Zombies, RV Life, and Random Craziness
- Willcox, Arizona, resting place of Warren Earp, Rex Allen and Koko the Horse.
- Happy Birthday! Checkers, the RV copilot, turned 18 today.
- Ten Things: Random Observations From the Road
- Put the hooker in the box, and the bird in the closet.
- “The Thing” in Dragoon, Arizona? It’s a dead thing.
- Bugzilla, my new roommate.
- Tombstones in Tombstone, Arizona
- Holy Flying Vampires, Y’all! The bugs are big in Texas.
- From the Ocean-to-Ocean Bridge to the Bridge to Nowhere, and shaking your dates in between.
- Severe Weather Alert: Like a cow pissin on a flat rock.
- The Center of the World, and two blondes in Mexico.
- Don’t make me get my gun out. Again.
- I got down, way down, in Calipatria.
- I was eaten by a giant dinosaur, and then I found millions of Zombie Fish.
- Cement boats, giant artichokes, old jails, and two-story outhouses.
- Ten Things You Must Know Before Buying a Used RV
- Train and Tumbleweed
- Giant Bunnies, Giant Monopoly Boards, and World’s Longest Garlic Braid. Welcome to Northern California.
- 28 Days Later
- Border Patrol = Reno 911
Pimpin my affiliates… Seriously, this blog can not survive on my writing alone.
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By Kernut, on April 11th, 2012%
  He-heh. I need a sign like this for my rig. On my way to Texas, I stopped in Tombstone, Arizona, home of the infamous OK Corral. No longer the dangerous, wild western town for which it’s so well known, it has become an off-the-beaten-path tourist trap stop.
 Downtown Tombstone, Arizona... seems a little quiet. One vendor seemed hell-bent on getting me to join the ghost tour. Even the vendors in Mexico were less aggressive – and that’s saying something. Don’t stop now! Continue reading Tombstones in Tombstone, Arizona
By Kernut, on March 13th, 2012%
Two things that need shootin’: Varmints in your RV and Stalkers
It’s been a week of things that need shootin’. (Note the dropped “g” – I’m already starting to sound like a Texan. Just know it happens very fast, people, very fast.)
(A note for my new readers: Last summer I bought my first RV and immediately became a full-timer. I’m single, and drive a mid-size Class A. I travel with my cat, Checkers – the copilot who can’t read maps, and a rare house guest/visitor. I’ve learned I’m a bit of a Glamper – I don’t like to sacrifice the little niceties to live the nomadic lifestyle. If this paragraph hasn’t bored you to tears and you want to know more, you can learn about my travels here, me here, and get zombie t-shirts and stuff here. What? Everyone needs zombie stuff.)
And now back to our regularly scheduled programming…
The varmint inside my RV…
Thump – thump – thump. (silence) Thump – thump – thump. (silence)
All night long it went, coming from somewhere under my rig, but within the chassis or walls.
The loudness of the thumps indicated it was probably a squirrel. It seemed to pull on something (such as my wiring!) and as its body jerked back with the motion, it would hit the wall behind it.
I didn’t find where it was getting in, but I did manage to get rid of the little monster and finally get a full night’s sleep.
As soon as it was late enough the following morning so as not to piss off my neighbors, I turned on the generator, started the engine and let both run for 30 minutes while I pulled the slides in and the jacks up. Then I covered the area beneath my rig with mothballs, and got an ultrasonic pest control device. So far, so good.
But I’ve learned my copilot who can’t read maps, isn’t much of a pest deterrent, either. *sigh*
 The welcome varmint inside my RV: "Look, Ma! I'm guarding the bed." Yup, no squirrels will get on the bed now. The bed is safe.
The varmint outside my RV…
As a single female Don’t stop now! Continue reading Don’t make me get my gun out. Again.
By Kernut, on February 1st, 2012%
 The scene: An empty two-lane highway at 8:30 pm on a Wednesday night.
My car: The nice tow car previously pictured, carrying two blond-haired white people (me and the aforementioned house guest) slowly driving back to their campsite in Slab City after a day at the nearby RV park pool, hanging with sober people. (The sober part will be of significance further in the story.)
Behind us: A car is tailgating. For almost 15 minutes.
