The CEO tagged me for a meme, so here it goes...

It’s very simple.When this is passed on to you, copy the whole thing, skim the list and put a * star beside those that you like.(Check out especially the * starred ones.)Add the next number (1. 2. 3. 4. 5., etc.)and write your own blogging tip for other bloggers.

Try to make your tip general.After that, tag 10 other people. Link love some friends!Just think– if 10 people start this, the 10 people pass it onto another 10 people, you have 100 links already!

1. Look, read, and learn. ***-http://www.neonscent.com/
2. Be, EXCELLENT to each other. ***-http://www.bushmackel.com/
3. Don’t let money change ya! ***-http://www.therandomforest.info/
4. Always reply to your comments.*-http://chattiekat.com/
5. Develop your own "voice" don't "borrow" someone else's**-Mizmouthy
6. If you don't have something to say, don't worry your loyal readers will wait-Oldfashionmomma-
7. Be yourself, don't be afraid to share who you really are ***-http://shibari-confessions.blogspot.com
8. Figure out what you stand for, then try to master it.* -http://mornmeet.blogspot.com/
9. Post pictures when you can -http://akadventuring.blogspot.com



Now, I'm not tagging anyone, but if you'd like to add to the list, by all means, steal it!

The rodeo was awesome. Really. Cheyenne is a very cool place, and if I weren't headed back to Virginia soon I might well have headed there to check it out more fully. I will tell you all kinds of stories about the rodeo, the rain and lightning, the mud, and how I rooted for the steers during some of the events... but for now you get more sights from Frontier Days.

This was the Chuck Wagon Cook-off. Everything was done on iron skillets over open fires, or wrapped in foil under coals. The menu of the day was chicken fried steak, bread, and surely a whole lot of other stuff. Those cowboys must get crazy hungry and these are the folks responsible for feeding them... I'll bet there was a HUGE run on vats o' oil at Sam's Club. That's a heart attack in a skillet, right there.

Wyatt Earp. One of many characters running around the grounds. I overheard him ask a little boy if he knew anything about what he had done in the old west, and the boy answered, "Uh-huh. I saw you in 'Tombstone'!!!"

Okay, I'm a bad person. My first thought at seeing this couple walk past was a very snarky "I'll bet his nuts are in a jar on the mantle at home." Then I found out that the Pro-Rodeo Association is supporting the Susan G. Koman campaign for breast cancer awareness and research. Their slogan is "Tough Enough to Wear Pink." Maybe she has breast cancer, maybe his balls are on the mantle. I took back my judgement of them.

And what is there to say about this? I heart this sign.

Cheyenne Frontier Days

There was a parade...

And some funny flaggage...

I got horny...

This kid gave away "Steerbucks" cowboy coffee... now, that's some mud-in-a-cup my Poppy would love!!!
The only thing better than a pink cowgirl hat with a tiara on it is the fact that the tiara lit up!!!! Don't you judge me!

2 weeks...

2 weeks to go, and I have to do the following this weekend...

• Complete some continuing education courses.
• Continue packing.
• Go to the Frontier Days Rodeo in Cheyenne, WY.

That's right people, I said I'm going to a rodeo. Oh yeah, you hang on to your hats and just wait for the pictures...

Is that a tornado? Cheese and rice we're glad to see it!

I didn't think there would be a time when the lack of a tornado warning would make me yearn for the day...

It's been a bazillion degrees here for weeks.

Even Oz is on the lookout for a twister... it means a storm front is coming through and the heat will break.

For now, we're all sleeping on the couch in the room with the a/c.

Heritage Days

So, Alliance has an annual street fair/carnival to celebrate their heritage. Aptly, it is called "Heritage Days". Unfortunately I missed the parade, since I had to go pick up the stitch-ripping wonder dog. But, I did get to attend more than the beer garden. And thank g*d for that, because the "beer garden" was comprised of a few tents with folding tables and plastic chairs. Now, that part I have no complaints about. My complaint rests around this... you had the choice of Miller Lite or Fat Tire. That's it. Someone had told me that there would be real honest-to-pete microbrews available. Okay, technically Fat Tire is a microbrew, but seriously, every beer tent only had those two choices. Not exactly the "microbrew" tents I imagined. The laugh of the night was when I headed to the port-a-potty to deposit my Fat Tire. It was dark, no lights, no ability to tell where anything was except by memory of every port-a-potty I've ever been in. Apparently, I didn't quite get the door locked... much to the amusement of a table of hispanic workers when another lady whipped the door wide open and we both screamed. Thankfully, I was on the pot or I'd have been sitting there in my pee pants. Besides my pee-pants antics, the entertainment du-jour was "Alliance Idol". Seriously. Good times, people, good times.

