Chicken Attack

When we got our chickens, they came to us in the form of 8 fuzzy yellow and brown peeps in a box from a farm about an hour away. We weren’t sure who was male and who was female. Turns out that 5 of our eight peeps were dudes. Bummer. So we finally got around to finding four of the roosters a new home on an island in the Puget Sound. We took them, one per box on the ferry to meet their new owner about a month ago.

Our remaining rooster finally began crowing yesterday, talk about a late bloomer! Shortly after we handed the roosters off, we had a raccoon attack in middle of the night. It grabbed one of my hens right off her roost and pulled her across the yard to a tree right by my front door where it tried to pluck out her feathers to get to the flesh underneath, all while she was alive and clucking for help. The rooster followed the raccoon and hen to the tree and had no idea what to do. I then heard the ruckus and thought in my sleep that it was weird for chickens to make so much noise in middle of the night. So I leaped out of bed, ran to the door, tried to go out forgetting the door was locked, unlocked it, ran outside, and couldn’t understand what I was seeing.

It was about then that I fully woke up. When it dawned on me what I was seeing (literally 1-2 seconds, but it felt like forever), I started screaming like my best friend was being murdered in front of me. The screaming scared the raccoon, the hen, the rooster, the boyfriend still asleep inside, and our guest that was spending the night. The raccoon, realizing the jig was about and he might be about to lose what had originally appeared to be an easy meal,  then tried to drag my hen up the tree with him.

It was at that point that I started hitting the raccoon with my bare hands(he was about eye level on the tree trunk). I’d like to take this moment to let everyone know that I have no idea how to hit something, anything. I was hitting like the proverbial girl in the movies, with my hands all wavy and flappy in front of me, and my head turned back like my face was about to have an angry, hungry raccoon launched at it.

As soon as he dropped the hen, she bolted to the other end of the yard and hid so well we couldn’t find her and presumed she died of shock somewhere. The rooster also ran away (I might have kicked him out of the way, I can’t remember) was cowering in a different corner, and the raccoon was trapped in the tree. We tried hosing it out of the tree, but it just climbed higher. We eventually left a baited trap for it and went inside, but as soon as we left, he slipped down the other side of the tree and disappeared. Not surprisingly, we haven’t seen him since.

Back with a (LAZY) vengeance!

It sure has been a while since I posted last. Meh… it happens. What is more important than my recent (and long lasting) lack of posts is the fact that I am ready to start again. I know no one really reads this thing, but that is fine by me. Well, that’s about it for now. It’s been good talking with you all again. See you in another year.

Still there? Really? Well, I really do have to be up in 4 hours, but I guess I can type a little before the battery on my laptop dies.

Since I’ve been absent, I have changed “jobs.” Mainly by switching clubs that I dance at. But the mob owns the new club that I am at, and there has been much speculation about them getting shut down at the end of the month when they go to trial for RICO charges. If that happens, I will be moving on to the next thing sooner than anticipated. (FYI, I may be a sex worker, but I am not, never have been nor will I ever be, a prostitute.)

I have had a spot reserved in a doula training class that is going to be in Vancouver, BC at the end of September. I may become a doula much more expediently than previously expected.

In other news, I have recently been diagnosed with AS/HFA (Asperger’s Syndrome/High Functioning Autism). This has been a confusing time for me, and I will be turning to my blog as a way to work through all the feelings I have been experiencing: elation, joy, despair, hope, sadness, anger, confusion, fear. And that was just today!

A couple fears to get them off my mind before bed:

1) If I begin to try to rehabilitate myself to integrate more smoothly with society, will I lose myself? I really like who I am, and I don’t want to lose sight of who I am while trying to be more “normal.”

2) My partner. We have love for each other, but will that be enough? He jokes with me all the time, and I just don’t get. After eight months, I still take everything that he says literally. I want to read excerpts to him from my AS books, and he just doesn’t want to know. He thinks if I know, all will be okay. And he acts like now that I have identified the problem, I can overcome it by sheer force of will.

There are plenty more, but there will be time for it on another day.

Good night my peeps, leap well.

