Monday, May 30, 2011

Mortified, party of one.

I mentioned in a previous post about how Papa D embarrassed the hell out of me a couple months ago. In fact, I was actually asked by him to delete this story from my other blog. I laugh about it now, what happened. Well, I actually laughed while I was being embarrassed because I really couldn't do much else.

I hadn't been up here long when my grandparents started thinking of guys they knew that they might believe to be worthy for me to meet. My grandfather was stuck on one particular person, who works for a company that advertises with us.

One day, Papa D and I were out picking up ad copy we stopped by this place. When we pick up ad copy, we tend to visit. Actually, let me rephrase that: Papa D visits. A lot. We were told, at this particular place, to speak to a specific person, whom I will simply call him "Guy". We had been to this place once before where I had met everyone there. So, we sat down at Guy's desk and he and Papa D started talking.

And Papa D starts with this: "You know I've been trying to get my granddaughter here to go on a date with you."

I'm pretty sure my jaw hit the floor. I'm also quite sure I was as red as a lobster. Guy and I kind of laughed it off, but I knew I was highly embarrassed and I'm pretty sure he was as well. And Papa D didn't stop there. Oh no. Throughout our time there he tossed in things like, "You know my granddaughter now works at the vet's office on Saturdays, you two should go to lunch."

I'm pretty sure the words shut the fuck up crossed my mind. Apparently my grandfather doesn't have telepathic abilities, so he didn't get my message. All I could do was laugh it off, although I was so embarrassed I actually had tears in my eyes. And it wasn't like I could easily go anywhere. I know he meant well, and he really had no intention of embarrassing me, or Guy. When I told K at dinner what had transpired, she just looked at Papa D and said, "Not cool, honey, not cool."

The next time I saw Guy was about a couple weeks later, and it was obvious we were both still highly embarrassed. We could barely talk to each other let alone look at each other. It took about a month, but the embarrassment seems to have waned. I, however, am still mortified.

Actually, I now have a running joke going with my mom when we're in Town picking up ad copy or delivering papers. I text her and tell her how many times I've passed this particular business. All I have to do is text "6x" and she knows what I'm referring to. And when Papa D and I get out of the car to go into this business, he says, "Let's go see your boyfriend."

hangs head.

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

This isn't a BBQ, it's a BAR.

Some of you might recognize this post from my other blog. This just has some details about the guy. I didn't want to write them over there in case one or both of them read it.

On Sunday I met a guy that one of my friends wanted me to meet. We had actually been supposed to have met a couple weeks ago, but my "wingman" got sick and backed out. Not to mention I found out that one of my grandmother's was in the hospital with heart problems (she's doing better now).

Anyway, so the idea was to have a BBQ.

Sunday rolls around and I don't have a single detail about said BBQ. Nothing. Not until sometime Sunday afternoon. And none of the texts mentioned a BBQ.

Wingman  told me that this guy was out golfing all day so he could meet us anytime. Where? Wingman finally says that we are going to meet at a bar. Hmmm. That doesn't sound very BBQ-ish. She told me she'd text me when she was heading out - when her babysitter showed up. Oookay. Bars are not my favorite place, simply because I don't care for drinking. I like a few drinks, but I drink so damn slow that they're warm by the time I'm done. I've never much cared for alcohol, and I've had some odd "hit-on" experiences at this particular bar, so I don't always really want to go there.

I wound up watching the Giants/A's game with my mom. It went into extra innings and when she texted me that she was heading to the bar, I texted back that I was in the middle of a ball game and would leave when it was done. (How bad is that?! lol) Finally the game ended in the 11th inning with the Giants barely snagging the win. Love my Giants.

I got to the bar and the guy wasn't there yet. So my friend and I chatted until he got there. He showed up in shorts, t-shirt, and flip-flops, and a baseball cap. He hugs my friend, and she introduces us, and he says, "Hi!"

And there it was. Staring me in the face. I know it's a picky little thing, and really I shouldn't judge. But I still can't quite get over it. He has a black (aka rotten) tooth. He was a really nice guy, but all I see is that black tooth, not his face. Is that horrible? Is that wrong?