This is but one of the lucky contestants.

My favorite things about carnivals? Food on a stick, and anything deep-fried.

"Steak on a stick". It turned out to be a tasty kebob. Definitely worth $5 at a street fair.

"Ribbon fries"... a greasy pile of potatoes- mmmmm-mmmmm good!!!!

You're either a funnel cake girl or an elephant ear girl. I'm an elephant ear girl. And it was totally worth the 8 gazillion steps on the stairmaster I'll have to do to overcome it.

And of course, here's G imbibing in the forbidden fruit- errrr, the forbidden deep-fried Oreos. See that little gadget in her hand? That's her indwelling insulin pump. That's right, G's a type 1 diabetic. She was having a "Diabetic Limeade" along with her deep-fried Oreos. They cancel out, right? I swear, she had to run that thing up so high I heard it yell, "For the love of god, G, don't eat it!"

Can I have that? AKA, Amy, don't look!

Pooh King continues to improve. He's had to lay off of his doggy yoga-esque plank and downward-facing dog stretching regime. Instead, he's trying those positions as modified for a 100 year old man. Gently, Pooh King, ever so gently. He's got more bruising around the groin incision from having torn the stitches out, therefore requiring new ones, but otherwise, everything seems to be healing as expected. He's even asking for belly rubs. Gently, TK, ever so gently. The very tender-hearted neighbor boy from next door (shhh, he's one of my favorites) always greets us with "Hello! And how is Pooh King today?" and offers a kind pat on Pooh's head. He's been gone all week visiting his Dad so we hadn't seen him since the surgery. When he saw Pooh King this morning he sank to his knees and put his hands on either side of Pooh's face. "Oh, Pooh King, you've had some troubles I see." My god, this kid is 9. Pooh King stood very still, tail wagging gently (a little less to the left, a little more to the right), nose to nose and looking M right in the eyes while M offered him encouragement in quick healing. Then he said, "Tiffany, Pooh doesn't think going for a run on the bike is a good idea for a little while." I agree, M, I agree. We're taking this ever so gently now.

The Great and Powerful Oz stands watch over her dog while he convalesces.

When I picked Pooh King up from his first surgery, Dr. Tom took a good bit of time to tell me everything about what happened in detail. I appreciated that, as it's important to me to know exactly what was done and what to expect following such an invasive surgery.
He explained why he took a 4th tumor off (we had agreed on 3). He explained Pooh King's x-rays in great detail (while looking at the images) and how they showed there was no heart failure. Hooray! He even had kept one of the large tumors (2 large, 2 small/medium) to show me. He brought it out to give me a visual of its size... about the same as a large lemon.

TK: Can I have that?
Dr. Tom: Are you serious?
TK: Totally. You see, I want to take a picture of it for my blog, but I don't have my camera with me.
Dr. Tom: You're serious.
TK: Yep.
Dr. Tom: Okay, here you go. (Hands TK the baggie.)

Bert (the secretary): Here, I'll get an ice pack for you so it will stay cool.
TK: Thanks Bert. I'd love to be a fly on the wall to hear what he says about me once I leave!


So, here it is. If you don't want to see what the tumor from his left armpit area looks like, you'd better leave now. SC Amy, you'd better not look. It's just a fat tumor, no suspicion of any kind of malignancy (which I already knew since I'd had several biopsied over the years) and no cause for concern. Okay now, seriously, this is your last warning...



















Don't worry, I don't still have it. I threw it away after I took the picture. I promise. No, really, I did. Seriously.

