Wednesday, December 16, 2009

A Feed Mill Christmas Carol




























Deck the mill with lots of cobwebs
Fa la la la la la la
Roll the barley and grind the corn
Fa la la la la la la
Hurry up and make the feed
Fa la la la la la la
So we don't have to work next week
Fa la la la la la laaaaa

See the filling tote before us
Fa la la la la la la
Strike the bin and fill the mixer
Fa la la la la la la
Bag it up now, move the palate
Fa la la la la la la
Close the door and turn the key
Fa la la la la la laaaaaa

Monday, September 14, 2009

I'm Cancelling

I've decided to cancel a couple of my sillier magazine subscriptions. I got them last year when I was alone and so bored that receiving a glossy magazine would liven up the day. Thrilling times they were not.

As it cost me something on the order of $12 for two years worth of magazines, I went ahead and subscribed. It's been more than two years, and I'm still getting these ridiculous periodicals. What used to be a bit of fun, a bright splash of color on a dreary winter day is now just asinine, belligerent crap.

I'm not going to name names, but suffice it to say that the magazines I am referring to are marketed to young, idiotic women who appear to want nothing more out of life than firm buns, shiny hair and a stellar job working as a downtrodden intern in some corporate office. You know what I'm talking about.

With the delivery and subsequent listless thumbing through of the most recent editions of said women's magazines, I had an epiphany. I didn't want to read this trite crap ever again. Well, maybe I'll pick one up at the airport for some brainless entertainment, but that's it.

Actually subscribing to these magazines made me realize something. They're all the same. Obvious, I know, but really, every single issue is exactly the same. There's different ads, different models, and different titles, but that's it. The actual articles, advice and whatnot is the same.

And something else I realized? None of it is relevant to my life. At all. Here's an example of a hypothetical argument between Me and Trite Crap Monthly, who is trying to keep taking my paltry subscription fee.

TCM: Loyal TCM Girl! Have I got some great things in my pages for you to discover!

Me: I highly doubt it, but what the heck, I'll give it one more go.

TCM: Oooh, lookie here! 10 autumn looks you just can't live without! Boots, tights, coats, leggings, heels and neon sweaters!

Me: Um, I already own boots, they do last more than a year, you know. Hmm, I've got sweaters and coats, and as for leggings? The world will thank me if I don't. And I actually like to walk around, so no heels, thanks.

TCM: I see, recesionista are you?

Me: I have no idea what that is, but if it means not buying crap I can't afford, then yes.

TCM: If you don't want new clothes, but I know you do, all girls want new clothes.. Ahem! Moving on. If you don't want new clothes, check out these AMAZING make-up finds! So many kinds and colors, all availible at the drugstore for mere dollars! Think of how much you'll save!

Me: I don't wear make-up.

TCM: What?! Of course you do, all girls do! Why not try out our new lipstick trick! Works with all the season's best colors, and you don't need to be a pro to pull it off!

Me: Weren't you listening? I don't wear make-up.

TCM: *blank stare* Huh? But, new lipstick colors are here, find the one that's right for your skin tone!

Me: I like the color of my lips just fine. Chapstick's been good enough for the past 10 years, I've got no reason to think it'll suddenly fail me now.

TCM: Chapstick? Haven't you heard of moisturizing lip gloss? No? Alright, fine. Turn the page for this season's fabulous new scents! Entice your man! Glam up your image!

Me: Perfume gives me a headache.

TCM: Alright, why not try our reader-tested skin care products! Guarenteed to fight acne! Reduce reness! Eliminate shine! Even out your skin tone!

Me: Um, why do I not see soap anywhere on this page?

TCM: *raises eyebrows* Soap?! Soap?! Why in the world would you want soap when you can have this eco-friendly, juju-infused, micro-bead, foaming gentle facial scrub? Follow that with an aloe-rich face cream designed to moisturize while fighting wrinkles!

Me: Um, kind of sounds like soap to me. Fancy, expensive soap.

TCM: Didn't you hear the phrase "fights wrinkles"?!

Me: Yeah, I did, but I'm in my 20's, I don't have any wrinkles to fight. Also considering I spend a good deal of time outside, I'm going to have wrinkles eventually, product or no product.

TCM: You'll have a hard time finding a man with an old-lady face! Men like youth! Which brings me to my next article, How to Find the Perfect Man!

Me: I have a man already. He ain't perfect, but that would be boring.

TCM: Oh, well if you've already landed a guy, you'll need our comprehensive sex guide! Find His Hidden Pleasure Zone! 10 Tricks That Will Blow His Mind!

Me: Hidden pleasure zone? You mean his dick? Yeah, that was pretty hidden, good thing I had you to guide me. As for your tips and tricks? I think I might be able to suss those out for myself. You mean men like blowjobs, who knew?!

TCM: What?! You knew that already? Well, here's something you don't know. How Men's Minds Work! Figure Out What He's Really Thinking!

Me: Orrrrrrr I could just ask him. Here's what my BF is thinking about on any given day. "Sex! Aw man, I don't want to go to work. Breakfast! Wow, this is taking longer than I thought. Sex! Oh no, my boss wants me to do extra stuff. I bet he's going to bitch about how I have this thing set up too. I'm hungry. Lunch! Sex! What time is it? I'm tired, I want to go home. Maybe she'll give me a ride home. Sex! Beer! Dinner! Beer! Sex!"

Okay, highly simplified I know, but c'mon. Considering I think much the same thing (without all the sex) throughout the day, I don't think he's much different. I mean, men are people, not some alien caveman species we dragged into civilization last week.

TCM: Okay, Miss Smarty Pants. What about all the job advice I give you? I know you work, so of course you MUST have used our tips at some point!

Me: I suppose I might have done at some point. The thing is, I have no use for "How to Outsmart the Office Bitch" or "How to Dress to Impress". Where I work, there isn't an Office Bitch. Heck, there isn't even an office. As for sophisticated clothing? I routinely get covered in dust and dirt, and end up going home a sweaty, filthy mess. If you're not trying to sell me jeans and t-shirts, I'm not interested.

TCM: But what about impressing your boss? Looking good to management?

Me: My boss chews tobacco and spits on the floor. He's tickled pink that I show up to work on time, don't complain and haven't knocked anything over with the fork lift. As for future jobs? I think I'll be okay with the old "Do your job, do it well and don't be a bitch" motto.

TCM: *pouting* Fine. Fine! Spurn my generous offers of help and advice! But I've saved the best for last. Hair care!

Me: Okay, you've finally got my interest.


TCM: Check out the lastest hair products! New styles! New tips for achieving that perfect look!

Me: I like my shampoo just fine, thanks. Though I do like new updo ideas... Wait a minute. All these styles are for women with short hair...

TCM: No, we've some long hair styles too. See? This model's hair goes past her shoulders! Look how long it is!

Me: Mine is down to my waist. Nothing you've shown me is either remotly possible to do with my hair or very flattering.

TCM: Why don't you get it cut? Check out Celebrity Haircuts! Get Cute Bangs! How to Get the Exact Cut You Want at the Salon!

Me: I like my hair, and I don't want bangs. Actually, I cut my hair myself, so I always get the "perfect cut". Besides, as long as my hair is up and out of my face, I don't care too much about it for everyday purposes.

Your trite, annoying and sometimes quite belligerent articles do not intrest me. I shall call your company and cancel my subscription forthwith! I'd rather spend that $12 on a horse magazine. In fact, I think I will.





Saturday, August 8, 2009

Dismissive People

I hate dismissive people. Nothing irritates me more than someone who pooh-poohs an idea or belief without really thinking about it.

"Oh, that's BS."

"That's stupid."

"Why bother, you could always do (insert idea that is kind of like what you suggested but not really here)"

What they don't add is, "And I would know, of course, b/c my opinions and beliefs are always correct, and those who disagree with me are always wrong."

