Where's Bigfoot when you need him?

Remember the movie ‘Predator’ with Arnold S.? He was chased through the jungle and swamps by an alien hell-bent on annihilating him or becoming his new best friend. One or the other.

That was me last week. Except I wasn’t being pursued by a 7 foot tall invisible alien. I was being hunted by a herd of 4 foot tall 11 year olds. Hunted might be too strong a word, except in my nightmares where they're chasing me through the woods looking for guidance and GoldFish Crackers.

We were at CAMP. One of the most hated words in the English language. Hated by me at least. I am not a camper. I’ve wanted to be a lot of things. Vanna White mostly. But I’ve never, ever wanted to be a camper.

Anyway, that’s what we did. The whole class at the kiddo’s school packed up and headed off to ‘Happy Cheerful Fun Camp’. We packed and packed and packed. Because even though we had to pay A LOT for camp they didn’t actually provide anything in the cabins. No towels, no sheets, no pillows, no paper towels, no refrigerator, no life size blow up George Clooney doll. If you wanted any of that stuff then you had to pack it yourself. When hubby saw the loaded down SUV he said, “How long will you be gone? A month? Did you leave any paper towels or toilet paper for me?” I don’t think that was actual panic in his voice, I’m sure it was concern for mine and the kiddo’s wellbeing.

After driving several hours to ‘Happy Freakin' Fun Camp’ we arrive and get to unload all the crap wedged into the SUV. The other moms and I drag the gallons of sunscreen and bug spray down the hill to our circa 1940’s cabin. Everything must be brought in and put somewhere. 20 sleeping bags, 25 duffle bags, several tote bags etc. Apparently none of us travel light.

When we first saw our tiny cabin the teacher said, “Look, you have a view of the lake.”
I don’t know what she was talking about because the windows facing the lake were 6 feet above our heads. We’d have to pole vault onto the ceiling fans to see anything out of those bug-caked windows. And the other windows were blocked by 16 bunk beds. View? Don’t think so.

The chaperones had to climb a LADDER to get to our sleeping loft. All of our stuff had to be hauled up and down the ‘Ladder of Death.’ The bathroom was on the first level so if you needed to go in the middle of the night, the process involved putting on flip-flops (the floor was filthy) and climbing down an 8 foot ladder in the dark while holding a flashlight. There were 8 rungs down to the floor. I tried to count them off: One…two…three…slip,thud, thud, thud, slam. Well, I made it down.

The schedule given to us by the camp counselors showed that 10:00 pm was ‘Lights Out.’ This sounded good to me. And if they hadn’t kept us out until 9:45 making the kids do some intricate clapping exercises then we might have made it to bed by 10:00.
Unless our kids grow up and join the circus or work with trained seals, I don’t know how that much clapping is going to help.

We had 20 people and 4 showers. Lights didn’t go ‘out’ until midnight, and that was after a lot of crying and whining ….some of the kids were upset too.

Some of the moms had really involved hair and beauty regimens that could NOT be skipped. At first I thought that was a waste of time but then I realized, if Bigfoot broke into the cabin, he’d take the primped and coiffed moms and leave the rest of us behind.

Although, by the third day we were all so exhausted from the freakishly happy clapping and overly cheerful counselors, that I would have thrown myself at Bigfoot’s mercy and begged him to drag me off into the woods, if I could just get some sleep. I guess he had the week off because there wasn’t one sighting of the big lazy lug.

We spent days and days (Well, 3 days, which felt like a month) applying buckets of sunscreen and enduring clouds of bug spray. FYI bug spray does not taste as good as you might think. There was a truck load of tears, lost contacts, hurt feelings, and several injuries.

On the last day, I was so tired I couldn’t even eat lunch so I just tried to get as much caffeine and sugar down to make the drive home. To sanctuary. And clean showers.

But something amazing happened as we drove out of the parking lot of “Happy @#$%^ Camp”. I had a renewal of energy. I felt positively giddy! I hadn’t been that happy since we made our great escape from Canada. I wanted to sing songs and share my euphoria, but since the other moms looked they were about to club me over the head I kept it to myself. Mostly.