Pooh King and the Stitch Crisis of 2007

The pup is home again. He's only mildly worse for the wear. At least this time he didn't struggle against my insistence that I lift him in and out of the Durango. He's to have no more Rimadyl, as the vet thinks that's what caused his upset stomach (and it almost killed his mother via kidney and liver failure). Since his upset stomach is what caused him to be at the vet's office again, and therefore caused the ripping of his sutures (via refusing to let me lift him in and out of the truck, opting instead to jump) we have no problem staying off the Rimadyl. Now he's resting comfortably on doggy-aspirin. He wags his tail a little more to the right, a little less to the left, when I talk to him. He lets me inspect all of his stitches, even the new ones.

Dr. Jim (Dr. Tom's dad) was so kind. He told me he was going out of town for about 36 hours and would be expecting me to call him at home tomorrow evening around 6pm to give report on how Pooh is doing and how the sutures look. Dr. Jim is about to turn 60, and it was nice to have the older, more experienced hand in dealing with hysterical pet owners "handling" me through this part. He told me to limit how much "riding" Pooh was going to do until the ramp came.

"Dr. Furman, if that dog needs to go anywhere before August 1 (when his stitches come out) we'll be walking."

Case closed.

Back to surgery

So Pooh was fine after his day with the vet. No more vomitting and ready to go home. I pick him up at 5:15, chat with Dr. Jim (Dr. Tom's dad) for a bit, dog hops in the car and we head out. Get to the grocery store to pick stuff up for the cookout the PTA is having tomorrow. As I turn around to say "Be a good dog. ON GUARD!" which I always do when exiting the vehicle, I see that Pooh King has ripped every layer of stitches in the groin incision apart. I could have put my hand straight into him. Holy shit! I called the emergency vet number, pulled out of the parking lot, and drove back to the vet's office. His house is next door to the clinic, so I just sat there and waited for him to finish his shower (according to his wife, who came to see if I needed help because I'm sitting in the car crying in the parking lot after hours ). I assisted him with lifting Pooh onto the surgery table, he anesthetized him, and I was the official assistant during the re-suturing process. I probably will get my dog back at 8:30 tomorrow morning, if animal welfare hasn't been called because I don't have a ramp for my senior citizen sutured pet.

I'm going to go park my ass in the beer garden now. I need my supergirl underpants to get over this one.

And, by the way, the ramp should be delivered on Tuesday.

In this picture you can't even see the incision that he ripped apart.

See Spot vomit.

Uh-oh.

*8:45 update: He's back at the vet's office. After immediately throwing up anything that went in his mouth between 4am and 8am, Pooh King took a trip back to the house of pain this morning. They're keeping him under observation and will call me later today. Temp was normal, his demeanor is happy, but anything that goes down the gullet just rebounds its way back out. Shit. Back to "happy thoughts, happy thoughts."

Pooh King the Wonder Dog

Well, that was rough.

I spent the better part of the evening positively fretting over what I had done to my dog. I mean, he laid on his bed in the livingroom, vibrating in pain, whimpering and whining. At one point, he looked at his front leg and started shrieking and trying to run away from it. He wound up in the bedroom cowering on his bed. (This is the part where you put 2 and 2 together and figure out that the mighty Pooh King has two beds...) He could barely walk, and going up and down the stairs was a nightmare.

When he first came home, he had some water but wouldn't eat anything. By 8-ish, he was ready for a scooby snack, aka pain medicine. I'm only supposed to give it once every 12 hours if needed, but he got a dose at 8pm and a dose at 1am. Between 11 and 1 if I took my hand off of his head he would start crying again. After the 1am dose, things got markedly improved for both of us. He stopped shaking and panting, and was finally able to really sleep. Therefore, I was able to sleep as well.

When I woke up this morning, he was lying next to my bed and greeted me with tail wagging. He's moving much more easily, and even broke into a jog, albeit gingerly, a couple of times. He's had his breakfast, taken his medicine, and is currently lying under the kitchen table waiting for his part of my PB&J, just like last night never happened. His capacity for forgiving me is endless, I suppose. Now that he's not shaking and whimpering, I guess I can forgive myself. I know the surgery was necessary and for his health, but that wasn't helping me last night.

