Yeah, he’s a real romantic.
Have you seen Duck Dynasty?? It’s the best reality show on TV.
WAIT! Don’t go! I’m sorry I used a bad word: reality show. But as someone who detests reality shows (unless she’s in one about RVers), I can honestly say this show is different than the others.
The family, the Robertsons, of the Duck Commander duck call monopoly, are only marginally dysfunctional – just enough to keep the show interesting, but not weird. They’re a close-knit family that does not, I repeat, does not have any infighting or backstabbing. At least none shown on TV.
By now you’re probably wondering what the Duck Dynasty family has to do with beavers? (Of course, that assumes you remember the title of this post.) It’s got a little to do with it, but not much.
Uncle Si, the goofiest of the bunch, loves beaver. Well, he loves hunting beaver. He calls himself the Beaver Commander. Of course, this has spurred a whole slew of t-shirts with suggestive sayings related to beavers.
So, today, I have super large beaver to show you all.
Just the gas pumps at the World’s Largest Convenience Store, New Braunfels, Texas
The very big beaver is at the World’s Largest Convenience store in New Braunfels, Texas. The store chain is Buc-ee’s. Pictured But wait, there’s more! Click to keep reading… Beaver + Wood = Love
Are you all ready for some controversy? I feel this blog has become a bit lacking in controversy lately, so here’s a new twist on the age-old question: “Ginger or Mary Ann?”
I often view things through different lenses, and this topic is no exception – but I’ll be surprised it you’ve heard this point of view before.
Whether you’re familiar with the “Ginger or Mary Ann?” question, or even know who they are, it also applies to the more culturally current Angelina Jolie and Jennifer Aniston. (The question is in reference to two very different characters, Ginger, the sultry movie star, and Mary Ann, the wholesome farm girl, from the old TV show Gilligan’s Island.)
It’s a sort of one-question personality test: Who would you want to be with? Ginger or Mary Ann (If you’re too young to remember Gilligan’s Island, then insert “Angelina or Jennifer”)? Ginger supposedly represents the sexually-alluring, short-term, “instant gratification” preference. Mary Ann, on the other hand, supposedly represents long-term stability.
So what’s the answer supposed to be? If you prefer Ginger, you’re essentially saying you prefer looks over substance. Mary Ann is supposed to be the “correct” answer based on the perception of long-term stability. However, the concept doesn’t look past five or even ten years in the lives of Ginger and Mary Ann. Let’s do that now, shall we?
Ginger vs. Mary Ann Revisited
Ginger is But wait, there’s more! Click to keep reading… Ginger vs Mary Ann, Angelina vs Jennifer: A New Twist
That’s not one of my many typos — I really see butt cracks.
A lot of butt crack, enough crack to swipe a credit card.
I changed to a new space at the RV park: it’s on the water with spectacular views of the setting sun. There were two open spaces in this row. I took one next to a friend, and a couple moved in to the one on the other side of me.
And that man must not own any belts to hold up his shorts.
The couple parked in front of me have a motorhome, but prefer to be outside all day long, no matter how hot it is. They cook all meals outside. They are really tent campers who happen to own an RV.
But no belts.
It is probably clear by my tone that the aforementioned butt crack is NOT the hot one.
Statue of David in Sioux Falls, South Dakota.
Ahh, now there’s a nice butt crack.
Now there a nice butt crack.
Be grateful I did NOT take a photo of my neighbor’s butt crack.
While freezing my tail off in South Dakota, I went sight seeing. And oh what sights! I found But wait, there’s more! Click to keep reading… I see butt crack. Actually two butt cracks, but only one is hot.
This is another post in the sporadic series about Pye’s antics. Some previous stories are Pye Has a Foot Fetish and Thirty Hours Without Pye.
Before I start, let me note that this post is not about my cat and a tiny ship that was tossed. This is about a different minnow.
Pye and The Minnow
At one of my jobs we sell live bait fish: minnows and goldfish. Until I saw a dog playing with a minnow, which the dog’s owner had placed in a parking lot puddle, it never occurred to me to get a minnow for my cat to play with.
Yeah, yeah, I know. Cats are above fish on the food chain. I never claimed to be brilliant.
