Sorry for all the neglect, Dear Blog....

The days here at the berry farm have been very long, and very arduous. I've been going to bed at night at around nine thirty. After working thirteen + hours per day, I have absolutely no energy left for hooking up to a dialup connection to check emails or blog.

The days have been long but good so far. The rain started on the 27th and has been going steady since then, but we've managed to stay on top of orders and such. I fired three people today and made one of them cry. I feel awful about that, but when you can't tell the difference between a rotten mushenberry and something fit for human consumption, perhaps berry picking isn't the job for you.

I love being in the field all day every day. I let my thoughts wander and just think on everything there is to think on. I've been writing songs and one of them tunred out to be ok.

I've been thinking on my love life as well. (What else does a single girl ponder on while bonding with nature hour after hour?). And I'm happy with me. I like me. I never lie to me, decieve me, have to worry about whether I will call, worry about if I'm acting like a dork, worry about anything that comes with dating someone. I hate dating. I've been afer my mother to arrange me a marriage some day but she seems to be dawdling on that. I'd love to have the stability and general goodness that comes with a long term relationship, without all that nasty "Oh my God, I'm dating an axe murderer" drama that comes with meeting people.

I read an article the other day about ten guys you should date before you settle down. The dumb jock, the cheapy, the way older guy, the sexy European type, the business type with the fake Rolex, the Momma's boy... And so, I decide with great happiness in my heart that I've seen all there is to see and don't need any more of some random loser's crap to make me feel fulfilled. I am a woman of a new era, dammit! I am going to be a berry farmer, with our Lord as my witness! My mom thinks I'm great!

And besides, I have a cat.

In other news, my new guitar is really rocking my socks. I haven't had near enough time to bond with it yet, which I'm sure my dear Roommate will be very upset to find once I come back to the city.

On the topic of being back in the city, I made my course selections for the fall one rainy afternoon this week, and I'm all set up there. Now if I can only work myself into a state that would make me actually want to be in the city, I'd be set.

And on that note, I head off to my warm cozy bed. It was purchased in May of 2006 as opposed to my city bed that was crafter in the spring of 1901, and so the sleep I've been having here at the berry farm has been heavenly.

Toonses

AAAAAUUUUUUGGGHHHHHH!!!

Guess how my birthday went?

Guess! Guess! Guess!

I'll give you a little hint:

This is a pearl inlay.

A pearl inlay of what, you may ask?

This!

This whole picture-adding thing is taking forever. I hope to get the rest of the pics up tomorrow.

I am now the proud owner of a Gibson ES137. It is beautiful. It is perfect.

I'll tell you now that since long before I ever played guitar, I wanted one. My brother was 16 when he got his Gibson for a birthday present, and I've desperately wanted one since then. Since before my fingertips ever graced a guitar with their presence, I wanted one.

I never thought I would own a Gibson. I truly didn't. Me playing on a Gibson is akin to Ian Miller offering me Big Ben to ride at the county fair.

I spent all day today in awe of the fact that this is mine.

My parents rock.

Toonses

First complaint of the season....

It was a rebound complaint from last year! These people hold grudges! When the picking is beautiful, the berries are huge, there are more of them than anyone could possibly deal with: and someone made a complaint about last year's picking?

On another note, we've been thinking of automating the phone lines so that we can each have an extension. Berry Queen would be One, SuperNan would be Two, and I would be Three.

"To speak with the field manager, press Three"

"To speak with our complaints department, press Three"

"To make a residual complaint about last year's picking conditions, press Three"

"To inquire about picking conditions, press Three"

"To ask if there is fruit available, press Three"

"To speak with our advertising executive, press Three"

"To make any positive comments you have, press One or Two"

We were thinking of going one further and singing it in Gregorian Chant. And every Friday, we would thank our customers for appreciating that we fast from speach on these days, and be satisfied with dead silence on the line.

Toonses

A day, A day...

Number of vehicles owned by licensed drivers on this farm: 3

Number of vehicles smashed in the line of duty today: 2

If that doesn't spell out how today went, I can't help you.

