Green Beans and Toilets

Trying to keep up with two blogs is kicking my ass. I can barely manage one. Oh well. Must keep this one going to preserve my sanity. That and to tell you guys the funny shit that comes out of Papa D's mouth. I mean, I understand getting some words mixed up, but photographic and pornographic? Yeah, I'm still a bit befuddled by that one.

His latest though, is that he was trying to say that K's bro is a chick magnet. Instead, he said, that K's bro is a chick maggot. LOL

Last night at dinner, my grandmother forced me to eat green beans. *shudder* She prepared to dish them onto my plate, asking, "Green beans?" I politely refused, and she comes back with, "Excuse me? You will eat a vegetable." And that's when I realized that those nasty little green things were the only vegetable on the table. She put six green beans on my plate and told me I would eat them. The pasta rice and the grilling tenders covered in BBQ sauce couldn't drown the horrific taste of those nasty little green things. I ate five of them.

I gave the sixth one to the dog.

I was actually concerned that I would get caught. But the dog charged out the back door causing K, Papa D, and K's bro to get up and chase her. I tossed one onto the floor, and then spent ten minutes trying to get the damn dogs attention under the table - discreetly. I finally managed to get her and pointed a finger to the floor and she found the disgusting green bean.

Thank God for dogs, is all I say.

Now, I found this sign above a toilet in a restaurant. I can't remember which one, but yeah, it was only slightly disconcerting. If you have to have signs telling people how to flush toilets, there may be other more serious issues that need to be discussed. Are there too many automatic flushing toilets out there?

I'll never have a husband?

How do you mention to your grandfather that he has offended you or hurt you in some fashion? I mean, without possibly hurting the good relationship you have with him? In my situation, I won't. I shall just let it roll off my shoulders and try to remember his "filter" doesn't work at all like most people's.

Last Friday I went with him on a special delivery - putting a rack in a new location and to fill it with our papers. He'd been driving around northeast California for 3 days picking up ad copy, so I offered to go with him on Friday, since I didn't have to work at Job 3. That way someone besides him knew where the new location was. Plus I was really hoping he'd want someone else (like me) to drive since he'd already been on the road for 3 days. Luck, as it were, was not on my side.

We left around 7 a.m. and stopped in Town to get gas. After we got back on the road, he suddenly panicked that he'd forgotten the bank deposits that he was supposed to take care of later that afternoon when we got back. I looked around the floor between the seats and he told me that they should be in his briefcase. In the backseat. I turned out and realized it was just far enough of my reach to make it difficult, so I told him we could check later when we stopped. Instead of agreeing with me, he instead - while driving - to reach back there to retrieve it. And wound up heading for the other lane. I scolded him . . . okay, I kinda yelled . . . "Not while your driving!" So, I reached back to get it, and it flipped off the backseat and twisted my left wrist. From that moment on, I was not in the best of moods.

Oh, and the bank deposits were in there.

Later when we got to our destination, his friend B was there waiting for us. B is kind enough to keep a few bundles of our paper in his garage and redistribute as our locations in that town become empty. We put our rack in the new location and put papers in it. Took all of 5 minutes. So B and Papa D decide to go to a cafe for some coffee. It was there that my mood got worse.

At some point in the conversation, we began to talk about food. B asked me if I like lamb, and I told him no. Well, that got Papa D going on and on about all the foods I don't like. And then said something - basically the gist was this: I will never have a husband because he won't like putting up with a picky eater.

Slap meet face.

I actually wanted to cry.

For starters, it's none of B's damned business how picky of an eater I am. I've eaten in his presence twice and everyone had burgers.

