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Jun. 6th, 2004 11:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
which_chickThe damn deer are getting in my yard. I suspect they're going under the fence (it's a foot off the ground so that I can mow under it at the edges) or over it (it's about six and a half feet tall -- deer can, if pressed, clear ten feet). I am very, very tired of this. I did not put a six and a half foot tall fence around my yard so that the deer could get in it. They are eating my rosebushes and my lilies. There will be no lilies blooming this year -- they've eaten off the tops and buds. I can only hope they haven't eaten enough of the stem for the lilies to grown back next year. They've eaten off the black-eyed susans and the echinacea. God, I'm tired of this. Fucking deer.
Today I went and played horse, which would have been more fun if I hadn't had to spend most of the ride supervising three children under the age of seven (none of them mine) AND lead a pony while trying to ride MY pony who was having none of this "leading a pony" bullshit, thank you very much. The seven year old claimed she couldn't steer her horse and the five year old for sure couldn't control his. God, I hate kids. The only person not giving me lip was the two and a half year old I was leading (the child, not the horse -- the horse was over twenty-five). Boo was well-behaved and pleasant, a joy to have along. Bubba and Waycolie... not so much. Meatly (my horse) did, about three quarters of the way through the ride, settle down and act like a normal horse. While off playing horse, I also flattened a tire on my car and developed a pathological hatred for the tire changing goodies that come with a Cavalier. What is with the plastic decorative lug nut covers? Stupid fucking things.
Also on Sunday, assorted people tried to sell me an ostrich hide, tried to convince me I'd be a wonderful mother, showed me Skoal's two babies (Er. These are horses. Skoal's dam is Careless Star, a Bask* granddaughter with a severely undershot jaw. We call her Snuffy because she looks like a guy with a wad of snuff. Make more sense now? Skoal has a half-sister called Copenhagen.), didn't understand why I called Will Smith (the actor) a hottie, and agreed with me that Johnny Depp was a fine-looking man. Ash used the phrase "pop goes the weasel" in that oh-so-smug sixteen-year-old way of his, as if he'd ever. Not likely.
Last night, when not watching Marsters and his sock (do watch the extras, they're quite amusing), I also visited the horse people and spent some time talking to Beaver. Nothing like talking to the less fortunate to make me feel like my own life doesn't suck. He'd come over to visit (in his car-truck thing -- what the hell are they called? They have a car front and suspension and a truck-like bed in the back) and we sat out in the driveway and visited. I haven't seen him out of the driver's seat of his car in years. When he's in his car, we can all pretend that he's normal, something he needs as much as we do. It's more comfortable for everyone that way.
Beaver was visiting because he was depressed about getting dumped, poor fellow, by the piece of trash he thinks he loves. He quit smoking mari-jew-a-na for his sapsms (not typos. That's how he said it.) for her because she objected to drug use. (This was the first I'd seen of that line of thinking out of her mouth.) Beaver probably does have spasms. He's paralyzed from the waist down -- motorcycle accident when he was sober, just one more proof that the gods like irony. Now, he's not the brightest bulb on the planet, but he doesn't deserve to be taken to the cleaners by someone who won't even put out in exchange for value received. Even (or perhaps especially) broken men can use the occasional piece of ass and it's not like she's particularly selective on that front to start with. I don't think he'd say no to a pity fuck and given what she's taken him for thus far, she certainly owes him one. (Er. Assuming he can. I didn't go there.)
Just so that everyone is on the proper page, here, I've known Beaver since I was twelve. I'm not sure we're friends, per se. When I met him, he was in his twenties, a red-headed, moon-faced good-ole-boy who was oddly good with horses and kids but had absolutely no luck with work, women, or booze. Probably the greatest thing he did with his life was break a two-year-old arabian stud horse named Juarez in the early eighties. Beaver didn't have a drivers license (DUI) and he lived out in the country. No license is a real problem when there's no public transportation, and I guess he figured an unbroke two-year-old horse was better than nothing, so when a friend offered up Juarez, Beaver jumped on, stayed on, and rode that damn horse everywhere. Juarez got ridden to the bar and home from the bar and into town and out catting around. While one of them certainly could have killed the other that summer, neither died and Juarez (still a stud horse) went on to become one of the most solid, trustworthy riding horses I have ever had the pleasure to meet... largely because of the mileage Beaver put on him and the time he spent working with that horse.