Good night.

Toonses

Another day, another dollar....

So here I sit, in the berry cave, late at night. SuperNan and Berry Queen have gone to bed for the night, leaving me alone with my blog.

Words can not express my gratitude to my dearest Berry Queen for giving me this opportunity once more to be here with her family, working hand in hand with her and my mom, for another year.

I've been working the berry cart out on the highway for the last two days, rather than managing fields. It's been nice. I love doing these alone-type jobs. I love just being me, with customers hither and yon, alone with my thoughts and a good book.

I'm considering this berry season to be my Apprenticeship season. I'm paying close attention to everything management wise. I can't wait to start my own farm. It's something that needs to happen, come Hell or High Water. This is what I need to be doing with my life.

It's a shame, though, that it has taken me all these years of failures at different tasks, years of college and university (that will all go to waste now, LOL) to figure out where I need to be.

I think I'm probably one of the luckiest people going right now. I mean, sure, I'm up to my eyeballs in debt because of this whole "Chasing my dreams in the big city" thing. I can't afford to drive the car that I own, or buy myself the guitar I want. I need a dentist and it's come down to making a decision between one necessary treatment or another.

At the same time, I'm twenty-one years old (Twenty two on the Twenty first! Yahoo!) and I've already learned that the most important thing in my life is to lay my little head down on my pillow at night and count the blessings that are my family and friends. The most important thing is being able to come in after a long day's work, sunburned and bug-eaten, feet blistered and hair akimbo, to chat with the people I love. Hearing Berry Queen's Berry Babies tell me about their days, getting hugs and blown kisses from the youngest, and joking around about my day with the oldest.

I'll probably never make a million dollars in this lifetime. I've accepted that I will probably live a life of semi-poverty forever, thanks to my cumbersome student loans and the lack of job opportunities out there for someone with my qualifications. I plan on making my way through my debts with the help of my parents and factory work. Someday, when the debts are paid down, and the Little Chevy is on the road again, and I've bought myself a protective retainer for my teeth grinding problem and when I have that massive cavity filled, when I run my own farm and I'm living happily on or near by the ranch....

I will be complete.

I can't wait.

Toonses

At the berry farm!!

Here I am!

A huuuuuuge thank you to SuperNan and my dad for getting me a laptop for Christmas, because here I am blogging directly from the berry cave!

Today was more of a preparation day han anything else. We made tentative plans, came up with prices, shopped at Wal-Mart, and had pizza. Mmmmm, pizza.

Hopefully I can get some pics up of what I actually do in a day within the next few days.

My blogging will be sporadic at best, so have patience!

Toonses

Take a little walk in the country with me....

The first thing you'll see when you exit the ranch house is the barn. (That and the plethora of vehicles and other equipment that my family owns.) This is where most of my childhood happened. I learned how to handle a pitch fork, be thrown around by bulls, and how to groom a horse right here in this very building.


This is my little Chevy, hiding out behind the haybine. I can't afford to insure her this year, so she sits dormant in the yard. I love you, Little Chevy, and one day soon you will ride again. (And by soon, I mean hopefully by summer 2007).


This is my Mom's John Deere. SuperNan loves her John Deere like I love my guitar. John Deere tractors rock our socks here on the ranch. And because I'm a crazy person, we have hundreds of socks to be rocked.


This is the only bovine left on our farm, Bozo the Bull. He's actually a steer, but Bozo the Steer doesn't sound nearly as good as Bozo the Bull. He's the clever cow who we'd really like to consume in the form of steak and rump roast. Unfortunately, he outweighs us by hundreds of pounds and we can't figure out how to catch him. He'll be steak soon enough though. Just give me some time.

This is the yield sign at the 'intersection' in front of our farm. It's there in case there is traffic. Those oncoming from the direction of town have the right of way. Fortunately, no one is ever coming from town.



This is my Dad's bi-weekly community service. It's not so much that he's a criminal, thankfully, but the township people don't come around too often to trim the grass beside the ditches. So, because the gravel roads are so narrow and there is really no space to pull over in the case of oncoming combines, my trusty dad trims the ditches around our property. We're safe, at least.

