Does this blog make my butt look big?

I'm sooooo excited! I just got an email from Daphne G. at a site called Lookville.com. Daphne just had to tell me she was 'super impressed' by my blog's design and content. Oh, really, Daphne?

Tell me, tell me, tell me, cause I'm just dyyyying to know... what is it about the 'design' that superimpressed you? The boilerplate template, or the sheep? Ha, it's the sheep! (It's always the sheep.) And the content that you found so scintillating...I'll bet anything that it was my post that explored the topic of cesspools vs. septic tanks. That grabs readers like no body's business.

Let me back up and explain about Lookville.com...

You see, in my world nothing makes less sense than getting a spam invitation to join a fashion review site like Lookville.com. If, like me, you've never heard of Lookville, it's a site where people can post pix of an outfit or accessory they've put together or are considering and get reviews from readers, followers and random fashionistas. Subscribers either model the outfit themselves or post manufacturer's advertising photos.

I have two issues with getting hit with this...the first is that NOTHING could be more irrelevant for my world. Not one of the reviews touched on irrigation boots, Sorels, hats with ear flaps, really sturdy work gloves, or the fashion style my husband likes to refer to as 'Paonia-chic' which essentially means yoga pants under a frilly skirt, accessorized by homemade jewelry and knit hats. Cover the whole mess with an over-sized hand-knit woolly sweater, something handwoven, or if all else fails, a good barn coat, and you're good to go. That outfit will get you anywhere you want to go in the North Fork Valley. (Any of the bars, pizza places, the Paradise theatre or City Market)

You just don't see peep toe patent leather electric blue booties with five inch heels around here, and if you did, it would be kind of a freakshow, because it wouldn't be more than 3 minutes before the wearer of said booties would end up ass-over-teakettle in the gravel, or worse yet, in a snowbank. Plus, the elements would totally trash any really good shoes.

The second problem I've got with this is the site itself. It's really kind of a bitch-fest. Imagine gathering up all the people you know who obsess over all things superficial (as a reference, I'm going back to my brief career in cosmetics) and give them a vehicle for being nothing but judgmental. It's one thing to carefully select an outfit...it's another to have new shoes be your sole (get it?) reason for living. Now factor in the element that Internet communications have the credibility of stuff written on a bathroom wall, (Yes, this blog is included) and you have a whole bunch of people making judgements about stuff that at the end of the day, does not have the power to change the world. (OMG we were going to declare war on that village but chose not to because of how cool they looked...that, and we did not want their substandard goats.)

Hey...if you want an opinion on statement bags, over-the-knee-boots, or floral platform pumps, try making up your own mind.

What I really find amazing is the level of insecurity out there.

Here's a new idea for fashion. Put it on. See how it feels. If you don't feel like you're going to fall over, or vomit, then go ahead and look in the mirror. If you're a city dweller or business person, can you dash for a cab? Move and bend in the middle? If you still don't feel nauseated, then ask yourself, do I like it? Do I like it? If so, go for it. Wear it in good health. Please yourself.

Why in the world do people care so much for the opinions of folks they don't even know, respect or worse yet; know are trying to sell them stuff? Why do we let the opinions of others define us? If you really need some feedback on that leopard print dress, ask someone you trust, who cares enough to be honest. Try asking someone whose style is real, wearable, and doesn't live in an airbrushed world of one-dimension.

Oh, and another thing...if you guys at Lookville were really on it, you wouldn't be spamming like a lottery scam from Nigeria.

The voices in my head won't stop talking about me...

Things have not been going smoothly in our household as of late, for a variety of different reasons, but isolation, unpredictable weather and a lack of appreciation for contemporary culture are all contributing factors.
If you were to ask my husband his opinion on the cause of the difficulties, he'd ponder for about a tenth of a second, then offer as an explanation that he's married to a crazy woman. I can't really dispute the fact that I've kind of cornered the market on unpleasantness recently...and am beginning to understand both the terms 'cabin fever' and the reason why while traveling west, pioneer women sometimes went whack-ding and took out their entire families with any weapon they could get their wind-chapped hands on.
Over the past few weeks I've seriously considered whether or not a Bundt pan could be used as a lethal weapon. Rural translation...stay out of my way, or you'll be wearing that bake-sale donation. Oh yeah, and stop judging.
Wait, this isn't coming out right. I still love the small town life...but seeing the same few blocks of 'downtown', with the same characters permanently parked there...YIKES! The thought that everyone in town knows your business, but can't recognize the guest host on SNL can really get on a girl's nerves after a while, especially when that girl and her guy are busy yelling at each other. Even if there is no malice involved on the part of the townsfolk, it still makes me yearn for the days when I could be both anonymous and connected at the same time. Back in California, if I referred to my beloved as an asshat under my breath, there was no one who would report it back to him. And...people there knew what an asshat was.
I'm almost done with my mad-on over this; because just when it gets to the point when I think I'm going to lose it and start screaming obscenities at livestock, or the next person who wants to know how I am so they can use the information like a Kroger coupon ( SERIOUSLY, THERE ARE NO SECRETS HERE!) the community comes together and does something really wonderful, and just like in a working marriage...all is forgiven.
Over the past couple of weeks, while I've been hiding out; finding solace in Classic Coke (go for the kind in glass bottles, it must be 'Hecho in Mexico', because it's made with cane sugar and tastes just like it did when we were kids) and Cheezy Puffs (FYI: wash your hands after you eat these...the J, K, and P keys on my laptop are permanently dyed orange from cheezy puff powder. Not pretty) the good folks of the North Fork Valley (yeah, the same ones I've been bitching about) have raised a bunch of money for scholarships, as well as put on a party and provided an abundance of Christmas gifts for children who would otherwise have no holiday at all.
Again, I come face to face with another example of the good, the bad, and the ugly... only this time a big chunk of the ugly has been of my own creation.
The next time cabin fever rears it's nasty head, a little imagination and effort channelled into a road trip and some exposure to city life should fix it. I'll be 100% over it, and back in small-town appreciation mode again. Except from now on, when someone wants to know my business...I'll just make shit up.

