Border Patrol = Reno 911

Kernut the Blond Posted on by

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. But, wait! There’s more…

Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves. Allegedly.

Kernut the Blond Posted on by

This post is a mish-mash of the highlights from the beginning of my new year, much of which seems like an episode of the Twilight Zone.

I’m not able to post as frequently as I’d like since I’m on the road in remote locations. My internet is spotty and electrical hookups aren’t always available. That’s what boondocking is like. And you all know how I feel about the boondocking.

Ladies and Gentlemen, next stop The Twilight Zone…

Caution: Reality Ahead

Caution: Reality Ahead (but it only *looks* like reality)

A house guest, I have one.

For a few weeks. Holy Shatner! I can’t believe it, either. This one seems to be a very good one. One who cleans up, and helps around the rig with BBQs and hooking up the new toad. We are heading toward Arizona for a couple weeks before my house guest returns to their home state. [The name of said house guest is withheld to protect their reputation (notice I didn’t say ‘to protect the innocent’) because associating with me might, well, you know, not be good for someone’s reputation. Besides, we’re still trying to decide who is the Gypsy and who is the Tramp.] But, wait! There’s more…

Slab City is, umm, different. Very different. Kind of like me. Sort of.

Kernut the Blond Posted on by

I don’t even know where to start. Really, I don’t. That’s partly why this post is so late in coming.

Many RVers know about Slab City, some like it, some don’t, but everyone said, ‘You have to experience it at least once.’

I asked, ‘Why? What’s the attraction?’ No one could really say why, they just said it was ‘different’.

Different.

My readers and fellow travelers have led me to some of the most interesting places so when they say I have to go somewhere, I usually go.

Plus, Me = Different.

While Slab City looks similar in some ways to scenes straight out of the Mad Max movies, it is unlike anything I’ve ever seen or experienced. I now understand why no one could muster an answer when I asked why I should go.

Rather than attempt a lengthy description, I’ll do a series of bullet-point descriptions occasionally accompanied by photos and a video. It’s that “A picture is worth a thousand words” thing. Plus, it’s easier because I’m swamped trying to get a new dinghy tow vehicle so I can get out of Dodge A.S.A.P.

For more detail about Slab City, read my previous articles: one for Yahoo! News (republished on this platform after Yahoo! cancelled their Contributor program), and one about the death in the hot springs.

Slab City, Calif., A World Like No Other But, wait! There’s more…

I Thought About You Naked

Kernut the Blond Posted on by

I thought about you naked.

Then I put some clothes on and thought about you some more.

(Right about now my parents are probably cringing and wishing I didn’t blog.)

To the rest of you I recommend condoms to prevent any blogging children.

(This isn’t a real post, it’s more a bit of emotional release about the holidays, inspired in part by Hiker Mike’s post. I have a real, media-intense post on Slab City coming this week. I promise.)

Sexy red shoes. Hooker heels. CFM pumps.

These are my "Ho Ho Ho" shoes. ahem.

This Christmas was bittersweet for me.

As my regular readers know, more often than not I’m quite content with being single. There are minuses, of course, but overall I enjoy it. (For more specifics, see: Ten Reasons Dating Sucks and Ten Things I Like About Being Single and Ten Things I Don’t.)

But sometimes I really But, wait! There’s more…

Guest Post: A Holiday Letter From Da Kitteh

Kernut the Blond Posted on by

Oh hai internet! Dis ar teh anothr guest post frum teh kitteh. Remembr me? Sure u do! Mah hooman often talkz bout me. Im also teh co-pilot on her rv trip around teh country. I doan read maps yet, but Im lernin.

(Editor’s note: The following is a holiday letter from my cat and I to the interwebs. It’s written in LOL speak, and you can find more of it plus many funny cat pictures at ICanHasCheezeburger.com. If you don’t like LOL Speak, feel free to skip this.

Some of you are new here, and probably haven’t seen this letter before. Every year I send a similar letter from my cat to my patient and understanding friends and relatives. I say ‘patient and understanding’ because they have yet to lock me up. But there’s always tomorrow.)

Reindeer Christmas display in Northern California.

I took this really awesome video of a fantastic light display for you all - twice - but there was an issue both times. Sorry. Instead, here's a crappy out-of-focus photo. Yeah, I'm about as good with giving the right gift, too.

Da Kitteh’s Holiday Letter to da Interwebz

Iz tiem again 4 da holidai update lettr frum teh kitteh! Since mah hooman an all her relativez enjoy them so mutch, im doin them evry yer nao. Im vry happeh 2 do dis post 4 u, 2. But, wait! There’s more…

Travels with Checkers, the RV co-pilot who can’t read maps. Yet.

Kernut the Blond Posted on by

Everyone has been asking, “How is the cat doing? Does she like the RV?”

It has belatedly occurred to me I should probably include Checkers, my RV co-pilot, in more of my posts.

To answer your question, she likes the RV just fine. As long as it’s not moving. When it’s stationary, she spends much of the day sleeping in the puddle of sunshine streaming through the windows on to the large dash.

A closeup of my co-pilot sleeping on the dash, what she does when she's not reading maps. Which is always.

A closeup of my co-pilot sleeping on the dash, what she does when she's not reading maps. Which is always.