After a few drinks, we went out to dinner (me, Wingman, guy, and some other guy). Don't worry, Wingman was sober and was our driver. We promptly got called obnoxious by some lady with a an at-ti-tude. Apparently she wasn't fond of people laughing in her vicinity. And really, we weren't that loud, but the restaurant was pretty empty so we kinda echoed and whatnot. However, it wasn't filled with dirty words or inappropriate conversation. It was just some fucking laughter.

Then I had to choke down the worse burrito ever. Seriously. The shredded beef had no flavor whatsoever, and it was just dry. It came with no sides - no beans and no rice. Seriously? No amount of salsa and sour cream made it any better. I will never go to that restaurant ever again.

Wanna know what's really bad?

The other guy that went to dinner with us? He was more attractive to me. Partly because he didn't have any black teeth, but also because he filled out his Wranglers quite nicely.

I'm going to go wallow in shame.

Thursday, May 19, 2011

And these are the days of my life . . . .

I really think I need a tape recorder going while driving around with my grandfather. No. Seriously.

So, about two or three weeks ago, one of my friends told me she wanted me to meet someone. Apparently her and another friend had been talking about this for awhile. Our first attempted meet up a couple weeks ago went bust as I when I arrived in town I first found our that one of my grandmother's was in the hospital for heart stuff, and secondly that my wingman was sick. I've been texting the guy off and on for awhile and he seems cool. We're supposed to meet up at a BBQ this Sunday at my friend's place.

Anyways, I had told my grandparents about it, and K was cool with it and wanted to know what I knew, which was basically nil. Name, Age, and job was all I had. Papa D seemed ambivalent.

This morning, while driving to Town to deliver papers, I got the talk. You know, the relationship talk. I was a wee bit taken aback, a wee bit annoyed, and nearly insulted that he felt he should have this discussion with me at the ripe old age of 31. I am no stranger to relationships.

PD: You know, since you've moved up here, I think I've developed fatherly concerns for you.

(Not a big leap since you are my grandfather and all)

PD: I'm a little concerned about your friends setting you up on this date. I think it's a little fast.

Me: What do you mean? (as in, how is meeting a person moving too fast?!)

PD: I'm just concerned about this guy. I never had a relationship with someone that I didn't already know for a long time.

Me: Well, I trust my friends. They wouldn't knowingly set me up with a bad guy. Besides, they just want me to meet the guy. I may never see him again after this.

PD: Oh oh, you do, okay. I'm just saying that I've never had a relationship with someone that I didn't already know for a long time.

(it's no mistake that being mentioned twice. lol)

PD: Well, I'm going to give you some relationship advice . . . (and he goes into this story of how he meet each of his wives, and how long he'd known them before marrying them, or even asking them on a date. meanwhile, I'm rolling my eyes and mouthing "are you fucking kidding me?" thankful that I was alone in the front seat and he was sitting behind me in the back seat).

Me: uh huh . . . yeah . . . mmhmmm . . . (all during his story so he knew I was listening)

PD: . . . . But I am concerned partly because I know what guys want. (and he starts chuckling)

Me: (speechless for a moment) Um, I know what guys want, too. Men really aren't that hard to figure out.

PD: I kinda feel like I'm having a conversation with my 14 year old daughter. I thought maybe I shouldn't say anything because you aren't 14, you're 31.

(yeah, I'm thinking you shouldn't have really said anything)

I eventually put it out of my head until I was finally home alone after delivering papers. I can sort of see that he may not necessarily trust my friends because he doesn't know them. Perhaps because one of them is a bartender. Who knows. But doesn't he trust me?

I know he worries about me, and has concerns about me meeting strangers. Apparently he forgot all about my attempts with internet dating in the big city, which was kind of a crock. And besides, he fucking embarrassed the shit out of me about a month or so ago trying to set me up with a guy. (That was a post I was forced to delete on my other blog, so I will re-post the story over here another day). So what is the big difference in him doing it versus my friends?

I know he was trying to look out for me, so I wasn't mad. Annoyed? A little. I know he will always worry about me, like my parents do. However, I am a big girl, I know what men want, and trust me . . . they don't get it easily from me. (insert evil laugh here)

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

You know you're in a laid back vet clinic when . . .

