A Trip to Missouri and We Only Got Shot Once

You guys should be so proud of me. I went on a road trip and it only took me three weeks to write about it. That's got to be some kind of record. Here goes....

We packed the truck before the sun came up. Blankets, pillows, cooler, backpacks, and a million cds. We loaded the beast into the back, filled up with gas, and left the Rockies behind. The trip from my house to my parents' is about 13 hours. One time it took me 15 because I was moving a truck full of belongings. And one time it took me 9 hours because, well...I drove 110 miles an hour. This trip was moving right along schedule though. We hit our half way point near Salida, Kansas and then...the truck began to shake. Shawn was driving and said something about the strong Kansas winds. We pulled over for gas a few minutes later and I noticed that the strong Kansas winds had blown the air right out of our rear tire.

It was well over a hundred degrees without a cloud in sight. Shawn, my little mechanic in the making, changed the tire while Rosco and I talked about the meaning of life, the Broncos, and drooling. We have deep conversations like that.

After an hour of figuring out Nissan's super easy tire changing system (that if you are not aware of, becomes Nissan's super giant pain in my fuckin ass tire changing system) we were back on the road. I had stocked the cooler with cucumber and sea salt, peaches, salami, french bread, and cherries.

There were crackers and granola galore. This was the first road trip that did not involve fast food of any sort. Although there were still plenty of coffee and energy drink detours, but I mean, it is Kansas. That shit will put you to sleep in a heart beat if you aren't artificially causing that heart to beat a gazillion times per minute thanks to Monsters and espressos.

So we made it through the hell that is Kansas, left I70 in the dust, and headed into the oddness that is Missouri. Odd, you ask? Yes, odd. Now don't get mad. I'm not knocking Missouri for its incestual ways. Or even for its lack of dental hygiene. I'm not even bringing up the hillbilly southern accents (in a state that is no farther south than Colorado). They have their gun toting toothless rednecks who live in trailers cooking meth with their cousin/wives and that's just fine by me.

What strikes me as odd are the town names. Peculiar, Climax Springs, Success (I disagree), Competition, Pumpkin Center. Granted, most of these towns have less than 100 people living in them, but still..its just weird. I mean...

Who wants to be the Pumpkin Center sheriff? Or the Peculiar proctologist? Ok, you got me, there aren't proctologists in Peculiar. There are plenty of folks who will stick somethin up your ass for the simple price of a Bud Light, but none of them can spell proctologist so...

We made it through the endless Missouri towns, turned down a small street entering the woods, passed what my dad calls "Deliverance Road" and were soon at the rents' house. The next few days were spent relaxing. Lots of relaxing. It was so nice. My parents have an amazing house in the woods with an even more amazing deck. Their house is surrounded by trees that touch the sky and butterflies landing on your legs. There's a hammock in the yard that swings for days.
Mom has a feeder in the woods to feed corn and seeds to the deer. They come around every evening to eat while you sit on the deck watching.

If watching the deer eat isn't your cup of tea...the feeder has other entertainment values. It has a timer on it, and at the same time every day, it releases a ton of food onto the ground below. Squirrels eat the majority of the food, but they are greedy little bitches and they are determined to figure out how to get inside the feeder to the Mecca of corn. One squirrel was hanging upside down from the opening at the bottom of the feeder, trying to claw his way inside, when the timer went off, and about four pounds of corn came flying out into his face knocking his thieving ass into the ground. This sounds cruel, but don't worry, he got up and ran away just fine, but it was quite possibly the funniest thing I have ever seen happen to a squirrel.

Aside from watching squirrels get their asses kicked by Miss Karma, we also did a little Missouri site seeing. We went to the water park in Branson, checked out the lakes at the Ozarks, and saw fireworks with the soldiers. If you don't know me, fourth of July is my favorite holiday. I cry for the troops every year during the grand finale and sing dumb patriotic songs on the top of my shaky lungs. Its just my thing. My mom understands...

Shawn, maybe not so much...

One of the things we wanted to do while home was tour some caves. We went to the Meramec Caverns because they are notorious for being a crucial hideout for Jesse James and his gang.

If the signs outside were any indication, we were going to learn a lot about Jesse and his gang.