Today I went and played horse, which would have been more fun if I hadn't had to spend most of the ride supervising three children under the age of seven (none of them mine) AND lead a pony while trying to ride MY pony who was having none of this "leading a pony" bullshit, thank you very much. The seven year old claimed she couldn't steer her horse and the five year old for sure couldn't control his. God, I hate kids. The only person not giving me lip was the two and a half year old I was leading (the child, not the horse -- the horse was over twenty-five). Boo was well-behaved and pleasant, a joy to have along. Bubba and Waycolie... not so much. Meatly (my horse) did, about three quarters of the way through the ride, settle down and act like a normal horse. While off playing horse, I also flattened a tire on my car and developed a pathological hatred for the tire changing goodies that come with a Cavalier. What is with the plastic decorative lug nut covers? Stupid fucking things.
Also on Sunday, assorted people tried to sell me an ostrich hide, tried to convince me I'd be a wonderful mother, showed me Skoal's two babies (Er. These are horses. Skoal's dam is Careless Star, a Bask* granddaughter with a severely undershot jaw. We call her Snuffy because she looks like a guy with a wad of snuff. Make more sense now? Skoal has a half-sister called Copenhagen.), didn't understand why I called Will Smith (the actor) a hottie, and agreed with me that Johnny Depp was a fine-looking man. Ash used the phrase "pop goes the weasel" in that oh-so-smug sixteen-year-old way of his, as if he'd ever. Not likely.
Last night, when not watching Marsters and his sock (do watch the extras, they're quite amusing), I also visited the horse people and spent some time talking to Beaver. Nothing like talking to the less fortunate to make me feel like my own life doesn't suck. He'd come over to visit (in his car-truck thing -- what the hell are they called? They have a car front and suspension and a truck-like bed in the back) and we sat out in the driveway and visited. I haven't seen him out of the driver's seat of his car in years. When he's in his car, we can all pretend that he's normal, something he needs as much as we do. It's more comfortable for everyone that way.
Beaver was visiting because he was depressed about getting dumped, poor fellow, by the piece of trash he thinks he loves. He quit smoking mari-jew-a-na for his sapsms (not typos. That's how he said it.) for her because she objected to drug use. (This was the first I'd seen of that line of thinking out of her mouth.) Beaver probably does have spasms. He's paralyzed from the waist down -- motorcycle accident when he was sober, just one more proof that the gods like irony. Now, he's not the brightest bulb on the planet, but he doesn't deserve to be taken to the cleaners by someone who won't even put out in exchange for value received. Even (or perhaps especially) broken men can use the occasional piece of ass and it's not like she's particularly selective on that front to start with. I don't think he'd say no to a pity fuck and given what she's taken him for thus far, she certainly owes him one. (Er. Assuming he can. I didn't go there.)
Just so that everyone is on the proper page, here, I've known Beaver since I was twelve. I'm not sure we're friends, per se. When I met him, he was in his twenties, a red-headed, moon-faced good-ole-boy who was oddly good with horses and kids but had absolutely no luck with work, women, or booze. Probably the greatest thing he did with his life was break a two-year-old arabian stud horse named Juarez in the early eighties. Beaver didn't have a drivers license (DUI) and he lived out in the country. No license is a real problem when there's no public transportation, and I guess he figured an unbroke two-year-old horse was better than nothing, so when a friend offered up Juarez, Beaver jumped on, stayed on, and rode that damn horse everywhere. Juarez got ridden to the bar and home from the bar and into town and out catting around. While one of them certainly could have killed the other that summer, neither died and Juarez (still a stud horse) went on to become one of the most solid, trustworthy riding horses I have ever had the pleasure to meet... largely because of the mileage Beaver put on him and the time he spent working with that horse.