How to Be An Angry Victim

Well, it finally happened. I am finally really angry at the strip club industry. I went in to the club last night around 8. Thought I should work a little. Well, so did 30 of my (not so) closest stripper friends. This is in a club with ONE stage. We didn’t have 30 customers at any given point all night. I tried to leave. I was having bad cramps due to the piece of cotton I was forced to plug myself up with in order to work in the first place. I refuse to take painkillers for something like cramps, because I can fix that problem by using my diva cup. I was at the club last night from 8pm until 2:30am, and I made $25. Yep, $25. It’s just so fucking ridiculous.  To make matters worse, once I gave up on trying to make money, and put my efforts in trying to just leave, I decided to start people watching/listening. I have come to the conclusion that some guys go to the strip club just to be the cool guys at the strip club. I think they might be the same guys that ACTUALLY read the articles in a porn magazine. And then try to discuss them with friends, like it is a piece of serious journalism. Gag. I’m going to go out on the line here with a very politically incorrect statement and say that being the cool guy at the strip club is like being the least “special” kid at the special Olympics.

I just don’t want to do it anymore. If I didn’t have to pay rent tomorrow, I would never put a foot in a strip club again. My faith in humanity developed a really big crack in it last night. One that I am not sure is going to heal, and one that I know for a fact will continue to get worse the longer I work in this industry.

Mostly I am upset with myself though. I am a strong, creative, smart, adventurous person. And I have let myself become a victim. I gave all my power to the uptight assholes that run the strip clubs. I walk in the door and become ditzy, meek, dumb. I say it’s the club’s fault for charging me so much in rent each night, it’s the city’s fault for being so uptight that we have to have dry clubs, it’s the customers fault, it’s the economy’s fault. Seriously. The list goes on and on and on. But I never blame myself. I blame everyone but me. There are a million ways out there to earn a dime. and this is just one of them. I’ve been so busy making sure I keep being a victim that I have stopped trying to find another way. A way that uses my strengths, instead of capitalizing on my weaknesses.

Men. They are not to be trusted. Strippers. They are pretty much stuck with the same problems I’ve described here. I would love to describe, in detail, exactly what happened last night that broke me. But it was just an accumulation of everything last night. Listening to the DJ with his little quips about each dancer: Ooh, she is HOT! Try her for a dance…she is rumored to be VERY good at it! Blah blah blah. Listening to the false conversation between dancers and customers, each one of them dancing around the real subject (lap dances). Customers TEASING girls with lap dances in order to try to take them out for lunch. (Happened to me and one of my friend last night. Some guy was saying “blah blah blah sameoldthing, I would like a lap dance, but only if you go out to lunch with me.” I said ni, I don’t date people I meet in the club. He didn’t even listen to a word I said because then he launched into his spiel about how he wouldn’t be MY customer, he is a customer of the club, he would just give me the $20 when we met for lunch. I just got up and walked away. For fucks sake. Don’t fuckin patronize me and talk down to me. What a douche. Night after night. This is what I have to deal with. Pathetic examples of mankind and the human race. If I could sell everything and join the Peace Corps, I would do it today. Now. I would be gone tomorrow, doing something good for the world and for my life. I would work hard to repair the damage that so many years working in a strip club have done.

I realized that, either because of what I do for a living, or as a general flaw in my personality (which has led me to this point in my life), I have no one close to me in my life. I have acquaintances, friends, good friends, even some best friends. But I have no one that I am 100% open with. I would say my mom, but the people that I am closest with, all live very far away. Hell, the closest thing I have to family in my life are my best guy friend here in Washington, and my roommate. I am closer to them than my own family. I just find it’s easier to not get too close, because they will most likely leave you at some point. So it hurts less when they do leave if you aren’t super close to start with. Or, I can (and often do) leave first. That way I get hurt the least. It is very selfish. I realize that. But no one else is going to look out for me, watch out for my best interests. No one has done that for me since I became an adult. I guess that is the cold harsh truth of being an adult. When I am in a relationship, I feel like I am always waiting for the other person to get fed up and tired of me, and finally leave. I am sure my fatalistic attitude carries a large weight on why my relationships eventually fail. Well, the easy way to deal with that is to stop being in relationships. Like now. At least it is one less thing I don’t have to lie about when I talk to my customers.

