Tuesday, September 2, 2014

End of Days

With a massive terror attack possibly only days away, I've decided that the only reasonable thing to do is fill my last remaining hours with happy thoughts and silly stuff. What, me worry?

And, for me, happy thoughts and silly stuff almost always involves horses.

So, first up is the adorable Princess Barret and her Wonder Pony, Velvet.

We have a pony that lives next door to us who, at least as far as this video shows, is just as sweet and long-suffering. Any child could climb all over Pony Boy, crawl under his belly, tug at his mane or tail or forelock or, unfortunately, bridle, and he would. not. move. EVER.

But our delightful little neighbor is one of those ponies who has learned that children pose no threat whatsoever that he might actually have to DO anything, and so he will happily submit to the ministrations and equestrian dreams of wee tots. Have a kid on him that is old enough to think they can ask for so much as a trot, and Pony Boy brings out his full bag of tricks...and none of them are nice. You're going to get either a rank buck, a nasty swerve, or, if he is particularly annoyed, a wild gallop before ending with either a buck or a swerve...or, on the rare occasion...both. But you are not going to win. Or stay on.

Pony Boy is a nasty little shit.

But he is as good as gold for the little ones who aren't capable of more than smearing themselves around on his back. If he can get his head down for a bite of grass while they're doing it, then they are safe for hours. There's no better babysitter.

More horse stuff.

This says it all. Horses, like dogs, have strong social instincts. But, unlike dogs, they know they are prey and that they taste really good. This makes them skittish, to say the least, and desperately in need of a strong leader to feel safe. Proving your leadership, however, requires convincing the horse that you are better, stronger, faster, smarter than he is, otherwise why would he turn over his very survival to you? This isn't always straightforward, considering that most people are none of those things.

And most people show just how stupid they are when they try to treat horses like big pets. That's not what the horse is looking for and it isn't going to convince him you know shit about survival.  A horse needs your leadership far more than he needs your affection. Period. This does not mean that you can't, eventually, have an amazingly strong relationship with a horse. You can - and should. But you must start with leadership. Once that is decisively settled, then you can safely treat your horse like a big dog and get away with it. Unfortunately, too many people in horses nowadays have come from a background completely devoid of farm life and have not one freaking clue about how dangerous horses really are. They skip right past the whole leadership issue and jump right to feeding carrots and kissing them on the nose. Not smart. In fact, often dangerous.

Some horses, without proper leadership, are mean. Many are scared shitless. All are dangerous. But a horse who understands you are his leader and trusts that you are in charge of his survival, will literally go into battle for you.

They are incredible creatures.

This is my baby. He has had the entire summer off due to an injury to his left front leg. And now the world is ending and I haven't ridden in months. Of course, we just put in a tremendous arena, and laid down serious bank to do it...so having the world go down the toilet now is just about standard for my luck.

And to finish off this equestrian-themed post is the official dressage test for horses unsuitable to become anything. Study it well. I expect good things.

When my daughter was quite little, probably three or so, we attended a horse show where a lovely large pony entered the dressage ring with a young girl. The pony was flashy, a black and white paint with incredible markings. Lovely. Well, Daughter fell in love. She immediately began squirming and climbing on the railing, too overcome by her emotion to stand still, begging me to buy her a pinto JUST.  LIKE. THAT. ONE.

I could see trouble, though. The pony, while definitely fancy, was tense as a coiled spring, and almost immediately upon entering the ring at C, began to whinny. Well, whinny is an understatement. This pony was screaming. The visual was somewhat disconcerting, as the outline of the pony never changed. He LOOKED entirely correct, except for the obvious tension, but the SOUND was unnerving. It portended bad things.

The tension increased. The screaming increased. And, by the look of horror on the young rider's face, the firm conviction of impending disaster increased  for her as well.

When she tentatively tried to pick up the canter, the pony accepted this timid request with all the explosive capacity of a Widow Maker. He SHOT across the ring, swerved to continue galloping in a large circle, picking up speed, until she was flung like a sling-shot from sheer centrifugal force and landed in a heap far outside the dressage court.

My daughter stilled, watching this. As the dust settled around the young competitor and the pony gleefully disappeared toward the barns, Daughter flatly said, "Don't buy me THAT pony."

All righty.

Anyway, let's all keep our heads about us in the coming days. Oh...and if you haven't done so already, stock up on toilet paper. You'll thank me for that suggestion. Guaranteed.

Monday, August 25, 2014

Only horse people will REALLY understand this.

I find this enormously funny because every single one of these "sayings" is absolutely spot. on. If you ride, you've either heard them or said them and no one blinked...or giggled...or even reacted, except to nod in agreement.

But from now on I will never be able to shout at a student, "Don't let him get his head up! Keep it right there and be soft with your hands so his mouth doesn't get hard."