This is my Field of Dreams. It is located across the road from the farm house. Bozo the Bull's pasture overlooks it. One day, this will be where I grow my berries. Currently the neighbor rents it from us, and he is growing corn there this year. Corn, you'll be happy to know, is perfectly compatible with having berries planted in subsequent years. If you look closely, you can see the neighbor's beagle has wandered over to eat some field mice. You can't see it in the picture, but this is the riverfront piece of the property. At the far end of my Field of Dreams, there is a river where every spring we catch Mud Pout (Catfish to my American counterparts).

This is the ranch house, from the front driveway. My bedroom is in the top left window. That's where I do all my dreaming. Laundry is strewn about as though a trailer park blew up on the floor, as SuperNan says. But it looks nice from the laneway!



And so, as I head off to berry season (Wednesday morning!), I leave you with these pice of my life! My farm! My car! Thanks for looking!!

Toonses

The call came in today....

Berry Queen has officially requested that SuperNan and I show up at the Berry Ranch early this coming Tuesday. We have supplies to pick up, and jam to make.

Berry Season is expected to start before this weekend begins.

Say a little prayer for me.

Toonses

I've been tagged!

This has never happened to me before! But, I've been tagged in a blogger game, so I have to answer these questions. Hopefully my internet connection doesn't die before I finish...

One body part you'd like to change? I choose.... I'm not sure. Probably my jiggliness. I know it's not one body part, per se, but its one part of my body that I'm currently not liking too much.

Describe your ideal Saturday: Hhhmmm... No work, obviously. I'd like to wake up nicely hung over from a night out with my favorite girls. Then I'd make everyone brekky, because I love me some brekky. Then, Id read or watch a good movie, take a nice long nap, wake up, shower, and have a relaxing evening. Preferably back at the ranch.

What have you got for leftovers in your fridge? Ew. Don't go there. I need to clean it today before my roommate comes home. There is some hamburger Helper that is about three weeks old, and some Ceasar salad that is about the same age.

You get to travel back in time for one day. how far back do you go and why? I'm not sure what time exactly, but I'd like to go back in time and spend a day with my Great-Grandmother when she was a young married woman raising kids. (My grandfather was born in the twenties, so about that time). She had no water, no electricity, she milked cows and worked like a crazy thing. At the same time, she raised some nice kids and had a lot of happy memories. I'd like to spend a day knowing her (She passed away when I was five) and seeing how she managed it all. Imagine milking cows without machines? Shoveling manure without a stable cleaner? Raising babies without Pampers? Gah!

If you had one hour with the President, what would you say to him? Probably not much. I'd like to know alot abouyt the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. I'd like to know what's really behind them, aside from the totally biased information we get from the media. But I doubt he'd want to discuss that with a random 21 year old Canadian Girl.

One body part you'd never change? My heart and all its contents.

Your most favorite thing about motherhood? Not being one? Just kidding. I have no kids. BUT, I can tell you my most favorite thing about aunt-hood. I love hearing my nephew say "I love you, Auntie". I especially love it when he comes to me before his bed time and says "I can come into your roo for a cuddle in the morning, right Auntie?" And most of all, I love it when the little gaffer wraps his tiny little arms around my neck and says "I love you thhhiiiiiissssss much!" and squeezes with all his might. When my neice smiles at me and plays little baby games with me, my heart just melts.

Ultra-violet rays or tan-in-a-bottle? I get tanned naturally each summer from working on the berry farm. Even though I use SPF 30 sunblock every day, reapplying it two or three times during a twelve hour shift, I still get pretty dark. It lasts all summer. In the winter I just stay pasty white. I can't imagine me trying to use the fake stuff. I'd turn myself orange and splotchy. Despite all my education, I'm not clever enough to use beauty products.