I admit, I am a pretty picky eater. I will say that I've improved a lot in the last 15 years. Trust me. But, unfortunately, I don't see it changing too much in the present. I don't like being a picky eater; it can be relatively embarrassing when others find out just how much I don't like. For many things, I think it's a texture thing, others it's because I just flat-out don't like the flavor or lack there of. But at 31 years of age, my eating habits are not bound to change much more. My grandparents, well my grandfather, has lectured me a couple of times already that I'm doomed to have medical problems later in life. My grandfather had the fucking balls to tell me two days after my Granddad passed about how poorly my Granddad must have eaten to have wound up a diabetic. (Unfortunately, stupid medical professionals never relayed that message to my Granddad). My Granddad wasn't a poor eater - the older he got the more salt he'd put on his food. He deserved some salt after living through being shot and a plane crash that literally killed him, 3 times.

If I hadn't been sitting on the inside of the booth at the cafe, I would have left the table. I think B saw the lightening flash in my eyes and after Papa D beat a dead horse, the topic was discarded. But my foul mood didn't improve.

The funny that did happen was this: on our way out of town, we were stopped at an intersection. A big ass truck was hauling one big ass 5th wheel. Probably a 45 footer. As it's pulling through the intersection -

Papa D: Wow, that's a really big motor home.

Me: *trying not to laugh* Um, that's what we call a 5th wheel.

Papa D: Because it doesn't have a motor in it, right?

Oh dear.

Toot your own horn much?

I'm all for tooting my own horn once in awhile, but there are people that go too far with it. We all like having recognition for things that we've done; being recognized, thanked, and appreciated for our hard work makes us feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I would say that the average person forgoes most recognition and just plods along.

What is annoying, however, are the folks that have let everyone know everything they did. It was their idea. It was their brain power. It was their planning. It was their actions.

K's brother is a decent example. Every day at lunch and or dinner, I have listen to this alcoholic toot his damn horn. He's got all these great ideas, he does all this hard work. And he'll detail every job, not just list it. That's great. But I'm sick and tired of hearing him talk.

Anymore, I'm hardly talkative at the table during lunch or dinner. Why? Because K's brother is talking about how fucking awesome he is. I'd almost go so far as to nickname him Captain Awesome, but he really isn't awesome. He's a loser. He just got out of jail for his third DUI and doesn't get paid for any work he does. Why? Because he'll wind up falling off the wagon yet again.

Now, part of me is glad he's back because he can do a lot of work that my grandparents and myself can't do. Sober, he's a decent worker. But either way, he's annoying because he's constantly tooting his own horn.

These kind of people are everywhere. Every job has at least one. It's okay to want to be recognized for your hard work.

But no one likes to hear how fucking awesome everything you do is. Besides, more than likely it's your job anyway, so . . . what's the big deal?

Big fight...

I don't want to seem like I complain a lot about my family or anything, but I just had a shouting match for dessert and I need to get it off my chest. I want to start this by saying that I love my grandfather (the one I work for, PD), and I've been enjoying my time up here working with him.

During dinner this evening, we talked about delivering papers this week. I told him I could help him after work on Thursday afternoon and I could go with him all day on Friday. He then mentioned about having to go to one of the National Parks, which is on the route they gave me to do on weekends. I do my route over two days - which was their idea - so that I could visit with my family. I said something like, "Won't I be doing that on Sunday?" He was like, "Oh, okay." We go through this every month. He's done his routes his way for so long that he has a hard time remembering that I do that part of the route on my way to my parents.

After dinner, K (his wife), went out to feed her bottle calf. During that time, PD realized that if I'm delivering papers on Sunday then I won't be around to help him at his Cattlemen's deal. Which I completely spaced was this coming weekend, and he never asked me if I would help, he just assumed I would. We discussed it, and I told him it was simply a miscommunication between us, and I can tell my family I will see them next month when I deliver. He kept saying, "no, no". Anyway, the gist of this is that he was trying to guilt me into helping him.

Now, this Cattlemen's deal was something he took on against the wishes of K. She has flat out refused to help him, and has told him so for two months. Like I mentioned, he never actually asked me to help him. So, he tells me tonight that if I don't help him, he's screwed. Honestly, it's not my problem. But I didn't say that. So then he comes up with this screwball idea that I should drive down the mountain Saturday evening after work and come back on Sunday so that I don't miss work on the ranch on Monday.