Ummm....perhaps if you go to this cave, and get a tour guide who has worked their longer than 6 days, you will indeed learn about Jesse James. Perhaps you will even learn about the cave. Stalagmites, mineral deposits...anything about the caves. Unfortunately for us, we got the new tour guide who chose to teach us absolutely nothing, but instead spent the better part of our hour and a half tour attempting to beat box. He was not good at this. He basically just spit a lot and repeatedly asked us if he was a great tour guide. Apparently he took my answer to be a joke. It was not.

Dad was not amused. If you do not know my dad, this face means "I am not currently amused".
I didn't learn a single thing about caves on the tour, but I did learn that Shawn and my Dad like to stand in similar positions.

I also learned that these cave thingies are called "hanging mushroom coral reefs".

Okay, I didn't really learn that. But if I were a tour guide who didn't know anything about the cave through which I was guiding people, I would make some shit up like that so I didn't look like a moron. I'm just sayin.

After leaving the shit-tastic caves, we went on an adventure to find our own caves. Shawn and Dad succeeded. Well sort of. It involved climbing and sweating and darkness. You'll have to ask them about that adventure though. I was too busy looking at turtles with Mom.

The last day of our trip was my birthday. I wanted to throw a kegger, but my mom said no...so instead, we went tubing. Dad stayed home because, well, floating down a river doesn't tickle his fancy. Mom, being the little adventure taker she is, was super excited to tube. She found a rafting company online that offers tubing trips for pretty cheap.

The place seemed....interesting. They had a nice little van to drive you to your drop off point in the river.
In case you can't read that....FDIC stands for Fun Down In the Country. And we were definately down in the country. The neighbors looked real nice.

I was afraid to inquire about the lonely school bus.
When we finally got all ready to go, we quickly realized that nice van and even that nice school bus, were not for us. No, we were put into the back of an old pick up truck and told to hold the floats down so they wouldn't blow away.

Mom's face pretty acurately describes the "what the fuck" going through my head.
He could have at least put the tailgate up.

At first it wasn't so bad, nice and slow, quite scenic.
Then he started going faster. Much, much faster. And the beautiful scenery turned into hillbilly tent town.

Luckily the drive was pretty short, and our driver even carried our tubes to the shore for us. For a hillbilly, he was pretty nice.
We got into our tubes and started heading down the river. Not two minutes into our trip, I happened to look over at Mom as something splashed in the water. A second later, pop, another splash. We all instantly knew. As I turned my tube around to look up the shore, I saw two kids sitting in rocking chairs.....shooting at us!
Shawn says they were pellet guns which is apparantly something like a bb gun. I don't know what the hell they were....they looked like rifles and two children were shooting us with them. Mom screamed something about calling the sheriff but they didn't stop. Pop, pop, pop....one shot after another until Shawn got off his tube and began chasing them. They weren't afraid of the sheriff but they were damn scared of Shawn.

Now, I know what you are thinking. A little pellet here and there won't kill anyone, but a pellet will definately pop a tube and we were two minutes into a four hour tubing trip in the middle of God knows where with no communication device and Fuck! We were getting shot at!! Trust me, it was scary!!!

It took a good twenty minutes for me to calm the hell down and stop looking frantically into the woods for the children of the corn to pop out and kill me. Once I finally got my breathing under control, I was actually able to sit back and enjoy the ride. I make fun of Missouri quite a bit, but one thing I can't argue with is its beauty. I mean, its no Rocky Mountains but damn its gorgeous.

We finished the four hour trip an hour early because Mom wouldn't stop paddling and we were afraid if we split up we'd get shot.We made it back safe and sound. Cleaned up, ordered pizza, and ate WAY too much of the most amazing birthday cake I have ever put in my mouth. Seriously rediculous. Oh and there were two of them. Oh yeah! If you are ever in central Missouri, call up Gretchen Barnes and have her make you a cake. She charges a fraction of what she should and they are just insane. So anyway...

The next morning, Shawn, Rosco, and I hopped back in the truck and headed home. I don't think I've ever been quite so sad to leave Missouri. The trip home was uneventful in terms of flat tires and hillbillies, but it was rich in terms of eye opening conversations. Thanks for going on a great trip with me babe. And thanks for not letting me get shot.