Ugh! I absolutely despise that kind of attitude! Close-mindedness is even worse than ignorance b/c it's willful ignorance. Just b/c something hasn't made an appearance in your tiny little world doesn't mean that it's stupid or lame.

Close-minded people think their world is enormous when really it's smaller than a matchbox. They think they've seen everything under the sun and pass judgment on new things immediately.

Um, why don't you just THINK ABOUT IT for 30 seconds or so? Would that really kill you? Then again, maybe it would. Maybe these people sustain their world on the belief that they know everything. Perhaps their universe would implode if they were forced to consider just how small it really it.

I consider myself a fairly open-minded person for the simple reason that I know my world is small. My personal little world is tiny, I haven't seen squat, and there's more out there than I will ever be able to know. Because I know this, when something new presents itself I take the time to consider it.

Unless you are doing harm to me or others around me, I don't care what you think or believe. Why is it so hard to accept that I like Green and you like Blue, and it's okay b/c there is both a green and a blue crayon in the box. Why is it necessary for me also to want Blue?

Thursday, July 30, 2009

Horsaii

On her blog, Mugwump talks about a class of people she calls Horsaii. People who have loved horses for as long as they can remember, strove to spend as much time as possible with them and sacrifice a great deal to keep them in their lives, not out of mere desire, but out of necessity.

I'm pretty sure I belong to that group.

Horses always fascinated me. I can't remember when I realized it at first. Perhaps it was when my mom first read "Black Beauty" to me when I was 5.

I was sick with the stomach flu, my head hurt, and my insides felt like they were either tied in knots or made of rubber. As I lay in bed, my pillow covered with an old towel and a metal basin on the night stand, I was more miserable than I ever thought possible.

Then my mom came in with a book. It had only one picture, a black foal with a star and a sock on the front cover. She opened the book and began to read.

As I listened, my headache subsided and my stomach unclenched. I felt better, not totally well again, but better. It was like the story of the horse swept away my childish pain. The book didn't need pictures, I could see all the horses in my head as clearly as I could see the walls of my room.

Even after I got better, I begged to hear the story over and over again. Each time I cried when Ginger died and each time I was filled with fear over Beauty's suffering, feeling horrified even though I already knew the ending.

Eventually I was a good enough reader to read it on my own, and for my 7th birthday I received a new copy of Black Beauty, this one full of line and ink pictures.

I read that book so much the spine broke and pages began to fall out.

Thoroughly entrenched in my obsession with horses, I began my young quest to find them. Living in the suburbs, nobody I knew had horses, so I made due with my imagination.

I had a large stuffed horse that my mom made a bridle for out of ribbon. I would clamp the horse between my thighs and waddle around the house, pretending to ride. I even took my horse (named Ginger, of course) to the grocery store with me, eliciting a lot of "Awww, how cute!" from other shoppers.

Then, a new girl came to school wearing riding pants and a local stable's t-shirt. I asked her where she got the shirt, and immediately started begging my parents for riding lessons. I wanted them so badly it hurt.

Neither of my parents understood. They did not grow up with horses, and the only thing they knew was that Christopher Reeves broke his neck in a fall from a horse. My mom was reluctant, and stalled me with "I have to think about it" and "we'll see".

Finally, after a year of asking, I showed up with my report card and reminded my mom that she said if I got good grades, I could have lessons. She finally relented and over spring break when I was 9, I got to go to horse camp.

Horse camp was everything I had ever dreamed of. The smell of the barn, the (to my eyes) wonderful lesson horses, and last but not least, friends. I had few friends at school, but camp was full of giggly little girls who wanted nothing more than to be and do everything Horse, just like me.

I learned to lead a horse, how to groom, how to tack up and how to ride. I even fell off on the 4th day of camp, which only left me wanting to ride even more.

I probably alarmed my mom with my happy babble of how I came off and got right back on and how much I loved the huge TB mare I fell off of. I wanted to ride her again and again. Not only that, I wanted to ride all the time.

Soon after that, I got into weekly riding lessons and was sent to summer camp at the same stables. I wonder how long it took my protective mother to come to terms with the fact that I loved these huge, dangerous beasts and wasn't going to quit any time soon.

Eventually I leased a few horses and finally got my own horse at age 12. (See my other blog about her!)

She became my world, more precious to me than my own life. I stayed out of trouble in high school b/c losing my horse was a terrifying thought, and no amount of weed or sneaking out was worth that. I only wanted a driver's license and a car so I could drive myself to the barn whenever I wanted and stay as long as I liked.

I hid in my horse's stall and cried into her neck when my boyfriend dumped me. That was the only time she ever permitted me to hug her. I wonder if she knew.

People told me that having a horse would ground me, tie me down to a place and a life. That's okay, I would reply, I wouldn't have it any other way. It wouldn't be a life without horses in it, and if that means sacrificing other pleasures, than so be it. I have yet to find something worth trading horses.

We had our troubles, but Cherry was My Horse, something I'd been dying for since I first heard the story of Black Beauty as a 5 year old child, sick in bed with the flu.

Friday, July 17, 2009

Patches





Patches was a grumpy old paint gelding I used to lease. Part of the lesson horse herd, he had long ago decided not to work for a living. He would poke along at a slug-like crawl and buck if you tried to get him to go any faster. I have no idea how old he was, but he was likely much older than my preteen self.

I loved Patches. He was loudly patterned, small, dumpy and so ugly he was cute. His barrel was almost perfectly round, and I would ride him bareback as none of the lesson saddles seemed to fit him. If you insisted on using a saddle you could look forward to a ride full of balking, bucking and general disobedience. Not really understanding why, I soon learned that he was much more tractable when ridden in a simple fleece bareback pad.

So that’s how I rode him. I even rode in lessons bareback. Full on w/t/c group lessons where I posted the trot for at least 30 minutes. My thighs had never been as strong and lean as when I rode Patches in my lessons.

I had a secret weapon I used to make him move. Spurs. Patches hated the whip, and would buck if you used it. If you tried to discipline him with the whip for bucking, he’d just buck harder. I found a pair of teeny tiny ½ inch spurs at the tack shop and tried them. Magically, those tiny little spurs did the trick. While Patches was never about to beat land speed records, the spurs definitely worked. The afore-mentioned slug-like crawl became a decent walk, a slightly pokey trot and a really nice rocking horse canter. I could even get him to hand gallop if I prodded him enough.

Riding bareback with my spurs, I could get Patches to do anything I wanted. Well, almost.

He had a knack for catching me off guard and dumping me. He never bucked me off, but he expertly stepped out from under me on more than one occasion. Mostly this was my fault, as I spent long hours sitting or laying on him jabbering with my friends. When Patches had had enough of the chit-chat, he’d take a big, sudden step sideways and I’d tumble off. I swear he was laughing at me.

When I bought my first horse, Cherry, I didn’t have much time for Patches. I felt bad, and took him carrots and treats whenever I could. He was showing his age, starting to have trouble using his lips and would take the treats as gently as he could with his teeth. He moved even more slowly than before.

When Cherry popped a splint right before a big summer campout, I was devastated until I remembered Patches. I asked his owner (also the barn owner) if I could take him. She agreed, as long as I didn’t ride him too hard or do anything too stressful. He’s getting up there in years, she told me.

I was ecstatic, but then I remember his lips. Maybe he’d have trouble with a bit too. I hunted in the lesson tack room for something to use and came up with an ancient mechanical hackamore. It was old and huge, with giant shanks and a big leather noseband.

It fit Patches’ head, so I figured we were good to go. As I didn’t want to go out bareback, I hesitantly looked for a saddle to use. My wonderful saddle, the saddle that fit every horse I’ve put it on, didn’t quite fit Patches. He was too round for the medium tree. Luckily a lady at the barn had an extra wide saddle that she was willing to loan me.

I saddled him up (for the first time in over a year) and off we went with my friends to the campout. Patches’ normal distaste for the saddle was overshadowed by the fact that he clearly loved being out on the trail. He still didn’t move very fast, but there was no bucking and no resistance.

