Bonanza Jellybean

Photo Essay Entitled: A Smart-Ass Trip That Goes All Philosophical At the End

OK, the computer still sucks. And the new one hasn't arrived yet.
So here I sit, laboring away, hoping that it will keep running long enough for me to finish what I have to finish.
Also? Hoping I can get through an entry FINALLY, because Computer. Does. NOT. Like. Firefox.
Big baby.

ANYWAY... On to Our Much-Belated Fun and Literary Dismemberment...

•••••

Work Friend: So where are you going this weekend?

Me: We're taking Soccer Chick to Cleveland for her birthday.

Work Friend: Why IN THE HELL would you take a kid to CLEVELAND for her birthday?

Me: We're going to toss matches into the river and see if it catches on fire.

Work Friend: Seriously.

Me: We're taking her to see the US Women's National Soccer Team play China.

Work Friend: Oh, that's cool. She'll love that.

Me: We might toss some matches, though. At halftime, maybe.

The Rock n Roll Hall of Fame. I wonder if they have a groupie wing... if they don't, THEY SHOULD. Groupie-related-activity is HARD WORK, people. That's why retirement is mandatory at age 25.
It has nothing to do with boob saggage. Promise.
Also? Do not let the serene picture fool you. We just hadn't gotten close enough yet to see exactly what was happening at the ol' folks rocker home yet. The bus we passed full of men and women in lifeguard outfits should have told us something, but we're small town folk. We from SOUTH CAROLINA. We have no idea what the fancy big city folk get up to on the weekends.

We pulled into the stadium and parked, thinking we would walk around for the afternoon and see the sights before the game.
Like, "walk over to the RnR Hall because the stadium is closed and I have to PEE RIGHT THIS SECOND walk around." The 8 year olds didn't have to go, but the 35 year old did. Let's see how the little shits do in 25 years after they pass some ungrateful little parasites through their plumbing.

The first sign something was amiss?

Dutch Oven: Why is there a big gay pride flag on that very large boat?

Me: No idea... Hey! Look! BATHROOMS! Food! Oh, I get the bus now- it's gay pride weekend here. OH, YEAH- the lifeguards were from "GAYWATCH"- cool!

Dutch Oven: You're kidding.

Me: You're not going all republican on me, are you?

Dutch Oven: NO, but I really don't want to take someone else's kid over to the Pride event. We have no idea what she knows or doesn't know.

Me: She did mention Vacation Bible School on the way up here... NEVERMIND. I have to go. NOW. The Port-a-Potties are on the edge. We can skirt the whole thing and go pee without altering the kid's world view, can't we?

Dutch Oven: Ummmm, NO.

Me: You're just afraid someone will hit on you. Big chicken.

FINALLY, we found a non-morally-threatening-for-children bathroom and found a little café and were all happy. We began wandering aimlessly about the Lake Erie shore. Cleveland Browns Stadium, the Science Center, and the RnR Hall were all right there.

How many tourists does it take to operate a camera?
I don't know. How many?
None. We put the fucking thing back in the bag and promised to email photos later.

I love rock and roll, so put another dime in the jukebox, baby.

Do you REALLY THINK you have to obey EVERY "Don't Feed the Birds" sign you see? And you think I'm going to pose after I got NO COOKIE? I fart in your general direction, human.

Dutch Oven: I guess we've reached the age where it's not cool to walk with your parents anymore.

Me: No, I think we've just reached the age where we walk slower than everyone else.

Me: Hey! We're in Cleveland now, and I had to call you because you're the one person who could appreciate the humor of what's here.

PChef: Really? What?

Me: We just brought two eight year olds to Cleveland Gay Pride without even knowing it. Note to self: check pride schedules before leaving so that husband doesn't have a fit when you get there because we might undo 8 years of parent-supported churchgoing. They got to see the "Gaywatch" float. You know, like Baywatch? With lifeguards and everything.

PChef: That is TOO. COOL. What's wrong with him, anyway? I thought he didn't care about things like that.

Me: Oh, I don't know. He usually doesn't. He's probably just afraid he'll get some attention. He's a magnet for it, usually. He WAS singing along with Tori Amos on the way up here, so...