. . . a technician eats her breakfast while bullshitting with the vet while he's spaying a cat. And neither of them noticed me taking the picture. I'm pretty sure they thought I was texting. (insert evil laugh here)

And that's the vet that hired me. He's into fist bumping. lol

Monday, May 16, 2011

Things Papa D Says . . .

Sometimes I wonder about the things Papa D says to me while driving. Parts of the country that we drive around I grew up in as a little girl, so I know where things are.  Certain restaurants, hotels, stores, etc. I also know the mountain passes, such as Eskimo Hill, which is very popular for sledders in winter. It's also popular for winter car wrecks.

The town I grew up in is Old Station, just a couple hundred people live there year-round. You blink you miss it, but it's where I grew up. There is one tiny general store in town, Rim Rock Ranch, where I used to get ice cream with my babysitters in summer.

I tell you all of this so you understand my shock when I tell you what Papa D said and/or asked. I think in his old age, that he forgets where I grew up.

One day, as were driving into Old Station to drop some papers off at Rim Rock Ranch, he says, "Now, there's a tiny little general store here in town, Rim Rock Ranch -" I stopped him by simply saying, "Oh I remember it - I used to get ice cream there in summer." His response? "Oh, you know it?" I find it a little humorous and sad that he doesn't remember that I lived there, especially seeing as how he got my parents to buy one of the restaurants in town and that's why we moved there.

During that same drive, as we're driving up Eskimo Hill - nearing the summit actually, he asks, "Do you know where Eskimo Hill is?" I nearly burst out laughing, but instead pointed out the window and said, "We're on it." He then says, "Oh oh, you know, then." Yes, I know, I grew up driving this road. When I texted this conversation to my mom she couldn't stop laughing for the rest of the day.

Just silly things. I know he's gotten more forgetful over the years, and tells the same stories several times. Par for the course of getting older.

Saturday, May 14, 2011

Half-Assed Weekend

I'm moving my Half-Assed Weekend posts here - which of course was started by the all powerful Simple Dude.

I'm a little pooped to blog, but I'll give it a shot. Hence the whole half-assed thing. I know that ranching is an every day job. But on top of the ranching, I help my grandparents with their publication. And on top of that, I now work 4 days a week for the local vet. Granted it's only about 20-ish hours, but that's 20-ish hours a week I'm can't be on the ranch or working on the publication. I'm fucking exhausted. I swear I nearly fell asleep at the desk today at the clinic. No amount of caffeine helped.

My grandmother is generally very nice and gives me a day off now and then so I can just rest. My grandfather always says the same thing, "Well, we don't get days off". My grandfather wouldn't know what to do with a day off. The man has worked every day of his life since high school. Even when he married K, they ran to Reno, got married, and drove back to calving season. No honeymoon. No vacations. If I won the lottery and presented him and K with an all-expenses-paid trip to Tahiti, my grandfather would look at me like I was an alien. K, however, wouldn't even need to pack, she'd be running to meet that plane.

And now that the weather is nicer, we've been able to get dirty ranch work done. Heavy lifting, irrigating, and the grossest water troughs to clean ever. *shudders* I'm not afraid of the work, I would just love the opportunity to sleep 12 hours and spend the day in my pj's watching movies.

But, since my grandfather's gout has flared up making it nearly impossible for him to do any work, I doubt I'll be getting any real time off.

The term "just keep swimming" enters my head . . .

Saturday, May 7, 2011

A day of driving with Papa D

My grandfather, Papa D, is not the world's best driver. He's probably not the worst, either, but he's still no picnic. He's in his early 70s and has one eye. And he gets distracted kind of easily. Okay, really easily.

Case in point - just last week, he nearly ran the van into a ditch. Granted it was a tiny ditch that we could have gotten out of, but that's really besides the point.

Last week was our week to run around for four days across Northern California to pick up ad copy from our advertisers. One would think in the 21st Century that everything would be done electronically. Nope. Not in this household. Papa D runs out and talks to a good 1/2 of our advertisers on a monthly basis regarding their ads. Then he'll spend forever chatting with each one of them (but that's a post for another day).