You have an unlimited expense account; what three things do you buy first? Now that's my kind of question! First, I put a huge addition onto my parents' house. It's big enough to have a large, beautiful bathroom with heated floors, a whirlpool bathtub, and a large vanity with matching curtains, rugs, towels, everything. Also in the addition is a large study with a big, mahogany desk and a polar bear rug. (Sheepskin would do, I suppose, if I couldn't find a polar bear one. I think Polar Bear rugs are probably illegal, anyways.) The upstairs of the addition would be a large, open concept bedroom with a couple of bunkbeds and maybe two queen size beds in it, for when my brother and his wife, my grandmother, and other family members come to stay at Christmas. We always end up having to play musical beds to accommodate our guests.

Next, I'd buy ALL my favorite TV shows on DVD.

Finally, I'd buy myself a whole whack of new guitars, and a Martin guitar for my mom.

Least favorite thing about motherhood? All the vomit involved. Little kids throw up all the time. And they have terrible aim.

It's ten p.m. Do you know where your children are? No, but perhaps God does.

Thanks for tagging me, my friend who is Snowbound in the Yukon!

Who else in the world should I tag? BigMan and Joomy, of course!! I expect answers stat!

Toonses

And the boobs shall be reunited once more....

Everyone likes a good post about boobs. My boobs, in particular, have quite a unique history.

At one point in my life, I had boobs. I thought having boobs was great. They were a pain when it came to such activities as horseback riding... but in all, I felt they were worthwhile.

One day, I got sick. It was a combination of being a crazy person and coming down with mono. It was a rough winter, that much I'll say is for sure.

The pounds starting to fly off me, and at first I was thrilled. The silver lining to the cloud that was trying to kill me! My stomach became flatter, my thighs less jiggly.

Suspiciously, my bras were becoming substantially more roomy.

At one point, it was as though my then C cup bra was completely empty. So, SuperNan took me shopping and indulged me in a whole new wardrobe of bras.

I love bras. I love colored ones, padded ones, character ones; I love bras that have little sayings on them, that are patterned and multi-colored; I love bras that have sparkles and jewels and bows and occasionally, even ones made of lace. So for SuperNan to take me new bra-shopping was thrilling.

Unfortunately, I soon under-grew those bras as well.

I went rapidly from a fairly large C-cup to barely filling out an A-cup.

Berry Queen was thrilled. She laughed, cajoled, made fun, pointed, and giggled. SuperNan dubbed me the Boobless Wonder. My best friend can't get enough of the fact that I was once a well-endowed young woman like her, and now I can shop in the Junior Miss department for my bras. I refuse to own underwear that was designed by Mary Kate and Ashley, dammit. But, if I wanted to, I could. Having options is very freeing.

Berry Queen and I, between us, when neither of us are expecting another addition to the Berry Family, have about enough boobs to suit one regular person. Hence, she has dubbed me the Left Boob. Berry Queen has been dubbed the Right Boob. SuperNan, much to the chagrin of the Left Boob and the Right Boob, has been dubbed the one who actually has boobs.

And in less than a week's time, The Boobs shall be reunited once more, in the berry cave where we can play in our group (Which, when we go on the road, we'll call the Boobs) until late at night, and create strawberry creations for all the county to consume. We can pick fruit, clean fruit, lobb fruit, have fruit thrown at our heads; we can cry over fruit, laugh over fruit, sing about fruit; we can detest fruit, eat fruit, love fruit, and hate fruit.

It is fruit that will bring the Boobs together once more. So, even when we've had fruit lobbed across the property; even after the most foul-mouthed of customers have made us cry; when the fruit-rot sets in and the Trottenberries start rolling out: it is fruit we have to thank, for without fruit, I would never be leaving the depths of the SubShack for three weeks, to spend time with my favorite ladies.

Or, shall I say, my favorite Boobs.

Toonses

To my dearest Blog....

Dear Blog,

It seems that I have been sort of neglecting you of late. You have my sincerest of apologies; I feel that some explanation is due.

It seems that I have been feeling not quite as chipper as my usual self lately. I'm not sure what it is. It's just one of those things, where you spiral into a pit of pity and self-loathing and you just sort of sit there like a lump. And you know that one day you'll get off your sorry butt and move on with your life; however, for the time being, you need to be a lump. And sometimes a little lumpiness is ok. As long as it's not lumpiness on your hips.

