It’s a Beautiful Day

Why is it a beautiful day, you ask?  Because my shit heel, inbred, redneck, fucktard neighbours moved out.  Of course, they left in the night like any good criminals, and I stood on my deck as they drove away to make sure they didn’t poison my animals, slash my tires, or sugar my gas tank, but I figured the Uhaul was some sort of a cruel joke.  However, when I woke up at the crack of 2 in the afternoon and looked out my window, reality sunk in and I did a happy dance.  If the world suddenly feels like it has more air it’s because everyone in my neighbourhood let out a huge sigh of relief.

I live in a mobile home subdivision about a mile and a half out of town.  We have dirt roads, undrinkable water, and questionable property lines.  I’ve been here for 8 years.  It’s quiet.  There are nine houses, seven of them occupied.  Everybody minds their own business.  Everybody gets along.  Nobody goes out of their way to piss off the neighbourhood.  

The rednecks, mom/dad/adult daughter/adult son-in-law/10 year old daughter, moved in sometime in May.  First, they put up an ugly privacy fence around the lot next to the neighbours across the street from me.  Then they filled that quarter acre lot with horses.  Seven horses fighting, running into the fence and drawing flies.  I stood on my deck and wondered who allowed this shit.  Our CC&Rs forbid livestock, but since no one enforces the CC&Rs I figured I was going to have to suck it up and learn to love flies and the smell of horse shit.

About a week later they moved their house in.  All of our houses sit in rows, with the short sides roughly facing east to west.  This gives a break from the wind that howls all winter.  These Arkansas douchebags planted their house facing north to south.  I sat on my deck and hoped they enjoyed getting broadsided by the wind.  Nothing like trying to fit in with the neighbourhood.  The placement of their house was another violation of the CC&Rs, but, well, you know…

Then one “morning” as I drank coffee on my deck and struggled to wake up, I noticed garden hoses running from their house, across 2 lots to the lot with the horses.  We had a bit of a drought this summer.  I looked at my back yard that never gets watered, then I looked at their lots.  Mine was brown and dead, theirs looked like Ireland.  WTF?!  Our water isn’t metered, we pay a flat rate of $35 per month, per lot, for domestic use.  This means you can have a garden, a yard, do your laundry, wash your car, and take as many showers as you want on ONE lot.  You can NOT use the water for irrigation.  You can NOT  pay $35 a month and use enough water for 4 lots, which is how many lots they own.

So the water district got involved.  The rednecks refused to pay for water on all four lots.  They burned out the well pump.  No one had water.  After the pump was replaced, they continued to use so much water that half of the subdivision didn’t have water.  The water district threatened to shut off their water.  They parked a truck over the shut off valve and chained it to a fence.  The water district called for a locate on gas and electric lines across the street from their house in order to shut them off there.  They took shovels and rakes and erased the locate lines.  This went on for two fucking months.  The water district finally got the locator and the backhoe to arrive at the same time and shut their water off.  The next morning, the rednecks dug a trench and turned their water back on.

Meanwhile, everyone in the neighbourhood signed up with an attorney to file an order to have the horses removed, and we formed a home owners association.  The rednecks answered this by petitioning the county commissioners to annex out of the subdivision.  They also filed stalking protection orders against everyone on the water district board and four of the people on the HoA.  The sheriff spent so much time out here I wondered why he didn’t move in with them.  It got to the point that if anyone drove or walked by their house, they called the sheriff.  Their house is on the same PUBLIC road as my house.  It was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen. 

In September, two of my women neighbours, Theresa and Mary, approached me because they were terrified of the rednecks.  Their husbands were gone a lot, the rednecks filed stalking orders on them, and they were afraid to leave their houses.  They heard I was a little on the mean side and could I help them?  By this time I was pissed.  I HATE bullies, and that’s exactly what these assholes were.  Plus, in every rebuttal against the HoA, they cited my ducks as a precedent for their horses.  Stupid fuckers.  Ducks aren’t livestock.

My neighbours gave me the paperwork from their stalking protection orders.  It was some scary shit.  The redneck bitch included her journal entries, and it read as a ”who can we sue next” manuscript.  It involved several different families, people with money, from the community.  I immediately called everyone named in the journal and told them to sever contact with these people.  I made copies of the journal and gave it to everyone concerned.  They had photos and dated written documentation of Theresa & Mary’s every move.  I didn’t know that if you spy on your neighbours and take pictures of them, they are stalking YOU.  This is what I mean by scary shit.

(I guess I should add that Theresa and her husband are quite wealthy and Mary and her husband won half a mil on a slot machine in Deadwood a year ago.)

