Monday, July 30, 2012

New Beginnings, Now with Old Stuff!

Hey guess what??

Remember a while back I wrote a post about how, when I was 20, I had more attitude than brains and I tried to be a firefighter? Then I grew up and got "smart" and figured out stuff and junk and decided I would try to stick with what I'm good at and do things for the right reasons? Unless I got side-tracked by astronaut school?

Well, I signed up for astronaut school. Only it's not exactly for astronauts. And it's not even school. We bought a junk store.

I am not even kidding.

A for real honest to goodness junk store. The kind of place that has everything from vinyl records and cookie jars to books and coffee makers. There's so much stuff in there I keep expecting to hear the theme song to Sanford & Son every time I walk in the door.



I am excited and slightly nauseous about being the owner of so much stuff. But mostly excited.

You know the term fixer-upper right? It's like that to the power of infinity times three.

But there are so many possibilities and it's a real part of the community. *And* all my dishes and glasses came from there and if it closed where would I buy my next mini-bundt pan that I could ruin?





So it looks like you won't have to hear (very often) about Safeway being out of chicken.

Although, today they were out of cucumbers.


Sunday, July 22, 2012

Cabbage, Criminals, and Cracker Jacks

As you know, the Tumbleweeds are off the road and home in their cozy (read:blazing hot) little Wyoming town and while I figure out the future of my life and this blog and also write really long run-on sentences, I thought I would share with you the latest Safeway outage:

Shredded cabbage.

Yes, this week they had all the chicken I would never need, but exotic shredded cabbage was nowhere to be seen.

Whole cabbage is cheaper, but I hate shredding it myself and it never comes out as thin and ribbony as the pre-shredded kind and my award winning fantastic vinegar-y cole slaw suffered as a result.

***

In other news, Himself and I are criminals. We didn't mean to be and it was a long time ago; I'm hoping the statute of limitations will keep us out of jail.


Kinder Egg contraband


On a trip to Germany several years ago, we smuggled brought back some Kinder Eggs to share with the neighbor kids, because we are the cool childless adults in the 'hood. Well, apparently it is illegal to bring these toy filled chocolate eggs onto American soil and we didn't just bring them in we distributed them. To minors. I feel so dirty.

I'm sorry America. I didn't mean to break your laws. I'm a rule following, tax paying patriot who believes in the American way--Mom and apple pie, (but not baseball because that is the most boring game in the world).

And Cracker Jacks. Where the cheap toys are mixed among sticky popcorn goodness, not tucked away in a plastic shell surrounded by fascist chocolate just waiting to choke some poor American child.


This is my
 George Washington-crossing-the Delaware-face
not a duckface.
Because patriots don't do duckface.








Friday, July 20, 2012

You Can Do Anything! And Other Lies...

Guess what happens when you take a 20 year old girl-woman with feminist ideals, self-loathing, and a whole lot of I-can-do-anything-attitude?

Find out at Studio 30 Plus today, where I am the featured writer. Featured writer! Doesn't that sound all fancy and important??

Go here. Do it.

A social media site for writers over thirty, Studio 30 Plus is where all the cool geezers kids hang out. Except they let me in, so maybe they aren't that cool anymore. Don't mention it to them though, maybe they won't notice.

Read it (please?) and tell me what you think. It's personal and kind of exposing (but not in a trench-coat-flasher kind of way), but since the Tumbleweed times are a changin' and the future is all bright and scary, it seemed appropriate.






Wednesday, July 18, 2012

Home is where the Heart is....for Good.

Well, it's official, we're no longer vagabonds. We are home and in the truck no more.

Jas doing an upside down
Snagglepuss of happiness.


The truck is a small space right? An upper and lower bunk, about 4 square feet of floor space, and the driver and passenger seats. So how in the Heckle and Jeckle is there so much stuff to take out?


No more peeing over kitty litter!


Jas was a big help during the
mass exodus of stuff.
Not.



Mr. Big emptied of stuff.

It took over three hours to get it all out, and that's not counting the tools. After five years of living in the truck, every nook and cranny had something in it and I swear the stuff was multiplying as I removed it.

Also, there were 4 weeks of dirty laundry, plus the bedding. I may have blown up our washing machine.