As you know, Dear Blog, SuperNan has recently purchased herself a digicam. I have been diligently taking pictures since its arrival at the Ranch; unfortunately, those of us in the middle of nowhere have dialup internet access. This has been the bain of our existence lately, as it takes as long as ten minutes, and occasionally fifteen, to put a single picture up on your pages.

A more ambitious person would get off her but and do some crunches during these waiting periods. However, as I am at the ranch lately, if I were to do that on the computer room floor I would inevitably be trampled by small children, a number of animals, and possibly be swarmed by killer bees. My father would surely walk by and trip over my flailing limbs (As only I can do crunches with limbs flailing) and somebody would end up dead.

None of us want to see that happen.

Tomorrow I head back to the city to work another two shifts in the hellish Sub-Shack. I can not work up the ambition lately to care about my job even a little bit. If my boss called me this minute and fired me, a dozen roses for him and a magnum of Chardonnay for me would not be out of line. Except that I'd have to put it on my Visa.

The Berry Queen called me this afternoon to inform me that the strawberry season would be coming early. This means, Dear Blog, that I'll have to neglect you further as spending twelve hours per day in the blistering sun and then another two hours per night singing and playing guitars with my trusty partners-in-music-creation will likely take away from the quality time that I'll be able to spend in front of my trusty computer.

Hopefully, my trusty Blog, I'll be able to put some pics on you in the days before I leave the comfort of the Ranch for the familiar confines of the Berry Cave.

In the meantime, patience is a virtue.

Your ever-faithful author,

Toonses

I'm creeped out...

I don't like the term redneck.

I'm a gun-toting, beer drinking, occasionally a cigarette smoking, American vehicle driving, farm-raised... well, redneck. I'm not entirely right-wing. I'm not entirely left wing. I'm surrounded by two groups of people in my life: Psychotic fanatical right-wing Conservatives, and psychotic fanatical left-wing Liberals. It's hard for me to discuss my feelings on all matters religious or political because I simply don't fit in with any of my friends.

My fanatical right-wing brother has been blathering for years on government regulation. He hates seatbelt laws. But I always figured they were for my own good. So, no harm there.

My brother hates smoking bans. But, I always figured there might be someone with asthma somewhere in the county. So, no harm there.

Workplace safety regulations have been giving my brother migraines for some time now. But, there are some pretty stupid people out there who actually need to be told that gasoline is not safe for human consumption. So, no harm there.

I could list things that drive my dear eldest brother insane for pages. I've heard out all of his points and arguments. I've sat patiently while he's gone on tirades. Occasionally, my eyes have glazed over and I turned into one of those people who mutter "Uh-huh" at appropriate intervals. It's called active listening and I learned about it in college. (As opposed to learning about it in university, because as of yet, I've learned nothing in university except how to survive on twelve dollars for two weeks. Ah, higher education.)

But lately I've been paying a little more attention. Perhaps it was when inspectors came on to a neighbors farm and killed hundreds of his birds because he wasn't properly regulated. They were just looking out for public safety, doncha know?

Perhaps it was when a local church supper was closed down and the egg salad sandwiches were confiscated because they weren't prepared in an inspected kitchen.

Perhaps I listened a little more closely to my brother when smoking was disallowed at the local Barf'n'Gag, as we lovingly call it. I've yet to see a non smoking patron in the restaurant. I've yet to see a non smoking waitress in the restaurant. I'm really wondering: Why is our government, the infamous they, allowed to decide what happens on privately owned property?

Should government inspectors really be allowed to come onto my farm and inspect my milkhouse at any time they want? Should these same officials really be allowed to come into a privately owned house and decide what is best for the children living within it? Should the fire marshall really be allowed to come into my home and fine me if I don't have a smoke detector on every floor, and one in front of every bedroom door? Should public health officials really be allowed to storm church suppers and confiscate egg salad sandwiches?

