that ends well.  But I should go back and find that goose and put his fluffy butt on a mental health hold.

Aretha, Stress Relief, and Cabin Fever

"She prowled around the house like a caged lion.  Couldn't get out, but damn, she was tryin" - Reb

Cabin fever strikes again, in the form of a moratorium on spending that was delivered by The Man known as PG.  It seems that Christmas was a pricey affair (which I don't understand...I stuck with the budget) and now I won't be seeing a card table, Bass Pro, or the inside of a Bath and Body Works for some time.

Stress Relief is the flavor sent by the Gods, by the way.

But its all good because the hounds are fed, the mortgage is paid, and grocery store makeup is way more fun than the expensive stuff anyway.  I mean, why settle for one $50 lipstick, when you can have ten $5 lipsticks?  Not that I would buy ten lipsticks, but you get my meaning.

In other news, aw hell...there is no other news today, if you don't count the inauguration.  And of course, I don't do political stuff here in Rebville.  Though I thought Aretha's bow was stylin' in a weird gift-wrappy kind of way.

Oh but I DID spend a bit of money (heh heh) by pre-ordering Twilight on DVD.  Yeah, still stuck on that.  I guess seeing it six times in the theater wasn't enough.  Call me a dork, call me lame, just don't do it to my face.  I'm sensitive.  Besides, I have a uterus (albeit fairly useless at this point) and that gives me the right to watch cheeseball romantic stuff over and over until my eyes bleed.

Anyway, what's new in your world?

 

Vision Boards - Collaging for Big Kids

I was reading an article the other day about vision boards.  For those that have never heard of them, basically you take a piece of poster board and stick photos of things you'd like to have, achieve, become, etc on it.  Its a very personal thing and of course, there are no right or wrong ways to do it.  If you want a Mercedes, put a photo of a Mercedes on it.  If you want a quiet moment with a cup of tea each day, then stick a photo of that on there.

After making said collage, you then hang it in a place that you will see it often.  This is supposed to inspire you, to help you decide the things that you want most in life.

And besides, who doesn't love a good cut and paste project?

So I've been working on mine for a couple of days, mostly tearing out photos from old magazines that Nicko's aunts and grandma have sent my way.  The problem is that they're mostly People magazines and well, I'm more of a Field and Stream kind of girl.  And since my Bass Pro catalog is so new and shiny, of course I can't tear it up.  So needless to say, my vision board is pretty nekkid.

In fact, it looks like I don't have much vision at all.

But I'm working on it, and will post some pics of it when its a little more full.  (I'm resorting to printing out photos of the perfect log and rock house, a vintage Airstream trailer, and Fiestaware.)

Until then, try making one yourself.  It really helps keep your focus where it needs to be (in my case, the book that I've been writing). 

Sidenote - this book is killing me in a good way.  I love, love, love the characters and eat, sleep, and breathe them.  I'm constantly thinking, "I wonder if XXXX would like this song?" or "If XXX were real, what would she be doing on a Sunday evening?".  Seriously, they're like living people to me now!  Yay!

The vision board also had a surprising effect this morning (just moments after I hung it up...on the kitchen cupboard door, where I spend most of my time).  Anyway, one of our adoptions from the weekend isn't working out so well due to the adopter's existing dog.  Sounds simple and "no biggie" right?  But for me, that can send me into a day-long funk that kills any creativity that I have.  In other words, it becomes a drop-what-you're-doing-and-start-worrying mindset.  And since I have to wait for a return email in order to figure out what the next step is, normally I would just sit here and stew for hours.  But today, I sent the email, glanced at my shiny new vision board, and was back on track in minutes.

Not too bad for $3.29 in poster board and glue sticks.

 

Bah, damn it all!

As you might know (or not), I just paid off my car.  Actually PG, who supports my sorry butt just paid off my car.  The ink isn't even dry on the title yet.  This is the first brand new car I've ever had...and likely the last for a while unless the powerball numbers come up right, or I starting hooking downtown.

Anyway, if there's anything that I'm anal about, its the bumpers on my car.  I've never hit anything with it, and there truly isn't a mark on that car.

Well, there wasn't until tonight, when I knocked out a reflector post by backing OVER it.

(Insert loads of nasty cuss words here.)

And PG, God love his light-weight soul, dutifully held my hand and muttered, "Ish gonna be otay".  Yeah, the man doesn't drink, but he did tonight!  Really tied one on!  Yeah, two drinks after dinner and he's sloshed.  So here I am driving in unfamiliar (very dark) parts with two, 3" long green stripes on the underneath side of my bumper, and my lightweight husband in tow.  And all he can do is pat my hand while I mutter about deductibles and body shops.  I, on the other hand, had decided this morning that I'd be the designated driver, and guzzled gallons of water. 

Sidenote - this is how we roll.  We never, ever, ever drive drunk.  In fact, I won't even have a glass of wine if I'm driving, and he won't even rinse with Scope if he's driving.

Get home and put PG's apparently intoxicated self to bed (who in the hell gets drunk on TWO drinks?!) and begin to drown myself in the only thing that might make the rest of the night OK. 

Yeah, drowning my sorrows in expensive, Scottish cookies.  This would be my "rainy day" package in case of a death in the family, a tornado touching down nearby, or damage to my bumpers.

Then I knock the damn things onto the floor and the dogs (the little vultures) ran off with ALL of them.

So now, scratched underside of bumper, drunk husband, and my expensive Scottish cookies are tomorrow's dog poop.

Sigh.  Tomorrow's looking like a good day, in comparison.

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