Bugzilla’s relative, made an appearance a few weeks ago, but quickly darted to safety behind a drawer. I’ve been cautiously opening drawers ever since. Until today.
Bug Killer Rating (BKR) reaches a new low.
Bug Killer Rating (BKR) definition: The BKR is assessed on a scale of 1 to 10, similarly to the PSR (Primitive Survival Rating) from Naked and Afraid. (Do I actually watch that cheezy show? I don’t know. Maybe. Sometimes. I’m not saying any more. Stop asking me questions.)
A dead cockroach – as it should be.
“American Cockroach 1” by Preiselbeere on de.wikipedia – Own work. Licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0 de via Commons
A few years ago, after she chattered to Bugzilla as if inviting it to play, I thought Checkers was of little help when it came to bug killing. She was given a BKR of 1.5 because, after about ten years of training, she would occasionally chase, slowly torture, and then eat a very small bug. But mostly she’d just pester them until they died.
However, I have reassessed her BKR, essentially doubling it, from a 1.5 to a 3. Why was Checker’s BKR raised when she’s not even here anymore? Because Pye lowered the bar… But, wait! There’s more…
I’m not going to bother with the usual disclaimer on this one because this is a rant. It’s also not directly related to the RV park, which has a whole host of weirdness all its own, but is instead a rant about my general experience with the nearby towns. There will be cuss words.
If you are new to this blog, you should probably skip this post for a better one. Any other one. This post isn’t my best first impression. Just saying. I don’t know when I began caring about first impressions. Humh, that’s new. Carry on.
Say NO to haters.
I am ready to leave Deerville, Soberville, and Touristburg. I’m over it, for a couple reasons.
I’ve been teaching a free meditation class in one of the neighboring towns. I’ve done this before. I don’t get paid for it, it’s something I like to do to better my little corner of the world. It’s also fun for me, gives me a chance to meditate with a group, and best of all to hopefully encourage people to meditate daily. I teach different approaches to meditation, ways to easily increase your practice, and share what it’s done for me.
Daily meditation has change my life in ways that were previously unimaginable to me: a sense of inner peace, mental clarity, better health, and the ability to monitor my thoughts – and to choose better ones, etc. Of course I want to share this with people, so I started teaching meditation to others. I have done this for a several years, and it has always been a fun experience.
But then some haters came. Now I don’t want to share it with them anymore. But, wait! There’s more…
This is another episode of Tales From the RV Park, stories from the RV parks where I’ve camped. Disclaimer: These stories are fictitious, happened in nightmares, are hearsay, and/or are what others recounted to me. I am part Irish, so there is likely a good deal of exaggeration. The names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent. There is no relation to persons living, dead, or in jail, even if you think so. In other words, don’t bother trying to sue me.
It’s a shame you can’t buy common sense like you can buy deodorant.
I apologize for the delays between posts. Things have been too busy (one of the reasons is detailed below). I’m also starting a new venture which, if it goes as planned, will mean more traveling for me. *happy dance* I will keep you all posted… pun intended.
The RV park I moved in to less than two months ago has lots of well-maintained grass, a few highly desirable trees, laundry, rec room, a pool, and a river running along the edge of the park. By the looks of it, the park is lovely… from the outside.
It stayed that way for my first seven weeks there, until the owners decided to move in a large group of pipeline welders working in the area. But, wait! There’s more…
There is a saying, “You learn something new every day.” It has always been my hope to help educate you all in some small way, or for this blog to perhaps be the place where you learned something new that day, no matter how minor.
I make no claims on the quality of the knowledge learned on this blog. In fact, anything learned here is likely to be a useless bit of trivia.
And that brings us to today’s tidbit of wisdom: Pimpin’ Out Spiders.
I didn’t know this was a “thing” until a few days ago.
Pimpin out spiders is not about dressing up your pet spider, or decorating it’s cage/box/ride. The phrase refers to the original use of the word “pimpin” – as in turning your spider out on the streets for money. Yes folks, we’re talking about Spider Prostitution.
To answer the question that just popped in to the heads of several of you, no, I don’t think spandex and high heels are required.
Those of you paying close attention may have already deduced I learned this bit of information from my arachnophile coworker, the cute young man with a massive collection of pet spiders. I’ll call him Spiderman to protect his anonymity.
Here’s how I learned about Spider Prostitution…
Spiderman turns to another coworker and asks But, wait! There’s more…
This is a valid question, believe it or not.
Since arriving in the Texas countryside I’ve seen loose chickens scratchin’ and peckin’ in front yards. There can be anywhere from five to ten chickens at a time. They aren’t wild by any means, but they are true “free range” chickens. There are no fences and the edge of the lawn will go right to the edge of the road – where the chicken could cross – if it wanted to.
Brightly colored, big metal chickens are all over Texas. I’m sure they’re meant as some kind of warning to the live chickens. Like big chicken crossing guards.
But the chickens don’t ever cross the road. I have no idea why they don’t cross the road. Maybe they heed the silent warning of the big metal chickens.