I really wonder if it's the good of the public they have in mind here. I like being safe. But if I want to have a cigarette in a privately owned restaurant; if I want to put up a sheet of drywall in my house; if I want to draw water from the riverfront property that I own to water my crops: is that really anyone else's business?

When does regulation become tyranny?

I'm not a psychotic fanatical right-wing Conservative. I'm not a psychotic fanatical left-wing Liberal. I'm just me, bumbling my way through life. It's getting kind of complicated, and it kinda freaks me out.

We're losing freedoms, here people.

I'm just wondering.

Toonses

Who dates people, anyways?

I love people watching. I'm always checking out people to see who is with who and why. There was the group beside us at dinner tonight. Two middle aged people, and a younger couple. I decided that the young couple couldn't be siblings, and that the older couple was a parent to one of the younger people.

It seemed to me that it was the daughter introducing the parents to her boyfriend. I watched as the parents mocked interest in his stories. I watched the parents, with fake smiles plastered awkwardly across their faces, exchange glances with each other. I watched the lovely young girl looking desperately to see a look of approval on her parents' faces.

And I knew that none would be found.

The guy was a dolt. I'm sure he spent hours reassuring his girlfriend that her parents would just absolutely love him because he's just oh-so-good with people. I'm sure she spent the entire journey to the restaurant staring at him thinking that surely her parents can find something, somewhere within this person to approve of.

Halfway through the meal the girl started looking incredibly stressed out. Her boyfriend was going overboard in being friendly with her dad. Both parents were uncomfortable with this. An awkward silence came over the table. And Loverboy decided it would be a wonderful time to pose for pictures in the restaurant. Dad looked miffed. Mom clearly thought this was a stupid idea. Boy beamed as though he had just discovered an extra digit in pi. Girl looked nauseous and smiled meekly for the camera. Loverboy suggested dessert buffet. All parties looked thrilled to be away from the table.

Loverboy sauntered back to the table with a pleased look on his face and a fruit salad. I wondered where the family was. He looked around like a deer in a set of headlights because it was at this moment he knew that his girlfriend and her parents were discussing him beside the bread pudding. Like his whole world collapsed at the thought of her parents tearing him apart like an apple pie that had too much filling in it. Tossing apart the gooey filling, and meekly nibbling on the crust so as not to appear rude.

I heard the conversation that I've had too many times.

Me: So, isn't he nice?

Mom: Yep! Pass the gravy!

Me: He has a job!

Mom: Wonderful, dear. More chicken?

Me: Yeah! So, isn't he handsome!?!

Mom: Not particularly. More wine?

Me: *gulp* Wow, that is a nice wine! Don't you like his clothes?

Mom: Well, if I liked people who dressed as though they lived in dumpsters, his fashion sense would be wonderful!

Me: *chug* And his hair?

Mom: It looks ridiculous. Why is it so short? Is he in the army? You know, your brother has that wonderful friend... What was his name? He is ever so handsome! He has a real job, a real car, and health benefits! Why don't you date him!

Me: *chug-a-lug* But Mom, I'm dating >insert name here< and isn't he wonderful!

Mom: Who? Oh, yes... him... You know, the boy at the John Deere dealership is very handsome. I wonder if they have benefits at John Deere. Oh, but your father's boss just hired the loveliest young thing... Dear, what is that new boy's name again?

Me: Uhm... well, yes, I'm sure he is lovely, but I'm dating >Insert name here
Mom: Dear, what is that lovely boy's name again? The one your boss just fired? His parents farm, don't they?

Dad: Who?

Me: He sounds great. Pass the wine.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dinner tonight made me realize how much I love being single. It's great! None of those "Honey, couldn't you at least date someone who has a similar background, who is familiar with the workings of the twenty-four hour clock, who knows how to work a telephone, and doesn't insist that you pay when he takes you on a date at the discount movie theatre?" conversations.

No brothers saying "Good God. What the hell is wrong with you?!?"

No fathers saying "Well... he's better than the guy who got married to someone else while he was still dating you. I guess."

No friends saying "Well. If you like him!"

Life is grand indeed.

Toonses

Camping, Camping, Camping....