And if you don't know my mom already, you should go meet her. She's seriously one of the greatest people you will ever meet and she is always down for some fun. She will outlive us all, and have a blast doing it...guaranteed.
Love you Mom!! Umm...if somehow you have actually found this blog and are reading it right at this very moment....please disregard most of the other shit that I write. Because its all fake. I totally never smoked with Moses. I swear. Shit.

Dear Ridiculous Woman Walking Her Ugly Dog,

Please don't give me dirty looks when I walk by you. My dog and I were simply trying to enjoy the sunshine on our little walk. You saw us a half a mile away. You stopped walking, turned around, and watched us coming toward you and that tangled rat you call a dog.

You refused to move. For absolutely no reason, you chose to discontinue your walk, stand right there in the middle of the trail and wait the ten minutes it took us to catch up to you. You had a horrified look in your eye. You saw my beast walking toward you and you were petrified but you did not move. I could tell five hundred feet away that you were convinced he was going to attack you. You saw his razor sharp teeth, and you waited for them!

You glared at me as we approached. You pulled your dogs leash, called him closer, and never broke eye contact with my ferocious killer. The closer you got, the more your hands trembled, the bigger the sweat drops on your forehead.

As we passed you, you mumbled something in a shaky voice and glared at me with lasers shooting out your eyes. My dog eyeing yours. Your dog smelling his own ass.

I completely understand if you are afraid of large dogs, sharp teeth, being eaten alive. I understand that not everyone will find my dog cute and cuddly. I also understand that if you had half a brain, you would not stand and wait for the creature of your nightmares to approach you. You chose to stand there and wait TEN MINUTES for us to catch up to you and then you had the nerve to give ME dirty looks!?!? My dog is fairly well behaved and honestly couldn't have cared less about you. He was slightly intrigued by your dog, but he also finds piles of shit quite entertaining, so I wouldn't be too proud of your pooch. He didn't, however, try to eat your face. So get over it. You have every right to dislike my dog's breed, or hair length, or drool. But if you are not fond of him, please don't stand there and wait for us, only to give me the death stare....just keep walkin!

Sincerely,
The lady who's dog is much much more handsome

Disclaimer.... None of the photographs used in this blog actually depict my dog, or the other dog in said situation. After many failed attempts to get Rosco to make a "fierce" face to the camera, I decided it was best to use stunt doubles for dramatic effect. He does not really look like a bear or a monster. In the future, I will leave the "fierceness" to Tyra.

Rosco wants you all to know that he is in fact a very sweet, very mellow young man who has never once in his life shown his teeth to anyone but the dentist. He's also wishing that his mom would quit blogging. Right now.

Deo for his BO

So, my dog is kinda stinky. Not like over the top, smellin like poop, nasty ass dog smell. Just like a slight hint of dry mud. I suppose dry mud is actually just dirt. But if I said he smelled like dirt, you might think he smells like potting soil or something, and I don't want you to be confused and think my dog smells like he's been sprayed with fertilizer....because he doesn't. He just smells like he went for a stroll through a field that was comprised mostly of a substance that was once mud.

Now, I know what you are thinking. "Give him a bath!" But its not that easy. My little puppy weighs a hundred pounds. He knows this. He also knows that he is stronger, and sometimes smarter than myself. Further more, he knows that in order for me to give him a bath, I need his cooperation. And this dog is not a fan of taking a bath. Its nearly impossible for me to pick him up and put him in the tub. When I try, he wiggles and squirms his way out of my arms. If I get a good grip and he can't break free, he begins to scream. "A dog screaming?", you say?? Yes, screaming. A full on, high pitched, someone just hit this woman in the face with a pot of boiling water, screaming. I try to block it out and continue the battle. I try to hurry and get his big ass into the tub before the neighbors call the police in an attempt to save the poor woman being slaughtered in the bathroom. On the rare occasion that I actually win the fight and get him in the bathtub, he completely submits. We will have the fight of all fights inches away from the edge of the tub, but once he's in the tub, he totally chills out and says "Shit this ain't so bad! Bring on the bubbles." (I apologize for my dog's poor grammar. He does it to rebel.) After his bath, he parades around the house, showing everyone just how amazingly beautiful he is and how wonderful he smells.