***

No more truck stop food.
No more walking across pee soaked parking lots.
No more trying to add and subtract numbers while bouncy up and down in the passenger seat.
No more heart-attack inducing traffic.
No more yelling over loud truck noise.
No more sleeping in separate beds like Lucy and Ricky.
No more breathing air in a small space with a farty dog.
No more weirdos hiding in the bushes with red-nosed pigs.
No more New Jersey.

***

I just noticed that today is Confessions of a Tumbleweed's second anniversary. My first post was July 18, 2010. Wow, it's like I have ESPN or something, to have accidentally picked such an auspicious day to share this post.

Know what else I just realized? The abbreviation for Confessions of a Tumbleweed is COAT. This blog could be like a covert ops for the CIA or FBI or at least the Men in Black.

***

I hope you'll stay tuned, because there's more to come. I still have stories to tell. And that's a good thing, because Safeway had chicken *and* ice cream this week.



Saturday, July 14, 2012

Westbound and Down

Hey! Guess what??

The Tumbleweeds are going home!

Finally.

For good. The trucking life is coming to an end.

What will happen?
What will we do?
Will Safeway have chicken*?

I don't know. But I am super excited to find out. And also to have my own bathroom again. Whoopee!


Jas hiding under a bush during a rainstorm
in Georgia. At least *one* of us
was dry.




* It's a recurring threat theme here, that once we get home I won't have anything to blog about besides the fact that the local Safeway is out of chicken. It happens a lot. But on the bright side, they are also out of milk quite frequently so at least there will be some diversity.

Wednesday, July 11, 2012

Taking a Road Trip? Try Mars!

Ever wonder what it's like to be a trucker during the summer, when the entire planet is on vacation?

No?

Oh. Well then don't go here to the Douglas Budget and read my column this week. 

Why don't you just kick sand in my face while you're at it??

If you do go there to read my column (do it) do not be alarmed at the title; I am not a child molester. 

They don't use the titles I give them, in this case Holiday Road--the song from National Lampoon's Vacation. Did you know it was written and sung by Lindsey Buckingham, from Fleetwood Mac?

Anyway, you can go see for yourself what they called it, I just can't bring myself to type it.

Here is a gratuitous moose for your viewing pleasure:


Black River Falls, WI




Tuesday, July 10, 2012

More Hooker Stories!

In my last post I talked about lot lizards (trucker lingo for hookers), which got me thinking of the times we have been approached by them. But first let me tell that I much prefer the term hooker because:

A: Lot Lizard sounds more derogatory to me. The women who offer themselves for money aren't bored housewives doing it for fun or have Pretty Woman happy endings where Richard Gere climbs up the fire escape after George Costanza weirdly rubs their arm. Their lives are hard enough.

and

B: I like to say hooker in a Scottish accent, heavy emphasis on the O's. Hoooooker. (think, Whooo-ker) Try it, it's fun.





For us Tumbleweeds, the hooker experience can put put into 4 categories:

The Midnight Knocker:
The most common type are the ones who knock on every door until they get a customer. These gals work late at night and they don't waste time with more than a few quick knocks. The curtains are closed, we are asleep, the knocks come once. We wake up, ignore it, they move on, we go back to sleep. This has happened to us maybe 5 times.

The Cryer:
By far, the worst kind. This one will break your heart and make you feel like a heartless Grinch times infinity if you don't give her every dollar you have and then sign over a blank check and offer to baby-sit her children who she says are waiting for her in the car at that very moment. This only happened once and we gave her all our money. Ten minutes later we got the next type:



The Negotiator:
She is quick thinking and able to go from coquettish to all business as the situation demands. Also, she is very specific.

Hooker: "Hey Baby! Why you look so sad? You wanna date?"

(She said this to Himself as he was sitting in the driver's seat. She couldn't see me because and I was in the back making sandwiches. I hate making sandwiches.)

Me: (from the back) "No thanks, we already gave!"

Hooker: "Oh. You got $1.73?"

Himself: "We just gave all our cash to someone else."

Hooker: "Was it a white girl? Good, she's with me."

***






The Finishing School Hooker:
One time, we were visited by the nicest, well-mannered, and chipper of hookers. First there was the friendly knock to the tune of the Shave and a Haircut song; knock-knock-na-knock-knock.

Followed by this conversation:

Hooker: "Good evening. Would you like to have sex?"

Himself: "No, thanks."

Hooker: "Ok, thank you. Have a nice day."

She was very clean looking too. If only the rest of the world were as polite, it would be a better place. Also, if women didn't have to sell their bodies, that would be good too.

***