We had a great time plodding down the trail in our borrowed saddle and stolen hackamore. If they didn’t fit, he never complained.

I don’t remember details of the night, but the next day we went out for a big group trail ride. Patches was almost speedy, keeping up with the other horses. I was worried that it might be too much for him, but he never complained and was anxious to stay with the group.

When we got home from the campout, I gave him a bath and spent the rest of the day letting him graze awkwardly on the grass around the barn. The hackamore I kept, as nobody seemed to want it, and I had delusions of taking Patches out again in it.

Poor Patches died not too long after that ride. I don’t know if he was put down or died naturally, but one day he was gone. Even though I had my own horse, I was grief stricken. I’d had so much fun on that horse, and he’d been “mine” for a few short months. In an impulsive act, I stole his bit from the tack room, to keep as a memento of him. I still have that full check snaffle in my tack trunk.

Thinking back, I’m glad I was able to take him to that campout. It was a “last hurrah” of sorts for us. We were able to do something together that both of us enjoyed. He was loved, he was part of my life, and there was something incredibly special about that ugly little paint that so many passed by. I hope he died knowing that was loved and will never be forgotten.

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

Bits vs. Bitless


I’ll start off by saying that I am a big fan of bitless bridles. Just to get the obvious bias out of the way right off the bat, I’m a bitless bridle user and I don’t see myself going back in the near future. That said, I’m no longer the close-minded teenager I once was, and am capable of seeing both sides of the bit vs. bitless argument. My intention is to provide each side as I personally understand them.

Moving past the hysterical “but bits are so meeeeeeen!” and the stogy “this is how we’ve done it for hundreds of years” arguments, each side has something to offer. Bitless bridles are by no means a new idea, they’ve been around for centuries as training tools. What is new about them is the fact that more and more people are using them as an alternative to a bit, and they are being used on mature, finished horses.

First I will present the case for bitless bridles.

Many people have horses with bit issues, myself included. It seems that no amount of training or trying different bits improves the situation. All you’re left with for your efforts is a horse who is just as uncomfortable and unhappy as when you started. This manifests in head tossing, bit grabbing, leaning on the bit, head tilting, difficulties bridling, bracing against the bit and refusal to work on the bit.

Conventional wisdom tells us that the horse has a hole in his training and must be made to accept the bit. Alternative wisdom tells us that there’s another way. Maybe the solution to the problem is simply to remove the bit. Many riders have found this to be a highly effective answer. I have read reports of “miracles” where a rank head-tosser was transformed into a quiet mount simply by using a bitless bridle.

I experienced such a miracle myself. My own mare had resisted the bit for many years, and no amount of training was helping. Eventually I was able to coax a transitory, grudging acceptance of the bit, but never for very long. Down the long side of the arena, for instance, then it was back to bracing and head tossing. This being my first horse, I didn’t know what to think. Every other horse I rode had little issue with the bit and didn’t fuss when contact was taken up in the reins. Both my trainers and I were stumped.

When I moved away to college, I took my horse with me. I could no longer afford lessons, so I resigned myself to continuing to struggle with the bit. Then a friend introduced me to bitless bridles. I tried out her Dr. Cook’s bridle (a cross-under type bridle) on my mare. It was like riding a whole new horse. She was relaxed, kept her head down, didn’t pull on the reins and didn’t react with irritation to the slightest movement of my hands as she had in the past. Naturally I rushed right out and bought one of my own.

This was my first taste of the world of bitless bridles. I was 19 when I made my discovery, and immediately went overboard on my praise for them. I even went as far as claiming that bits were wrong and that all horses should be ridden bitless. Ah, the sweet smell of close-minded hysteria. I admit it, for a time I was one of the crazies.

Since then I’ve learned more about the realities of life in the equine industry. Many people scoff at bitless bridles and turn up their noses at horses ridden exclusively in them. This knowledge came to me gradually. It might have come faster if I’d had to sell my horse, then I’d have learned that riding bitless tends to turn off potential buyers.

Back to the pro-bitless argument. The reason my horse was so against a bit is the fact that her mouth is not designed to hold one. Where a normal horse’s palate is thin and concave, hers is thick and convex. There’s no room in there for a bit, and when one is used, it bangs against the roof of her mouth with the slightest twitch of the reins. No wonder she never accepted the bit, it was always causing her pain! Bitless bridles offer the perfect solution to those with “special mouthed” horses. Whether caused by a naturally occurring mouth conformation or prior injury, bitless bridles are a life saver for those horses not able to carry a bit.

Not all who chose bitless bridles do so to alleviate bitting problems. Some people participate in sports like endurance that require long hours in the saddle. These folk are constantly on the prowl for lightweight equipment that will enhance their horse’s comfort. Naturally bitless bridles appeal to these riders, as the horse’s mouth is spared and the bridle is lightened. If you go to the staging area of an endurance ride I guarantee you will find all breeds of bitless bridles from rope halters to complicated cross-unders. The nice thing about the endurance world is that it revolves around practicality and usefulness, not looks or tradition. They tend to be the first in pioneering new tack b/c they are not concerned with what others might think, only with what their horse thinks.

So now I’ve covered horses unable to carry a bit for various reasons and people interested in the highest comfort for their horses over miles and miles of trail. What are some other reasons people choose to go bitless?

Here’s where we get into some sketchy territory. This is where the Natural Horsemanship Clan resides. These are the people who want to be friends with their horses and are firmly convinced that bits are evil, painful and nobody should use them. These are the people who attend peace rallies and vote for gun control laws. These are the people who adoringly lap up touchie-feelie BS training methods that promise unparalleled communication and oneness with the Horse. This is a dangerous area to be in, for there is no real argument here, just a series of passionate opinions, usually held by the ill-informed.

Here is my take on their side, and I’m attempting to leave out the hand wringing and “poor horsie” wails of the bleeding hearts. The thing is, I believe they are right, but not for the reasons they usually give.

I don’t think bits are evil, but I think bitless bridles are better. Just b/c we’ve been using bits for thousands of years doesn’t mean they’re the best thing to use. I believe that we should strive to better ourselves as horse people, and I think one step on that path is removing the metal from our horses’ mouths.

We’ve graduated from “sacking out” horses to starting them with gentleness and trust. One could argue that we’ve been sacking horses out for hundreds of years, therefore it’s perfectly acceptable. I would say that it is not, and we’ve moved on from that. Slavery was around for a long time and widely accepted, and we’ve moved on from that idea too. I see no reason why bits should be any different.

To sum up, the three basic reasons people choose bitless bridles are they have a horse with a mouth unable to carry a bit, they want to spare the horse’s mouth and make him as comfortable as possible, and they believe bitless bridles are a better option than bits.

Now I will present the case for using a bit.

It has long been standard in the equine world that a horse should work in a bit. Nearly all of our training techniques are geared towards acceptance of the bit and working off the bit. Horses can be trained to very high levels of performance by gradually incorporating different bits into the training program. As of now, there are very few examples of horses reaching high levels of training without a bit. Those that do perform bitless were likely trained with a bit.

There’s also the show argument. Many people show their horses, and when showing you have to abide by the show rules. Nearly all shows (outside of small schooling shows) require the horse to be bitted. They are very specific about what types of bits are allowed, and in general bitless bridles are NOT. Therefore, to have a successful show career, the horse must go in a bit.

Someone wishing to sell a horse as a show prospect must train the horse to accept a bit. Western horses over age 5 show in a curb bit, while in the English world a snaffle or Pelham is the accepted standard. Depending on the horse’s intended purpose, he is trained to accept a certain type of bit. A horse without such training will be passed over by those wishing to purchase a potential show horse.

Acceptance of the bit is considered a very basic skill for a horse to possess. If he does not, there is likely something wrong with him or with his training. Most people who are in the market for a broke horse will not give a second glance to a horse lacking bit training.

