I’m pretty pissed. My beloved online journal holding whatever teenage angst I had straight up disappeared. I had that thing from 9th grade to my fifth year of college, and now I can’t laugh at how ridiculous the mind of a teenage girl is. Hundreds of posts documenting my flavor of the week, fights with my mother, and bitchfests about how much I hated the dance team are completely gone. At least my even more embarrassing Xanga still exists. www.xanga.com/cookievonster. Haha.
I guess this is the dawn of a new journaling era, right here. I have the worst memory, and according to witnesses, I do a ton of funny shit. My life is pretty entertaining, so I need to get back into the habit of jotting my adventures down before my mind goes to the goldfish.
Here’s a quick summary from the beginning. Moved from Portland to South Africa for three years as a kid, high school in Texas, graduated from Miami University, and now on a farm in Indiana with the boyfriend. Love animals, hope to work with elephants some day soon, and currently dying to get a teacup piglet.
Farm by choice… I must be crazy. I can tell this summer is going to be one of those life changing experiences, so the least I could do is share it with whoever is interested. I haven’t had to poop in a corn field yet, so that’s good. It’s not an exciting life, and nothing substantially interesting ever happens without a catalyst. For example, a couple of weeks ago Andrew and I found a lost cow in the corn field when we were picking up sticks. That’s pretty much sums up Day one on the farm. We tried to wrangle it with some weeds and a chain that serves no purpose except to live on the floor of the Gator. Cows walk fast, so our cowboy moment ended up being a losing game of heifer tag.
What else, what else…
I painted a deck red. It’s previous color looked like used Pepto Bismal. If you’ve ever had to paint a lattice fence then you know what a bullshit job it is. I eventually whined enough to make Andrew help me. It still took forever, and it looks like shit. I think that was Day 2 through Day 5?
After a week we started hoeing, which unfortunately coincided with some raging PMS. Hoeing means walking through a corn field whacking down plants from last summer with a dozen or so 13 year olds for $7.85/hour. I can see why domestic violence is quite popular for rural folk because manual labor is the majority job available, and it all sucks. Talk about fuel for fury unleashed upon all children and boyfriend who cross my path.
I saw a one-armed man digging a hole in a graveyard the other day. I also met a woman with one giant DD boob, and I work with a dude who’s missing his four front teeth. He don’t need ’em anymore; he’s already married. They’re not too concerned with replacing missing body parts out here, which is impressive and understandable. If you can’t afford health insurance, then you certainly can’t afford a specialized bra, let alone a $2,000 boob job to fix what a mastectomy destroyed. The woman and with one boob was so cute, though. Her husband was like “it’s not important, what’s important is that you’re still here.” You don’t come across marriages like that anymore.
Here’s some good news: Rebecca Black is a nobody out here, and I like it. None of my teenage coworkers were familiar with the song ‘Friday.’ I was baffled because it means they don’t have a TV or internet access. Andrew told me girls out here get pregnant on PURPOSE. That way they can trap their high school sweetheart and some form of future financial security. Have no girls heard of college or independence out here? And what a bitch move, using your baby making organs for trickery and deceit. Kids don’t stay here because they want to; they stay because they don’t know how to get out.