PChef: That doesn't make him GAY. That makes him an angry lesbian. What's going on there, anyway? It sounds kind of... LOUD.

Me: I have no idea. I'm not looking. They're playing or something. Dutch Oven's keeping them company. He should have had enough any second now...

Utterly defeated by the physical-world-defying level of 8 year old energy. Which, by the way, is apparently endlessly renewable. And endlessly ADORABLE.

OK, not so cute now. I just looked a did a mental ballpark calculation on the cost of the orthodontics ALONE in this picture. Never mind the education, food, shelter, etc.
They've been reverted to parasites again. Who destroy plumbing.

The hero, Kristine Lilly.
Who is THIRTY-FIVE.
OLDER THAN ME.
I got winded climbing the stadium stairs.
Fuck.

Hey, you ladies might have just played a 90 minute game, but I WALKED AROUND CLEVELAND ALL DAY WITH A HUSBAND AND TWO EIGHT YEAR OLDS. I WIN, BITCHES-WHO-THINK-YOU'RE-SO-FIT-AND-SKINNY-AND-CUTE.

Isn't it OBVIOUSLY apparent that I have developed some kind of complex about my fitness level now?

Okay, not bitches. Not bitches at all.
Pretty fucking FABULOUS, honestly.

This is my effort at providing my daughter with role models in a hope that she won't end up a 17 year old crackwhore because of my lack of natural maternal instinct. Thank you, Christine Rampone and Brianna Scurry and all the others I didn't get good pictures of for not being crackwhores and giving them someone to look up to besides fucking Paris Hilton and for ENDLESSLY signing autographs for little girls.

Just like Soccer Chick said she'll do one day when little girls ask her. No matter how tired she is.

And thank you again, US Women's National Team. From all of us out there who have little girls who want to grow up to be more.

I get tears in my eyes every time I watch that.
So I definitely let her play.

Where In the World Is Bonanza Jellybean?

Wow.
A week.

Filled with workplace drama, another oozing dog, and whatnot.

But that's not why I've been absent.

Anyone use Macs?
If so, you'll know what this is.

How about this?

I know what this is.
Now.

It was like, TOTALLY, a whole episode of Sex and the City, so I am of the belief that everyone on the planet should have it committed to memory.
Unlike my computer, which is having, ummmm...., ISSUES with memory. And processor. And everything fucking else.

Basically, it's dying.
It's five and a half years old, and I've worked the hell out of it, and I'm in the middle of a catalog, and it decided "Enough of this shit."

I coaxed it back from the grave yesterday, enough to cross my fingers and start working again until the new one can get here.

Just like I'm crossing my fingers that I can get an entry up before I have to restart for the fifty gazillionth time today. You know, in case anyone might think I'm dead or something and think it's now OK to be booger-eaters again and start stealing my shit again because HEY! SHE'S DEAD. WHAT'S SHE GOING TO DO? HAUNT US? HA HA HA HA!
Or something equally ridiculous.

Maybe I should have titled this one "What a Post with No Pre-Planning Can Turn Out to Be."

ANYWAY...
I'll be back.
You know, like the Terminator.
Except without that whole mono-syllabic eastern European accent thing going on.
And did anyone ever wonder why a Terminator from the future would have that particular accent and why none of the other models of Terminator seemed accent-particular? Or how the whole cyclical time thing could actually work so that someone could be sent to impregnate someone by the very product of already impregnating that person? Or that in T2 when the bad Terminator's flying the helicopter, he has three hands for a second?

Nah, me neither. I never think about shit like that.

Maybe You Guys Can Help Me Out Here...