After work one day I got her a little minnow and placed it in a shallow baking (pie) dish in the shower. Pye stared at the minnow for a long time. (Remember, this is the kitten that appeared on my doorstep half starved because she couldn’t figure out how to catch enough bugs to stay alive. She and I live in a country park – there is NO shortage of rodents and reptiles to eat, provided you’re bright enough to catch them…)
Pye has never seen a minnow and doesn’t know what to think.
By the way… The brown caulk in the top center of the photo is my poor attempt at caulking my shower. (Note to self, and any others wishing to caulk their own shower: Do not assume that just because the color on the tube of caulk says “Almond” – and looks JUST LIKE the color of your shower – that it will actually match said shower. It will not.)
But wait, there’s more! Click to keep reading… The Life of Pye: Pye and The Minnow
The shadow of a Giant Armadillo loomed over us as we entered the flea market, pushing against the stream of fleeing fleas.
I’m not sure what the state animal of Texas is, but it should be the armadillo.
Ok, so I just did
a little googling extensive research and came to find the state animal is the armadillo. But, because Texas is so large, they need two state animals: the armadillo and the longhorn. I should’ve known.
They’re all over this time of year: foraging in my campsite, roasting on barbeque pits, and splattered all over the road. I prefer the former. After learning they carry leprosy, I have no intention of ever trying armadillo meat. However, a fellow blogger in Texas at of mule dung and ash claims to have eaten armadillo several times. He seems fine. Not that we’ve met in person. Ok, so it’s a guess.
Baby armadillos have been foraging in my campsite for grubs or roots or whatever it is armadillos forage for. They’re adorable, and seem unconcerned with my presence most of the time. Maybe they sense I wouldn’t touch them with a ten-foot pole. Or a BBQ spatula. The rangers, however, seem less accepting of them and want to fill in their burrows, or shoot rubber bands at them.
I did try to grab a photo, but you all know how fickle my photography can be. Fear not, Kernutties, I got photos of something better: A giant armadillo statue!! Yes, it’s true. Texas has a giant armadillo statue or two. Yeah, I was shocked, too. But wait, there’s more! Click to keep reading… Giant Armadillo Invades Flea Market in Texas; Fleas Terrified.
I know how much you all love my poetry, since Train and Tumbleweed got such rave reviews… (<—dripping with sarcasm), so I wrote another poem for you. This is what happened the other night to my neighbor’s awning during another huge storm in Texas.
Ode To An Awning
A fine product by Dometic,
All shiny and new,
It blocked out the sun,
Providing shade for a few.
Holding twinkling lights
And wind chimes by the ton,
It was a silent witness
To all sorts of RV fun.
One stormy night while doing its best,
My neighbor arrived home only to see,
His awning lay in a crumpled mess.
Mother Nature won against the Dometic A&E.
Twisted metal and canvas covered the side of his rig,
His poor dog trapped inside had started to wig.
What’s left of the Dometic A&E. Do you think you could cut straighter in a thunder storm? I don’t think so.
But wait, there’s more! Click to keep reading… Ode to an Awning
The Life of Pye is about a cat. The cat who adopted me.
And this is a short, sporadically posted series about her. The first post is Pye has a foot fetish.
This is why Pye has to be an “only kitty”.
Pye is still quite pudgy.
She’s been on a diet for several months (1/2 cup of kibbles as per the instructions on the bag), but it’s having little effect. (Her blood levels were tested when she got fixed in November and came back normal.) She gets a lot of exercise, still racing around the RV a few times a day — she uses it like an obstacle course.
Pye needs excitement.
She gets bored or anxious or lonely when I’m gone and tears the place up. I recently read an ad selling dog vests in which it claimed the vests helped calm down anxious dogs. My thinking immediately substituted cat for dog, and harness for vest, with the hope that wearing a harness would help Pye calm down when I’m gone.
To keep her from getting bored, I sometimes take her outside on a leash and harness. No, she doesn’t really walk on the leash. But hope springs eternal so I keep trying. She kind of crouch-walks. And only where she wants to go. I’d really like to have a cat that walks on a leash like a dog. I know it can happen, I’ve seen other people “walking” their cats.
Drama Cat says, “I’m going to tear up the place the moment you leave and this harness won’t slow me down. That book was wrong.”
Pye ran away for about 30 hours.