I am just so exhausted of not trusting people. I am tired of feeling like people look at me and just want to use me. Hell, I’m just tired. I want to settle down, have a career doing something I really enjoy, but I have no idea what I want to do. I’m scared that I will be 30 in a few short years, and I still have no clue what to do with my life. My friends have careers, college degrees, own their own companies. I am still a stripper. I can barely pay my rent. By letting myself become a victim, I have let myself fall through the cracks. I am LETTING myself waste away into nothing, all because it is so much easier to be a victim than to do something to change the situation. This has to change today.

Woe is Me

I am Captain Crankypants as of late. I am so sick of the snow. I am sick of shoveling. I am sick of Winter. I am sick of being a stripper. I am sick of dancing. I am sick of having acne. I am sick of having feelings for someone that doesn’t return the sentiments.

I just don’t know how much longer I can keep this all up. Dancing is fine, but I prefer a solid bi-monthly paycheck over grinding on random dude’s laps for sweaty wadded up twenties.

I am sad that I am 27, and still stripping for a living. Granted, there are many other jobs I would willingly do, but I can’t seem to get hired for any of them. I feel like a failure at this juncture in my life.

To compound this problem is the fact that as a stripper, I have a lot of trouble meeting men that I want to date. The good ones are hard enough to find. Add in that I dance for a living, and it’s even harder to find someone. Most men can’t deal with the jealousy issues that come up in a relationship like that. Which is completely understandable. But it seems like all of my friends are in a relationship, married and/or starting families. I don’t want to start a family or get married, but a relationship would be nice. And the one person I really really like, doesn’t want to have anything to do with me but ocassionally fuck me. The sex is amazing, but I want to be something more to someone than just a fuck buddy.

I’m sorry this is all complainy, but I really needed to get this off my chest. I don’t know how to meet new people, and it has made me feel very isolated. The onle place I can think of is bars, and a bar is no place to meet anyone. Anyhow. Bah humbug.

This is Ridiculous.

Today, the city of Seattle practically shut down for a snowstorm.

That’s fine. Even Omaha had kinks to work out on the first day after a heavy snow. We’ve gotten about 5 inches in our neighborhood today. The thing I find so ridiculous is how unprepared everyone seems to be. I and one other person ON MY BLOCK were or have shoveled today.

Two people in an entire neighborhood have shoveled. It’s been snowing since 4 am. It is now 4 pm. So, in 12 hours of snowing, me and one other person have shoveled. And I was the only one that also shoveled her sidewalk. The other guy dumped his shovel scoops onto his sidewalk.

Where are people supposed to walk? It made me feel pretty good. I had some neighbors walk by, and thanked me for shoveling my sidewalk. I just don’t get it. In Omaha, everyone in the neighborhood (with the exception of that one neighbor) would have made some sort of effort within the timespan of 12 hours.

I tried driving once today, and managed to find my way back into my driveway. But it sucked because the roads were wet up until it started snowing in middle of the night. Which made them really slippery today. So anyhow.

/rant.

While I was shoveling, I found something that I didn’t see once in five winters in Nebraska:

I found moss. In our driveway. Ha!

I also found rosemary:

Bagels

I made bagels today. :-p

Making the holes...

Resting

Boiling

Seasoned, ready to bake

Fresh from the oven

Up close

Perfect, chewy, delicious.

Etsy Shop is Up!!

Woohoo!!!! My esty shop is finally up and running. Stop by, take a look, let me know what you think. :)

Ewe Silly Girl

Thanks for looking. :)

14-Bean and Ham Hock Soup

The finished product

14-Bean and Ham Hock Soup

Ingredients:

2 cups Bob’s Red Mill 13-Bean soup beans

2 cups Anasazi Beans

3 ham hocks

2 bay leaves

6 carrots, peeled and chopped

5 stalks celery, chopped

1 onion, chopped

2 cloves garlic, crushed

2 tsp Savory

1/2 tsp thyme

10 whole cloves

1 tsp marjoram

Directions:

Put beans in a pot with enough water to cover them, add 1 bay leaf. Bring to a brisk boil over high heat. Turn heat down to medium and let beans simmer 20 minutes. In the mean time, chop the vegetables and set aside. After the beans have simmered 20 minutes, remove from heat, pour into a colander, and rinse with warm water. Put beans back in pot, add chopped vegetables, second bay leaf and spices. Put ham hocks in on top, cover contents of pot with water, bring to a boil, and turn back down to a simmer. Let simmer, adding more water as necessary for about 8 hours, or until beans are soft. When beans are soft, remove from heat. Carefully using a slotted spoon, remove ham hocks (including skin and bone) from soup and either discard or freeze for use in stock later). Ladle soup into bowls, enjoy with fresh hot rolls.