Things I Cannot Make Myself Understand:

1. How a 3-1/2 lb. puppy can shit out 2 lbs. of worms (after wormer medication, of course) and still weigh 3-1/2 lbs.
2. How my mother-in-law can still infuriate me even when I refused to go on the visit and only heard accounts of how she tried to get Soccer Chick to talk us into letting her stay up there for a week after we have repeatedly said no. And Soccer Chick told her to forget it.
3. How my mother-in-law can still manage to live in a million-dollar house on a golf course when neither her nor her spouse is employed.
4. How my husband can actually pout about how little time we have spent together when he is the one who went out of town for work and then went out of town again for his mother.
5. How I'm going to have to explain the nature of women's memory and our capability to hold a grudge about something all over again when he reads this.
6. How three people can make six loads of laundry in one week.
7. How my body is set to the rhythms of the soccer season rather than those of the moon- leaving me with cramps AGAIN on gameday.
8. Why I insist on having long hair and refuse to ever cut it again when I put it up at least 70% of the time.
9. How weather can be so fucking exciting that 7 woman need to gather at the front window of my workplace to watch it rain. With commentary.
10. Why Oprah won't run for president. At least everyone would have to read a book each month.
11. Why I should feel sorry for and take care of people who came here illegally when my husband came here legally poor as hell without speaking the language and managed to make it just fine without everyone crowing over him and spending everyone else's money. And yes, this is still about the soccer ball. And now my friend's credit card that bought $1000 worth of shoes in Mexico City after it happened to visit the same restaurant where the dirty thieving whores work.
12. Why the only place in the world that seems to sell bathing suits that fit my skinny-ass little daughter is K-Mart.
13. Why everyone seems to think that I would be THRILLED deep-down to have another child and therefore feels compelled to ask me CONSTANTLY when the blessed event will occur.
14. How my mother will leave my kitchen SPOTLESS after coming over for lunch yet returns home to her own house which should be condemned as a biohazard.
15. How I can get up Saturday morning with the intention of cleaning my house and end up sitting on the couch all day watching Spanish soccer. It's David Beckham's fault, of course.

EDITED TO ADD: The Booger-Eaters have been defeated. I am now so in love with TypePad it might even take over the new Ellen-Barkin-girl-crush place in my heart. Because seriously? I want to be her when I grow up.

Dear Booger-Eaters...

Dear Booger-Eaters Out There Who Are Stealing Shit from My Blog,

You need to cut out the hotlinking shit NOW, because you're eating my bandwidth and making me hate you. I've already had to delete a post I liked, and now I'm having to go through 34 more hoops to shut you down. Making me not like you, see?

Also? A picture of a guy scratching a horse's butt is only useful when my commentary accompanies it, not when you steal it and put it on some porn site linked through Google in an attempt to hide from me. The fact that you are sitting in your mother's musty basement munching on your own boogers and jacking off to a picture that was supposed to be a joke does not make me feel pity for you- it just reinforces my opinion that retroactive abortion should be legalized.

Hoping you have an autoerotic accident involving a rope while in your mother's basement,
Bonanza Jellybean

•••••

Dear Google,

You're not helping. Whereas I used to think you as a benovolent bringer of information, now I see you as an accomplice to booger-eaters everywhere.

See, I did what you said. And filled out the little form. And turned in copyright violators. And yet... the booger-eaters prosper.

Please redeem yourself immeditely. By removing my picture like I asked you.

Sincerely,
Bonanza Jellybean

•••••

Dear TypePad Tech Support,

Help me, TypePad Kenobi, you're my only hope. Help me, TypePad Kenobi, you're my only hope...

Bonanza
(without sticky buns taped to her head)

Another Pop Quiz

OK, get our your pencils again...
And you might want to try a little harder, because I was not at all pleased with the grades last time. There's no way you guys are going to pass if you keep putting in this amount of effort.

Could I POSSIBLY sound any grumpier??
I bet I could.
Let this stomach bug I seem to have acquired make me throw up again, and this level of grumpiness will look like unicorns shitting rainbows. Promise.

OK, here we go...

1) The new impossibly cute puppy
     a) has discovered that toes in flip-flops are QUITE tasty
     b) thinks all big dogs think its cute when their toes are bitten
     c) is about to become the world's best-traveled 5 week old puppy
         as she goes everywhere Soccer Chick goes
     d) all of the above

2) When referred to as "pumpkin" in the checkout line at the sporting goods store
    yesterday by the HUGE 22 year old man in front of her after he reached out to pat
    her on the arm in apology for taking so long with his purchase, Bonanza
     a) immediately began a mental crisis over the nature of the application of self-tanner
     b) wondered if the crappy food she has been ingesting lately has indeed
         resulted in a segmented, spherical midsection
     c) told him to "shut your creepy, fat-ass mouth and mind your own fucking business"
     d) began mentally deliberating as to when it became acceptable for any man
         under the age of 70 to call a woman "pumpkin" for any reason
     e) all of the above