I was kind of thrown for a loop in the anti-logic mobile. I pointed out that I would still be missing a day of ranch work if I was gone Saturday night. He then hollered that they wouldn't do much on Sunday because they'll be over at the fairgrounds for his deal. And that I'm missing days during the week because of my extra days at the Sticksville vet clinic. Yep, thrown for another loop in the anti-logic mobile.

Up to a point I was remaining pretty calm. I just didn't understand why he was suggesting such things because they really weren't making much sense. Around this time K came back in, and of course, was a wee bit confused as to why were fighting. She got the gist of it, and completely took my side. 

So there you have it, 3 adults shouting at each other. Well, it was more like two on one. I despise confrontations of all kinds. I kept trying to understand why he wanted me do go down the hill on Saturday and stay the night, yet not be upset that I'd miss a day on the ranch on Sunday when he'd be upset about me missing it on Monday. Honestly folks, feeding doesn't differ between the days, and the chores are all still the same. Suddenly he's all pissed that I take two days to do my route when it can take him one.

This is where I started to get really pissed off. First off, as I stated above, my route was given to me by them. They told me to do it two days, so that I could visit family. I stated as such to him this evening and he says that he hadn't be privy to that decision. Folks, he was sitting next to me at the dinner table when it was decided. I did not ask for my route, nor did I ask to take two days to do it. It was their decision. Notice I said "their", as in, it was a joint decision by both grandparents. Now, PD used to do that route in two days. Until his health got worse and he could no longer stay nights away from home. Then he altered his routes such so that he could do my route in one day (which is a 10 hour day if you do it in one day).

K hollered back at him that my route had been "the plan" for quite awhile, and that she's sorry if he forgot that he was a part of that (his memory isn't very good anymore). Then he shouts, "Then one or both of you need to help me!" K flat out told him that she had told him not to do this deal, that they didn't have time for it, and that she had been telling him for weeks that she refused to help out. And she threw in that he shouldn't have expected either one of us to help him. He then shouts, "Well, I just want to let you know that you both have really let me down!"

How the fuck have we let him down? K had been telling him she wouldn't help, and he hadn't forgotten that part. He somehow had it in his head that I had agreed to help him, and when I told him he hadn't asked me to do so, he then tried to guilt me into it - which, for the record, I did not appreciate. In his anger and/or forgetfulness, he throws out how angry he that I take two days to do my route and that I can just go down the mountain to visit family and he will do my route. Which makes no sense - if I'm going to be down there, why wouldn't I deliver papers as usual?

He then went to his office to sulk and be pissy. K walked me out to my car. She told me not to be upset, and that I will do my route as planned - that nothing has changed.

How can I not be upset? Above all else, I don't want to be a disappointment to my grandparents. I tried to remain calm and tried to understand why he wanted all these things changed and why he was suddenly upset about stuff. I felt like he criticizing me, that I can't do the route in one day, but he can. I didn't understand how missing Sunday ranch work was okay, but Monday wasn't - when the schedule and chores are all the same. I'm hoping all of this was just because he was angry over the whole thing about me not helping him at the deal. It's not my fault he didn't ask me or verify that I was to help him. I didn't even know when it was, let alone that I was helping.

I'm a bit concerned about tomorrow morning. It will be just me and him feeding while K is in Town. I don't want to fight anymore. I don't want this to become a wedge between us. I just don't understand where all his anger and disappointment came from.

Family

Most of you know why I haven't posted on this blog for awhile. If you don't know, my Granddad passed away two weeks ago. He was an amazing man. Oddly enough, he actually died three other times in 1949 - he was pronounced dead three times after a plane crash. He was told he would never walk again, yet he did. He chased after three kids with a wooden leg. He worked hard every day of his life. He refused Disability until my dad (his youngest kid) was through with college. He passed away on June 9, with all of his immediate family at his side - his wife of more than 65 years, his three children, a daughter-in-law (my mom), and his two grandchildren. He died on the eve of the anniversary of his plane crash - 62 years. More than 100 people showed up for his service on the 16th. He was loved, respected, and admired by so many people.

