Friday Night Haiku

Lasers are awesome!
Blasting kidney stones to bits
Making my friend well

What. The. FUCK.

This is just wrong. On so many, many levels.

I came into work while it was raining. When I left eight hours later, it was fucking SNOWING.

Snowing. In October. Before Halloween.

I had to scrape my car off. In October.

I know, I know: "Welcome to New England!"

I need some warmer, water-proof shoes.

*ahem ahem ahem*

HAPPY BLOGIVERSARY TO MEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Five years. Wow. That's like a hundred in real life years!

Suddenly, I feel old. ;)

Slow day at the spa...

equals WAY too much time to daydream.

I was using the facilities and noticed the spare roll of paper towels on a shelf. The label said "Big Roll", but I read "Rick Roll"...and my mind raced with possibilities!

I could get permission (for a cut of the profits, natch) from Rick Astley and bring out a new brand of paper towels called "Rick Roll", with Astley's face on the label! I could become rich beyond my wildest dreams, all because of an internet meme!

Yes, I know I'm goofy. Deal with it.

Hopefully I'll be busier tomorrow, otherwise...who knows what I'll come up with!

Curb your enthusiasm

It's getting chilly around here at night, so I've been letting my cat, Pipsqueak, stay inside. Plus, I made the executive decision to stop leaving food out for him, because I'm tired of feeding all the other neighborhood cats. Not to mention all the vermin-infested, potentially disease-laden critters who have also been partaking. Thus, if Pipsqueak wants to eat, he has to come inside.

So Pipsqueak has been spending more time indoors. It's great! He and my dogs cuddle and play, and he's an all-around super affectionate kitty.

Only problem is: he purrs. Like a fucking Evinrude on steroids.

rrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrrrRRRRRR

Toss in a few mews and squeaks and you have a recipe for BROKEN SLEEP. Oh, and he occasionally plants himself on my head. And also decides to crunch his kibble in the middle of the night. While his tag clanks against the edge of the metal dish.

The final straw is that he always wants to GO OUTSIDE GO OUTSIDE GO OUTSIDE GO OUTSIDE GO OUTSIDE (aka, "MEW MEW MEW MEW MEW MEW MEW") at four o'clock in the morning.

Tired Christina is cranky Christina.

*sigh*

I'll try the earplugs tonight and hope it helps. And a cat door is in the works, then he can come and go as he pleases.

I need a good night's sleep!

I need Botox.

I'm getting a vertical wrinkle right between my eyebrows, and it's all because of Masshole drivers!

WTF, dudes? Did everyone and his brother miss the class on yielding to oncoming traffic while attempting to make a left turn?

Or are they all just members of the "Fuck you, I'm goin' anyway" Club?

GRRRRRRRRRR...

I was a bit perplexed...

when the young client told me not to touch her feet because of her painful bunions. I mean, she was only in her twenties, who has issues like that at that age?

Then she shared with me the fact that she works three jobs:

1. School teacher
2. Cocktail waitress
3.Track and field coach

Okay,  makes way more sense now. But, damn! I feel sorry for her, she's in constant pain and there's not much she can do about it.

Also, foot massages are the bomb and she's totally missing out. Just sayin'.

I glanced down during a massage yesterday...

...and noticed some dirt on my sneakers. Colorado dirt, to be exact. It made me realize that a week ago I was still having a blast at Blogorado 2011, and it made me a bit depressed. We stayed so long and yet it went by in a flash.

I could go on and on about the shooty goodness, how fun it was to hear the *plink plink* of shots hitting the steel targets, or the visceral *BOOM* of the Barrett .50, feeling it reverberate in my sternum and clavicles, actually burping me like a baby. I could recount the satisfaction I felt finding a gun that really suited me (Farmmom's Browning Hi-Power 9mm), reloading the magazine over and over again, making soda fountains out of expired cans of Pepsi.

I could mention the freakish wind on Saturday, how even having bundled up didn't help much, how it sapped my energy as the day went on.

And how could I neglect to mention the fabulous costume party that night? How we laughed and laughed at both the silly and the awesome get-ups.

Oh, and the FOOD. The incredible food that caused me to gain 4 pounds in 5 days (three pounds of which I've whittled off again, thank God!). Fried chicken, chicken fried steak, lumpia, pot roast, meatloaf, lobster, brisket...OMNOMNOM.

We celebrated Phlegmmy's and Matt G.'s birthdays with delicious cake, sassy shoes, and a manly kilt.