While reading through the “sworn” testimony I found a passage stating that I told the redneck kids Theresa’s dog had tried to bite me (never happened, never said it happened).  They were using this as stalking evidence.  See if you can follow their logic.  Apparently Theresa’s dog tried to bite me, so we weren’t friends.  But in August we became friends because Theresa was turning me against them.  That’s stalking.  WTF?!  

Needless to say, I saw red.  I was furious that they were trying to drag me into their bullshit.  The next day I was outside talking to Theresa when the redneck bitches careened up the hill towards our houses.  I said something to Theresa and I remember her screaming, “SHE’LL RUN OVER YOU!” as I walked out in front of the speeding car.  The bitch stopped, I leaned in, got right up in her face, introduced myself, told her to make sure she spelled my name correctly when she filed a protection order against me, and proceeded to tear her a new asshole for naming me as a witness against my neighbours.  She never made eye contact and stammered that she didn’t have a problem with me.  You do now.  Then she told me that she didn’t have a protection order against me.  You should get one.

I turned around and Theresa was gone.  Rabbited right back to her house.  She wasn’t lying about being afraid, but of them or me I wasn’t sure. 

Of course, the bitch called the sheriff on me.  He graduated high school with my brother.  I asked if I was going to get a protection order because I felt pretty left out.  He said that yelling at someone wasn’t against the law.  Yeah, I know.  He told me the rednecks didn’t like me talking to Theresa.  I reminded him I have the right to assemble.  Uh…yes, yes you do.  I told him I also have freedom of speech.  Uh…yes, that’s true.  Then I enlightened him on all the bullshit going on with the water district and how their actions crossed the line of criminal behaviour.  Of course he knew nothing about it.  I pointed out that the protection orders and his constant presence on their behalf made him seem more than a little biased, and one would think that maybe he wasn’t the best person to service our neighbourhood.  Uh…  He was dumbfounded because he hadn’t read the paperwork he served, and I guess he thought no one was paying attention to his visits.  He obviously took the time to read it, and he took my subtle threat against his job seriously because he suddenly refered all calls to another sheriff.

So, to wrap up this very long story:  the rednecks looked like asses in court for the stalking protection orders.  Stalking is very clear cut.  Did either of these women call you?  No.  Did either of these women send you harassing letters?  No.  Did they send you texts or emails?  No.  Did they hang around your place of employment?  No.  Did they hang out around your house?  No.  Cases dismissed.  Assholes.

The rednecks looked like asses for the county commissioners when 15 people showed up to fight their petition to annex out of the subdivision.  They were not allowed to annex out, but were allowed to combine their four lots into one.  The commissioners stressed that the CC&Rs run with the land, no matter who you bought it from, no matter how many times it’s been sold.  They brought up my ducks.  There was a chorus of “ducks aren’t livestock” in the meeting room.  The commissioners explained that the essence of CC&Rs is “don’t annoy your neighbours”.  Everything is acceptable until someone complains and if the majority complains, you have a problem.  Assholes.

Lucky for them they didn’t win the petition to annex out because I was leading the crusade to have them removed from our septic system and banned from our road in the event they did.  You can’t be part of the “community” septic system if you’re not part of the community, and you can’t drive on the road the home owners pay to maintain if you aren’t part of the home owner’s association.  Let’s see how you like walking to your house and shitting in a bucket with no water to rinse it out, which brings us to…

The rednecks looked like asses when most of the neighbourhood showed up to support the water district in shutting off their water.  They adopted a “we’ll show you” attitude by filling two cisterns and running garden hoses from them to their house…until the temperature dropped to zero last week and froze their hoses.  Aww…so sad.  Currently, they owe the water district nearly $3,000 for multiple shut-offs and past due water bills.  A lien is attached to their property.  Assholes.

Honestly, in all of this I waffled on my opinion of the rednecks.  My first thought was that they moved here and set all of this in motion in order to sue Mary & her husband for damages and make off with a quick hundred thousand or so.  Once they realized Theresa and her husband had money, the rednecks added them to the plan.  But they were so d.u.m.b.  Maybe they were just stupid and misunderstood.  How can they be con artists when they have a group IQ of ‘duh’?

My opinion cemented when they called the sheriff on me two days before they fled town for sitting on my deck, drinking coffee and talking on the phone while they took down the ugly privacy fence across the street.  I saw their buddy sheriff go to their house.  I saw them in their yard pointing at me.  I saw him shake his head and drive away.  Smart man.  Telling me I can’t sit on my deck is one conversation he doesn’t want to have.