Makes 8 large servings, or 16 small servings.

Dry Beans

About to simmer inthe crockpot

I’ve Been Robbed!

A few weeks ago, I went out to my car to leave for work, and it seemed, uh, off. Things were scattered about. Someone had gone through my center console and my glove box. Nothing was missing, I thought. The car was locked, and I had left it locked. I figured my parents had gone through it looking for registration papers or something. The glove box was completely empty. I put everything back, and went on my day.

Well, today my stepmom asks me to run out to the car and get the registration for them so they can transfer the car over to my name.

I say “It’s not there.”

Her: “What do you mean it’s not there?”

Me: “A couple of weeks ago I went out to my car and it had been gone through. There is no registration in there. I thought you and Steve had it.”

Her: “?”

Me: “Seriously. I thought you and Steve had it because the car was locked. The only way someone could have gotten in there was with a key. So I just assumed it was you or him, and didn’t say anything.”

Her: “So you’ve been driving without your registration this whole time?”

Me: “I guess so….”

So apparently, someone broke into my car, stole my registration, and left everything else behind, and re-locked the car when they were done. What on earth would someone want with my registration? I actually have an idea of who it was, and if I’m right, I’m really scared.

First Ride into Seattle

Date: December 1

Mileage: 20

December Mileage: 20

Year to Date Mileage: 482.8

My first bike ride into Seattle was, uh, interesting. I’ve never ridden in a large city before. Heck, I never even rode my bike in downtown Omaha. This was (and still is) all new territory for me.

Two weeks ago I rode my bike for the first time in Washington. On my way home, in the rain, in the total darkness that can only be the country late at night, I rode over a speck of glass. This speck proceeded to puncture my rear inner tube. I’ve never changed a flat before, but I managed. Unfortunately, managed just fixes the flat, it doesn’t do a good job of it. This came to be a problem about a week later.

Monday morning began with what can only be called fail. I woke with a start at 9:50 thinking my job interview was at 10. I double checked and realized it wasn’t actually until 1. I had a huge bowl of oatmeal with butter and brown sugar and began my day. I decided I would ride my bike to my interview instead of drive, that way I could save some money that would otherwise be spent on parking.  Well, I didn’t plan much beyond writing down the directions, wearing warm clothes (and packing a change for my interview) and I remembered both of my locks. The time came to leave, and I left. 3 miles later I threw my chain for the first tie. It turns out that when I changed my flat, I didn’t tighten down the nuts enough. So the tension from the chain pulled my rear whell forward just enough to cause problems. Iknew exactly what was wrong, but I didnt have the tools to fix it. So I would ride 2 miles, stop, put my chain back on the cog, ride two miles….

I finally made it to my interview. I got Vinny locked up and headed in. To my utter amazement, she was still there when I came back out an hour and a half later.

Then I rode up to REI to get my fender put back on and tighten my rear wheel back up. By the time I left, I was getting really hungry and it was drizzling outside. I figured I could make it back home before I got too hungry and the drizzle turned into a downpour.

I was wrong.

By mile 16 or 17, it was pouring. Hy hands were pruny and numb. My feet were so cold pedaling hurt. And boy was I hungry. I couldn’t stop thinking about food. In my mind, every downward stroke of the pedal wasn’t getting me closer to food, it was making me hungrier. The thoughts of carb rich foods were making me drool. Thanks to the rain dripping down my face the passing drivers couldn’t see the drool.

I finally got to within a mile of home when I passed a QFC. It was all over. I stopped. I dragged my soggy bike in the store with me. I bought noodles, marinara sauce, three candy bars, chocolate milk, whole milk, and a dozen eggs. Sure, I got some strange looks, but I didn’t care. I had hit pay dirt. I ate that first candy bar in three bites. (I’m not proud of this, but it was the tastiest thing I’ve eaten all year.)

The rest of the ride home was uneventful. I knew (once I had something in my stomach) that it was only a matter of minutes before I could dry off and put hot food in my belly.

The rest of the night is pretty much a carb induced haze of bliss.

Happy riding!