Dead Horse

It was on the side of the road and had a saddle blanket tossed over most of it. This scene reminded me of the horse that my friend Kenny and I found up behind his house back when we were kids. We sort of followed our noses to this bloated horse. Its hoof had broken off and must have been shot to spare it the suffering. That was probably the worst smell I've ever come across, other than a dead bull that our scout troop came across while bow fishing. We all started firing arrows at the bloated corpse to see if it would explode; instead, just an awful aroma wafted through the ravine. That is probably one of my favorite scout moments, other than burning things and smuggling in Penthouse mags at jamborees.

Anyway, this scene today did not ruin my grilled turkey pesto sandwich that I had afterward.

I did get in some R&R last weekend

While on the rescue mission, I did get in some time to check out the local scenery in Steamboat. This was a very short hike and well worth the time to go see.

As for everything else, well, life gets stressful for all of us now and then. We either experience it because something is happening to us or to someone else. I've said this many times, that it isn't because my life is disrupted that I'm freaking out, it is that it is hard to witness someone that you are close to destroy themselves.

I feel for anybody that has had to deal with addiction. I feel, also, for those that have had to help those who were addicts. I am learning that the things that an addict says has to be taken with a grain of salt, even the things that are truly mean spirited. Today I had to read an email from this person that was a full on assault to my character. The months leading up to this day, being involved, I've been fairly stoic and in control. But, this message today broke me down. I was in the shower and without sensing it beforehand, I started sobbing. It just came out. It felt bad. It felt good. I needed it.

This whole week I've felt horrible and have not wanted to get out of bed. I have to keep reminding myself that this person, who is very dear to me, is suffering far worse than I. So, I get up and go to my lousy monkey job, grateful that someday I will be able to know this person again without the distortion of alcohol and pills getting in the way.

In a daze

The past 72 hours of my life have been surreal and trying. I've traveled nearly a thousand miles in that time without any prior plan to do so. I've had to do things that I have never done before and never in my wildest imagination would have thought that those things would have to be for a certain person in my life. I wish I could be more explicit than this, but I won't. I feel like I've just taken that little possessed girl from The Exorcist on the road trip from hell. Well, "feels like" is not really what I mean. I mean that I, in fact, did transport something out of control from a long way away, after having helped detox it, having "it" escape, "it" be arrested by the Routt County Police in Colorado for DUI, and having to deal with more bail bondsman on a Sunday than I am accustomed to. Oh, and I learned another thing, ATM withdrawls on my debit card are limited to $300 per day and certain services take cash only. Oh, and the motel I stayed at had crap wifi and drunken parties going on all night long. Fuh! King! Aw! Suhm!

Did I mention that I had previously taken Friday off to have a three-day weekend to celebrate my birthday a little late?

If a certain co-worker tells me that he had the worst day because he had to take his daughter to dance class, I'm going to start shooting people from the bell tower. Well, I'd throw water balloons, but you get my drift.

Different hair styles and the total lack thereof

If you never got to see me before chemo and radiation and during, go here. Anyhooter, I finally cut my hair for the first time since I lost it. I went from this, (about 14 months worth of growth)...

To this...This is about as "before and after" as you're gonna get--I even did the dark-light frowny face "before" shot and the sunny/smiley "after" mug. I liked the long hair, to a point. Having to work outside the majority of the time, it was getting tangled from the wind and soaked with sweat and attracting dirt. I was also starting to draw the ire of the oldies and not-so-oldies that are squares.

So, I decided to go to a local "McBarber" and free my scalp. I decided that I wanted to go short all the way around to prove to myself that I have healed emotionally--that being almost bald again would not bring back horrible memories and feelings. Anyway, when the lady started cutting my hair we started talking and I shared my story with her. When the cut was done (fast) I asked her for a bag so I could collect some of my hair. She happily obliged. So, after I got done being a creep and having to explain to people not to worry, that I have a restraining order pending on myself, from myself, I approached the register to pay and the stylist says, "This one is on me!" I got a free, freaking haircut!!! People are now confused when they see me, but this is due to the town's tainted water supply. I mean, a year is a long time to remember what someone looked like with short to almost no hair.

Golly gee wizard nuts! I like my new stubs!!!

Guess what I finally did

And there's a story to come soon about the special day.

Bukowski probably said this

There are worse things than being alone.

Hank did say that. I don't think that he was the first to say it, but that certainly sounds like the dirty old man.

I would like to modify that statement thus: There are worse things than being alone, like being left alone with___________.

That is a blank that we all must fill. I would like to hear your answers. Mine is Dick Cheney or Richard Simmons.