Good Lord.

Saturday, August 23, 2014

Apparently I am stark raving mad.

However, I'm incredibly lucky I wasn't born in the 1800's because I could have been committed under at least 30 of these categories...I know Bad Whiskey makes me NUTS!

I particularly like "Gathering in the Head".


THIS is why we have mass shootings now and we didn't then. All these crazies were safely locked away.

Anyone Else?

Does anyone else think the word "kumquat" sounds positively nasty? Like what you might call Nicki Minaj?

Or is it just me?

Ride'em, cowboy!!

This is quite literally -- and I mean LITERALLY -- painful it is so precious. My heart hurts, watching it.


It's me again.

Again I have gone missing for far too long and am now depressed to discover that apparently the internet needs me like teats on a boar hog. So rather than take the obvious as some kind of legitimate feedback, I'm popping in for a moment to cause all of you to remember why you should be missing me more.

Farm Boy is traveling yet again and I have been working diligently on advertising and graphic design, watching the farm and taking care of All The Living Things. Luckily this harsh duty includes copious amounts of wine each afternoon on the porch and the snuggling attention of a little Cavalier. What is not necessarily a part of the job description is bathing. I am sitting here realizing as I write that Cyber the precious Cav has abandoned me and the sofa for the floor as I haven't showered since hubby left two days ago. Dear me. Perhaps it was the bales of hay I moved into the barn yesterday, or the field I cleaned of several days' manure, or the 25 minute High Intensity Interval Training video I skipped and jumped around to today...but I have the faint odor of an infantry man after a 10 mile hike during an Iraq summer.

Heh! I'm conserving a valuable resource! You're welcome.


"Never lose your cool. Or your head." "HAHAHA! Good one!"
Is it just me, or does it seem completely insane that ISIS is swashbuckling its way across the Middle East, dissecting people like they were all 10th grade science projects and gleefully posting the gruesome acts on YouTube with threats that it's a show coming our way soon...and our Beloved Boy-King has his scintillating brilliance trained like a marksman on the danger posed by domestic terrorists? Doesn't that seem...well...a little off the mark?

Of course, whatever he's truly concerned about, it never interferes with his golf game. This apparent lack of even a smidgen of concern for beheadings, dismemberments, genocide, and dangerous American citizens does not in any way point to a callousness and narcissistic superficiality---YOU RAAAAAAACIST!--but instead, clearly shows that ice runs in the man's veins. Lincoln-esque ice. Determined. Resolute. Focused. Unflappable. Indefatigable ICE. The man is downright spooky how coolly unemotional he is about the horrors being wrought on innocents in the "new Iraq." You know, the Iraq that he got us out of with his keen political maneuvering and seriously adept diplomatic skills.

Except -- SUDDENLY -- it seems...he didn't.

 "Did I say I did that?"
Yes, Buckwheat, you did. Over and over and over and over.

So I stink, the president stinks, and the whole administration stinks to high heaven.

I, at least, only need a bath. These characters need orange suits and brand new itty bitty living spaces.

Saturday, August 2, 2014

Hillary Clinton, our next Emperor.

Over at Weasel Zippers, they feature a story about how nasty and arrogant and vicious and demanding and just plain unlikeable our darling "Hard Choices" star, Hillary Clinton is to those who protect and serve her. 

It's actually a punishment to have to work on her detail. As in, "Benner, you really fucked up this time getting caught watching porn all day. You've been assigned to Ms. Clinton."

And that, my friends, would convince any man that porn just isn't worth it.

‘Agents say being on Hillary Clinton’s detail is the worst duty assignment in the Secret Service. Being assigned to her detail is a form of punishment.’

And her nasty attitude goes all the way back to early days at the White House when Hillary and President Bill Clinton stepped out of Marine One helicopter and crossed the lawn holding hands.

But that was all for show. Once they were out of the public eye, it was a scream fest between the couple.

In response to a cheerful ‘Good morning, ma’am’, by a former uniformed officer, Hillary’s response to him was ‘Fuck off’.

Here's the ever charming Hillary greeting her Secret Service detail.


So now you know who Hillary REALLY is. No wonder there has been such a push to normalize transgenders. Our next president could be a tranny. And not a smokin' hot, sane one, either!

Who said women can't drive?

I can't decide whether this video proves that women are awesome stunt drivers and make punks out of cops...or if it just proves that most women are crazy insane.

Probably both.

So, the lesson here is do not try to stop a woman driver who is crazy insane. Let the police do it. It'll take six or seven of them, at least.

I was actually rooting for the Brave Little Toaster. Who knows? Maybe it was trying to find the master?

I hate to sweat.

I really, really hate it.

