I am Earthy Woman.
I am salt of the earth.
I am earthy and salty and sweaty.
I just spent the afternoon mowing grass and hacking through brush.
So that's what the cool people did today. That's right. I went to church, grocery shopping and then did yard/jungle work. Don't hate me because I'm terribly hip and cool.
No really. That's it. I have no life. I'm sitting here reeking of sweat and grass and blood and quite possibly dog or goat poop but I just didn't get up the nerve to look at the bottom of my boots yet. Only because I stepped in dog poop yesterday and I'm just not ready for another go-round with it.
I'm trying to hack out the small area of jungle that has grown up around our pump house. We have to put a roof on it and pronto but - and see here's the tricky part - we have to get to it first. It's become quite grown up with booger balls and thorny things and these big tall plants that have lovely dark purple berries that I always think would be cool to dye clothes with until I found out they are poisonous (not just to eat, but to touch as well...but I still think I'm going to try it) and all sorts of other bushy growth.
I seem to have an issue with run-on sentences, don't I?
So I just spent the past 2 hours or so hacking through all of this with my trusty gas powered hedge trimmer we call "Excalibur". When I am wielding it I feel like a powerful king. Lord of the Yard! Bow to me and lick my poopy boots! And tie the laces while you're there. Double knots please. I mean, DOUBLOE KNOTS AND THAT'S AN ORDER!
A little aside here... You all know I have this issue with the spell check thing, right? Well, I usually have my Webster's Unabridged College Dictionary sitting next to me so's I can check words I'm not sure of because, even though I'm not particularly careful about typos, I do try to make an effort. Just so you all know that. My typos are exactly that. Not poor spelling. Because I have very low Speller Self Esteem and I am always second guessing myself. (Guessing...u before e? Check it. Got it.) Well, it seems as though my daughter's biology teacher decided to assign a gigantic (g.i.g.a.n.t.i.c.) leaf project and my kid swiped my dictionary (a.r.y.) to keep her leaves flat while they dry. So now I have to open up a window (on my computer, not in the house. Although it is getting a little stuffy in here and something smells an awful lot like poop...) to Dictionary.com so I can keep checking my spelling.
Life is never easy, is it?
And it's all because of my irrational fear of the spell check. I'm afraid I will get done typing a terribly witty and/or sensationally (ally? yes.) intelligent (ant or ent? Oh look, there's a bit of irony!) post and then do the spell check thing and it will disappear. Gone. Poof! Never to been seen again.
Which makes me think of a joke.
Jesus and the devil were woking on their computers, keeping track of the various people that died and the souls that were saved, or alternatively, not. All of a sudden, a big storm came trough and the power went out. (Now right here you have to go with it. Some people would say "Well, God is in charge of everything and wouldn't allow that to happen while Jesus was working on the computer." However, I pose this hypothesis [Yes, I checked it.]: Even though God might take the time out of a busy schedule to mess with the weather, the devil still put George W. Bush and Co. here to make sure global warming skyrockets, thusly messing up the weather patterns for the rest of human history. So there.) So the power goes out and the computers shut down. The next day, the devil sees Mary at the bar and says "Shit, man. That storm that came through yesterday? I lost my whole data base of souls. Everything. Gone." Mary says to him "Yeah, Jesus told me he was on the computer when the power went out too. Why don't you go ask him for a copy of his data base? I'm sure he'd give you one." The devil says "But I thought you said he was on his computer when the power went out too? Didn't he loose his dadt base?" And Mary...get this...says "Jesus saves."
A HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Um, if there are any priests here...I won't go to Hell for that, will I? No? Ok.
So here I sit, stinky, sweaty, tired and I think I have some booger balls in the back part of my arm pit. (Sis and cuz e, remember how fun it used to be to throw booger balls at each other? Golly, those were the days.) And, let's not forget, the possibly poopy boots.
What I was really going to post about before I got distracted was this...
I was in the bathroom today - nothing gross, just a quick visit - and noticed that we have quite a bit of reading material on the top of the hopper. And, being the odd sort that I am, I thought to myself "What if someone came to visit - ok, someone who doesn't know us all that well. And why would they be visiting if they didn't know us all that well? I don't know. This is my daydream, lay off. - and they had to use the bathroom. Of course curiosity (iosi...ok) would get the better of them and they would at least take a look at what was there. What would the collection say about us as a family unit?" That's what I thought. And then I thought "I'll blog about this later."
So, folks, here's the collection of literature you would find if you came to visit and had to ... um ... powder your nose. And what I think it says about us.
1. Progressive Farmer - 2 issues. Well, the word progressive says it all, doesn't it?
2. Horse Illustrated - Equine people. Must have money.
3. Reader's Digest with the lead article "12 Ways to Keep More of Your Money" - Neutralizes Horse Illustrated
4. Realtor Magazine - A trade magazine is always impressive. (No one needs to know it's there in case the tp runs out. Kidding.)
5. This Old House - Obviously hip home renovators (only 1 n). (Hee, hee!)
6. Sing Out! - Either hippie or musically inclined. Or, quite possibly, the dangerous combination of the two.
1. Crosswords for the Connoisseur - Thinkers.
2. 101 Word Games - Thinkers that get bored with crossword puzzles. Or can't do them.
3. Nine Stories by J. D. Salinger - Um, what?
4. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce - Someone has a digestive tract issue. And a seriously messed up idea of light reading.
So, there it is, folks. Now I must leave you and go drive the garbage down to the end of the driveway. It's a long driveway so there's no walking it. And I have a problem with garbage smell so I have to hold it out the driver's door whilst I whiz down to the end, hopefully not knocking my door into any trees along the way. Kind of like stunt driving, if you will.
And I said I don't have an exciting life. Pshaw.