Last Wednesday, on our way to one of the many small towns up here, he needed to pull off to use the bathroom. There's a little glorified port-a-potty provided by the Forest Service at one point and he's frequented it before. He gets back in the van to show me a picture of the bathroom as it was apparently a disaster. I guess he thought I gave a shit what the inside of the bathroom looked like. They're never pretty.
As per his usual, he puts the van in motion on a tiny dirt road and then puts on his seat belt, which pisses me off that he waits until he's driving. Then, he starts looking around for the bottle of antibacterial wipes that was rolling around on the floorboards. I look up from my phone and we're half way in a fucking ditch. I shouted "STOP!" He promptly swerved the van back onto the dirt road, and as the van is swerving all over this road, he tells me, "I'm just looking for the wipes, this one is empty".

The "empty" one wasn't empty - it was new, and the wipes hadn't been pushed through the opening yet. I was rather pissed and annoyed when I finally blurted out, "Just stop and I will get them for you!" The van lurched to a stop and I opened the new container of wipes.

I know he'll never remember to put his seat belt on before he puts the van in motion. But you would think that when he has a person in the passenger seat, that he might ask them to get something for him instead of doing it himself while driving. Common sense, right? It kinda makes me wonder how he never wrecked all those years driving alone.

I survived the rest of the day, although I was a wee bit tense and wound up with a headache. Thank God for Excedrin.

Thursday, May 5, 2011

Why I'm Here . . .

This is to be my anonymous blog. Hopefully. Those that read this and follow my other blog, which I shall not name here, are now sworn to secrecy. This, of course, includes those that might know me in real life. It's an oath that has been signed in blood. Is this blog as anonymous as it could be? In all reality, probably not. But I will be careful who I tell in real life about this one. For those that may follow my other blog, I will still post there.

Here is why I've decided I needed a second, (slightly) more anonymous blog:

1. I have been censored by my employers, my grandparents. I love them dearly and didn't want to start any issues, so when my grandfather finally told me point blank that there could be no cussing at all, and I had to be extremely careful of what I might say about clients of ours or just people in the area in general because I might offend someone who is very religious, I just said, "okay". This all came about because I wrote a post about a funny story, albeit embarrassing for me, that included information (as anonymous as I could make it) about a client. My grandfather saw this post and called me to take it down. I understood his reasoning and therefore did not argue with him. The next morning I was lectured, which only aggravated me. My friends and family told me to argue "free speech", but after a couple days when I calmed down, I realized it's not a free speech issue. It's a representation issue.

2. My entire family knows about my other blog. While I'm glad they do, and I love their feedback, it's gotten to the point that I can't write what I want. Not that I will use this blog to bad mouth my family, because that's not what's going to happen. I want to be able to tell you funny stories that happen to me while working away in Sticksville. The way I want to tell them. Being censored makes it harder for me to use my emotions to help tell the story. I also cannot complain a whole lot in my other blog. My grandparents are doing so much for me, I don't want them to think me ungrateful. Because I couldn't be more grateful. However, we have our differences, and as much as I love them, I will still have a few complaints.

3. Taking offense. During my lecture from my grandfather, I was told that many folks here are quite religious, and may take offense if they happen across my other blog. What would they take offense at? My cussing. While some posts are completely clean, others could quite possibly make a sailor blush. My simple thoughts were, "if you don't like it, don't fucking read it". Simple as that. However, that wasn't good enough for my grandfather. Especially since he's taken offense to my cussing on my blog since before I moved up here. My other simple thought was, "the odds of someone from up here happening across my blog and knowing me and who I'm talking about are pretty slim". That also wasn't good enough.

There have been several posts I've had in my head, and couldn't write them because my grandparents read my blog. I'm actually more surprised he didn't just tell me I couldn't blog anymore. Although, I'm pretty sure I would have said, "fuck that" and stomped off to have my tantrum elsewhere. However, since I am an adult, I shouldn't have tantrums. In front of other people.

Anyway, I hope you will join me on my journey. If I've managed to snag you from my real life or my other blog to follow this one, I ask that you don't mention my other "blog name" or my "profile name" on here. I've tried to keep things as similar as possible, but I really want to try to keep this one more anonymous. I appreciate your compliance. I'm not out to hurt anyone or offend anyone. I can't just stop blogging - I'm addicted. But I want to share my experiences my way, and not in a censored version.

Thanks, and much blog love!