Meet your Meat...

OK...I'm a hypocrite. I'll be the first to admit it. A semi-recovering-half-assed- vegetarian-WHO DOES NOT WANT TO MAKE EYE CONTACT WITH MY FOOD! That's a reality of living in a rural farm community I'll never get used to, and have a bad case of 'not fitting in'. Seriously, this is a group I don't want to fit in with. I don't want to 'celebrate' the slaughter, I don't want to stand knee-deep in blood, and I certainly don't want to go to farm classes where you can learn how to kill a sheep or goat or pig or whatever. I know it's hypocritical. I know its shallow, and unrealistic. I don't care. I'm careful about the meat I consume- I just don't want to have a hand in killing it. There are all kinds of things around town to participate in,
This is the kind of thing I get emails about regularly; for example...

High Wire Ranch, 27497 Buffalo Rd., Hotchkiss, CO: Buffalo and Elk sausage / meat tasting - Farm Tours - Meet the animals!
Droste Chocolates from Eckert, CO
Wine Tasting by S. Rhodes Vineyards

Meat tasting, and Meet the animals. NO THANK YOU!
I do however, have a HUGE interest in the chocolate. It rocks. They have chocolates that rival See's, and some are dusted in gold. I get the chills just thinking about them. But...I digress.

I don't think it's all that 'healthy' to build a relationship with something you're going to kill and eat. Otherwise, it would be perfectly OK to knock off Fluffy and Fido- and it isn't. If it were, sit-coms and movies wouldn't constantly be playing up the trauma involved...so I would simply like to not be told I'm strange because the whole 'joy of the kill' thing gives me the ick.

I'm not about to go out and join PETA...they have a special talent in pissing people off, but for the life of me I don't know how you can bond with an animal, name it, care for it, and not get emotionally attached- and if you do get emotionally attached and kill it anyway, that seems even scarier.

I used to really hate the idea of hunting, but compared to taking out a cow or pig or sheep you've nurtured since infancy, it's starting to not sound so bad.

I've lost my wonderment with the earth-cookie folks around here who want to dance around and celebrate the kill.
Some of them really creep me out. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if they didn't dress so weird, and give me the stink-eye when I run into them in the City Market and they notice that I have a box of Kraft Mac & Cheese in the grocery cart. For the record, I always try and hide the blue box under something organic. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. Anyway...judgement goes both ways-and if I'm going to be judged about eating plastic mac & cheese, then I get to say what I think about getting friendly with your dinner before you lop its head off. It's whack.


I think there would be a whole lot more vegetarians out there if everyone had to kill their own food, because there are lots of hypocrites like me, and if people are honest, really honest, the killing part is very distasteful. Tell the truth- when you witnessed Sarah Palin gleefully beating the crap out of the halibut on her reality show, didn't you really want to slap her silly? I just saw a 30-second promo, and I wanted to knock her smug-shrill-half-gov-quitting ass right into the water, because she seemed to take such gusto in bashing the fish. Sick. She makes us feel for the fish. How about last year, when she was caught being totally oblivious to a turkey being slaughtered behind her, as she gave a PR speech for the camera. That got all kinds of attention...Why? Because it repulsed normal folk. That's all I'm saying...it's perfectly normal, and OK to be repulsed by the act of killing, blood, guts, etc. Even if it's just livestock.

The house my mother bought has a slaughterhouse behind the back fence. She didn't know it at the time she bought it, and one of the differences between California and Colorado is... um....zoning. Oh, yeah, and they way they deal with disclosure. She genuinely believed the big metal building was a game processing plant, until she was all moved in and the deliveries of cows, sheep, pigs and goats started at all hours- about two feet beyond her back fence. The activities that go on within earshot have made her totally revert back to her old vegetarian ways. Perhaps it runs in the family.

So I guess you could chalk this up as one of my 'uglies' for living in rural Colorado. Not so fast. The quality of the meat is way better than anything I could get easily in CA...even if it comes with a price. I think I"ll go make a nice salad.