P.S. The kids had a great time and everyone made it back safely.

The Monkey Dog Strikes Back

We have these two dogs that live with us. The first dog came here about four years ago. I was innocently dropping books off at the library one day and when I came home the kiddo had talked her dad into going to the SPCA to ‘look’ at the dogs. So we all piled into the SUV and headed to the shelter.

We’d been having this ‘get a dog – don’t get a dog’ discussion for quite a while. Hubby and I were in the camp of ‘don’t get a dog.’ (The previous dog had died of old age a couple of years earlier and we weren’t ready to take care of another one.)

At the shelter the kiddo picks out a little Chihuahua type dog and we take it into the ‘Get Acquainted Room’ to, you know, get acquainted. The little dog runs around the room once, comes straight over to me and I’m thinking ‘Oh how sweet! He likes me.’ and in the next instant the thing hikes his leg and pees on my purse. Little creep.

Out he goes and we start the process of looking in all the cages again. In one cage is the strangest looking dog I’ve ever seen. Its legs are 3 inches long and its body is about 2 feet long. It has the head of a wolf with huge Dorito chip ears. One of the dog’s eyes is ice blue and the other one is marbled blue and brown. Its coat is a mottled gray, black and brown and the tail is long and shaggy. It was the saddest looking dog ever. I’m a sucker for big sad eyes and I thought that if we didn’t adopt that dog nobody else would. (And he didn’t pee on my purse. That’s always a good sign.)

So we have that dog for a while and he’s a sweet dog. He’s got a few health issues and he’s gained some weight and he never really was a lapdog anyway. The kiddo has decided we need a lapdog. A dog we can hold and carry around in a purse. And hey, who doesn’t need a dog they can put in a purse and carry around? Apparently, purse dogs aren’t just for crazy people anymore.

We load up in the SUV again and head to the dog place. This time we see this rat like monkey looking dog thing. Uh oh. Another weird looking dog that needs a home. It’s small. Tiny really. So it meets the purse requirement. And it’s lively. It’ll play and chase toys which our other dog won’t do at all.

It was a little difficult in the beginning because dog no. 1 (We’ll call him Comet.) wasn’t thrilled with a new addition to the family. He was happy with the way things were and didn’t see the need to bring some rat/dog thing into the house.

But Comet doesn’t get to vote and evidently we’re suckers for rat-dogs. The only problem is this dog is not a dog at all. It’s a puppy! Comet was 2 years old when we got him. He has never done anything more than lie around and roll over to have his belly scratched.

The puppy has more energy than a case of Red Bull. She chews. On everything. The wood trim. The coffee table. My COMPUTER cord. :(

Thank goodness she’s cute. That’s the only thing that has saved her life on several occasions. (Just kidding. Sort of.)

We’ve had the puppy (We’ll call her Clara.) for about 4 months and we’re working on several issues with her. House breaking issues, chewing on everything issues and the waking me up in the middle of the night issues. She seems to have some sort of weird internal clock that goes off at 2:00 am and suddenly it’s ‘playtime.’

Last week she went to the vet and got spayed. The poor little thing looked traumatized when we brought her home. She had this look on her face that said, “You will NOT believe what happened to me today!”

But she got over that quickly and was back to terrorizing Comet by latching onto his jowls and making him drag her around. She had a couple of stitches from the surgery and was due to get those removed yesterday. So I let the dogs go outside then loaded Clara up for the trip to the vet.

We’re about a ½ mile down the street and Clara’s in the back of the SUV jumping on the seat then in the floorboard over and over. Next she’s standing on her back legs and clawing the heck out of the console, wanting in the front. I’m driving and can’t pick her up so I’m ignoring her pleas. Suddenly, a terrible smell crawls out from the back area and almost knocks me out. Oh no! Please let her just have gas. She’s frantic to get into the front and I know why. She’s made the rest of the car uninhabitable. Uuuugh. At the next red light I twist around, look behind my seat, and sure enough. She’s left an unwanted present on the floorboard. Yuck.

Dogs may be a man’s best friend, but this ‘friendship’ may kill me.