I'm off to work. Thankfully I only live 1.5 blocks from the hospital, so I can spend my lunch time with Pooh King the Wonder Dog!

Oh ya, did I mention I have a tumor in my fridge? Seriously, you should come back tomorrow for that story. SC Amy, you shouldn't look!!!

O.M.G.

He is in so much pain! I almost threw up when he cried over the pain of getting in and out of the truck. I'm buying a ramp for my car right now. He will never have to jump again. Seriously.

I'll tell the funny stories about picking him up at the vet's office another time. Right now I have to lie on the couch and feel bad next to him. There is a 100% chance I will be sleeping on the couch tonight.

He's alive! He's alive! Out of anasthesia and tail-wagging. My good old dog!

Sigh of relief...

Sometimes it's funny how much The Great and Powerful Oz is attached to Pooh. Sometimes, it causes me to lose sleep...

Oz in the window. Oz on my bed telling me she doesn't really like being an only child. Oz in the window. Oz on my bed telling me the dog was probably out partying. Oz in the window. Oz on my bed telling me maybe there was a tornado and he's somewhere in Kansas. Oz in the window. Oz on my bed telling me she was sure evil was afoot at the Circle K. Oz in the window. Oz gives up and sleeps so long as I promise she still gets milk in the morning even if the dog shows up hungover.

We're just counting down until 4:00 now

Happy thoughts, happy thoughts

Pooh King is at the vet's office. He's never spent a night at a kennel until now. They wouldn't let me drop him off in the morning, even despite my begging.

His surgery will probably be late in the morning. It seems somebody's pug has a more pressing issue with his need for a tracheostomy, and that rates ahead of Pooh King's lumpiness. Whatever. All I'm going to say is that if my dog needed a "rather emergent" tracheostomy, I'd have tied Dr. Tom's ass to a surgical table tonight until it was done. Just sayin'.

So I should know he's fine by mid afternoon at the latest. I had one request.

"Please, when you call to tell me the surgery's over, let the first thing you say be 'Hi Tiffany, he's alive.' Otherwise, I can't be held responsible for the dolphin noises I make when I panic and cry... and don't think I'll hear you say it 60 seconds later if I think you killed my dog."

He's in the biggest kennel in the clinic, but it's still concrete, and it's not home with me. I left him with his travel bed and the Oz towel. Then I took baby steps to the truck.

Oz and I miss him already.

I'm not typical. So what?

In some ways, I am a very girly girl... in some ways, I'm not.

• I have 8 gazillion hair products. That's just 100% girl.
• I love makeup. A lot. Again, 100% girl. I rarely ever go a day without putting mascara on, even if I'm not wearing another stitch of makeup.
• Being in my shower has been described as being as good as going to a spa.
• I love most jewelery, but I don't even like diamonds. And I don't wear gold. Someone asked me once what I'd have a wedding band made out of. I replied, "I don't know. What lasts a long time? Titanium?"
• Flowers smell and look pretty, but I don't especially care for roses. (Except for the ones in Klamath Falls that grew outside my house.)
• I love shoes, but I'd rather be barefoot.
• I have learned to appreciate comfortable shoes, but I still want them to be cool, hence my love of Dansko. I still have more than a few pairs of uncomfortable but amazing heels, just for fun.
• I love to get really dressed up every now and again, but I'm all for spending most nights puttering around my apartment in stuff I wouldn't be caught dead in at Carhenge.
• I'm all for having great landscaping... as long as someone else maintains it.
• I have fantastic sheets, but I mix and match my pillowcases.
• I have 11 ear piercings and 2 tattoos, but the idea of piercing my tongue makes me cringe.
• I grew up riding horses nearly every day, but that shocks the hell out of Mini-Me.

A man once told me, "You are an enigma wrapped in a mystery."

(Image from PostSecret)

I think he's right.

It's on!!!!

These two crazy boys were just full of themselves despite the heat. I stopped to watch them because they were dancing and pawing right at the fence, near the road. Then they spun and started to race up the hill. I thought they were done after I lost site of them. As I started to pull away, I heard them come thundering back down the hill. I guess it was a full-on lap race!

A drive to the Sandhills

At a mere 100 degrees, all the cattle were gathered at the watering holes, if only to lie down in it!