The final score?

Rednecks:  YOU LOSE.

Crossed Arrows Home Owners:  Lesson Learned.

Do The Hustle!

Last Sunday there was some kerfluffle in the bar (imagine that) involving some bikers.  Apparently, some of the men wanted to “mess up” one of the women and the next thing I knew she was in the kitchen (WHY?!) sitting on the floor by the dishwasher, snotting and bawling.

What is it about the kitchen?  Why does it turn into the bullshit overflow from the bar?  The problems are created over there, why can’t they stay over there?

Since I’m full of sympathy for dumbass biker chicks, I knelt beside her, gave her a hug, let her cry on my shoulder and offered to buy her a shot. 

Yeah, not really. 

I glared at her and said, “You can’t be here.  Your problems are self created.  Get out.”

But Bagheera, alway a kind soul (and always someone who gets conned) wanted to give her a safe place to stay until the rest of the gang left.  My advice was to throw the bikers out of the bar and throw the chick out of the kitchen before we all got tangled up in some sort of biker gang bang.

After about 20 minutes of listening to her sob, I felt bad and chastised myself for being so mean.  I looked at the woman and realized she’s not much older than my daughter.  What if it was my own daughter sitting on some random kitchen floor, crying and afraid of being beat up by a bunch of bikers (for being a whore).  Screw that.  My daughter would never put herself in that sort of position.

Eventually the biker people left and the chick left the kitchen for the bar, where everyone felt sorry for her and started buying her drinks.  Before long she was feeling good enough to let her boobs hang out, and by the end of the night she felt good enough to go home with some guy.

Since then she’s been hustling pool and turning tricks for money.  She’s none too particular about her johns either.  She offered it to the former deputy sheriff the other night.  He hasn’t bathed since 1987, and some nights it takes everything I have not to puke on the floor when I walk by him.  He bought her a cheeseburger instead, proving that when you don’t care enough to wash up, you really don’t care about anything.

All the other Flying Ass Monkeys are in overdrive thinking they might get laid.  I find it amusing in a disgusted sort of way.  I do love a good train wreck and this one is going to be grand.

Setting My Boundaries

In any new food service job, you have to set your boundaries, and draw the line on how much bullshit you are willing to take. 

I have personal space and territory issues.  Until I know and like you, don’t touch me.  End of subject.  You will get a warning and then I will make you hurt.  Also, I don’t like off-shift people in the kitchen or work areas.  I like non-employees in the kitchen or work areas even less.  Kids will make me pass out from anxiety. 

Because I worked at the Outlaw before, most people know this, but there’s always one person who makes assumptions, pushes the boundaries and piles on the bullshit.  Then I lose my mind and my filter and someone’s calling me a bitch.

Last night was fairly steady.  I worked by myself cooking and serving for both the bar and the restaurant side.  MDR was slightly getting on my nerves by telling me he needed an order that I already sent out and being ridiculous about the dirty iced tea pitchers.  He came in the kitchen with one and asked what he should do with it.  I suggested that if it was dirty, it should go back by the dishwasher with all the other dirty dishes.  About half an hour later I found another dirty tea pitcher in the hand sink in the kitchen.  WTF?!  Why is this so hard to figure out?  It is just one of the many things he does that drives me completely up the wall.  For example, he found clothes pins on the ground under the clothes line, so he clipped them to the fence.  Why not put them back on the clothes line?  Wouldn’t that make sense?  Wouldn’t that be logical?

Anyway, moving on…two couples came into the restaurant right before close.  I recognized one of the men as a lawyer from Cody.  Years and years ago, he was my parent’s lawyer.  I joked around with the table, they ordered drinks from the bar and while I was standing at the bar watching MDR struggle to pour a couple of drinks, a woman who works one night a week at the Outlaw came up behind me and did the “AHEM!” thing in my ear.

This woman thinks she knows everything because she has a college degree.  She refused any training at the Outlaw because she has a college degree.  She gets the most food complaints of anyone.  Jim & Sharron have owned the Outlaw & Cowboy Bar for more than 20 years and this chick constantly tells them how to run their business because she has a college degree.  Did I mention she’s a drunk and a shit parent?  Well, she is.  Too bad her degree isn’t in Sobriety and Responsible Parenting.

So College Girl (she’s in her late 30s but College Woman doesn’t sound right) AHEM!s me. 

“Yes?”

“Those couples who came over to the restaurant?  You need to be on your toes with them,” she slurred.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes.  He is a very influential lawyer and you need to treat him right.”

“Really?”

“Yes, his name is George Shivington and he’s a very important lawyer.”