3) Bonanza will politely decline the invitation she received last night to play on an
    additional soccer team because
     a) dragging her ass out of the house on a Sunday, when she usually spends
         all day in her pajamas, is a task akin to rehabbing Lindsay Lohan
     b) she has finally realized that she is 35. And so are her muscles, joints and lung capacity.
     c) the team wears lime green, and lime green is not a good color for Bonanzas
         who wish to not appear jaundiced in public
     d) she wishes to spend more quality time with her husband and child
     e) a, b and c only

4) When Work husband received his new printer today and had to move everything
     in the office so that he and the boss could get it set up properly, Bonanza
     a) asked loudly 12 times "Isn't it time for you two to go to lunch or something?"
     b) asked loudly 37 times "Are you planning AT ANY POINT to move this table
         you have leaning on my trash can because I can't get to it and it's bugging
         me? And no, I don't need to throw anything away right now, but in the case that I do..."
     c) after the commission of a and b, sweetly asked Work Husband to bring her a drink
         from the refrigerator because she didn't feel like getting up
     d) complained that all they dust they were stirring up was upsetting her stomach again
     e) all of the above

5) After Work Husband informed Bonanza not to let the new receptionist cough near
    her because the new receptionist just happened to be on the flight from Europe
    that the guy with TB was on, Bonanza
     a) informed her boss that the "stomach bug" was probably the first stages
         of TB and ran around the office shouting "Workman's Comp! Lawsuit! Disability!"
     b) asked her boss why in the living hell he couldn't manage to hire JUST ONE
         person without some affliction that wasn't curable, though it's usually just
         stupidity, though that has proven to be contagious
     c) asked if the receptionist had been tested and when informed that she had not,
         threatened to call the CDC herself if an immediate raise was not offered
     d) told Work Husband to go kiss her after he refused to immediately move the
         table blocking Bonanza's trash can
     e) all of the above

Welcome to the Bonanza Jellybean Pediatric Animal Care Center

Can we get federal funding for this? I mean, SERIOUSLY- just tack us onto one of those spending bills no one ever reads and be done with it. I won't even say "fuck" when I come to thank Congress.

OK, so we had a baby horse last week. His name is now Bit (long story), and he's doing fine, for those of you who had to suffer through my excessive worries over SQUIRTING out of one of the baby's ends. Which could really mean something bad, like FATAL bad, but after 143 phone conversations with the vet and a tub of plain organic yogurt, he's fine.


Take THIS, yogurt woman!

So then, as predicted because she ALWAYS makes full use of a full moon when knocked up, my horse Playmate had HER baby Friday night. And FINALLY FINALLY FINALLY, she had a girl. Named Lilly (after Kristine Lilly- which amounts to Soccer Chick's entire participation in the whole ordeal). I have been waiting and waiting on a filly that I could love and treasure and keep to continue on Playmate's legacy. And I got it.
Except...
She doesn't like us. At all.
I might have even been overheard to call her "a little asshole."


See, I am totally competent and independent like my mother. I don't need your ridiculous fawning and fussing over me and pathetic attempts at medical care, as I have everything under control. I will be spending my afternoon working through some advanced calculus problems and mapping out the DNA of the common horse fly so that I might do some genetic engineering tomorrow that will put an end to my compatriots suffering... just so you know the agenda and feel no further need to check on me.
Please vacate my pasture area now.

Can you tell which pictures I took and which ones Dutch Oven took? Just curious.

But these two were PLANNED.

This one wasn't.

Meet Lucky. So named because she was discovered Friday night in the horse pasture where Molly (horse mama at top) was making a concerted effort to turn her into a pasture pancake. At first, I thought she was a cat. Then I heard the YIPE! YIPE! YIPE! YIPE! as she went flying about 8 feet after Molly's hoof made contact. Thankfully, not full contact.
Please excuse the lack of knowledge concerning the proper spelling and punctuation of piercing puppy shrieks.

So, OF COURSE, I had to go save it from certain death, as Molly has been known to squash dogs even when she didn't have a baby around to protect.