But the minute I start the Ford V10 engine But, wait! There’s more…

There’s a pyramid in Arizona. I don’t think the Egyptians built it, but what do I know.

Kernut the Blond Posted on by

Crazy dinosaur marketing schemes, lighthouses, giant golf ball houses, wayward donkeys, naked bookstore owners, and now this.

A pyramid.

Arizona is probably the coolest state when it comes to unique and odd attractions. I used to think I’d have to go to Egypt or Mexico to see a pyramid, but no. Arizona has a pyramid in Quartzsite.

In 1856 the US Army decided it would be a good idea to bring camels over from the Middle East.

Our government 150 years ago? Not exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer, so how well do you think this worked?

To their way of thinking, the camels would better make the hot, dry trip across the desert than the horses. Ok, that almost makes sense…

But when they imported the 70 animals, they neglected to consider camels are not horses and are not trained like horses.

In case you don’t know, camels are not sweet like horses.

And the US government is still none-too-bright 150 years later, but you know that.

However, in a rare moment of lucidity, they decided to bring over from the Middle East several experienced camel drivers. One of those drivers was named Hadji Ali.

Since most Americans couldn’t pronounce the name, they just called him ‘Hi Jolly’ – the phonetic spelling of the pronunciation.

*sigh* Do I really live here?? But, wait! There’s more…

He told 700 people, ‘I just spent the night with Kernut!’

Kernut the Blond Posted on by

Continuing the theme of How to Ask a Gal Out (the “Don’ts”), I now present the “Do’s”…

Bouquet of red roses

Red roses, and a warmed heart. (No, I didn’t get roses from him or anyone in a long time, but I love getting flowers. hint hint)

He said, “I just spent the night with Kernut!”

That was the title of his post to the singles group list of 700 people!

Holy Shatner! Considering it’s been a while since anyone could claim that statement, I wasn’t sure what to think.

*blink*

His message to the list continued…

Ok, not like THAT. (Pity)

I am sitting in the airport in Albequerque, waiting to fly to South Dakota so I can “move” there. I came across the email with a blog link and have had a fabulous time reading old posts. She educated me on boondocking, took me to a brothel, gave me dating advice and explained why she is still single, although I honestly still don’t understand the last part. (By the way, I was married once. We had his and hers scissors. It helped a lot but not enough).

Anyway, if you haven’t followed her blog, you should. She is quite refreshing to read.

For the record, Kernut, even though I have used both fabulous and refreshing in this email, I swear I am not gay. I hope to meet you one day, although I am sure you will still choose singledom! And I agree, the 3 date rule is utterly stupid. Guys who believe it should be relegated to being brothel regulars.

(named withheld, reprinted with permission)

And that is the nicest review I’ve ever received.

Ok, it might be the only review other than what my dear and wonderful friends and followers write on Facebook.

Promoting my website with a kind review is awesome. Yes, I can be bought.

I didn’t know him at all before this, but now I’d like to meet him.

And that, folks, is Lesson One in How To Ask A Gal Out.

Lesson Two is below… But, wait! There’s more…

How Not to Ask Me For a Date

Kernut the Blond Posted on by

Mostly, I get wonderful, sweet and praising emails from you folks. I save them all.

Sometimes the BS I get in my inbox requires a special rant. This is one of those times.

Let's Play Carpenter ..first we'll get hammered and then I'll nail you.

Let's Play Carpenter... or not.

As the Match.com Dating Chronicles and Dating Exiled Royalty attest, my love life has been nothing if not interesting. Dating still seems to me one of the strangest activities. It’s like a prolonged interview, and you don’t really know if there’s even a job for you.

Needless to say, my experiences, especially those with Match.com, have left me leery of dating in general. Most especially of internet dating in particular.

While I do get asked out fairly regularly, it takes a special person and a special request to get a “yes” out of me. In the last two weeks I’ve received several requests over the internet for a date, or a general indication of interest. A couple are worthy of a “Yes”, but we’ll discuss those in the next post.

Would-be suitors take note: Included herein are the don’ts of asking for a date. There are ways to ask a lady out to get a “yes”, and ways to be assured you’re turned down. If you want a quick hookup, just go to the bar and don’t waste her (read: my) time.

Like this article recommends, calling someone over the phone is much better than asking for a date over the internet or, Heaven forbid, via text. If I don’t know you, emailing is appropriate while we get to know each other. However, if I’ve given you my number, a phone call is much better.  Someday you will have to pick up that phone if you want to date me.

The first couple requests for “dates” were from married men I know.  But, wait! There’s more…

I met a naked man in Quartzsite, Arizona.

Kernut the Blond Posted on by

Everyone told me “There’s a naked man in Quartzsite, Arizona. You’ve got to go there.”

Well, duh! Of course I do.

My friends, and folks I meet on my travels, give me some of the best tips. I love you people!

They were right, as usual: he was naked except for a hat, a necklace, and a small crocheted “sock” over his privates. (‘small’ is not a comment on the size of anything other than the sock)

I think there is a little satin bow on it, but I couldn’t look that closely without being accused of staring.

No, NO. On the sock.

Sheesh, I really have conditioned you all to go to the dark side first, haven’t I? You’re welcome.

He shaves. No, not his beard. (TMI? Sorry.)

The “sock” was held up by fishing line. Nothing covered his back side. But, wait! There’s more…