Now, as hard and stressful and ridiculous and tear inducing the entire bathing process is...it is much worse when Rosco decides to be an obnoxious smart ass. The day after I went through the awfully painful process of giving this man a bath, he decides to remind me that the pain was all his doing. He reminded me that bathing him would be simple as pie if it weren't for him and his immense strength and power. He likes to rub it in my face that he controls the show. "How does he possibly do this?", you ask? By entering the bathroom while I put on my makeup, walking right past me, and calmly climbing into the tub. He turns around to face me, stares me down for a few moments while wagging his tail, and then hops out of the tub and exits the room. Like "Bitch please, I take baths when I want to take baths. Period."

So, if you come over, and pet my dog, and a small dust cloud floats off his back, please don't judge. Sympathise. Understand. Appreciate the pain I go through. And if you still think he smells, please, please take that ass hole to your house and give him a bath. Please.

Angry Beavers and Coors Light

Last night, the boy and I made a trip to the Adam's County Fair. Growing up in Germany, I have high hopes for a fair. I imagine great beer, juicy brats, loud music, beautiful soldiers, and scary rides. Apparently, stateside festivals are a little different. They attract a type of person that I did not think resided in Colorado. I was wrong. So very wrong. I learned a lot about people, culture, and farm animals yesterday and I'd like to share this awakening with you.

We got to the fairgrounds around 4:30, which it seems was far too early. The rides were not running, the games were not playing, and the food was just hitting the grill.

We wandered around for a bit, got some bbq on a stick and crappy beer, and talked to a vendor about how my moisturizer is giving me cancer. After that enlightening conversation, we discovered the farmer's mecca at the fair. There were giant tents filled with animals, and people hustling about everywhere. After a few confused moments, we realized these animals were engaging in some sort of beauty contests.

The first animal I met was this horse. I took his picture because he reminded me of Matthew McConaughey.

Next, I discovered Olivia Newton John's fan club. I'm still not sure why these sheep were wearing spandex, but it was entertaining.

They weren't getting physical, physical...but they were looking fly and that's all that mattered.

Next, I met a pig who's either narcoleptic, or a lush. Or perhaps both.

About two minutes after taking that last picture, I was attacked by his cousin. Okay, maybe attacked is a slight exaggeration, but there was a large pig, running in my direction, and a boy chasing it with a stick. It was traumatizing.

Next, we moved on to the "Small caged animals" pageant. There were quite a few interesting rabbits. Did you even know there were multiple kinds of rabbits? There are actually rabbits who are small, and not just because they are babies, and there are also rabbits that are almost as big as my dog. Well, maybe as big as your dog.

This rabbit used his double chin as a pillow, which I thought was genius.

This bunny's hair was so crazy that you couldn't even find his face. Unless that's his butt. I'm pretty sure its his face.

This one was just cool.

He was for sale. I considered bringing him home, but then I remembered that rabbits eat your face while you sleep. So I changed my mind.

Next, I learned that if you kneel down and attempt to take a picture of a caged turkey, he instantly think you are going to pluck all his feathers out, stuff an onion up his butt, and throw him in the oven. This turkey was trying to make this process easier by fluffing himself up to make his feathers more accessible for the plucking. That was nice of him. Then he tried to bite my face.

It was about this time that I realized there was poo on my shoe. That's when we headed to the Monster Truck show. At the Miss Adam's County Piggy show, there were lots of wranglers, big belt buckles, and cowboy boots. At the monster truck show, there were many tank tops, receding hair lines, and not so many teeth. There was however this rebellious little girl who seemed to like beaded bracelets. The boy made jokes about raving skanks and Ecstasy. Who knows. Oh, there were also trucks. Big ones. Monsters, if you will.

After the show, I ran into this guy, twice. I took the second encounter as fate, and a reason to take his picture.

Before we went home, the boy won a prize for me...well more for our dog.

He was quite proud. He informed me that the stuffed animal was from the show "Angry Beavers". I made the angry beaver ride a tractor.

When we got home, Rosco was quite please with his beaver. Then he ripped its nose off and spilled his insides all over my living room. The angry beaver made me angry, so he now lives in the dumpster.

Well, that was my night. I learned a lot about animals, and poo, and trucks, and overalls. I learned that the boy likes to tell baby cows about his love of veal. I don't think he even eats veal, he just likes to tell stories to animals. And I learned that its perfectly ok to go to the fair in overalls and no shirt. G'night.