BTW, I went into the wilderness on Saturday for a little adventure, climbed a slate covered hill, slipped, fell, and hurt my neck. It was nothing serious, but waking up this morning wasn't fun at all.

Happy Birfday to me!

I am old.

Work=Stupid. I am happy to have a job, though.

I have a new mantra that I repeat to myself at work: You people make me sick.

I am good at making things that don't work.

If I were to have one super power I would want the power of super persuasion.

I think a duck is stalking me, maybe even trying to kill me. I was attacked by this duck when I was leaving a local Burger King. I think it is the same duck that I came across up in the mountains--a very odd place for a duck to be hanging out. I'm going to have one embarrassing obituary if things keep going this way.

Birfday. Yay!

Appleologies

First off, I need to Apollo Creedologize to the following: Californians, Californians on my mother's side of the family (I really do love you), and my father's side of the family that scare me with their war stories, cowboy boots, and unibrows.

Today for Cinco de Mayo I went and had some delicious food made by Mexicans at McDonald's. The plan was to go to the Mexican restaurant in town that employs white people and one Samoan. Yeah, I do get a bit head scratchy about that one sometimes, but then I drink something with lots of caffeine in it and go on with my life.

Just when it is safe to think I can tell people that I wasn't made out of parts and reanimated--that I have family--shit goes all 'razy again with a member of the family. Did I mention that I am my family's emotional waste facility? I am signaling the aliens to pick me up as we speak. I think I am robust enough to take their experiments. I have to accept the harsh reality that when I find the "one" she will have to be set down at the family table and presented with the "loving cup" ceremony: Gooba-gabbo! Gooba-gabbo! We accept her! We accept her! One of us! One of us!

If anybody asks, I'm out working on my Camaro, waiting for a French exchange student to help me ski the "K-12". Oh yeah, I don't have a Camaro.

Baby calves and kid goats make me happy

I didn't grow up on a farm, but when I was younger the area I grew up in had quite a few real farms and ranches. There aren't many of those around now that Californians are leaving their quagmire of economic hell to cheaper pastures and snatching up McMansions by the dozen--so they can show little Johnny and little Suzy what a cow looks like. On top of all that we get the indignity of being told that we are backward hicks with no sense whatsoever and that our state should become more like the state that they had to move away from. It's awesome.

I like many Californians. Heck, I'm related to a whole bunch of them. It is one of those most awesome things that I get to participate in: family get togethers. I think all of the ones that involved the Californian branch of my mother's family consisted of me being acknowledged superficially, then ignored for three awkward hours. I'll say it again: It's awesome. At least my dad's side of the family have the social grace to say that they think I'm a loser to my face, then proceed to make fun of everything I do and that I'm a pussy. Hey, I can't help the fact that I haven't had the opportunity to kill a man, legally.

I think this post promised farm animals. Sorry.

Anyway, when I was a lad I had a paper route. Part of that route took me into farmland. It was there that I discovered the joy of baby cow season. I wasn't a happy kid. These baby cows took that unhappiness away from me for a brief moment. There is nothing more cute in this world than a baby cow. Puppies don't even come close, in my humble opinion. I think it is because you know what kind of fate a baby cow has that makes you appreciate that short moment it has of finding life fun and brand new. Let's face it: nobody's lining up to play Frisbee with flossy, other than to throw parts of her onto the grill.

So, today, I was not feeling particularly great. It has been a while since I've been truly depressed, thanks to my friends at the Pfizer corporation. But today was beyond chemical help. I needed more: Baby cow therapy. Hey, I've used a lot of colons in this post so far! High five!

I headed off to the county behind the mountains that divide where I live from Marlboro country. When I got there I was received with plenty of friendly waves from total strangers. My truck may not be a shit-kicker delight, but it gets the nod due to its vintage. After the welcoming committee, I went up a valley where the baby cows, kids, and the occasional juvenile alpaca roam. I parked my truck and stared lovingly at the jumping, kicking baby cows like a pervert watching moms at a playground. Well, I wasn't planning anything like that--I'm not a sicko. Let me rephrase that whole thing: I was not getting off on them; just that I made the mother cows feel a bit uncomfortable with my "hamburger" eyes.

When I started feeling better, I started to think happy, ponderous thoughts. I wondered to myself, just at what point do cows become boring? I haven't seen adult cows do much of anything noteworthy, other than feed an overfed nation. I mean, no cow has ever invented anything useful. I'm pretty sure a dog or a monkey has.

Wait...

New. Foul. Odors. Yes, cows have done remarkable things.

End post.