This makes going in a bit very important for the horse’s future. A horse that rides well in a snaffle has far more potential homes than a horse who only rides bitless. The market for a completely bitless horse is very small, and with the current economy and sales prices, a bitless horse is at an extreme disadvantage. He is much more likely to be auctioned off than his snaffle bit peer, meaning he is far more likely to end up in the kill pen. Not a happy ending, especially for a horse that was likely ridden bitless out of the notion that it is kinder to do so.
For the horse’s basic safety and future, he needs to ride in a bit. In educated hands, even a severe bit is not cruel. One of the merits of a good rider is quiet hands. If you’re using a bitless bridle to make up for lack of finesse in the hands, then it is you who require more training.

Riding with a bit has been around for thousands of years, horses are trained to very high levels using them, and they are not any more cruel than a halter would be in the wrong hands. Except for horses whose mouth does not allow the use of a bit, every horse should be ridden in one. Not only does this indicate complete training, it allows the horse to be used in competition, something that dramatically increases the value of the horse.

What Do I Think?

In this matter, I agree with both sides. I think that going in a bit is necessary for every horse to do, if only to ensure him a good home should he need to be sold. I also think that bits are not the be all end all of horse training and equipment. A horse’s face is highly sensitive, so I see little reason he could not be trained to high levels of performance without a bit. It would just take slightly different methods.

People are scared to make changes, therefore they hide behind tradition and scoff at anything that falls outside of the accepted norm. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been laughed at for riding my horse without a bit and even claiming that “she doesn’t like it”. It’s true, she doesn’t, and neither would you if you were in her position. Therefore I don’t use one. I’m happy, the horse is happy, why does anything else matter? Resale value isn’t a problem, she’ll be with me until she dies. Some people have said that I just haven’t found the right bit yet, but she goes so well bitless, and the fact that she’s 19 years old means I’m not going to mess with it anymore. I’m done experimenting with something I’m 99% sure won’t work. It ain’t broke so I ain’t fixing it.

Sunday, July 5, 2009

Desperate Girls


Desperation is never attractive. Neither is self absorption.



We all knew that though, right? Well, it turns out that there's more than one way to be obsessed with yourself.





Yesterday was 4th of July. Beer was drank, hot dogs were eaten, and very unsafe fireworks were lit. All in all, a smashing good time.

A friend of a friend showed up to hang out with us, and through my drunken haze, she seemed alright. Kinda sheltered and strange, but alright.

Turns out I was wrong. She is all kinds of crazy, and subjected our mutual friend to insane ravings after the festivities were over and I had passed out on the front lawn.

She's one of those girls. You know, the ones who always think they're too fat, their bosses are too mean and that men will never find them attractive.

In their twisted minds, men can be lured if only they were skinnier, sexier, or put out more. They just want a Boyfriend, and any human with a dick will fit the bill.

The thing is, ANYONE can find a boyfriend. Hell, there are 400 lbs women out there with a man, it's not that hard. So these women do find boyfriends, they just end up being complete dicks.

I had a friend in high school like this. She was obsessed with how men viewed her and was terrified that men wouldn't find her attractive. She constantly asked questions like, "Do guys like this?" and "What would a man like?" *Yawn*

Guess what? Men didn't like her.

Oh, she had a boyfriend alright, but he was an inconsiderate assclown. He cheated on her so many times we lost count. Part of me didn't even blame him. Sure, he was a complete dick, but who's the bigger idiot? The jerk who cheats or the dumb bitch who's dating him (and knows he's cheating) who sits at home wondering if he'll like how her boobs look in her new top.

This girl on 4th of July took the crazy to a whole new level.

Her mom's currently pregnant, and she was worried that if she got married, that her (totally hypothetical) husband would leave her for her (as yet unborn) 18 year old sister when she was 40. Who the hell thinks like that?!

You haven't even MET this person yet and you're worried that she'll steal your 40 year old husband from you 18 years in the future? Even if that highly unlikely scenario does happen, good fucking riddance!

It means you married the wrong man, that he's a complete fuck head and she's a total whore. End of story.

Hot damn, who the fuck worries about that?! That's like me not wanting to buy another horse b/c at some point in the future it might colic and die in 18 years. Well, yeah, it's totally possible, but who the fuck worries about that shit? If it comes up, you deal with it. You don't lie awake at night panicking over it.

This poor girl is the kind of self obsessed that isn't quite so obvious. She's not vain, doesn't put on airs, and certainly doesn't have an inflated ego.

She's the kind of self obsessed that can see only herself and her problems. It didn't occur to me (but it did to my BF) that the only subjects she could talk about involved herself. Her weight, her crappy job, her workout routine, her classes, her blah blah blah.

See? Men notice this shit, and it turns them off.

They don't like it when you have an ego problem and they don't like it when yo hate yourself so much you can't talk about anything else.

My prediction for this girl is this. She'll find a boyfriend. He'll likely be good looking too. However, he's going to be a total dick and walk all over her, possibly even cheat on her. She won't notice though, she'll be too busy alternating between being stoked she's got a man and terrified that if she doesn't look *just right* he'll dump her.

*Sigh*

Friday, July 3, 2009

My Clever Pony

My horse is very smart, probably smarter than me and certainly smarter than I give her credit for.

Let me give you a couple examples. One was a serious epiphany for me, the other is just funny.

The funny one happened two days ago during a lesson. I was teaching my student how to get the horse to move laterally for the first time. We were working on a simple sidepass and a few turns on the forehand. Nothing terribly complicated.

Well, Cherry did NOT want to move sideways, and acted as if she barely understood the command. I thought, "Well, we haven't done this since last fall, so maybe she's rusty."

Eventually we got a few grudging steps sideways. Whereupon Cherry promptly threw a mini hissy fit and tried to leave the arena.

Alright, so my student wasn't a pro, it was her first time sidepassing, but seriously, Horse! Yeah, you work *so* hard, walking and trotting (poky trot, mind you) for 30 minutes twice a week. My heart just bleeds for your suffering.

So we get a couple more steps sideways and call it a day, with me secretly making a note to school her on lateral work before the next lesson.

I get on today (two days after the lesson) and after a nice easy warm up, I ask her to sidepass.

Guess what I get? Beautiful sidepasses going BOTH directions. I make her do a couple rollbacks just for kicks, and she does them perfectly.

Hmmm. She acted like the had no clue what to do in the lesson, and I get on and she bumps right over.

Me thinks the horse was dicking with my student! She knows perfectly well how to sidepass, she just wasn't going to do it.

I had a stern talk with her (I pretend she understands English) about going sideways when asked, even by the incompetent. She snorted all over my face, so she might have understood me after all.

Now on to the epiphany.

My horse has never really bucked. Her idea of a buck is to put her head up (yes, up) and hump her butt around while grunting. Obviously this does nothing to unseat the rider, and when disciplined she quits immediately.

For many, many years I thought my horse was just stupid and didn't know how to buck properly.

Then, I noticed something. She can bronc perfectly well out in the pasture and throws epic bucking fits when free lunged after being cooped up in a stall.

She can buck, and she can buck hard.

So why doesn't she do it right under saddle? Then it hit me.

She doesn't do it under saddle b/c she doesn't want to. When she bucks she has no intention of getting her rider off, she's just trying to tell you she's really pissed about something.

For all these years I'm thinking my poor little horse is an idiot b/c she puts her head up to buck, and all this time she's just trying to communicate and doesn't want to hurt me.

Wow. I definitely apologized for that one.

Cherry doesn't have a mean bone in her body, and has never, ever attempted to hurt a person. She's got several grumpy bones in her body apparently, but no mean ones. She's attempted to rattle, drag and totally ignore people before, but never hurt them.

Even when she does "naughty" or "scary" things, she's never tried to unseat her rider, plow over a person on the ground (drag to grass, yes, but never run over) or bolt out from under you. Sure she's bucked (with the head up), reared (never all the way up and never twice in a row), spooked and all those things horses do, but she takes great care not to harm you.