The mares didn't care a bit about my driving by. The foals, however, were very interested in Tough Lucy Dodge.
A little history about the area.

Comment!

Well, well, well. Isn't Blogger special? Special, as in, needs to wear a helmet at all times!

I've noticed that some of my regulars haven't posted comments in quite some time. The nerve! Then one sent an email saying he'd try and everything went right, but the comment never showed up. Now someone else has told me the same thing. How many of you are out there, trying to leave your witty comments, who can't get one to post? Probably legions of you. Masses. I'm sure I'll be overwhelmed with comments now!

I don't know what to do, honestly. I looked at the help page, but it's really no help at all. I tried to find a form to report the problem, but it doesn't seem like a form exists... or I need a helmet.

Anyway, I took off the word verification to see if that will help. Let me know, folks. I am sad that so many have missed the chance to join the hilarity!

Sticker Shock

Oh, Pooh King. What a good dog. What an expensive dog!

My old fat boy is an old man. He was such a low cost puppy... it was bound to catch up with me.

Today he had his annual vet visit. Bloodwork, vaccinations, fecal test (ooooh, he did not like Dr. Tom sticking his finger in his pooper), etc. He needs to have his thyroid level checked periodically to make sure he's getting enough medication. In 2002, Pooh developed a lump on his right chest wall, followed by another on his back leg. I had them biopsied and found out they were lypomas. Fatty tumors. I've never in my life been so happy to have "fat" be included in a diagnosis. The vet warned me that they're very common in older dogs, especially Labs, and once you see one, there are bound to be plenty more coming. She said not to worry about them unless they became so big that they were bothersome or altered his movement.

Sure enough, Pooh King's nickname has become "Lumpy" over the past few years. I've watched the original lypomas grow, seen new ones form, and paid rapt attention to his movement. He now has two that are becoming trouble, so they have to go.

Dr Tom was very nice. He gave me a tour of the clinic, which serves both large and small animals, and showed me everywhere Pooh would need to be during pre-op, surgery and recovery. He did a thorough exam and gave Pooh all of his vaccinations in the right places (according to decreasing the risk of developing vaccine-based cancers). Pooh was diagnosed with a mild irregular heart murmur when he had his teeth cleaned and one tooth extracted back in Denver, and it seems that it might now have led to some mild congestive heart failure and pulmonary edema. So, in addition to his lypoma removals and tooth cleaning (while he's out for the surgery, I'm going to go ahead and have his teeth cleaned again... they've built up a good bit of tartar and I might as well get that nasty breath taken care of while he's in snooze-ville) he's getting a digital x-ray of his chest to see how much edema is on his lungs, and if it's being caused by the heart problems. If so, it can be managed, much like human CHF. If the coarseness in his lungs is not from pulmonary edema, well, I'll have just spent a considerable chunk of change for a pretty picture of his guts.

I'm getting a weekend job to afford Pooh King's old age.

Update: The Old One freaked out when she read this and didn't know all the details. Pooh King's surgery is Wednesday morning. He goes into the vet on Tuesday afternoon for his pre-op blood work and EKG and they will keep him overnight. He will come home Wednesday evening. His heart stuff is not life-threatening. At worst, he has some CHF which can be treated with doggy-Lasix, or he won't be able to have the lypomas removed because the EKG shows that it's too risky for him to go under anasthesia. I think it will all be okay, and I'm confident in the vet who is doing the surgery. It'll be okay folks. At the rate I'm paying this guy, the dog has a lifetime guarantee now!

Murders in Alliance

When I run the dog at night we have a set path. I ride the bike, he runs. Now that the 4th is over, so are the fireworks, so we're safe on the bike again.

Anyway, we have a fairly set route around the neighborhood, which includes the low-income housing complex. There's the cutest little girl there, JoAnna, who's not quite 4. She's the little girl who's always dressed up in a costume... ballerina, Cindarella, a bumble bee. She L-O-V-E-S Pooh King. Every night as we blow by, this little blondie runs from out of nowhere and yells "I'na pet that dog! I'na pet that dog!" Pooh King starts wagging madly, and we stop so she can pet him. Of course, petting him includes him throwing his butt into her for the obligatory "butt-pat" that nearly knocks her over.

