Tracey to Brain...Come In, Brain...

Ever had one of those days? You know, the kind where your brain just runs off and leaves you stranded? Well, I'm having one of those mid-lifes. It's called Menopause. I know we've talked about it before; about how my brain is on pause and all. But golly, I wish my brain would check with me before it took off.

It wouldn't be so bad if I could find it when I needed it. The dog runs off sometimes as well, but I can pretty much be assured that I will find her across the creek at the neighbors where she likes to help with the landscaping.

My brain has been missing for a few days now, so this morning I waded across the creek to see if it'd gone with the dog and accidentally gotten buried during a gardening incident. I thought perhaps it would hear me calling and start thumping from beneath a fresh patch of dirt. I figured a dirty brain was better than no brain at all. Alas, no such luck.

Brain not found with dog across creek.

I'm thinking about putting an ad in the paper. "Lost, one brain, slightly damaged." I'm not sure about offering a reward; what do you think? I may get someone trying to pass someone else's runaway brain off on me in hopes of getting the reward money. And I wouldn't want that; the other brain may be worse than mine! Then again, probably not. Perhaps I'd get an upgrade?

In any case, here are the repercussions of a runaway brain these past few days:

First, there's the issue of my surprise contest with the naming of the lamb. Becky, congratulations! You had an adorable name, and I forgot all about it. I'll need to get in touch with you so I can send you your prize.

Mamma Loves Ewe!

Second, I forgot to post who won the Booger Blog Award yesterday. Oh, The Joys... Congratulations! Dorky Dad and Diesel did their best, but obviously they weren't able to buy~er, encourage~enough votes to pull out ahead of you.

Third...this morning I got an email from Margery. She had three ewes up here last fall to be bred; perhaps you recall my bringing one of the boys back down to her place a couple months ago? Anyway, she emailed to let me know that her ewe, Lady, lambed yesterday! Twin ewe lambs (why did she get ewes while I got the rams, I'd like to know?), one black and one white.

Needless to say, I was excited and wanted to get down and take pictures of them. I changed my clothes (make that into my clothes) and headed towards the freeway. About halfway there, I realized the truck felt rather empty. Darling wasn't with me, but it was more than that, it was...EEEK! My camera wasn't with me! So back to the house I went.

Fourth...on my way home from the lambs I decided to pick up a few groceries. Filled up my cart (I forgot about the few part) and went to the check out line where I realized I'd forgotten to bring any form of money along with me. No debit or credit or cash or checkbook on me, in my truck, tucked inside my shoe... So I had to drive home and get some money and then go back to pay.

If you happen to spot my brain wandering around, will you let it know I miss it? Defects and all...I'd like to have it back again. Maybe then I'd remember to get up in the morning. Thanks!

Now, just because I'm sure you haven't wasted enough of your day here with me, I'm going to leave you with this totally hysterical link. But you'd best have sound on your computer, as without it the clip makes no sense. And if you've got bladder control issues? You may want to grab a fresh pair of Depends (you've been warned!) http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z4Y4keqTV6w

As promised, a surprise contest for today!

But first, check out the nominees for the 'coveted' Booger Blog Award! Either click, or scroll down to below the duckies and my whining about not getting breakfast. Clicking may be quicker.

Now...guess what happened out at Brigget's house last night? Lambs!

Brigget's ewe, Sunday, delivered healthy twins, a ewe and a ram. Both are black, and the ram lamb already has little horn buds! A bit too dark to get a good picture of them, but rest assured that by next week I'll have some good shots for you. You won't believe how quickly the horns on an icelandic ram can grow! The photo above is of Brigget and the little ewe lamb. Go ahead, everybody say "Aaaaahhhhh"! (Of course, they're not as cute as my lambs, right? But pretty darned close.)

Caption Contest!

Sunday is such a good mamma! This is her first time lambing, and twins were not expected as she was pretty tiny around the tummy, unlike the older, wiser girls pictured below.

Here are, from left to right, Fiola, Hulda, Cinnamon and Brekka. Can you believe how wide Brekka is? Last year she lost her twins and was so unhappy. Hopefully she'll have a successful delivery this year. Brigget is hoping all that weight is from the babies and not the taxes Brekka has been collecting.

Did you notice that Hulda has horns? Both ewes and rams can grow horns in the icelandic breed.

Meanwhile, back on the farm... The Baron and Orhen are a full week old today. Taffy has relaxed and they trot about without her becoming terribly anxious. Today they were practicing being rams. Head down, rock your weight back over your hindquarters and...

Charge!

Boys will be boys, eh?

Now, you've got two things to do. Vote for your favorite Booger Blog, and give me a caption!

And the Nominees are...