Damn, my horse is smart. Good thing she isn't mean or she'd have killed us all by now. In our sleep.

Monday, June 29, 2009

Past Lives

Okay, this is just what *I* believe and what makes sense to me. If you don't like it or disagree, that's fine, just don't be a dick about it.

I believe in reincarnation. Yup. I said it. I've always suspected that was the way of things, even being raised semi-Christian with the idea of heaven and hell. A recent trip with my father, listening to tapes of Buddhist teachings and people working on "delving into past lives" really cemented it for me.

The biggest thing for me is that it totally explains why I feel like I know some people right when I meet them. After a couple minutes, I feel like I've known them forever or that I really don't like them and I can't explain why.

If reincarnation is true, then I HAVE met them before, either for good or ill. I firmly believe in karma, but not the bumpersticker kind.

I believe that we are inherently good souls who have been placed in an animal body in this world in order to learn about life, relationships and generally the concept of good and evil. We were also given free will, therefore we have to figure these lessons out for ourselves. Whatever we don't learn in one lifetime will be an opportunity to learn in the next.

By doing harm to others you will be placed in a situation where harm is done to you so you can experience both sides of the equation. I never liked the "God is testing you" explanation of why crappy things happen to good people. Makes much more sense to me that the crap is dumped on them as some sort of life lesson, even though we don't fully appreciate it at the time.

A ruthless slave owner will spend a life as a slave, someone who is cruel to animals will spend a life in no position to defend himself as others are cruel to him and so on.

This doesn't excuse cruel acts, and this doesn't mean we sit idly by while cruelty takes place. If we live by the Golden Rule, "Treat others as you wish to be treated yourself," then neither of these options is viable. I would want someone to come to my aide, therefore I will assist someone else.

It's more complicated that that, of course, but I haven't had nearly enough wine to be able to explain it now.

On to past lives, and what I suspect happened in mine.

Now, I have no idea where I lived or when I lived, but I'm pretty damn sure WHO I lived with. There've been some friendships that started off really close really quickly. Why? Maybe we were friends before. There have been other people who I just detest right off the bat. Maybe they did me wrong in a past life. Who knows for sure?

The one thing I am absolutely 100% positive about is that I've known my BF before. After about 3 months, we felt and acted like an old married couple.

Why? I still barely know the guy, we haven't been together *that* long, and I can easy pass off the stirrings of "I love you" as brain chemicals.

Maybe we ARE an old married couple!

What a strange thought, but the more I consider it, the more I feel that is the case. We've known each other forever, and have doubtless lived many lives together somehow. Perhaps we lived as brother and sister too, b/c we've got that vibe going on too sometimes.

As soon as I met him, I just felt comfortable around him. I felt like I was at home. He was home.

Doesn't make sense if I met him a week ago. But it DOES make sense if you believe we've shared this planet before.

I've got female friends like that too. From Day 1 we could talk about anything and I trusted them. Why? I had no idea, but if we were friends before, it makes sense.

The theory is that souls will pick up right where they left off.

Therefore if you were friends or lovers in a past life, you pick up that relationship right where you left it before.

Another reason reincarnation makes sense to me. The 1st law of thermodynamics. You can't create something from nothing.

In western religion, you're born, you live and then you die. Your soul goes to the afterlife and that's the end of that. But where the heck are all those souls coming from and where do they go?

All of nature is a cycle, things don't just end and that's that. From death there is new life, and from life there is death. Doesn't it make sense that our souls are also part of this wheel? Nature does not just start and stop, so why would our soul do that?

It makes far more sense to me that we'd be reborn and build on what we've already been. A fallen tree gives life to many plants and animals, why wouldn't death be a gateway to new life for the soul?

It doesn't matter what you believe, what religion you identify with or if you believe in God or not. The point is to lead a worthwhile life, to somehow, in some tiny way, better yourself and build up good Karma for your soul.

A life replete with love, kindness and compassion for all life is admirable in any faith.

Isn't is rather comforting knowing you've done everything in life before and you'll get the chance to do it again? This is not *it*, this is not the end, this is merely a step on the journey.

I've Found New Things on Teh Interwebz

Lately the BF and I have decided we'd like to get married sometime in the not too distant future. We haven't looked at rings, we haven't made any announcements, but we pretty much decided that we love each other and want to get married some day. Simple as that.

Of course, being a girl, I get secretly (well, maybe not so secretly) excited about shiny things and planning a party. Because what is a wedding if not an awesome party you throw so friends and family can be around you at an awesome moment in your life?

On that note, there's a GAZILLION and one things on the internet about weddings. Some are pretty, some are nifty, and others are downright scary. There is literally no end to the crap you can spend money on surrounding the wedding. The dress! The cake! The flowers! The food! The cake topper shaped like two mermice! The Tears of Joy hankies! Wait... what?

It appears that some women view their wedding as some sort of parade of how much money they (or their family) can flush down the toilet.

I can't even fathom the lengths some people go to. It's a party, how hard can it be? You need a place, some food, guests, wine (no party of mine is ever without wine, thanks, Dad!), some sort of outline for the event and some nifty party clothes. That's it. Anything else is totall superflouous.

I've been to a few weddings, and the only things I remember are if the food was good, the ceremony was short but sweet and if I had fun. Nothing else mattered. Sure, open bar is nice, but beer and wine work too. Sure, little favors are cool, but unless it's something I can use (like mints or M&Ms) I'm probably going to chuck it when I get home. I cannot remember the napkins at ANY wedding, monogrammed or not, and the decorations are a blur too. My cousin's wedding appeared to lack any kind of color scheme, but I only noticed b/c someone pointed it out!

What am I supposed to say, "Your blatant flouting of the Color Scheme Rulz has totally detracted from my enjoyment of the ceremony and I will now go home and cry about what an awful person you are."

I mean really. o_O

So now I have a few awesome sights that I love to read b/c they actually appear to be written by real people, not cracked-out crazies who think their whole life leads up to their wedding day.

This is the coolest site ever and I love almost every post I've read so far. Love the author's ribbon veil. Totally speaks to my crafty, I made it myself isn't it pretty side. A veil made out of ribbon? That's easy to make? And doesn't cost a fortune? And looks really neat? Sign me up!

This site is quite frightening and makes me despair over the future of humanity.

This video, this video and this video made me snort milk out of my nose and onto my cat, but also make me despair over the future of humanity.

It seems like people place so much value on one freaking day of their entire lives. It's a wedding, it's just a party, what about the MARRIAGE that's supposed to come after? In all the planning and making sure the candles match the cake, was there ANY thought that went into what married life would mean to you?

Maybe eloping and getting married by Elvis in LV would indeed be easier. I can already see the appeal and I've barely gotten my tootsies wet in the whole wedding idea.

Monday, May 25, 2009

Working

I'm here at work today. Today is a holiday. So why am I at work?

Simple answer: I'm a grad student. Grad students do not have holidays.

Right now I'm waiting for some samples to dry in the oven before I continue with the slog that is lab work. I'm so close to being done with lab work, but yet so far away.

I can taste it, the freedom to simply write write write my thesis without being interrupted by beeping timers that insist I get off my computer and into the lab to attend to whatever it is that needed to be timed.

Hopefully by the end of tomorrow it will be done. That is the goal. Then there's just one machine to fix and one day to plow through and it will all be over. I'm okay with that.

I'm not a good writer when I have to write from scratch, and I'll sit all day in front of a blank word document desperately trying to pin down exactly what it is I have to talk about.

Even making a title is a big deal for me. I start by creating the file and making a title. Then I feel I have started. The document may sit for days with only a title, but hey, I've started!

Right now my thesis is a jumble of half finished sections and rough as rough can be drafts. The results section says things like "insert graph here" and "add stuff" and "more references". Usually I type these phrases in capital letters so that I see them when I proofread and the draft does not go off to my major professor as scientific writing interspersed with "ADD SHIT HERE".