I have never, in all my vet-working, puppy-side-of-road-rescuing, ridiculous-number-of-canine-residents years, seen a puppy with so many fleas. When I picked her up, they swarmed up my arm. When I turned her over, there were literally HUNDREDS of them on her belly alone. They were gathered around her eyes and had eaten her eyelids bloody. The insides of her ears were full of scabs. As was pretty much the rest of her.

My guess was she was about four weeks old, abandoned, and in sorry shape. Much too young to be abandoned and on her own in a place where 1200 lb. things chase you.

So what did I do? Brought her into the house. And straight into a bath.

She ended up with FOUR baths while three people worked furiously to comb fleas, squish fleas, and treat fleas. I checked her after she was clean, and her gums were the same color as her teeth. Totally anemic. And very weak.

I told Soccer Chick not to get attached, because the odds for the puppy didn't look too good.
And as with everything else, she promptly ignored me.

She spent her weekend feeding, combing, holding, walking, and checking that puppy. She never once had to be told to do any of it. She even got up at 2am when the puppy cried to go out. In two days, she managed to rehab the puppy to an almost healthy state and house-train it. NEVER ONCE did we have to tell her to do anything or be asked to do something because she had lost interest.

It even went with her to her grandmother's today. Because she couldn't leave it.

Its name (so far) is Lucky.
Because it is.

Now, if I could just get those damn foals to see how good they have it...

I'm Not Sure If the Problem Is That This Thing Exists or That I Intend to Buy One

I don't really go into this much, but I work in the marketing-to-and-selling-crap-to-people industry. Part of my job is to sit and think, "What new wonderful product can we come up with that our customers will immediately desire and purchase? What kind of product will fit their needs as well as their wants? What can we do that no one else has done?"

This can take a lot of time.
And can result in a lot of SHIT. Because honestly, my track record's pretty good. But there have been a few lemons in the bunch- I made the mistake of thinking that everyone we sold to was EDUCATED once.
I won't DO THAT AGAIN.
We still have a 5 year supply of that lemon.

Anyway, because of what I do, I am constantly looking for ideas that are new and fresh and could be tailored to the industry in which I work.
And you will note that I DO NOT MENTION THIS INDUSTRY WHATSOEVER IN ANY WAY SHAPE OR FORM, because while my boss can find it entertaining that I am a godless heathen who could make a sailor blush, our customers would not. This is also why we did not advertise that a lesbian couple did our website.

Remember the "butt plug" incident? I REST MY CASE.

Sometimes, though, you see a product that just BOGGLES the mind. (And special thanks to Dooce for actually getting a picture of it, because I think Work Husband thought I was making it up. Everyone go read Dooce now, especially since I stole this picture from her and am sitting here this very second wondering if she's going to send me a hostile email calling me a shitty thief who needs to take her own gas station pictures, dammit. OH PLEASE, as if I actually think Dooce would read this. The moment of delusion has now passed... Imagine my happiness when I saw that picture- I now have proof that such a thing exists. And that a FAMOUS blogger thought it worthy. And that she might be famous because she had the sense to take a picture of it while I just rolled my eyes and walked by.)

And before I show it to you, let me preface this with the fact that I really need to find another one of these. REALLY. I didn't buy the one I saw, and now it's gone. And I need it for a gift. And I am somewhat horrified that I am actually going to pay money for this.
But I am.
For Southern Gentleman.
Who, when I described this thing to him, decided he MUST have one FOR HIS DAUGHTER, because she LOVES dead deer AND "Sweet Home Alabama."
Dear God.
BUT... he called a buddy of his today for me who happens to be in the tire business and got my new tires for me for $600 instead of $900. I can swallow my urban snobbishness for a moment. Actually, I can be BOUGHT.

When you push the button, the deer picks its head up and sings "Low Rider" or "Sweet Home Alabama." It's called the "DEER RIDE."

And I am left wondering...
At the end of some company's creative-type brainstorming new-product session...
Who decided that the answer to "what a customer will desire" and "what fills the needs and wants of a customer" is a dead deer that sings "Sweet Home Alabama."

I think I'm going about my career all wrong.