Horses and stuff

It doesn’t matter how long I have volunteered and worked at the stable, and I am continually amazed by my coworkers, and this time I’m not talking about the human ones.  They all come to us from different places.  Some are former show horses, some are trail horses, and one even used to be a cop.  He worked for IPD, he has a badge number and everything.  We have a mustang, complete with a stamp on her neck from the Bureau of Land Management.  We have a former Amish work horse.   There is a 29 year old Arabian that doesn’t look a day over 10. Then there is the public relations department…the more portable miniature horses that do everything from visit nursing homes to stand around at events looking cute to promote Agapé.

To the average person, a horse represents something that hangs out in a pasture, eats grass, and poops in the middle of parades.  But at my work they are doctors, best friends, caretakers.  Kids that don’t talk to people will talk to their horse.  Kids that hurt all the time or move can’t move freely on their own can sit on a horse, let him do all the work, and feel what it is like to get to point A to point B without a struggle.  A horse that would just as soon bite the living crap out of me will stand patiently for a tiny boy with autism that wants to know what her eyeball feels like or stick his finger up her nose or see if her ears come off.   I once led a horse who is usually a complete joker and a tease for a little girl one night.  I thought the horse was sick, as he was very quiet and alert and calm all through the lesson.  At the end of the night, before the lesson ended, the girl had a seizure on his back.  He stood completely still while we struggled to get her down off of his back.  I’m still convinced he knew it was coming the whole time.

Don’t get me wrong…they do stand around in pastures and eat hay and poop a lot and get in fights with each other and roll around in dirt.  But at my barn, they are undercover angels.

Dating and Being a Mom

It just doesn’t work for me.  Allow me a moment of martyrdom.  I work two jobs.  (Okay, I work two PART time jobs but still, it sounds great when I am feeling sorry for myself.)  I leave my house at approximately 8 a.m. every morning, barring any shoe and wardrobe arguments.  I don’t get home until after 6.  My evenings are a whirlwind of arguing, cooking, cleaning, doing that last load of laundry before bedtime, mopping up 48 gallons from the bathroom floor, shoving sticky Barbie dolls into their working girl outfits (and no, I don’t mean in an office), all while trying to get this lightning bolt of a kid in bed by 9.  Which hasn’t happened in two years.  My weekends…ugh.  I don’t exactly have a surplus of sitters beating down my door either.  My mom works 10 hours a day on her feet.  My poor dear sister is raising one of these things in the form of a granddaughter.  By thing, I mean a premenstrual 5 year old dictator of her own.   We have a LOT in common these days.  My dad and stepmom works two jobs, Bruce’s mom works two, and Bruce’s dad would say “Shelby who?” if you know what I mean.

So, all that being said, dating is next to impossible.  I will outline some scenarios for you below:

Text from Prospective Dude:  “Do you have your daughter this weekend?”

Seriously???

Now…I have developed a few answers for this.  This question infuriates the living crap out of me.  Why WOULDN’T I have my daughter this weekend?  Did you not hear the part about her dad?  Do you think there are people out there that call me BEGGING to keep a premenstrual dictator of a 5 year old for a weekend?

Possible Answers: 1.)  Yes, the kid has not found her own apartment yet.  Her credit isn’t bad, it’s just that she doesn’t have any and they all want a big security deposit because of it.  2.)  Yes, because the last time I left her at her dad’s, the groundskeeper called and scolded me because I’m not supposed to leave anything on his headstone more than 24 inches tall.  She’s up to 40 inches now.  3.)   Yes, I took her to the second hand store, but they told me they sell only sell children’s clothing WITHOUT the child in them.

Text from Prospective Dude at 8:30 at night:  “You doing anything right now?  Wanna stop by my place and watch a movie?  You can bring Shelby if you can’t find a sitter.”

Seriously?

Possible Answers:  1.)  Actually no, I’m busy right now.  Shelby and I are over at the bar across the street and she’s got a really great poker hand and I hate to leave while she’s hot.  2.)  Sure, I’m quite sure Shelby would love hanging out at your bachelor pad and having a beer or a Red Bull with you and eating some stale crackers and pork rinds.  Maybe we can all snuggle on the couch and watch “Hangover” or “Girls Gone Wild”.  

In short, dating for me is difficult.  I know there are plenty of moms out there who would happily trade time with there kid for a party life, or a man.  I’m not one of them, I’ve never had any desire to be.  Shelby is first, always will be first until the day I die.  And I have dated a couple of guys who truly admire me for this quality and I appreciate that.  But make it easy on me…invite me out to dinner.  I’ll try to find a sitter.  Oh, and a date doesn’t mean we have to be intimate or move in together or get married.  I’d like to say it’s my charm, but I think it is more of a case of some really desperate guys out there who’s mothers are ready for them to settle down with a nice girl who will quietly stand by and devote herself to their self absorbed world.  I’m not a nice girl.  I’m crabby and I really love having my own apartment, but most of all I have a little girl that I am trying to set an example for.

The rules are as follows:

·         Just because I am on Facebook at 1 a.m. doesn’t mean I want to be slammed with text messages or phone calls.

·         Speaking of text messages and phone calls, drunk dialing at 3 a.m. is NOT cute.  Especially on a workday.

·         A date does not mean I am going to be your designated driver for the night while you take me to some bar and proceed to get extremely inebriated.

·         Let’s go back to the old days and pretend I don’t have a cell phone for you to call me on 6 or 7 times a day…there is NOT that much to talk about.  Well except about you and every  excruciating detail of your day, I suppose.

Well Hello!

Well, I'm gonna try it.  I've been encouraged a few times to start a blog.  Supposedly I am funny, but in all actuality, this is my life.   Nothing is ever normal, especially when you have a five-year-old involved.
Right now there just isn’t a whole lot going on to write about, since I’m out of my usual routine of going to work and coming home.  I actually am on day 4 of 5 days off in a row.  The big news is I got dumped Thanksgiving morning by my boyfriend for the second time in, oh, the 7 months we have unofficially been seeing each other.  And just like the first time, it came out of nowhere with a text message.  It was a swift, out of nowhere dumping that makes you wonder if maybe you developed a body or breath odor problem you are unaware of, or maybe he noticed that one weird black hair growing out of the side of your face before you did.  Anyway, I’ve written some stuff already that I may put up since I am suffering from writer’s block at the moment.