Anyone want to buy a slightly used SUV? How about a rat/monkey/dog?

here's some positive media attention-FACE!

what man wouldn't adore a small-town girl

who can bait her own hook and catch a winner like this?

i love it. ammo shots instead of glamour shots!

bikers for palin.

good-looking hero. hot, smart, trailblazing, assertive, multitasking heroine.

and, palin's got a degree in journalism, which means she's got dang good grammar skills.

WOMEN REPRESENT

this is NOT an official endorsement of The Spanksters. the comments listed above reflect the opinion of the author only.

Gasp, wheeze, gasp....Is that an inhaler in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?

If you read my blog about escaping from Canada then you know that we were vacationing in Montana. I think it’s called Big Sky Country. Or maybe that’s another state, I’m not sure. But it is very beautiful.

We saw tons of wildlife. Mountain goats, rams, moose, grizzly bears, chipmunks, ground squirrels and some sort of animal that looks similar to a beaver but I can’t remember it’s name.

And even though Montana is beautiful, the accommodations in the National park were less comfortable than how I would imagine a prison cell to be.

The overhead light sported a bulb in the 3 watt range and had the dim, dingy yellow cast one would expect in an insane asylum built at the turn of the century. It was designed to turn the merely insane into the criminally insane.

If you’ve ever stretched out on a sidewalk then you know what the beds felt like. And they were covered with sheets in the luxurious thread count range of 30 or 40. If the wind and sun hadn’t already exfoliated the top 3 layers of your skin off, the sheets certainly would.

The shower was smaller than an average coffin on end and had two water temps. Freezing and boiling. Take your pick because you can’t have both.

I nearly died the first day we were there. Hubby wanted to hike up the side of a mountain. A very STEEP mountain. The path was about 20 inches wide with a sheer drop. I’m not a hiker and have never dreamed of being one. But anyway, up the side of the mountain we all go. I’m gasping and wheezing, sucking on my inhaler every few steps. I have a walking stick, which sounds helpful, except that it’s one of those expandable/retractable kind and it keeps trying to retract into its 2 foot length.

Hubby, who is ever so helpful, keeps reminding us to ‘make noise so that the Grizzly bears will be scared off.’ I’m beginning to wonder if we’re scaring them off or just making it easier for them to locate their lunch.

Hubby also keeps pointing out how beautiful everything is, the flowers, the waterfalls, the trees.

Hubby -- “Look! See that waterfall over there? And that one 5 feet to left of that one and the one 3 feet to the left of that one? And that one right above us and that one over there? Aren’t they beautiful?”

Me -- gasp, wheeze, “Uh—uhhhh.”

Hubby -- “Hey, look! There’s another one! And see those 3 over there?!”

Me -- gasp, wheeze, gasp.

Hubby -- “Did you see that waterfall down there?!”

Me -- gasp, “Uh—uhhh,” gasp.

I can barely breathe. There’s no air up in those mountains. My vision is turning black from the lack of oxygen. I’m sure that my body is starting to shut down from oxygen deprivation and my darling hubby is going on and on about the waterfalls. If I had enough breath left to actually speak I’d say, “Yes! I see the *^$# waterfall! You can’t swing a dead cat around here without hitting a freakin’ beautiful waterfall!!!!!”

We FINALLY get to the top. Although it’s not really the top because the trail is closed off part way up due to avalanches. (Thank goodness.) So we get as far up as we can and sit down on some rocks to eat the snacks we’d brought. (FYI: There’s no Starbuck’s up there. Anywhere.)

And the ground squirrels around there are BRAVE! Not afraid of humans (or partially dead humans in my case) at all. They run right up to anyone with food. I nearly had to wrestle my cheese puffs away from one of the little buggers.

And as we’re sitting there and hubby is euphoric with the scenery and the wildlife and the *&^%* waterfalls, I realized something.

We have to walk ALL THE WAY BACK DOWN that stupid MOUNTAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Is that a new hat or is a lizard on your head?

Lately I’ve been fascinated with these self-help books on being positive and how to get the best out of your life. I’ve read several different ones and all of them are really upbeat and the most basic premise is that a person’s attitude dictates their life and how they perceive everything. They are very inspiring.