As promised, I've spent the past few of weeks roaming about, reading a few blogs that have been submitted by you or stumbled upon by myself, trying to come up with a short list of three for this months Booger Blog Award.

Your job, as responsible readers, is to go check out the blogs in question, then come back and vote for the blog most likely to cause you to snort out some boogers.

Congratulations to Oh, The Joys on winning the Booger Blog Award!

Do you know a great candidate for the booger blog? That would be a blog funny enough to make you snort boogers while reading it... If so, just let me know!

I just got these cool posters in the mail from my friend Ramona at the BLM in Oregon. Darling and I are doing a demo on adopting a wild horse at Super Saturday in a couple of weeks and these posters are to hand out. Cool, eh? (Did you know I spoke a second language? Yep, American and Canadian, eh!)

"City Boy...can we get ducklings?"

The answer was no. No ducklings. No more animals, he said. Hmph. It's not like we've got that many. Two cats. Three dogs. Seven chickens. Two horses. Six sheep. That's not too many.

Perhaps I shouldn't list how many of each we've got...that way if I decide to get a few more chickens, he won't notice...right?

I came across a blog tonight that talked about Guinea Hens. Have you ever owned a guinea? It's a pleasure everyone ought enjoy at some point. We had them years ago, back when City Boy, the little Geek Boy and I were still living in town. Town was not the best place to keep barnyard foul, so before long they were living at Hovander Park. I'd tell you the story, but I think instead you ought to read the blog post I came across. I'm thinking it's booger worthy...see what you think.

Did anyone watch the Oscars last night? I didn't watch much...did manage to catch Tom Cruise. I'm not a Cruise fan; thought it funny that he received such applause. Perhaps they were afraid he'd jump up and down on their chairs if not encouraged to stay up on stage? And talk about a politically correct Oscar night...well, I'd rather not.

Moving right along...



Six, Seven, Eight...



It's a lot easier to get ten sit ups done when you begin with number six. I'm beginning to lose hope in ever getting my inspiration jeans on. I've completely ignored them hanging in my bathroom. My middle is just as round as it's been since eating turkey at Thanksgiving...and Christmas...and all that candy last Halloween... It doesn't help that City Boy is home so much these days. Do you know that man only works 14 days a month? Yet another reason the empire he works for can be considered evil. Not that I mind having him home, but he either takes me out to dinner of feeds me huge, delicious meals here. I know...I should complain of such a thing! But my jeans don't fit, dad gum it! They just don't fit. And I hate to think I wasted that 99 cents at the thrift store! I guess I can't complain too loudly...he didn't buy me chocolate for Valentine's Day. (Please picture that little eye rolling emoticon here.)



I need an Oreo cookie...hang on, I'll be right back.



I wish we'd gotten the double stuff ones. Not that I'm eating them, of course...

Are you getting excited to learn about the contest? Want a little clue as to when it is? Tough. Not today. Just keep coming back, and coming back...and pretty soon you'll find it. The theme? Coming Clean...

Okay, then...just a peek at the prize basket! But don't tell anyone else I let you look!

Finally, the perfect Blogging Award! Or...

Why Slick Had me Awake at 3:00 am...

A picture of Darling's smile.

Whenever I come to my blog and see your comments, it makes me smile. I often then go visit your blog (if you've got one), and read what you've got to say. Sometimes I leave comments, and I'm always interested in reading other people's comments as well. And if I see someone commenting on your blog whom I've yet to meet, well, I tend to click their name and follow the link to their blog. It's a fun, distracting way to pass the afternoon, evening, early morning when perhaps I ought to be doing something else (cleaning toilets? Never! Sleeping? Well, that's a novel idea...)

Skipping through blogland in this fashion is how I came across Slick's blog. If you read the comments left by others here yesterday, you'd have seen that Slick was among you, confessing to thinking the piglets were cute. He also requested that I not let word of that get around, but since he left the comment here, I don't see any harm in repeating it here (I promise, Slick, I won't come over to your blog and leave feedback concerning your affection for little pink piggies...really, I won't. I promise!)

Now, if you click Slick's link, I feel I must warn you in advance that Slick's blog is not for everyone. I only say that because the first post I read there was Slick telling off some woman who'd written to complain about his language. I find this interesting, myself, that people will read your blog and then send you mail to either complain or let you know they're praying for your soul. In fact, I'm a bit jealous. No one ever writes to me complaining (okay, that part I'm not jealous about) or to let me know they're praying for me. What, am I not worthy of your prayers? Are you not concerned with my soul? Humph...I'm a sinner, too, y'know...