So last week, as I'm riding by, she yells and we stop. As she's petting Pooh King, the following conversation ensues...

JoAnna: My mom went to jail last night. My Gramma had to go get her out.

TK: That's too bad. I'm sure you were worried while she was gone. Is she back now?

JoAnna: Yes. But when she got taken away, I ran outside and I saw a dead person right there! (Points directly next to where I'm stopped.)

TK: What?

JA: Yep. There was blood everywhere.

TK thinks to self: Self? If there was a murder last night, all of Alliance would be on high alert. And I hope that's not what her mother got hauled in for.

TK: Did you see that?

JA: Yep... And then I saw another dead person right up there... (indicates the opposite side of the road a few yards up.)

TK thinks to self: Holy shit. If there was a double homicide last night, I missed the biggest law enforcement action in the history of western Nebraska.

JA: Yep. I saw them both. And then the police came and their sirens were going so I had to run. So I grabbed my dog like this (grabs Pooh King under the collar) and I ran into the woods.

TK: (starts to suspect a snitch) I thought you didn't have a dog.

Neighbor girl walks by: She lies all the time. She lies about everything. She's a big fat liar.

TK thinks to self: Dear lord, please let the lie have started with "My mom went to jail last night."

The Great and Powerful Oz. She came from a dumpster. She's wise in the ways of the world. She defies gravity. She cracks me up on a daily basis.

That little cat LOVES her dog. She rubs on his legs and butts heads with him. She will wrestle him to the ground on a moment's notice, only to jump up, run down the back of the couch and jump on him again as he makes his great escape.

Oz is a lover. She knows her name and responds with a sweet little meow when you call . She lies on my arms while I type. When it's cool, she sleeps on me. When it's warm, she likes to sleep on the back of the couch, but at some point in the night she usually climbs on the bed for a little snuggle.

Every now and then she comes up with a new party trick. First it was the Dryer Olympics. Then it was love bites. In Klamath Falls, she took to climbing up the metal security door to get a good look around. Then she wanted to sit on top of the door. In Virginia she started to dog-wrestle. In Nebraska she's a parking lot crooner. and a tornado lookout.

I know, I know, you want me to get to the story. Fine. Here you go. But I swear, if I hear anyone laughing, I'll cut 'ya!

That cat is obsessed with jumping onto my back and sitting on my butt.

Seriously.

Any time I lean forward, she jumps onto the small of my back and balances on my butt. I don't know how she does it, but she can levitate from the floor to my butt without using her claws. She's been doing this for a few weeks now, and I have yet to have a scratch from a claw.

So, you ask, when exactly is this happening? Scene 1) I'm brushing my teeth in the morning. I lean forward and BOOM!... there's a cat on my back. Scene 2) I'm putting on makeup and lean in to the mirror to do my mascara... SHAZAM! Cat. Scene 3) Lean over to get dishes out of dishwasher... KAPOW! There she is. Scene 4) I'm sitting in a chair and lean forward to get something... BAM! She's snuggled inbetween the chair and my back.

Sometimes she likes to switch things up and she'll put her back feet on my butt and stand up to stretch her front legs over my shoulder so she can watch me put on my makeup. It's freakin' hysterical. I don't know where she comes from half the time. That cat's a ninja. And it's a good thing I've got a bootylicious badonkadonk!

Coming soon...

• The stuff my patient make for me.
• 2 dead bodies in Alliance, and a 3 year old running from the po-po
• The Great and Powerful Oz's new trick.

I promise.

One of the secretaries at the clinic sent this out on email this morning...

Subject: To all of those who know our "Tiff"

Everybody knows about the Fujita Scale which measures the power of tornados. But, nobody really knows what all those types of twisters do to COWS. So here is the MOOJITA Scale.

M 0 Tornado - Cows in an open field are spun around parallel to the wind flow and become mildly annoyed.

M 1 Tornado - Cows are tipped over and cannot get up.

M 2 Tornado - Cows begin rolling with the wind.

M 3 Tornado - Cows tumble and bounce.

M 4 Tornado - Cows are AIRBORN.