The timer is going off again, so now I must attend to my samples in the oven. *Sigh*

Saturday, May 16, 2009

Slowing Down the Trot

This is from the Mugwump Chronicles that was posted on Monday the 11th. It's kind of long, but I found it fascinating.

I've been having the exact same trouble with my horse lately. Over the winter her training and my riding has slid a bit, and we're having these "slower-faster" arguments at the trot. She has this lovely "bareback trot" and the horrible bone-jarring death trot as well as this awesome ground covering trot. I want to keep her in the bareback trot without feeling like I have to hang on her face all the time.

Q: My question is about the "death trot". I'm struggling with my Arabian mare on rating. She has a go-a-holic trot...I'm desperately wanting her nice little ground work trot to occur under saddle. You know, the nice little soft pitty-pat trot that doesn't rattle your teeth. Would you care to help an aspiring endurance rider smooth out the trot? I'd be ever so grateful. I find myself all to often in the reins, as she pushes faster and faster. I need a loose rein, and a collected trot.

Mugwump's Answer:

"I work on rate initially in the arena or in an area both my horse and I feel safe in. I ask for the trot and the second it gets bumpy or unpleasant I pull my outside rein (rail side) and turn the horse the other way. I pull hard enough to make the turn unpleasant, but I'm not tearing up the horse's mouth either.I just want to pull hard enough to pull my horse out of the death trot, change the direction of her feet and her forward motion.

I immediately relax my rein and ask for the trot again. As soon as she gets bumpy I pull and go the other way again.
Eventually, my horse will hesitate before slamming into the horrifying trot, because I have been yanking her around every time she sped up.
When I feel the hesitation I'll give her a big "Good Girl!" and pat on the neck then just sit quiet until the trot speeds up again, then I'll pull her around again. I keep this up until she'll hesitate or slow down for at least a couple of steps from just a lift of my rein before she speeds up again. Then I quit for the day.
If I practice consistently and religiously she will learn to hold a steady trot.
The key here is to expect your horse to beat you to the punch and slow down before you pull her around. I am very slow with my hand when I'm doing this. I bring up my hand slow enough for at least two beats before I even make contact with her mouth.

I use this same approach to cure jiggers and chargy horses. I don't give them anything to pull against. The reins are loose until the horse goes beyond the speed I ask for, then I change the direction of their feet. I've never had it not work as long as I was consistent.

This can take awhile, it all depends on how ingrained the horse is with her expectations of being held."

I tried this out today in the indoor arena, and it really seemed to work! Now, my horse is old and broke, and catches on quick, but every time she upped the trot to bone-rattling, I pulled her into the wall to turn around, relaxed, and asked her to move off again.

We worked on it for about 10 minutes, and by the end she had her ears fixed on me, and when she felt unsure of what I wanted, she slowed down. I'm going to keep working on it, but so far I think it's going to work well for us

Tried it again today, and I must say I think I screwed it up a bit. Last time we were in the indoor arena, with is small and enclosed. Worked great there.

This time we tried it in the (much bigger) outdoor arena, which still lacks a fence. Horse seemed to be a bit confused.

My fault probably. I have yet to determine the exact speed at which the trot is "too fast". It's not the spreed really, it's the bumpiness. If she busts out the ground-covering trot, it's fat, but not unpleasant to ride.

If she gets tense and bumpy, the trot sucks, no matter how fast or slow we're going. Maybe we'll work up to that. For now though I think I need to stick with speed. Once I have her staying slow without half-halting every other stride, we'll work on "faster is OK as long as you're not rattling my bones".

Wednesday, May 13, 2009

The Sweet Smell of Cow

I'm in a story-telling mood today. This one involves me, the BF, and four jars of rumen fluid.

As part of my research, I need to find out the digestibility of the different feeds in my trial. So I lug the Daisy incubator to the beef center, weight out 400 little bags of sample (fun fun!) and truck off to collect rumen fluid.


Sticking your arm into a cow's rumen on a freezing cold winter day is quite nice. It's about 100 degrees inside the cow, but about 20 degrees outside. So as you stand in your shirtsleeves, one arm is toasty warm while the other wants you to hurry up so we can get the fuck back inside.

With help, get the rumen fluid (and keep it warm in the dead of winter!) and get it into the jars. Jars go into the daisy where they are kept warm and rotating for 48 hours.

However, on the first run, 48 hours later was in the middle of a snow storm. The beef center road was closed, and I couldn't get out there. So I call the guys out there and ask if they could put my jars in the fridge.

The cold would kill the microbes, and digestion would cease.

The next day, it's sunny, the road is plowed, and I manage to convince the BF to come out the to beef center with me to drain the jars and bring the bags back to the lab for drying.

Now, the BF starts complaining at the smell of fresh clean horse, so this is quite the feat. We go out there, and he's wandering around the big barn while I do my thing.

I take the jars out of the fridge. I open the jars.

UGH!

Now, fresh rumen fluid smells kind of like cow poo, but without the "poo" quality, if that makes any sense. Basically, it smells, but it's not unbearable.

The jars after 48 hours of incubation and 24 hours of refrigeration smelled like the remains of cow pie stew fresh out of the oven with a dead rat for garnish.

Across the barn I hear, "WTF is that SMELL!" And then in a minute, "Oh, God! It's getting worse!" And finally, "It's coming from you! Dear Lord!"

The BF was not appreciative of the new smell I discovered. Even though I thought it stunk too, I took the opportunity to make fun of him and his non-cowified olfactory senses.

It's too bad really. Since I had more than one run to do, I came home smelling like rumen fluid every other day for a couple weeks.

The smell really does not wash off, no matter how hard you try. You have to wait for the skin on that hand and arm to die.

So far I've introduced my city-boy to horses, cows, rumen fluid and pigs. Up next I think is sheep. Poor boy. He aught to know by now though that if he wants to lead a life free of animal smell, I'm not the girl for him!

Wow!

I've got a follower! My little follower box no longer contains the lonely words "no followers yet, be the first!"

Cool.

Thursday, May 7, 2009

Try Before You Buy


Some things are very important to try before you buy. You know, like cars, horses, boyfriends, tattoos, saddles, etc.

You gotta try the car out, because what if it has a bad alignment problem and like the shopping cart you always seem to end up with at Safeway, wants to dive badly to the left?

Horses, well, duh. Unless you're the next Miss Cleo, you're not going to be able to know if the horse is any good or not with just some grainy photos and a trumped up description that Barbaro himself would have been proud to boast.

Boyfriends are a bit looser. After all, you can still dump his ass at any time. However, having a boyfriend is the ultimate try before you buy, since you have no more commitment to him than you do that shopping cart that lists to the left. If you like it, you can take it home. If you don't, just leave its ass somewhere and someone else will find it.

I guess a boyfriend is the try before you buy for a husband, or fuck-buddy roommate, take your pick.

Tattoos should also be tested out before you go through with them. If it's some tiny little design that only you and the whole bar are going to see when you leap up to dance before you realize you forgot panties with your mini-skirt, then just go for it. Who cares? It's not like you'll remember flashing anyone anyway.

If it's a bigger design or placed somewhere that will still show when you're wearing the legally required amount of clothing, then do try it out. Temporary tatts are good, but even better is Sharpie!

Sharpie is my best friend. It labels my grooming tools so I can find them after they sprout legs and wander off at the barn (or rather, some little bitch walks off with them), it makes really cool designs if you draw on cotton and then dab rubbing alcohol in it, and it gives me free fake tattoos. What more could a girl ask for?

If you can't reach the prescribed area, get a friend to draw for you. The design only needs to be an approximation of the final product. The point of the Sharpie tattoo is to let you see how you like being marked up. If you hate it, it washed off, unlike a real tattoo.



Right now I've got a Sharpie dragonfly on my arm. Why? I kind want an arm tattoo, and I kind of want a dragonfly tattoo, but I'm not sure if I want a dragonfly on my arm. So I busted out the Sharpie and doodled away.