Last month during supervised outdoor play (a euphemism for “trying to get my cat to walk on a leash”), she broke off her harness in a panic. (NO, she does not get that from me.) But wait, there’s more! Click to keep reading… The Life of Pye: 30 Hours Without Pye
I’m at the Sioux Falls airport checking in for my return flight to Austin (via snowy Denver).
At the security check point I put all my stuff on the conveyer belt and turn around to go through the metal detector. But there is no metal detector. In its place is something I’ve never seen…
It’s a big, cylindrical glass container, with the outline of a pair of foot prints on the small carpet at the bottom. It’s one of those new-fangled x-ray screening machines.
Oh. Hell. NO.
I stop dead in my tracks a few feet from the entrance and ask “What IS that?!” just as realization begins to dawn on me. Now I begin to back up, hands in the air, as the TSA agent calmly tries to explain how benign the monster device is.
I don’t hear a word she says other than “You don’t need to back up.”
The hell I don’t.
I’m looking again at the footprints on the small carpet inside the big, glass screening machine. I wonder to myself if those are what was left of the last guy’s ashes when the “screening” was over.
Perhaps not so oddly, the movie Soylent Green suddenly pops into my head.
Me, shaking my head: “Uh-uh. I know what that thing is. Can’t I just get wanded or something?”
Other agents, But wait, there’s more! Click to keep reading… I just got felt up by TSA
‘Too Cold To Snow.’ I heard that phrase for the first time just before I left for the Frozen Tundra. (no, this is not about football – it’s about snow and ice)
I now know there must be such a thing as too cold to snow because yesterday I landed in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, aka ‘The Frozen Tundra’, and am experiencing bone-chilling cold as I’ve never known.
Here are some pictures taken before I knew better than to stand outside.
The Frozen Tundra, aka South Dakota.
Ok, ok, so I took the photos from inside the rental car. It was still really cold out.
The temperature last night was 28 degrees. WTF? I don’t own clothes for 28 degrees! I own bikinis. (It was originally going to be 16 degrees but I panicked and changed my flight. Twice. I TOLD you people I’m not well.)
Do you know what temperature it was a couple nights before I left Texas? 73 degrees! SEVENTY-THREE degrees at night!
This is the current temperature in Sioux Falls. (Why, you ask, are my butt-cheeks turning blue in Sioux Falls? Another one of those “anniversaries of my 29th birthday” is rapidly approaching and I need to renew my driver’s license. Why South Dakota? Because South Dakota is one of the few states that caters to full-time RVers. SD is awesome!)
Can you guess where Chickenbone (my sister) is? She’s in HAWAII. Again. What is she doing in Hawaii? She’s posting pictures ‘from the lanai’ where she’s having breakfast. Bitch.
Chickenbone’s picture from ‘the lanai’ in Hawaii. Did you see where I am? Not there.
A park in Sioux Falls, SD. Not at all like Hawaii.
This is just so wrong. She likes to snowboard, she should be in Sioux Falls. I like the beach and have no plans to ever try skiing again. Once was enough.
The Life of Pye is about a cat.
Well, the movie titled The Life of Pi isn’t entirely about a cat. Ok, the movie isn’t really about a cat at all, it just has a cat in it. Whatever, we can’t be picky.
But this post is about a cat. It’s about the life, so far, of Pyewacket (aka “Pye”), the kitten who
arrived on my doorstep adopted me in September of last year. This was originally going to be one Ten Things post, but she’s done so much goofy stuff I decided to make it a series. Lucky you.
Plus, her one year birthday has just passed. She showed up September 23, 2012 and she was probably around 5 or 6 months old at the time. I’ve decided to make her birthday March 23rd. It’s a rough guess, but she deserves an actual birthday.
A rare moment of calm in February. She’s curled up, upside down, along my side and arm. We’re napping in a black “faux mink” throw blanket.
Here’s some of what’s happened in the last six months… (more posts to follow)
Pye has a foot fetish. No, really – and I’m beginning to get concerned. She loves my stinky shoes. She attacks my feet and ankles almost constantly. Sometimes she licks them, or just puts her own paws on my feet. She likes to do this most by laying behind my feet and placing all her paws on the edge of my foot when I’m trying to cook. But wait, there’s more! Click to keep reading… The Life of Pye: Pye Has a Foot Fetish