M 5 Tornado - S T E A K !!!!!


Oh man, this place cracks me up!!!!

Mullet or Mudflap?

So, this is the lady L and B have a HUGE grudge against. She's a decent player who puts together a very good team every year. This year? "The Hoff Team". It's kind of funny. Funny in the way that whenever I say it I think about David Hasselhoff eating a cheeseburger on the bathroom floor. We lost to them in our regular league (much to the chagrin of L and B) and we split our "pool" match with them 1-1. We wound up in the finals with them in the Crawford Tournament. We played pretty well, but in the end wound up dropping the match 1-2.

The big question is, what the hell is this lady thinking? She obviously cares about what her hair looks like, or she wouldn't go through the trouble of having it highlighted and fixing it for the game. I mean, she got it did. What I'm even more curious about is, does it qualify as a mullet, or is it more mudflap? It could be just neck fringe. I'm not really sure.

I may, or may not have lost to a mullet.

And the winner is...

We won second. And this time, it was second out of eight, not two. I have to say that with Jen, aka, "Secret Weapon", we did much better than with C, our "Shank Man". The day turned out to be beautiful. It was hot, but not too hot. Sunny, but with a few clouds to break it up. With all of that plus several coats of SPF 45, I definitely got a chance to work on my freckles instead of my burn. It was a good day.

Unfortunately, the tournament didn't wrap up until 8pm (instead of 5), which put us back in Alliance just after 9. The fireworks were starting as we pulled in and there just wasn't time to get to Bossman's cookout. Honestly, that peeved me just a bit since I was really looking forward to hanging out with some cool folks, and getting my eat on at the BBQ. Oh well, I guess $30 and a t-shirt was worth it. Sort of.

Obviously a Nebraska native. This dude was dressed to kill, complete with spurs. I'm not sure what he was planning on riding, but I hope he found it.

This little dude was waiting for the rodeo, but wasn't feeling so good. I think he might have been the only person who was able to sleep through the ruckus that is "Beer Baseball."

I'm off to play in a volleyball tournament in Crawford, Nebraska. I don't even know where Crawford is. The official start time of the tournament is "after the parade". Right. I have gatorade, water, and beef jerky packed in a styrofoam cooler. Don't you judge me.

Assuming I survive the blistering sun and heat of the tournament (may the Force be with the SPF 45) I'll be hanging in the Bossman's yard for a cookout and fireworks tonight. Pooh King and Oz will be lounging in the a/c at the apartment.

Hope you all have a great holiday!

It's 9:45pm. My apartment smells like breakfast sausage.

Is it wrong that I'm hungry?

Settling up, not down

I never know what I want for Christmas. Most of the time, I have already purchased anything I want. I have a compulsive streak, you see. So when the family asks what I want for Christmas or my birthday, I go "I dunno." I prefer that someone see something that reminds them of me, or that they think I'll laugh over, than try to get something especially useful. But not this year.

This year is different, folks. I can hear you ask "Why TK? Why? Why is this year different?"

Because I'm moving to Farmville, VA. That's right, I'm going back to "Where the Hell is Farmville, Virginia?". For good. There's a contract, a commitment. There's not a start date quite yet, but you can bet it will be in August.

In preparation for my return to grown-up life, I'm looking at furnishing an apartment. I don't own a couch, a television, or a coffee table. I'll have nothing to sit on. So, here's the start. Here's what I want. God bless Target. So make a list, family. Sign up for something. I have things I need and want. I don't quite know about furniture yet. There are things that I like, but really I'm quite likely to hit outlet furniture stores, so there's no helping me there.

What do I want, you ask? Check out these links, and you'll get a fairly good idea. Now, go talk amongst yourselves... and I'd like a serving set for 8 since I hope to entertain.

I want these dishes. (Don't even joke about any other kind of dishes. I heart these. And they're from Target.) And maybe this silverware would match nicely. And let's see, what about these glasses? Or maybe these... Oh, and the wine glasses. Don't forget the wine glasses. Should we plan on margarita glasses too? Okay, then I guess I'll go with these. Is there anything else I'm missing? Oooooooooh, this looks like a great idea!

There will be more. You know there will be more.