They could easily go around us on the empty highway.
A couple extra white lights come on over their roof. Then the side spotlight as seen on cop cars comes out. Within seconds a red light comes on, so I pull over.
Two dimwitted Border Patrol agents creep up on the right side, stop about ten feet away, and peer towards the interior of the car, fear and suspicion on their face. Don’t stop now! Continue reading Border Patrol = Reno 911
By Kernut, on July 13th, 2010%
 Do you think he means a 'blow job' at the salon for that hair?? I said job I had, not gave. sheesh No, not had as in got, either. Remember, I’m a woman – I give them I don’t …oh, never mind.
Where was I? Oh, yeah.. jobs.
The kind you get paid for.
Oh ferfuckssake.
I was fairly young at the time I went to work for this insurance company. My boss was named Fred Krueger. I could not making this up if I tried, people. To separate himself from Freddy Krueger The Slasher, he insisted we called him Fred. Just Fred Krueger.
Yeah, that worked well. Calling him Fred totally made me forget his name WAS IDENTICAL TO THE INFAMOUS SLASHER FLICK DUDE. Don’t stop now! Continue reading The Time I Worked For Fred Krueger and Donna Mills
By Kernut, on April 28th, 2010%
I learned to mix drinks, quite well actually, and we all had a grand time drinking up the liquor cabinet after school. When the booze would run low, Dad would just replace it. Awesome. *hiccup* . . . → Read More: Drinking and Smoking: My Childhood Memories
By Kernut, on April 8th, 2010%
Have you ever been to a brothel? Of course you have! Well I have, too. Three, actually. All on the same day. I’m a studdette like that. . . . → Read More: Sex in Carson City: My Trip to The Brothels – UPDATE
By Kernut, on April 2nd, 2010%
 The Rispin Mansion, Capitola, CA. Front entry way. The Time Penny Was Attacked by The Killer Bees
When I was a delinquent young teenager in Capitola, I had some friends with whom I regularly got into trouble had adventures. (See: My First Brush With The Law). One of the places we would regularly go to find trouble was the colloquially named ‘monastery’, formally know as The Rispin Mansion.
(Side note: If you view the more recent photos, note we did NOT spray paint the place, or destroy the statues, and were quick to lecture those who did. We loved that place. I would like to see it restored but it’s going to be torn down and turned into a Bed & Breakfast or something.)
The monestary/Rispin Mansion was once a beautiful mansion built in 1922 by a wealthy man, reported to have transported liquor during the Prohibition.
It seemed only fitting we should go there to drink illegally.
The place once had beautiful parquet floors and statues. It still had secret hidden rooms, and a sliding bookcase. People, I couldn’t make this shit up – I’m not that imaginative. IT WAS AWESOME!
The place was abandoned around 1958, and it’s considered trespassing to be on the grounds.
Yet another good reason for us to go there. Regularly. Don’t stop now! Continue reading Penny and The Attack of The Killer Bees
By Kernut, on March 29th, 2010%
 The Four Seasons Golf Resort - probably not the one we were at. Golf Carts Don’t Float, But Golf Tees Do – Who Knew?!
For a little while after my parents got divorced my father stayed in the general Santa Barbara, CA area. My sister, Chickenbone, and I would spend weekends and long summers with him where we would learn all kinds of grown-up things (much against my mother’s wishes) like playing poker, driving before we were even in our teens, and eating junk food all day long.
My father raised us very differently than my mother: My mother was a fairly strict and conservative parent who raised us on health food, while my father pretty much let us do absolutely anything we wanted. (See My First Brush With The Law for an example.)
And he would often help us cover up the crime.
We were too young to be legally left alone (not because we couldn’t take care of ourselves, but more likely we’d have burnt down the house). But my father liked playing golf, so he had to bring us along.
Just imagine two independent, but restrained-9-months-out-of-the year-then-suddenly-unleashed kids running amok on the golf course. Don’t stop now! Continue reading The Time I Learned Golf Carts Don’t Float
By Kernut, on March 25th, 2010%
It was a match made in heaven: Three gals, three guys, a wee party, and an illegal bonfire. . . . → Read More: My First Brush With The Law
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