Obviously, this revulsion can be a handicap in my desire to stay physically fit. So I ride horses.

I know...I know...many of you just nodded your head, believing that riding horses is a non-exercise, requiring no effort on the part of the rider. How COULD you sweat when the horse does it all...right? Wrong. Soooo wrong.

But what is fabulous about riding is that you do it outside, when it's lovely and cool, and you are moving -- often rapidly -- through air, so you don't sweat. Or your sweat is whisked away by the cool breeze before you even are aware of its discomfort.


So you can get quite incredibly fit without ever being reduced to an unattractive, panting blob of smelly, gelatinous goo.

So, knowing this about me, a dear friend (did I say DEAR?) asked me...no BEGGED me...to attend a Bikram Yoga class with her. Of course I said, "I'd love to" because I love yoga (being another activity that keeps you fit and doesn't make you sweat).

On the way to the class my "dear" friend had a sudden fit of honesty and admitted that this wasn't just a mere yoga class. "Oh really?" I replied. "I'm fairly limber. I'm sure I'll be fine. And I don't have to do ALL the movements. I'll just not do anything that's too hard."

"Oh...that's not it. I'm sure you can do the yoga part. It's the heat part."

"Heat? What...heat?"

"Bikram Yoga is done in really high temperatures."

I was losing my agreeable attitude. "How high?"

"Really high."

"Mojave desert high?"

"Yeaaahhh....more like Death Valley high." 

"Are you shitting me? Yoga? In the heat? That completely ruins the whole point. And you know I hate to sweat."

"Oh, but it's really good for you."

I glared at her. "Don't be concerned about whether it's good for me. It could prove deadly for you. I've killed over less."

When we arrived, I politely inquired at the front desk about the whole heat and sweating and dying thing, and she gayly informed me that "Yes! And it's wonderful for you. Gets out all the toxins!"

"I don't want them out. I had too much fun getting them in. I like my toxins." I turned to my now suspect "friend". "If I make it through this, you're buying me lunch. And I intend to replace my fluid loss with a double Cadillac Margarita. Maybe two."

I made it through. I hated every. single. minute. I hated it with an oozing, slippery, dripping, faint-headed, almost-passing-out fury. But I survived.

At least I didn't lose my soulmate, twin flame and love of my life over it like this poor guy.


Yoga mat for sale. Used once.

Yoga mat for sale. Used once at lunch hour class in December 2009. Usage timeline as follows:

Register for hot yoga class. Infinite wisdom tells me to commit to 5 class package and purchase a yoga mat. I pay $89.74. Money well spent, I smugly confirm to myself.

Open door to yoga room. A gush of hot dry air rushes through and past me. It smells of breath, sweat and hot. Take spot on floor in back of room next to cute blonde. We will date.

I feel the need to be as near to naked as possible. This is a problem because of the hot blonde to my left and our pending courtship. She will not be pleased to learn that I need to lose 30 pounds before I propose to her.

The shirt and sweats have to come off. I throw caution to the wind and decide to rely on my wit and conditioning to overcome any weight issues my fiance may take issue with. This will take a lot of wit and conditioning.

This is long and depressing as hell, but a "must listen".


Video courtesy of Little Bonanza Productions. For more information, 
please contact: lisa@littlebonanzaproductions.com.

Damn. I knew I couldn't keep my good mood going for very long.

The Excuse-O-Meter!

I'm getting one of these, too.

This is already a good day. A VERY good day!


On T-shirts, no less!


And all this time I thought I was just wasting my time in the inter-verse, exploring strange new worlds...seeking out new life and new civilizations...boldly going nowhere.

But, it seems, I have ARRIVED!

Me want.

Actually, it's not a matter of merely wanting. I MUST have this. I think it's required or something. In fact, everyone on my Christmas list must have one. Hell, everyone in my address book must have one.

I'm simply giddy with delight. This calls for an award. And an acceptance speech.

"To everyone who's made this possible, I thank you and I applaud you for being so very, very discerning and incredibly smart to see right through all the bullshit and idiocy on this blog to the rare kernels of truth that sneaked in despite myself to speak to our very souls. It has been a privilege and an honor to be the sole person screwing around on this project for the last however many years, and I can't thank you all enough for occasionally stopping by to laugh, cry, or just shake your head at my plagiarisms, stolen pictures, and hot links to better writing.

"Even this award must be shared with a dear friend because I've never thought of a single original comment, and who shall remain nameless so that I can scoop up all the attention. She is the one who delivered this now famous line years ago. We still laugh over it. She has incredible comic timing...especially when she's deadly serious.

So thank you...THANK YOU! I love you! I love you all!"

And I know it says 2012, but I'm too lazy to fix it. Or to make another one.

Wednesday, July 30, 2014