Makes sense, right?

Basically if you expect the worst you’ll probably get it, and if you expect the best you might get it, and if you don’t then be happy with what you do get and the shut the hell up with the complaining. I’m paraphrasing, of course. (And there’s probably a good reason why I don’t write inspirationals.)

So, I like these ideas and I actually do believe a lot of it. I want to be positive and have that outlook.

For instance, last week my husband was driving home from work and a small rock hit his windshield taking a chip out of the glass. By the next morning it had cracked 15 inches across the windshield and by that evening it was pretty much across the whole thing. We had to get a guy to come out and replace the windshield and it cost $250. Ouch.

Possible Response 1: Damn! That’s $250 I could have spent on Pomegranate Margaritas or food for the needy or Pomegranate Margaritas for myself.

But see how that has a negative attitude?

Possible Response 2: That’s just the way it goes. No one was hurt, the guy who fixed the windshield came right to our house and there was little inconvenience.


Another example. I was headed for a nice walk the other morning. When I opened the door something fell and hit me on the head. I looked down and a lizard was sprawled across my welcome mat with a dazed look on his tiny face. After a lot of jumping around, ripping off my hat, and throwing it in a shrub, I realized it wasn’t that bad. I wasn’t actually hurt, just freaked out. A few weeks ago a similar thing happened to my mother-in-law except what fell off her door was a baby rattlesnake. Mine was only a lizard so I was much luckier.

I guess those positive thoughts are working.

THE GREAT CANADIAN ESCAPE

So we’re in Montana on vacation and it’s going well and then hubby says ‘Hey, let’s go to Canada!” and since I’m working on having a new positive attitude, I stupidly reply “Sure! Let’s go!”

We get to the checkpoint and it’s in the middle of nowhere. It’s only a seasonal checkpoint so it’s not even open all the time. I get the envelope where I’ve stashed hubby’s passport and the birth certificates for the rest of us. I’m also working on being more organized so I’m quite proud of myself for having it all neatly arranged in an envelope.

Canadian Border Patrol Guy comes over to the car and wants to know what we’re doing and where we’re going.

Hubby “We’re going to the (whatever) Park to do some hiking.”
BP guy “How long are you staying?”
Hubby “A couple of hours.”
BP looks at documents then looks at us “Are these photocopies of the birth certificates?”
Me “Yes.”
BP “Where are the originals?”
Me “At home.”BP “Why didn’t you bring them?”
Me “Because I didn’t want to lose the originals.”
BP using a snarly voice “Then don’t come to Canada.”
Me saying nothing but thinking: (But didn’t you see how neatly organized they were?)
BP “This passport isn’t even valid.”
Hubby “What do you mean?”
BP still using very mean voice “You didn’t sign it.”
Right now I’m thinking let’s just turn around and go back. We don’t need to see Canada anyway.
BP hands invalid crap back to us and says to drive on across the border into Canada.
Hubby and I are both a little shaken and nervous at this point and he asks BP “Will we have any trouble getting back across?”
BP sounding arrogant “Not since I let you through. But if you went to another checkpoint, you might.”
Oooooookaaaaay.
I’m not feeling cheerful about any of this right now but we drive slowly through and into Canada. Which I used to think of as Big Beautiful Friendly Canada but not so much at this point.

Kid in the backseat, “Is this Canada? Are we in Canada yet? How much further to Canada?”

We drive for about 10 minutes and I say, “I don’t really feel good about this.”
Hubby, “Yeah, that guy was pretty rude.” (I’m paraphrasing, but this was the gist of what he said.)

Kid in backseat, “Are we in Canada yet?”

We drive another 5 minutes and I’m trying to enjoy the amazing scenery, but it’s not really working for me.
Me, “I still don’t feel very good about this.”
Hubby, “Me neither.”
Kid in the backseat, “La la la. Where are we now? What did that sign say? Are we in Canada? Is this Canada? It looks exactly like the place we just left? Why did we come here?”