But I digress. I didn't spend a whole lot of time in Slick's little world; I didn't watch the video of him talking to his daughter (after reading his tirade directed to the woman complaining about his language, I thought I'd rather skip that little treasure of a video.) I did, however, skip down to the post he'd left the following day where he explains exactly what a redneck gentleman he is. And he made me laugh, out loud. And as I told him, I rarely laugh out loud at people's blogs. Chuckle, giggle, yes. LOL? Well, let's just say I'm prone to typing it more than actually doing it. And I think we all know why that is. To truly LOL for me means there may be boogers on my screen.

But again...I digress. But not really, for Slick was also complaining about not receiving any blogger awards. And I thought...yeah...I didn't get a blogger award, either! Never mind that I've only been blogging for a few weeks. But Slick, well, I'm not sure how long he's been blogging, but he did make me laugh. Out loud, even. And this surely is worthy of an award.

For some strange reason, these were the thoughts running through my head at 3 am this morning. I'm sure Slick is getting a good laugh knowing that he had me awake and unable to sleep at 3 am. Something tells me not many women would admit this publicly. Go ahead, Slick, you redneck southern gentleman, give it a good guffaw. Go ahead, get it out. Now let me tell you exactly why I was thinking about you...

It occurred to me that perhaps I ought to create my own blog awards. Something special to give to those people who really get a good snot...er...snort out of me. I'll call them the Booger Blog Awards! There was a second option, of course, as when you get to be my age, and if you've got a full bladder, you run the risk of laughing so hard you pee your pants. But somehow I didn't think the Wet Undies Award would be a good one...people may get the wrong idea!

But back to boogers: Of course, I won't be sending the winners a real live booger, that would just be gross. No, I'll need to come up with some sort of cyber booger to send to people when they make me snort snot all over my keyboard. I'll have my graphic artist come up with something. Of course, I've no clue how to write html...maybe someone out there does? That way my booger can actually have a link, like other blog awards do. I think that would be neato.

But back to Slick. Dahling...since you made me laugh out loud, and since you're whining about not getting a blog award, I'd like to offer you the first ever Booger Blog Award! When the little Booger Blog Button is created, I'll send it to you to proudly post on your blog site, K? And now you know why you had me awake at 3:00 am.

Now that I've got all that off my mind, I'm headed back to bed...

The Dating Diaries…

Well, at the urging (aka nagging, whining, blackmailing…) of some of my faithful readers (who, for the moment, shall remain nameless until I get a little dirt on them), I shall tell the story of the Booger Date. I did not want to do it, but it would appear I have little choice in the matter…however, when the dirt is dug up you can be certain that those nameless (for now) readers shall be exposed (that’s not a threat, dearies…it’s a promise!)

So….

Decades ago my mother had a friend who lived just up the road. My sister and I knew there would be no ride home from the bus on sunny days; we’d be walking the half mile up hill while our mother and her crazy friend were out having a blast on their horses. Why would I call the woman crazy? Well, for Christmas one year she gave us a jar of dead goldfish that she’d fished out of our pond. Another year we got a box of road apples…aka, horse poop. Crazy.

This crazy neighbor’s father was one of 12 children. She was the oldest of a whole passel full of cousins. One afternoon my mom, sister and I came home from shopping to find a note on our front door; “Hi, I came over with my 19 year old cousin and his black Porche convertible. Will come back later tonight!” My dad came in from working in his shop to read the note and smiled. “And for who’s benefit do you think she left this note?” he said with a smile and wink in my direction. I’m certain I perfected my eye rolling ability as a teen.

Later that night, true to her word, my mom’s crazy best friend showed up at the door with her bearded cousin and his fancy automobile. I guess she thought it would turn my head. I think he thought it would turn my head. But could it pull a horse trailer? No. In fact, I rather made the off-handed comment that it looked like an elephant had sat on it. I’m not so sure he was impressed with me at that point.

The Porche driving cousin was visiting from California for a week. In that time he borrowed his older cousin’s horse and we went out trail riding a couple of afternoons. And then the inevitable happened…he asked me out on a date. Well, one date wouldn’t hurt, right? I mean, he’d be leaving the next day and I’d never see him again…

As I said, this was decades ago. I was a senior in high school. And what do high school students do on Friday evenings in September? They go to football games. I’m not certain that’s where the cousin had in mind, but that’s where we went. Now, I must admit to the fact that I was not part of the popular crowd at school. No, not even close. And yet somehow we ended up sitting right in front of them. The air was a bit chilly, and I’d been getting over a cold. My nose was beginning to run a bit, and I kept sniffing…trying to keep it from being noticeable.

I don’t recall what was said. Does it really matter? My nose was running. Someone said something funny. I snorted. Snot flew out. Everywhere. People in front of me thought it was raining; I can only imagine the disgust from the popular crowd behind me. I was sure I’d completely grossed out my date. But hey, after tomorrow I’d never see the guy again, right???

Oh, if I’d only known…

And somebody...if you've got a more embarrassing first date story, I'd love to hear it!