Now, all seriousness aside, I must discuss family. Not the mushy stuff of perfect families, because let's be real - they only exist in Hollywood. I love my family, don't get me wrong. But like every family, there are members that "a little goes a long way".

My dad's sister flew in from Georgia the day before the passing. She only flies out to visit every couple years. I love her dearly, and I know she didn't used to be this way, but the woman sucks the air out of a room. She's utterly depressing. And annoying. I understand that she suffers from headaches (it runs in the family), and fibromyalgia. But there's a line, and she crossed it a long time ago. She made a point of telling us how expensive her plane ticket was to get out here. (Really? You're going to make that an issue when your dad is dying?) At one point she changed from real clothes to a long t-shirt dress/pajama thing, making the statement, "Wow, I've never been in real clothes that long." (insert crickets) Her and her husband didn't offer to help do anything. I really do mean anything. My parents got food and drinks for the wake, had about $300 worth of gas between hospital and home, cleaned house for Granny and did her laundry and ironing, found enough tables and chairs to set around the house for the wake. Not to mention helping Granny with the mortuary and the minister. My aunt, uncle, and cousin did nothing. My cousin did a few random things, but really, they were of no help. They mostly sat and watched everyone else work.

My dad's sister-in-law, his brother's wife, was a bitch. No other way to say it. We all know she didn't much care for her husband's parents, especially Granddad. She got all pissy because she was wearing a really nice pair of greyish/black jeans but my dad and another uncle (from above paragraph) were wearing slacks and uncle was wearing a tie. Really? I saw people at the service in extremely casual attire. I saw people all fancied up. As long as you're not in pajama's these days, we don't really give a shit. One morning, she woke up at 4am and marched out to the living room - where Granny and my cousin were sleeping. (Granny sleeps in her recliner because her back hurts her less than if she sleeps in her bed anymore). My aunt turns on the light in the kitchen, loudly makes a pot of coffee and ruins her Weight Watchers diet by munching on a bag of brownies that were left over from the wake. When both my cousin and Granny sit up when the light wakes them up, she actually put her finger to her lip in the "ssshhhh let's be quiet" sign. And she got all upset when she was told by my dad's brother how early they'd be leaving to go home, because she wouldn't be able to do her TJ Maxx run. (shakes head)

My cousin . . . she's a sweetheart, but lives in a delusional world. Weirdly enough she talks more like a valley girl than a girl who was raised her whole life in Georgia. She's a smart cookie, but is clueless about reality. I was spoiled rotten as a kid, but she really has been spoiled rotten. Her parents are always referred to as Mommy and Daddy. Before you ask, she's 21. She kind of has the attitude that it really is all about her. Her parents give her money and pay her college tuition, and she herself does not have a job. She had one with her church as a greeter or something. When that ended, I asked if she'd be looking for another job soon, and she said, "It's not like I needed the job." Hmmmm.  In the real world, you can't put babysitting on your resume. Job recruiters like to see work history. She thinks it will all fall into her lap after grad school. Who knows, maybe it will; maybe she'll be one of those really lucky college grads. Now, I'm not jealous that I couldn't have that kind of life when I was in college, but it just irks me because I went to school with kids like that, and it just pissed me off. I worked hard and I'm proud of my job history and my employers have always liked what they saw. And in each case it was that previous job history that got me the job.

I adore my family, we are fairly close and I enjoy getting to see them. But a little goes a long way with some of them. I'm glad my aunt was able to fly in with enough time to say good-bye to her dad. I'm glad my cousin drove down after her last final of the term so she could say good-bye to our Granddad. I'm glad my uncle flew out for the funeral.

But sometimes, I just wonder where their heads are. Ya know?

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 . . .

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.

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!