Okay, George is his brother and she completely slaughtered his last name, which showed she was talking out her ass and furthermore, bitch, don’t tell me how to do my job.  Been doing it longer and making more money at it than the average bear. 

This is when I decided to draw my bullshit line in the sand.

“Are you sure that’s George?”

“Yes.”

“Positive?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m positive that George is his brother since I’ve known both of them for most of my life.  You need to shut your pie hole and mind your own business.”

“I was just giving you a head’s up.”

I picked up the drinks and walked away from her.  About 3 minutes later, her boyfriend (who also tends bar once a week) came into the restaurant, but when he saw other people, he turned around and left.

After the people left, he came back into the restaurant.  I was sweeping the floor and he got all up in my personal space, not saying anything, just getting too close.  I warned him to back off and he got closer.  I choked down on the broom handle so it was less of a sweeping instrument and more of a bat.  I warned him again to get out of my space as I planned an escape route into the kitchen to the knife rack.  He stood close for a second more, then he backed up and left. 

This shit is not going to work out.  I’m not talking about my job, I’m talking about working with morons who think they can bully me.  I try to be polite, but my nature is hostile and aggressive.  I’m not sure if I should say anything to Jim & Sharron, I’m certainly going to say something to the boyfriend when I go to work today, and I will make sure to lock the door between the bar and the restaurant when I’m closing from now on. 

Why can’t everything be daffodils and puppies?

 

 

Questions for Which I Have No Answer

Sometimes people ask me questions that are so ridiculous I figure they must be joking.  When I realize they are serious my mind kicks into high gear and frantically searches for the correct answer.  When it can’t find the answer, I’m left with giving out the dumb look.  This gives them time to try and ask the appropriate question, but it also gives me the reputation of being a slow thinker.  Lately, I’ve learned to say, “I don’t understand your question”, or , if I’m really irritated at how ridiculous the question is, “Could you please rephrase that into something that makes sense?”   

I’ve been at the Outlaw for nearly a month now.  Five nights a week.  The other night, a woman who works only on Thursday nights (but she’s drunk in the bar every night) asked, “Where do you usually work?”

Uh…

Maybe I’m too literal.  Maybe I should have made the intuitive leap and decided she meant, “Where did you used to work?” and given a vague answer.  But saying I usually work in Cody implies that I’m still usually working in Cody and I’m over that.  If she had asked a month ago, I could have given that answer, but now I feel it isn’t true and would open the door for more conversation, which I want almost as much as a hole in my head.

Last night was dead slow.  I mean, I had two people come in for hot chocolate at 5 and I didn’t see another person or cook a bit of food the rest of the night.  Sigh.

I popped into the bar a couple of times hoping to guilt someone into ordering food just so I would have something to do.  Both times the nasty fat guy who works for the town was sitting at the bar swilling his beer.  Both times I had my apron on and made very small conversation, right in front of Nasty Dan, with MDR about how dead it was on the other side.  At the end of the night I went into the bar to fill out my time card and Nasty Dan asked, “So, where are you working now?”

Uh…

I deemed that question too stupid to answer and gave him the dumb look.  MDR, probably knowing I was giving Nasty Dan time to duck and cover before I gave him a stupid answer to his stupid question, answered for me. 

Typically, if someone is filling out a time card while wearing some sort of uniform and standing in a place reserved for employees, they are an employee. 

Am I expecting too much from these mouth breathers?  Should I dumb myself down even more?  My usual tactic is to fill out my time card and run from the bar before anyone can drain my IQ to the point where I’m too stupid to drive home.  Maybe I’ll just stick with that.

Apple Snot

I wanted to write about the comments Rush Limbaugh made about the Georgetown law student and how drug addicts and perverts have a place, but it isn’t on a talk show that some people take seriously.  However I realized it isn’t healthy for my blood pressure and I figured I’d look like this before I finished.

 

Besides, someone else did it better.

Instead, I think a story about Apple Snot is just what the world needs.

The cooks at the Meeteetse school make the best apple and cherry crisp.  Hands down.  I’ve tried others, and even my own recipe doesn’t compare to the crunchy, tart goodness they whip up.  Back when I was a wannabe anorexic teenager, I’d go off my milk diet when apple/cherry crisp was on the lunch menu.  Some might guess chocolate (fill in the blank) is my favourite dessert, but they would be wrong.  I would walk a thousand miles for some good cherry crisp.

So, when I worked at the airport cafe I was excited beyond belief when the owner said she was making apple crisp as a special dessert.  She was an amazing cook and her soups and sauces were legendary.  I was drooling at the thought of eating my way into a bigger pair of pants. 