The chickens stay in their yard, very rarely venturing to the next door neighbor’s yard. They never leave home. Chickens are the homebodies of the animal kingdom. (Remember when I toured the chicken houses and made that video of the one cock in the hen house of 20,000? I asked my guide why the free range farm chickens didn’t run away. He said, ‘They just don’t.’)
You’ll be driving down the highway and But, wait! There’s more…
We interrupt our regularly scheduled episode of the Online Dating Chronicles to bring you …this post. I don’t know what to call it. I can’t make this stuff up. Even if I could be that dishonest, I’m neither that creative nor bright.
In the latest episode of
OMGOMGOMGOMG crazy shit Pye does The Life of Pye, she stowed away in the chassis/undercarriage of my RV for almost 150 miles and 3.5 hours!
*blond lemming faints*
Friday morning, on my way to meet up with a group of other single RVers, I packed up the RV for the first time in awhile. I was excited to finally be taking the RV on the road after many months. But, like so many things, this packing-up made Bipolar Pye nervous. (Last time, when I moved from one side of the park to the other, she peed on the driver’s seat because she was so freaked out.)
This time, she took to her favorite sleeping and hiding spot behind the couch/hide-a-bed. It’s quite safe and secluded because the only way in is by diving down the small space between the back of the couch and the wall. And the only way I can retrieve her is by partially unfolding the couch/hide-a-bed, then crawling under and pulling her out. Knowing she was fairly well sequestered, I continued packing up the RV.
I didn’t think she would leave the comfort of her hard-to-get-out-of hiding spot, but much like my last choice of dates, I was wrong. After pulling in the RV slides, I went outside and checked everything. When I opened the door to come back in Pye leaped out! But, wait! There’s more…
It’s as I suspected: The creeps came out of the woodwork once I posted photos.
I had my photos up for about 24 hours, but took them down because of the idiot factor. Holy Illiteracy, Batman! I doubt I have the stamina to deal with the creeps, but nothing is more detestable to me than a half-sentence email from someone who didn’t bother to take a moment to read my profile…
A 38 year-old fireman from Hill Country sent “How r u”.
Ah, a literate one. He is also seeking women “18-99”.
And here I thought my fifteen-year dating range was generous.
A 49 year-old from far away, with pics showing off his toys/wealth, “HELLO”.
A 45 year-old, who lives fairly close, looking for someone to have fun with sent, “hi how are you doing today,,im (name).” WTF? Don’t they teach capitalization and punctuation in school anymore??
Holy Crap. There are many more examples like this. These “men”, for lack of a better word, obviously did not read my profile. Equally as obvious: they’re only looking for one thing – and they’re not even willing to put in much effort for that.
The 20-somethings also came out of the woodwork. But, wait! There’s more…
‘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.
Announcer’s voice: “We interrupt our regularly scheduled post on Lake Havasu to bring you a more pressing issue. The post on Lake Havasu will air shortly. No posts will be missed.”
Slab City, California. An oasis in the desert.
You won’t find Slab City, California on a Google map. A place in the middle of the southern California desert, it is not recognized by the government as a city or town. There are no sidewalks, no electrical power lines, and there’s no running water. From November to April approximately 3,000 snowbirding RVers arrive to camp out the winter. There are an estimated 100 year-round residents.
It’s a land with no rules where the residents rely on a code of honor. Not everyone is honorable.
For all it lacks in amenities, Slab City, aka “The Slabs”, has quite a bit to offer: two libraries, two night clubs, two churches, several kitchens providing free meals, and five social clubs. There’s an 18-hole golf course, although the back nine are a bit rough. There’s a hot springs pool and a “shower”. The shower is the drainage-ditch runoff that comes out of the hot springs.
I’ve been golfing everyday on the grassless sand and gravel course. My golf buddies and I are most appreciative to Bob and Nancy Unden, a couple from San Diego who built the wonderful 18-holed oasis in the desert.
But from now on I’ll stay far away from the hot springs.
But, wait! There’s more…
Ahh, what a lovely day. (UPDATED: This should say “week”.)
Ok, I’m lying. Totally fucking lying. (I apologize for the cussing, but sometimes only a cuss word will do. There are more, just so you know. I probably have that cussing disease today, you may want to leave now.)
You all know about the Droid X issue, which may, or may not be resolved. Some ex-boyfriends responded to the age-old texts as if nothing had changed and the conversation – and relationship – hadn’t ended LONG ago.
One ex asked, “So how you sleeping?” Much better without you’re nasty a$$ taking up the bed.
Learn from my mistake my dear Kernutties: Clear your text cache. Seriously. Do it now. I’ll wait.
And some of you know about the persistent MF who keeps trying to hack my blog. Seriously? WTF?! At this point, his persistence (12 attempts that I know of, plus three lock-outs) causes me to think it’s personal. There are two people whom I think sociopathically capable of this. I’m working on a post that includes one of them, and is about the time Martin Sheen saved my life. (Not a joke.)
The new job? Sucks balls. Well, some of it sucks balls. Big fuckin’ hairy balls. (The actual marketing parts of the job are great fun.) But, wait! There’s more…