Wednesday, February 15, 2017

I have a present for you; it's very sharp.


 Why is it that some of simplest and easiest things cause some of us such frustration that we will avoid doing them at all costs? A combination of laziness and boredom is my best guess. Simple tasks such as

Laundry.

Doing laundry is not difficult. It's not even that time consuming if you think about it. Even if you have to go a laundromat to wash your clothes (so long as you're not in a sketchy location), it takes all of 30 seconds to throw your clothes in the washer and then you've got like half an hour before you have to come back and put the stuff in the dryer. I will say that not having my own washer and dryer is annoying, but I am permitted to use the washer and dryer in both my parents' homes whenever I need to, so it's hardly a hassle.

I spend more time thinking about doing laundry and planning to do laundry than it probably takes to do the actual laundry.


I will avoid doing laundry until I am literally down to the very last pair of emergency underwear.* Which is totally stupid, because by then I have such a ridiculous mountain of dirty clothes piled up it takes me like 4 loads to get all of it washed and dried. Which means I'm stuck at Dad's house all day on a weekend, or stuck going back and forth from work to Mum's house for three days in a row (currently on day 3 at Mum's--first load folded, second load needs folding, third load to go in the dryer during my lunch break). And that's just the clothes. There is still a pile of sheets and towels sitting on my bedroom floor that has been there since I came back from Indiana.

Even more than doing laundry, I hate

Getting the Car Serviced.

This is even easier than laundry because all I have to do is drop Gyr off at the mechanic and pick him up a few hours later. Gyr should have an oil change every 5,000 miles, but he actually get serviced about every 6,000 miles because I spend that last 1,000 miles thinking about scheduling the car for service, being anxious about it, and not actually doing it.

Since I travel over 120 miles a day for work, this little mental mania has become something of a constant in my life. As has

Going to the Bank.

I have managed--as far as my personal finances are concerned--to ensure that I never need to set foot in a bank again. Unfortunately, I have to go to the bank for work to deposit checks.

I don't know why I hate going to the bank so much. I really don't. But every time I see Boss man emerging from his office with checks and deposit slips in his hand, my heart sinks and my lunch break is ruined. Because I have to spend all of two minutes in the bank. I think this is solely the result of laziness, because Bank of America got rid of all their drive-thrus and I definitely started hating the bank more after that.....



One of our client's is currently sitting in Bossman's office complaining because we only got him $650,000.00 for his car accident. Like really, dude? On my current income (after taxes), it would take me about 20 YEARS to amass $650,000.00.





 How are the rest of y'all doing? 
































*the Christmas thong, because of course you needed to know that




Tuesday, January 31, 2017

A Tale of Two Horses

Once upon a time, my late evil-stepfather owned a huge piece of property ("The Farm") out in the boonies of Tioga County, Pennsylvania. From about age 14 - 19, I spent many a long weekend up there with Mumsy, Lil Sis, Stepdad and his evil spawn, his and Mumsy's friends, and whatever one of my friends or cousins was lucky enough to be able to tag along. We rode around on the four-wheelers with total disregard for our own safety, played with rifles and shotguns, drank a lot, hung out in the hot tub in the middle of winter, ran from mountain lions (yes, they do exist in Pennsylvania and I do not care what the *experts* say to the contrary), and generally ran amok.

Before smart people stopped making Stepdad's business decisions for him, he had rather a lot of money and liked spending it on extremely frivolous things. Some time before we started visiting The Farm regularly, he decided to purchase two retired race horses.

For those of you unfamiliar with horsemanship, there is a very very large difference between the horses trained for showjumping and putting up with rich children, and racehorses. Also, much like pigs released into the wild, some horses left unridden and free to wander a lot of land without human interaction for a long period of time can go from tame to feral rather quickly.

So Stepdad--who knew absolutely nothing about horses--purchased two retired racehorses and basically left them to wander The Farm as they pleased. For like two years. They had access to the barn for food and water and shelter when they wanted it, but no one really went near them except for the blacksmith who came every few months and groundskeeper who made sure they had fresh food and water in the barn.

Upon arriving at The Farm the first time, Mich was told that the horses were unrideable, and that under absolutely no circumstances was I permitted to even attempt to ride them.

Naturally, Mich was determined to ride them.

Mumsy, however, was by then very wise to my inclinations with regard to wild horses, and so I did not get an opportunity to try riding the racehorses for quite some time. Until one day, when Mumsy and Stepdad and their friends decided to have lunch with some other friends in a town forty minutes away.

The moment their car drove out of sight, I sprinted for the barn. Shatoya, whose parents were staying at the farm that weekend, decided that she would also like to try riding a wild horse. We had a surprisingly easy time luring the horses out of their field and into the barn. They also stood still while we saddled and bridled them. I am pretty sure they knew exactly what they were doing and thoroughly enjoyed leading Shatoya and me into a false sense of security so they could do a better job traumatizing us later.



We did at least wear helmets. I'm not totally stupid.

I gave Shatoya a ten-second lesson on the basics of riding a horse, we mounted up, and off we went outside.

Any of y'all ever watch horse racing? Ever notice how when they're not galloping down the racetrack, each horse walks around tethered to a second horse? That's called a companion pony, or a lead pony. It's basically the racehorse's service animal to make sure it doesn't go totally freaking insane for no reason. Because racehorses are

TOTALLY

FREAKING

INSANE.

Our horses would not listen to any commands. They just wanted to alternate between leisurely exploring the fields outside their paddock, and RUNNING. I knew how to ride a horse at full gallop, but Shatoya had never so much as gone on a ponyride at a carnival. By the grace of God, she somehow managed to hold on, and actually enjoyed herself (although she told me later she was equal parts exhilarated and terrified).

So we had a grand ol' time hanging on for dear life while our horses galloped all over The Farm.

But then

Mumsy and the other adults came back.

Her reaction was more or less what I expected.



I was actually quite impressed she managed to stay in the car what with all the flailing and swearing.

It took us rather a long time to get the horses back to the barn. Shatoya ended up getting off her horse when he was standing still and leaving him to find his own way home. He wandered back to the barn eventually, and seeing him going home, my horse also decided that she'd had enough adventure for one day.

Back at the house, Mumsy shouted herself hoarse. Lil Sis threw the mother of all tantrums because why did Mich get to ride the horses and not her? Mumsy shouted some more. Shatoya's mother shouted a bit. Stepdad and Shatoya's stepdad laughed. The groundskeeper decided that Mich was some kind of witch.


A few months later in Ireland, Mich managed to ride Anorexic Auntie's wild horse (she got him as a baby, but then sort of lost interest and never trained him). This time with no saddle or bridle. I'm pretty sure the whole of County Galway heard Mumsy shouting.