Until I saw it.

When I scooped it out of the pan, long, stringy, gobs of apple snot clung to the spoon and caused my gag reflex to voice its displeasure.

“Uh…you forgot the oatmeal.”

“I don’t like oatmeal.”

Yeah. 

The main ingredient in Tara's apple "crisp".

It seems she didn’t like oatmeal so she used something else to make the crisp.  Something that did not hold up with the butter and apple goo.  Something that turned the dessert into a warm, steaming pile of snot. 

I was not alone in my assessment.  Several of the waitresses refused to serve it.  Most of the customers refused to eat it.  It was a horror story.  It was like bacon and eggs with turkey bacon and powdered eggs. 

To all you cooks out there:  sometimes substitutions work and sometimes they don’t.  Just because you don’t like the primary ingredient that makes the dish what it is, don’t use something else that turns crisp into snot and still call it crisp.  

Truth in advertising, yo.

Too Much Free Time

I’m going into my second week of unemployment while the Spaghetti Western gets new carpet and everyone gets a much needed break from the craziness that was summer and fall.  I posted about all the baking I’ve been doing in my free time.  I’ve also had way too much time to surf the internet.

What I found was the Awkward Family Pet Photos website.  Oh dear Lord.  The People of Walmart photos are funny and horrifying but one can almost forgive these people. 

Maybe the dog ate all her panties and she had to go buy new ones.

peopleofwalmart.com

Or maybe her mirror broke.

peopleofwalmart.com

Or maybe she needed to rush out for some vegetables after a hard night of hooking.

peopleofwalmart.com

Or maybe she woke up with her head on back wards.

peopleofwalmart.com

Or maybe she was on her way to a costume contest.

peopleofwalmart.com

Or a hoe-down.

peopleofwalmart.com

Whatever the reason, why dress up to go buy crap?  Hell, I have to check the site every now and again to make sure I’m not on it.  Wyoming seems to be the least represented state and I don’t know if that’s because there are so few people or so few people who actually know how to operate their cell phone cameras.

The people at Awkward Family Pet Photos are different because they actually got dressed up, posed, and paid someone to take their picture.  With all that planning, one would think everything would turn out just fine.  One would be horribly mistaken. 

awkwardfamilypetphotos.com

Even the cat knows this is fucked up.

 At first glance I thought this was a boy, then I realized it was a girl.  Does it matter?  It’s an androgynous young person holding a freaky-assed monkey while not wearing pants.  The Santa suit just adds insult to injury.

awkwardfamilypetphotos.com

Hi!  I’m a serial killer and you’re my next victim!

awkwardfamilypetphotos.com

She looks darned happy about her limited future.

 And what the hell happened here?  A picture’s worth a thousand words and I think all the words are PERVERT!  This has to be some sort of bestiality ring where unsuspecting small dogs need more than Cesar Millan to recover.  The look of pure pleasure on the guy’s face…should I laugh or forward this to PETA?

awkwardfamilypetphotos.com

Help me.

Good News & I’m in Love!

I am head over heels in love with a guy named Samy.  I don’t even care that he looks like a robot.

Three days of using his Moisture Plus shampoo & conditioner with the Big Curls Creme have transformed my hair.  I have defined ringlets again!  I don’t have frizzies or witch hair.  Plus (and this is a BIG plus) I bought the shampoo, conditioner and curl creme for less than a bottle of Nexxus Humectress.  The orange scent is divine!  I’m jumping off the Nexxus ship and setting sail with Samy, the man of my dreams.

The good news is I have to work only 3 more days (Wednesday, Friday & Saturday) with the huge thorn in my side.  His last day is April 30th.  Can I get a big HALLELUJAH!!  No more will I get the wrong side dishes on every plate.  Requested items will be on the plates.  Steaks ordered medium well won’t go out medium rare.  I won’t get food my dogs wouldn’t eat for my customers.  I will know when my food is up, so it doesn’t sit in the window and get cold. 

I don’t even care that the little bastard owes me $160 and that he’s never made any effort to pay me back.  I don’t care that he had the audacity to think my son is his friend after the way he treated me, and the lies he told trying to get me fired.  I mean really, when you completely disrespect someone’s mother do you think they want to go have a beer with you or tell you to eat shit and punch you in the face?   

I’m just happy as hell that I won’t have to look at his idiotic cockbag face after April 30th.  I think a huge celebration is in order.  If you’d like to join me, raise a glass on Saturday night at approximately 10pm (mountain time).

Fuck yeah!

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