I even shot a varmint, making a tiny dent in the tremendous, pestilent (literally!) prairie dog population.

But what it really comes down to, what I truly miss, is being with the marvelous people there. My friends.

Sitting around the fire at night, talking, laughing, the subject veering from the ridiculous to the sublime. Several different conversations going on, and you wish you could somehow take part in every one, just so you don't miss anything.

What amazes me the most is that if you look at us objectively, individually, we honestly don't have that much in common. But by some mysterious alchemy, it becomes a beautiful brew.

So thank you, FarmFamily. You've created something incredible out in the wilds of Colorado, and we're all honored and privileged to be allowed to take part.

Guess what was waiting for me when I got home?

Issued by the Commonwealth of Massachusetts: My unrestricted Class A Large Capacity License to Carry Firearms!

I dispute the "unrestricted" part, but still...now I actually legally OWN the guns I already own!
And I can buy more. And carry them concealed.

Go, me!

It's hard to say good-bye.

We're packing up and loading the rental, about to head to the airport and fly back home.

We lingered over breakfast this morning, until the coffee was cold and the egg yolk had congealed on our plates. Post Blogorado Depression has already set in.

Saying "Thank you" to the FarmFamily doesn't seem adequate to express our gratitude for their hospitality and generosity, but we tried to convey our feelings with our hugs as we said good-bye.

Time to hit the road.

And there's always next year!

The funniest thing said at Blogorado...

that (almost) nobody heard:

Mamaw, sitting outside in the sun for a bit this morning, telling us, "I want some pictures of the man with the...," while cupping her hand over her lap.

Overheard on the Range...

As I'm walking up to the BIG GUN table (as I call it), Aepilot Jim and Old NFO are shooting at the farthest target. Jim is spotting and NFO is the one shooting. 

Aepilot Jim: You hit it in the right shoulder...

Old NFO: Got it.

Me: Uh...are you actually shooting at that critter out there?!

Both men: WHAT critter?!

Me: The one that's walking around between the tree and the haybales behind the target!

They both look up from their respective scopes.

Aepilot Jim (huffing in exasperation): That damn llama is out there again!

Old NFO: I'll tell FarmDad.

I sigh in relief, until I realize that I have to wait to try the Barrett until the llama is herded out of range.

Me: Dammit!

What happens at Blogorado...

stays at Blogorado.

Especially boot-sniffing.

Overheard at Blogorado...

Stingray (to LabRat): Mind your bustle!

You had to have been there...

Overheard on the Road to Blogorado

SCI-FI (driver extraordinaire): If I see an 18-wheeler coming over the hill at us, there's gonna be soda and urine flying everywhere, cause I'll be tossing you the bottle and pissing myself as I try to get out of its way!

Tomorrow...

I'll be Blogorado bound!

Good friends, good food (make that FANTASTIC food!), and shooty goodness...what could be better?

Posting most likely sporadic, but I'll do my best. With pics, too.

Uncanny...

not to mention disconcerting.

I have a colleague at my new job whom I liked immediately. He's young and friendly, yet rather cynical and curmudgeonly on occasion. He snarks about everything, yet is unfailingly helpful and hard-working. Several times after starting work there, I had moments of deja-vu regarding him, and I couldn't figure out why. We'd definitely never met before.

It wasn't until a few days later, when I was sitting in the breakroom with my back turned to a conversation he and another co-worker were having, that I realized why he seemed so familiar to me. See, he was pissed off about something and sprinkling the f-bomb liberally into his speech.

BAM! It hit me...he sounds EXACTLY like Stingray of the Atomic Nerds!

Voice, tone, inflection, rhythm, everything. It's pretty creepy, as a matter of fact.

I had to ask him if he had any relations in New Mexico, but he demurred. He and his family are local through-and-through.

Which begs the question: Why doesn't my colleague have a local accent? I have no clue.

In any case, I told my co-worker not to be surprised if I sometimes call him "Stingray", and he laughed and said he didn't care.

If only he knew...

He should listen to Vicious Circle sometime!

Oh, I have to add one thing, though: the resemblance definitely ends with the voice, as this young man was also the one who thought "ambiguous" meant "obvious"...

Stress

One of my clients today complained about being totally stressed out.

Halfway through the massage, I saw she hadn't been lying. One leg was shaved and the other, *ahem*, NOT.

You have to be stressed to the max not to notice something like that, especially if you're wearing a dress!