I'm back! Crazy Camping number four has come and gone. And a soggy good time was had by all.

My dear friend in blogging Joomy and I started out from the big city at around eleven a.m. We had to stop to buy some essentials: Booze, Kleenex, nasal spray, and of course, some stuff to eat.

We arrived at camp at around four thirty and set up. And by set up, I mean Joomy worked her butt off while I sat under a tree chain smoking and drinking one of my famous multiple-things-combined-in-a-single drinking vessel drinks. They were spectacular.

Jooms and I made a supper of Honey Garlic chicken drumsticks and potatoes fireside. It actually worked out great! I had visions of us contracting whatever it is that you contract from eating uncooked chicken and thus spending the rest of our vacation in the Emergency room.

That night some fool got drunk and left my boots outside the tent in the rain. This was to be the bain of the rest of my trip as I hate soggy feet even more than I hate most of humanity. Let me tell you, that is a lot of hate.

That night Joomy got to see that her sleeping habits were not to be the problematic ones in the tent. Originally, she said that there was no way I could sleep with her because of how she sleeps. At which point I roared with laughter and pointed out the obvious: she's never tried to sleep with an Obsessive-Compulsive, tooth grinding, tent hogging, deep sleeper like me. I can sleep anywhere, any time, under any conditions. Not a single square inch of the tent went without being explored by my unconscious self. Jooms just tried to save herself.

We awoke the next day to rain. Lots and lots of rain.

I managed to borrow a fishing rod from a lovely young gentleman who supplied me with worms and everything else one needs to be catching fish. Unfortunately, no fish were to be caught, and we returned to camp to face a night of cooking over an open fire in the rain.

So, we headed out to a restaurant in town called Gus's. Roughing it? Hah. I'll cook anything in just about any condition. But to stir fry chicken and peppers in the rain? You'd have to pay me the big bucks. So, off we went to eat at Gus's. Where we were joined by a man who can only be described as the most offensive dinnermate in the world. Literally.

He spent the entire time we were eating belching. Not quiet, "Oh-crap! I'm-gonna-belch-in-public!" belches. These were loud, obnoxious, offensive, echoing belches that could have brought a caveman to tears.

Then he started hacking. Not like "Oh-dear-I've-got-a-cold-protect-the-strangers-around-me" type of hacking. It was more like "World! I have phlegm! gallons and gallons of phlegm which I am willing to share with you without your desire or consent!"

It was perhaps the most grotesqe meal I've ever eaten. I mean, the food was fine. The dude beside us? Offensive does not begin to describe him. I wanted to point out his habits to him, but Jooms hissed "Don't! He might hork on us! Pretend to eat!"

We headed back to the campsite to huddle with a group of friends under a tarp and play Truth. You just answer questions that people ask you. It's simple, funny, silly, immature, and a great way to pass the evening when there is not other shelter.

The next day we awoke to semi-sunshine, but after having been frozen and sogged for twenty four hours consecutively, Jooms and I were ready to head back to the comforts (And by comforts I mean showers and blankets) of home.


And a happy time was had by all.

Toonses

Toodle-ooo!

Farewell, world!

Well, for the next three days.

I'm headed out camping with some city folk until Sunday Evening.

Hopefully I don't die of exposure in the wilderness.

Toonses

Adventures in Energy Savings....

I've been on my parents' case about saving money on hydro recently. They hopped on board, surprisingly willingly, and complied with my demands. The house has been dark all week! We also decided to try our hand at hanging laundry to dry.

The clothesline works great!

Well, it did.

For about five minutes.

Then the laundry was strewn about the lawn like clothing on the set of a porn flick.




Then it was time to climb up the ladder, re-affix the line, and re-tighten it so that my clothes wouldn't collapse fitfully on the lawn any more.




As you can tell, I stood back and supervised while my parents risked their necks. I figured that if I died on the ladder, who would pay off all my student loans?

Hopefully, now all of our clothing can dry for free and in peace, with little or no effect on the environment. Unless, of course, they fall off again and a bird chokes to death on one of my bras.

Toonses