Thursday, May 26, 2005

The Known Unknown Man

I would say it was about 10 years ago when he walked into my life. Well, he didn't really walk in. Came into my life would be a better sentence.

I went into one of those chatrooms. I can't remember if it was a Romance or General one, but I used to go into them to just chat and see where people were from. Once in a great while I would catch someone from my hometown and eventually figure out we knew each other.

That's where we met. I am pretty sure I initiated the conversation. I know why I initiated the conversation because his screen name had the word cowboy in front of it. I didn't care what came before the cowboy or what came after. I was after the word cowboy. Hell, we all know women can't resist that Wrangle ass. So I sent him a PM (Private message) and we started chatting.

Eventually, we added each other to our messengers and we would frequently chat well into the night. We talked about everything there was to talk about. Except sex. We never went that route like most chatroom conversations go.

He has walked me through heartache, love sickness, depression, deaths, and everything else in between. He's helped me endure the life that I live. He's given me pointers on chess and shooting. He's helped me realize that a relationship is a good thing sometimes. He's listen to be babble about being in love. Listen to me call men assholes. Explained to me why some men are assholes and to please not put all men in that category. Mostly, he has just listened.

And I think he does that with a lot of us.

He's went AWOL from my life before. And in knowing what he does for a living I am always concerned. When the war picked up, I feared he would be sent overseas. And he hoped he would. He would rather be with his brothers than watching from afar. He's helped me understand war in some way. He's helped me understand life in some way.

He is pretty smart as I quiz him on my daily words from MSN and he mostly knows them. He seems to have been around the block but not in a bad way. He plays a mean game of chess. He sometimes loses to me, a female. And doesn't come up with excuses when I do win.

He's explained, actually tonight, why my ass is getting bigger and how to reduce it in size. I was mighty grateful to him for that. He is so honest and that is what is great about him. He won't lead you down the wrong path.

I hope to someday meet him in person. We've talked about it before. Just two people finally meeting to tie the whole friendship together. So I can actually meet the man who has helped me be the person I am meant to be.

Thanks... Cowboy

Wednesday, May 18, 2005

Ticks, ticks, ticks

On Monday, I went hiking with my father and his friend. It was an easy hike with lots of stops to check out the birds, listen to the noise, and talk about the area. It was a trail I had been on before so I wasn't expecting anything out of the ordinary. It was a flat hike so it was easy for them, who are both senior citizens. The trails holds about three to four water crossings, but we only did one. Down the trail was a red-shouldered hawk's nest, which held two to three babies. We only saw two of them. And at least one of them saw us.

I rolled up my pants and pulled them up to my calves as best I could so I could stand in the water to help my dad's friend across the creek. I did have sandals on of course so the shoes weren't an issue. I had to do this twice, once down and once up. And this is where I think I encountered the family of ticks. Probably twice.

I felt something crawling between my breast and grabbed through my shirt to whatever it was. As I pulled it from my shirt, I saw the little sucker was a tick. Have you ever had where you have encountered some type of bug and then feel like you have them crawling on you for days. I have it quite often with the maggots on the calves.

We returned to my residence and I picked another one off me in the parking lot. I mentioned to them that they needed to check themselves. My dad's friend found one on her hand. While in the kitchen, I felt one of my back and pinched it between outside the shirt and then got it out. I pulled up my shirt and asked my housemate to check for any more. He said yes, you have one and went to pull it off, however; he needed the tweezers to do so. AHHHH!

We left my residence in separate vehicles and headed down the road. I was playing with my hair when I pulled one out which made me swerve all over the place. Several miles later I would pick one off my back.

Upon arriving in another town, I found another in my hair and once again had someone check me. After they found nothing, I felt something crawling on my stomach and pulled off another one. As I turned to go to my hotel room, my dad pulled another off my shirt. AHHHHHHHH!

I got into my room and stripped down. I found yet another one on my arm. I showered and then checked the rest of my body. Yea, I am not going to tell you how I checked the other parts so just use your imagination.

After returning from dinner, I took a nice bath and laid in bed watching TV or stupidity. I was running my hands through my hair when the last one I found fell upon my arm. Of course after that I couldn't go to sleep because I feared that I would have them crawling all over me by morning.

And now, after writing this I once again feel like they are all over me. AHHHHHHHHH!

Wednesday, May 11, 2005

California Drivers

When I lived in Arizona when someone quick stopped a Stop Sign, we called it a California Stop. I am not sure why. Probably because we knew back then they were crazy drivers. Now I live in this crazy ass driving place.

The last town I came from held 7,000 locals, more than several stop lights, a lot of California stop signs, a lot more yield signs at intersections, and a speed limit that was followed by locals, but usually not visitors. Of course most of the visitors were foreigners hailing from the Autobahn, which I believe is much like the California interstates. So little to say, my driving was more like Driving Miss Daisy.

Now, I live in a park with about 20 residents plus some in the campground and most of us do the speed limit in the park. But as soon as I turn onto Highway Speed Zone, my palms start to sweat and my heart races like I just have 20 Starbucks double triple whatevers. The crotchrockets rocket by me because I am doing the speed limit and still admiring the green rolling hills. They aren't aggressive. At least not on that road. They normally wait until safe to pass and pass in passing zones. I've only had one close encounter and I wasn't driving. The motorcyclist would have definitely died if my driver would not have reacted probably.

So I head north on Highway SZ into a city of 35,000 people. By the time I hit the city limits, my clothing is drenched with sweat and it isn't because it is hot out because I have yet to feel hot here even though I am constantly reminded it will get hot. The reason is because it has 28,000 more people than my town. I am constantly calling my friends that live in cities and ask how the heck (I normally use the f-word though) do you live in something this big.

Californians have yet to realize that the stick like thing coming out of the leftside of the steering column is used to signal they are fricking turning one direction or the other or changing lanes. I've seen about two people use them. Blinkers were used to send coded messages, especially between ships, to avoid interception of radio signals during World Wars I and II. So they've been along quite a long time. I couldn't find the exact date that Ford put them on his vehicles. (Yea, I didn't search that hard either)

Remember how I said the drivers above weren't aggressive. Well, wait until you get into the city over 35,000. Because if you are kind enough to allow someone to pull into traffic that probably has been waiting 20 minutes at the exit of Starbucks, you get honked at for being courteous. And then the honker normally gets my hurt finger waved that them. Why honk? Wouldn't you like the same damn courtesy?

And low and behold that they give some slack to an out of state individual. Hell no, it is worse because I have another state plate. Wait until I move back to that state and Californians come visit. I am pulling over each and everyone of them because I know their asses will be speeding.

I attempt to do the speed limit because in my profession a ticket means big trouble. But I get other's hurt fingers waved at me or looks or honks.

But I just continue to be Miss Daisy.