Happy 4th

I escaped from Indiana for the weekend to a lake house in Wisconsin, and it was worth the 6 hour drive.  My GPS, not me, got us lost a couple times, but either way, it got us there eventually.  Sad face because out of the 20 people there, no one had a camera.

I’ve finally learned the importance of sunscreen because I ended the weekend without a sunburn and even slightly more tanned.  My unfortunate farm tan faded, too, thankfully.  Almost wakeboarded.  So close; I managed to stand up for half a second.

I’m so glad we’re not in the corn field today because all of us feel like poo.  We got back at 3am this morning, and we would have had to be up and running at 5am.  I’d rather not.

I should probably be looking for a job during this free time.  The idea of someone wanting to pay me a salary sounds dauntingly impossible.  It’s a milestone I’m not looking forward to, but unfortunately, it’s the most important thing on my to do list right now.

I’m being literal.

I’ve been brushing my teeth with a wash cloth because my boyfriend did not want to spend the $6.00 in gas money to pick up my toothbrush/deoderant/make-up/straightener from Perry’s place.

Rude

Owned by myself

After sleeping for the best 11 hours of my life, I have fully come to terms with making myself look like a complete jackass yesterday.  Andrew has this simple way of explaining things to me in a way where I realize how crazy and illogical my woman brain can be.  It’s annoying.

Naturally, we had a fight over corn.

Background info for the non-farmer: right now, we are walking through corn fields and removing the corn plants that aren’t in rows because these plants grew from seed left in the field from last year.   This corn has to be removed to prevent it from pollinating the crop and screwing up a specific hybrid that the farmers are trying to grow.

I was dead set in my mind that there wasn’t any that needed to be hoed, but Andrew and five or six other people spent a good amount of time hoeing a couple areas.  Andrew comes back and starts scolding some other kids who were chilling by the bus not helping (this is where I should have kept my mouth shut.)  Making the mistake of assuming I am all-knowing, proceeded to obnoxiously tell him that it wasn’t corn even though Andrew and almost all of these kids would know better than I about such corn things.  After him justly putting me in my place and firing a few choice profanities from myself, the damage was done.

I feel that most people, at least all men, would agree that women aren’t usually known for admitting when they are wrong.  Like all women, I have crazy female moments, but I consider myself to be a rational person when my hormones aren’t successfully screwing me over.  My ‘rents tried to teach me to be humble and open to the idea that I can have a jackass moment, and when that inevitably happens, pleading guilty and apologizing are in order.

I think the easiest way to keep your man happy is to elaborate and verbally acknowledge every single thing you were wrong about.  It’s only redundant because no one follows it.  The woman portion of a brain has no part in this and is pretty hard to ignore, but saying “I was wrong” (and actually meaning it) is the easiest way to resolve a fight.  Not hoeing a corn field is the easiest way to avoid one.

I with this, I begrudgingly swallow another life lesson.  A college degree is not applicable or more important than teenagers with years of experience.  So from now on, I’ll lay low, keep my mouth shut, assume my opinion is irrelevant, and try to have a good attitude.  Booooo.

On a happier note, Andrew took me to the fair.  The county fair is a wonderful place where I can buy a cow for $50.00.  If only I had a place to put it.  He tried to win me a giant stuffed animal, but carnie folk are pretty clever with their little games that always look so easy.  It was probably for the best because they didn’t have any stuffed elephants, and I don’t know how that would have worked on a motorcycle.

I got to pet TWO dogs today.  That’s two more than any other day I’ve spent in Indiana.  I tricked a chocolate lab into the corn field against its owners commands, and I’d do it again.  The lab was one upped by the happiest St. Bernard I’ve ever seen.

Apparently, I made an ass out of myself today.  Oops… I’m not going to elaborate any more on that one because I just don’t want to.

A crappy treasure hunt

No hoes today.  When we’re not getting our farmers tan on in dem corn fields we’re usually making crappy houses less crappy.  The last people living in the house we’re fixing really did a number on it.  I found a dirty diaper halfway buried in front of the garage.  There is no acceptable explanation for that.  I also had to sift through raccoon crap, and I think I might have picked it up at one point before I knew that I was holding raccoon crap.  In case you were wondering, raccoons leave the same odor as twenty incontinent cats trapped in a house during summer.

At least I didn’t have to clean out the farrowing house left untouched and full of pig crap for twenty years.  Sucks to be James and Andrew (they’re bff).

Two hours of sifting through gravel picking up trash.  It was like someone took a box full of broken glass and pretended it was rice at a wedding.  The three of us were on a treasure hunt for crap, but I wouldn’t even call it a hunt because to find trash all you needed was eyes.  There isn’t enough imagination in the world to make today’s task not annoying.  It looks slightly better, but barely.

And that was today.  I wish I had a whiskey sour.  Hopefully, Andrew will take me to the county fair tonight.  I’ve been thinking about a giant turkey leg ever since I discovered that my little college town is getting a restaurant that serves Thanksgiving food all day, every day.  Friday and Saturday nights are going to crawling with sooooo many drunk people devouring turkey legs with no shame.

Where did Easyjournal go?

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.

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