I like the result. It's near the crook of my elbow, so it's totally covered with long sleeves, and peeks out teasingly when I have 3/4 sleeves on.

I'll keep refreshing the Sharpie for the next week and see how I like it. I won't have money for it for a few months, so for now, Sharpie it is! If I get tired of it, no biggie, soap is also my friend! If I love it, I'll get it.

Both the owl and the turtle started out as Sharpie tattoos, and I loved them and got them. My tattoos are getting progressively more and more visible, so the Sharpie period is getting longer and longer, just to be absolutely, 100% sure.

Nothing like buyer's remorse on something you can't smash, kill or give away.

Sunday, May 3, 2009

Tattoo Ideas

I'm currently planning my next tattoo. Not really news, when am I not planning the next one?

I've been trolling the internet for designs, as I have to start with something. The first two were easy. It was very much "I want that!" The 3rd took some artist input, and I'm thinking the next ones are going to take some artist tweaking too.

Right now, here are my ideas. I tend to have 1000 of them and then narrow it down from there. Of course I'm keeping the theme of semi-abstract line art for every one of them.

Right foot
  • Shark
  • Some kind of ivy or vine-like plant
  • Tropical fish
Arms/wrist
  • Simple outline of something like a moon, initials or flower
  • Initials would either be mine ("A" or "D") or "M" for Molly, my first pet.
  • California poppy
  • Bear paw print
  • The word "simplify" in a scripty, pretty font
Side/ribs
  • Paw prints
Definitely happening
  • Fill in the turtle shell. I've got the design, now I just need to get the money.
  • Add a moon and stars to the owl. Hopefully I can get that and the turtle shell done on the same visit, as neither one will take that long.
  • Definite but far off: hoof prints or some kind of memorial for Cherry when she passes.
Now I just need the money. For some reason, tattoo artists expect to be paid for their services.

Saturday, May 2, 2009

Random Thoughts

My head hurts, so I don't really want to get started on my day yet. It's already 12:30 and I haven't done much more than eat Eggo waffles and stare at the computer screen.

My horse is shedding, and I HATE it! She looks all scruffy and mangy now, and really, really old. She looks like an old nag, with bits of her coat missing in places and this long, dirty, old hair in others.

She's also getting super white! Already I can see the change in her neck and shoulders. I wonder what color she'll be this year? For the last several years she's been kind of this orange color, but this season she's looking kind of pink, like a strawberry roan.

Anyway, while wasting time this morning I watched some of the Octomom videos over on radar. I don't know why but I find her fascinating. She kind of reminds me of a one of my friends with the way she talks and the way she looks. I know her face is totally fake and full of plastic, but she really reminds me of a friend I had in junior high. Same kind of laugh, same way of talking, same facial features, same propensity to twist situations to suit her... It's weird. It's like I'm watching my friend, not some strange crazy lady with far too many children.

I'm horrified and repulsed and disgusted and I can't look away!

What movie is that from? I know I heard it somewhere, but I can't remember where! A girl was saying it, I think, like that helps any.

I really should start cleaning the house, but every time I get up my head spins and I have to sit down again. Maybe I have that flu that everyone's talking about that has nothing to do with pigs. Doubt it though, probably just a hangover.

Why is it I never expect to get a hangover? Especially if I'm drinking some fru-fru drink with lots of sugar in it. Those always get to me, but yet I'm always suprised when I wake up feeling crappy. Like last night when I had a mojito that was far too sweet (but so good!) and a bunch of red wine. That'll do the trick.

Wine. Why is it that people who say they like wine know nothing about it and tend not to have the best taste in it? Probably b/c people in general have crappy taste, so why should wine be the exception?

Speaking of crappy taste, my taste in tack is pretty crappy. If it's teal, I want it. I love synthetic tack and I love teal sythetic tack. One of these days I should deck my horse out in all our shit and take pictures to horrify the tack purists out there. The 1/2 synthetic saddle with the bright red latigo, the turquoise saddle pad (they told me it was teal on the website, they lied), the turquoise rhythym beads, the beta Dr. Cook's bitless bridle, the cotton reins, the nylon breast collar...... Wow. I don't think I own a scrap of leather for my horse.

Aside from the brown dressage saddle and the brown leather bridle I've butchered to make a sidepull with a black rope nosepiece. Even tackier is my nylon vaquero bridle with the tassles. That's some pretty tacky shit there.

See, the thing is, I love things in fun colors. Leather does not come in fun colors. Leather, at least the leather worth buying, is also expensive. Tack that comes in fun colors tends to be cheap. How can a girl resist? It's a good thing that teal isn't a teribbly common color or I'd have to sell a kidney to pay for my tack habit.

Also, the horse I'm buying said tack for is old. She'll be 19 soon. So how long am I going to get to use all this shit before I can't ride her anymore? I have no idea. She's going strong now, and I am going to lighten up (literally) to make her job easier, but who knows? It could be 10 months, it could be 10 years. Well, regardless, I'm going to enjoy our tacky tack as long as possible.

Hopefully I can find another horse that all this tack fits to ride after Cherry is retired and/or dead. Honestly, I hope I can find another Cherry. A small, cute, intellegent, sound horse that will have plenty of spunk and personality without any dangerous habits or screws loose.

Cherry, while always a big fat grumpy bitch, has never had any desire to hurt me. She's never done anything truly dangerous. Unsettling, scary and unexpected yes, but not dangerous. She doesn't buck, has only reared twice in 10 years, doesn't bolt and doesn't try and scrape off her rider on the fence. She's been difficult to train, a handful, and rude, but never out to hurt anyone (expect that foolish goat who tried to eat her grain).

Heart of gold, a sensitive soul, really. Cherry, for all her posturing, is very sensitive. Once you break the facade of "Fuck you, I'm not listening!" she's a whole new horse. B/c of this she's usually bottom of the herd b/c the other horses figure out pretty quick that the dragon face is just a front, and when challenged she'll back off.

Wow. That was quite the verbal tidal wave there. Maybe I'll use some of the Cherry stuff when I finally get around to writing her former owner about her.

Thursday, April 30, 2009

New saddle!!!!

The new/ old saddle came on Tuesday!!!!! Very excite!

Got it from a member of the FiSH forum from one of the thousand "Tack for Sale/ I Need Tack" threads. Can't remember the brand, but it's hardly top of the line. Unfortunately, I needed a new saddle right now, as my ass had finally done what it had threatened to do for the last few years, grow too big for my old saddle. Now I could whine and say I got that saddle when I was a skinny, tiny-butted 13 year old, but I choose instead to use it as motivation to lose weight. Regardless, weight loss is a slow process, and I didn't want to be without a saddle. I'm poor, though, and the really nice saddles, even used, were pretty much out of my price range and I'm not about to blow my paltry savings at this stage of the game.

So I bought the saddle. It came in a HUGE box full of packing peanuts, much to the kitty's delight. I was chasing down stray peanuts so she wouldn't eat them. She eats funny things. Bits of lint, splinters of wood, scraps of plastic, I feel like a mom rushing around after a toddler. "What are you eating?!?! Don't eat that!!"

Anyway, so I (in my English riding ignorance) took awhile to figure out how to put the stirrups back on the fenders. I figured it out, but put them on backwards. Oh well, learn by doing, I guess.

Then I took it out to the barn to try out. Set it on the back of my grumpy, shedding an entire matress-worth of hair per day horse. She was no more pissed off than usual, so good sign! Checked the fit, and all seemed good. Fit nicely over the withers, no bridging, back sat evenly, clear trough over spine. Excellent!

So I saddled up. Took several minutes fussing over the stirrup length. Reason #2 for cheapness, the holes on the fenders SUCK. (Reason #1 is that it's part synthetic.) I mean really suck, they don't even fit the buckle. That's OK, I was determined, and got the damn stirrups adjusted and secured. I'm the only one who's going to ride in this saddle, so it doesn't matter if the stirrups are not very adjustable.