We drive another 15 minutes or so and I’m close to hyperventilating. I don’t want to be stuck in Canada. I don’t want to have to learn Canadian! You have to put the ‘eh’ in everything you say and I don’t know how long I can keep that up, eh?

But I start practicing. “How much longer, eh? Do you think we should go back, eh?”

Hubby, who is a very laid back and easy going guy, actually sounds nervous. “Yeah, let’s go back.” If he’s worried then it is definitely time to worry.

We get to the entrance to some park and there’s a little booth where you have to pay to go in. Hubby stops the car and we look at the signs. Their written in English and French, but I’m freaking out about never getting out of Canada, so that I don’t know what the signs said.

Hubby, “Do you really want to go in there? Are do you want to go back?”

Me, “Ithinkweshouldgoback.I’veseenenoughofCanada.” My new positive outlook has deserted me. I envision myself and my family living deep in the Canadian forest as hermits, pursued by the Mounties and a herd of angry moose.

From the backseat, “Aren’t we going in?”

Hubby turns the car around and heads back the way we came.

I’m barely breathing. I just know we’ll never see the US again. How are we going to get home? It’ll be just like those movies where the people have to wait until dark and run through a river and climb a huge fence to get across. And since we’re in Canada we’ll probably have to fight a bear and ride a moose. Or something like that.

But I’m really trying to keep it together at this point and not completely freak out. Deep breaths. It’ll all be fine.

Backseat, “Why are we turning around? Aren’t we doing something? Why did we even come here?”

Me, “Shutup! We have to sneak back across the border!”

Backseat. Silent.

We get back to the checkpoint and get in line on the US lane.

Finally, we get up to the US Border Patrol guy.

BP guy, “Put it in park and turn it off!”

I’m not freaking out. It’ll be fine. It’ll be fine. It’ll be fine. Really, I’m not freaking out.

Hubby hands the BP all of our invalid ID crap and we wait. And wait. I’m sure the guy is placing us onto some sort of watch list on the internet.

He comes back and hands the stuff to Hubby.

BP, “How long were you in Canada?”

Hubby, “About 45 minutes.”

BP – eyebrows shoot up above mirrored sunglasses, “What did you do in Canada?”

Hubby, “We just went to the overlook and took some pictures.”

BP, “Okay. Do you have anything to declare? Do you have any meat?”

Hubby and I look at each other. We didn’t buy anything in Canada. But I’m not real cool in these sorts of situations. I have sort of an issue with guilt.

Me – blurting out. “We have some beef jerky.”

Hubby gives me ‘the please shut up look’ and turns back to the border patrol officer. “We bought it at Wal-Mart in Kalispell, MT.”

BP guy, “Beef is fine. Do you have any bison, venison, lamb?”

I’m wracking my brain. Do we have anything like that? Hubby looks at me again, probably expecting me to blurt something else out.

Hubby, “No. We don’t have anything else.”

BP, “Do you have any fruit?”

Hubby and I look at each other again.

Hubby, “No. We don’t have any fruit.”

BP, “Okay. Go on through.”

I hold my breath until the car is started and we drive back into the US. Yay!!!!!

We get about a half mile down the road.

Me, “OMG! We have raisins!”

Hubby just looks at me and keeps driving.

Okay, so I’m not good in pressure situations like that. You won’t ever see me robbing a Falafel stand or knocking over a 7-11. I may write about crimes but that’s as far as it goes. I’m no good at actually committing them.

So we did make it all the way back to Texas without any other mishaps. I don’t know if we’re on a watch list now with a big piece of beef jerky next to our pictures or not but it’ll be a very, very, (probably never) long time before we go back to Canada. Eh?

Hello? Is there anyone there?

I know it's not my night to post but my writing is at a standstill and writing here is WAY easier than trying to write the devastating scene that will rip my hero and heroine apart. At this point I think heroine might be ready to put a gun to her head and that's just not good - for either of us.

So I just wanted to say what's up and that I miss y'all. Poor Daisy. I'm just sayin'.

I hope you guys are enjoying your summer so far...and that your writing is way much better off than my own...ain't that good English?

Miss you!!!


-Chellie