Once I was done fiddling with the cinch (first time ever cinching up with a 3-way rigging system), I led my horse around the arena a few times. Tightened the cinch, got an angry face and some pinned ears, but nothing unusual.

Mounted up. Holy shit! Discovered Reason #3 for cheapness. I was sitting on the tree. There is no padding whatsoever in that seat. Stirrups felt good though, and horse seemed content, so I rode anyway. Walk trot canter uphill downhill, horse seemed perfectly happy and thankfully acted like there wasn't a big fat rider on her back squirming around trying and find a comfy seat.

Finally, the big fat rider gave up and decided to buy a butt cushion. There have been great advancements in butt cushion technology, I've heard. Ordered a couple, and we'll see if one (or both together, the seat really is that hard) will work. I hope so.

Even with buying an nice butt cushion, this saddle was heck of a deal. It only has to last until I can find/afford a nice one, and it fits the horse, so I can't complain. I needed something cheap (check), fits my ass (check), fits my horse (check) and isn't falling apart (check). So now I just have to ensure rider comfort, and we're good to go.

I hope my butt cushion comes soon.

Saturday, April 25, 2009

Behavior

We think we're so high and mighty as humans, so much better than the creatures we eat, keep as pets or ride for our amusement. We have brains, we can reason, we can think! The lowly cow is far more base, more primitive than our superior frontal lobes.

I'm coming to believe that really isn't the case.

There was a heifer at the dairy who was very reluctant to go back to her pen after milking. The pens and alleys are bordered by a heavy, electrified cable that shocks the hell out out anything it touches. Ask me how I know.

Poor heifer accidentally hits the fence and gets shocked. Heifer's little brain says "I went over there and I got shocked! That sucks, I'm not going to go there again." So try as we might, no tail twisting, prodding or swearing will get the heifer back in her pen. I get the brilliant idea to take the fence down, turn it off and try to drive her through the much wider opening than the alley provides. It works! Poor heifer has issues with the fence for about a week.

There's a professor that I hate talking to. Every time I see this person, I always feel like a complete and utter moron. Never fails. Now I really need to talk to her about something, but I'm putting it off. Why? Every question I ask is met with more questions that unfailingly make me feel like I don't know jack crap and should get a job with Jack In The Box immediately and forget school.

My tiny brain thinks, "I go to her office and get reamed. That sucks, I'm not going back there again." Just like the heifer. Unlike the heifer though, who felt no shame or compunction over avoiding the narrow opening of the alley into her pen, I fight with myself over it. "Go to her office. The door's open, she's there. It's just a little question, how bad can it be?" Well, she could ask me for the thesis I haven't written yet, she could ask me for the data I haven't analyzed yet, she could berate me for not coming and asking this question sooner. "Good point. Maybe we'll wait for tomorrow."

And for some reason I think I'm better than the cow.

Thursday, April 23, 2009

Tattoos

I love tattoos. They're quite the obsession of mine, and nothing makes me happier than seeing a beautiful woman or hot man with an equally hot tattoo. I've got three of my own, and I'm hoping to add to them/touch them up soon.

One of my guilty pleasures is looking at bad tattoos online. I love seeing pics of people with hideous, badly done and downright WTF were you thinking tattoos.

But the problem that I have is, would you say that to their face? Would you honestly tell someone that their tattoo is bad? I wouldn't.

  1. It could very well mean something to them. It may be a dumb unicorn to you, but to them it could be a memorial of their child who died but loved unicorns in life. Would you want to be the asshole who pokes fun at a grieving parent?
  2. They might like it. Do you take kindly to people telling you that your music sucks? No? Well, why would someone appreciate you telling them that you think the tattoo they like sucks.
  3. It might not be finished. Tattoos are expensive, time consuming endeavors. Sometimes you don't have the time or money to finish a tattoo right now. One of mine is rather ambiguous b/c it's not done. Is it a turtle or a penguin? Well, when I finish the shell, you'll know, but for now STFU.
That said, I would wholeheartedly critique the hell out of a proposed design or artist. If it's not done and paid for, it's fair game.

Like helping a friend pick out a $300 prom dress. You don't tell her it's ugly after she's bought it. You tell her it makes her look like a pregnant baboon when she puts it on in the fitting room. She may not like your opinion, but if she hasn't committed to the purchase, all bets are off.

Today I witnessed a rather unfortunate exchange. One girl had gotten a tattoo of a beloved dog on her back in memory of her pet's death. Too bad it looked like a demented bear with a bad case of cross-eyes. Her friend so lovingly pointed this out over coffee and cakes. Tattooed girl was offended and left in a huff.

If you truly think a tattoo is hideous, please, don't tell the other person. That's something you laugh about with your bf as you lie in the dark, contemplating the glow in the dark stars festooned on the ceiling or share as a vague but poignant warning to a friend considering getting inked without much forethought or planning.

Anyway, off the soapbox. Bottom line, if you tell me you think any of my tattoos suck, I'll simply smile, then deck you.

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Why?

Why did I name my blog "We're All Just Cows"? A few reasons, in no particular order.

  1. I love cows.
  2. The blogger domain name was available.
  3. I thought it would be a really rad name when I stumbled drunkenly to the bathroom in the middle of the night.
  4. My other title, "Bovine Anal Invasion" is much too crude and I don't really want a future employer to learn that I have a blog with that title.
The Bovine Anal Invasion was a joke made by my bf when I came home from the Beef Center one day covered in crap. Now, I'm normally covered in crap when I get home from the Beef Center, but he was just there to witness it this time.

BF: You stink! WTF have you been doing all day?!

Me: Repro exams on bulls.

BF: Um, do I want to know how you do that?

Me: No, but I'm tired, stinky and grumpy so I'm going to tell you anyway just to gross you out.

BF: Okaaaaaaaaaaay. *looking wary*

Me: I stick my arm up their ass to feel their glands, then I slather the Electo-Jacualtor in lube, stick it up their ass and zap them to get a semen sample. We took turns putting it in, collecting, counting white blood cells in the semen and zapping them.

BF: So basically you just ass-raped a bunch of bulls today.

Me: Yeah, pretty much.

BF: You know what would be a cool name for a band? Bovine Anal Invasion!!!!!

This is a paraphrase of the conversation, it happened awhile ago so I don't remember exact details. So now when I think of random titles for things, BAI is the first one I think of.

More Blogs!

I created a new blog today, but I don't know if I want people to read it. Not that anyone reads this blog, so it hardly matters. Just don't want someone to stumble on it unexpectedly and think, "Who's this fat bitch?"

Going to write down what I eat, how I feel, and I much I think I weigh. Don't have a scale, so I only have jean size and what I remember from my last doctor's visit to go on.

Hopefully that will motivate me not only to eat less and eat better, but also to work out some more and generally make better choices.

I hate lying, and I hate reading about how much crap I've stuffed in my face, so maybe if I force myself to write, I'll have motivation.

Monday, April 20, 2009

Cherry

Photobucket

Just in case you've never seen her, this is my mare. I can't imagine that you'd not know who she is if you're reading this, but I like to post pictures of her anyway.

She's turning 19 on May 11th!

The First One

So everybody seems to have a blog nowadays, so why not me? I've always wanted to keep a journal, but for some reason, I never get around to either purchasing one or writing in it. 

Here goes. Here is a (relatively) unedited view on how I see the world, what bothers and and what keeps me going.

I'm no tech genius, so there might be a few formatting hiccups and general disarray in some posts. I figure if you care enough to read this, you'll forgive me. 

Hopefully I'll either make you laugh (with me or at me, take your pick) or piss you off. My life is pretty boring, but apparently what goes on in my head is not. 

Enjoy, or not, doesn't bother me. We'll see how my little experiment pans out. I love writing, and I like reading my own writing. It's like someone who likes hearing themselves talk, but you can click "x" if you don't care. Can life get better? I submit that it cannot!