tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3172954672780209982024-03-13T03:21:52.684-07:00Wet TroutAdventures and Road Trip Ramblings Trouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01701987648275983596noreply@blogger.comBlogger171125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-317295467278020998.post-81071257034862909232022-04-10T17:19:00.001-07:002022-04-10T17:20:07.667-07:00I found a house! A sale and a purchase...<p>Hey Readers! (Mom and Dad)</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpihMZPe9Tkln2JWLmmYT6B8nawThRtT9fC0VTPWh0nfNGp_T4F0tLHwoCiglq3sXaLnuXGL3DiqjvR8H4fNkPJV1QNp1Fzh5ZpOi-hYSIDu5WJy6Y7h0qedgIUNNmcWpvVwGtmY6r4UjhmbruRGgKyDmKydSM-Vb6qL9SLfkWE9ISBgwMYWeCc_fK8Q/s640/salem%20house.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="481" data-original-width="640" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpihMZPe9Tkln2JWLmmYT6B8nawThRtT9fC0VTPWh0nfNGp_T4F0tLHwoCiglq3sXaLnuXGL3DiqjvR8H4fNkPJV1QNp1Fzh5ZpOi-hYSIDu5WJy6Y7h0qedgIUNNmcWpvVwGtmY6r4UjhmbruRGgKyDmKydSM-Vb6qL9SLfkWE9ISBgwMYWeCc_fK8Q/w400-h301/salem%20house.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Salem house, after MANY repairs and a new porch</td></tr></tbody></table><br />I haven't written in a spell because my plans took a ride in a BMW convertible on a sunny day with the top down. In other words, I found a house! And I moved! At the end of February I closed on a house in the middle of nowhere in Eastern Oregon. It's a tiny town I'll call "Paradise" just in case I ever get a stalker (again). </p><p>I "Zillow'd" the hell out of things looking for just the right place. Well, more like I put in my search parameters of in Oregon, under $350k, half an acre, and less than 50k people. I was hit with very few houses...and most were awful. I mean, so terrible that you'd have to actually install walls, flooring, sinks, etc. </p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><p>I initially passed by this house in Paradise...because it was literally in the middle of no where. The idea of moving so far away from everyone and everything I know was just a little intimidating. And then, a few weeks later I went back and did my search again and the same house came up, but it was pending. Missed that boat. Oh well, that's what I get for stalling.</p><p>A few more weeks passed and I searched again...and the house in Paradise was back on the market. Apparently the potential buyer was a little older and her kids didn't want her out there alone. On a whim I called the realtor and after a few conversations, I made an offer. Sight unseen. They accepted the offer and I had 10 days to view it...which I passed on. I figured I'd get an inspection and frankly, I figured any house of that age would need some work, so I was prepared for whatever happened. </p><p>I called a realtor to put my house on the market and before that even happened, I had a full price offer from the neighbor's friends. SOLD! The stars aligned. </p><p>It didn't hit me until I was in the U-Haul on the way to my new house (and praying it looked like the photos) that my entire life was changing. The whole time I was busy packing and loading my belongings I didn't think about what I was leaving behind. Instead I was thinking about what I was moving toward. I started to realize I wouldn't do happy hour with my friends anymore, couldn't pop into the office to greet co-workers, and was going to have to actually plan for trips to town (since it's an hour away). But none of that really mattered because once I pulled into the driveway, I felt at home. </p><p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbo07eOUj2xI1CY9qgukSnlETuKItaP-FSNpURzfLiInWXSidXw2BjxD_WjQf9dmU2d0h6H_pnM7iDN1I4X3NGYmYWavTeb2ug0UpxM9HEbOM5zMxaJBxJ9vpQc6sDQCybrq9Cu_kP-lETPIOO66_dP_Z7eWlQTzasyFgYpo5_ndekzX6mgFWhbwqjhg/s640/front%20window.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="481" data-original-width="640" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbo07eOUj2xI1CY9qgukSnlETuKItaP-FSNpURzfLiInWXSidXw2BjxD_WjQf9dmU2d0h6H_pnM7iDN1I4X3NGYmYWavTeb2ug0UpxM9HEbOM5zMxaJBxJ9vpQc6sDQCybrq9Cu_kP-lETPIOO66_dP_Z7eWlQTzasyFgYpo5_ndekzX6mgFWhbwqjhg/s320/front%20window.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from my front window in Paradise</td></tr></tbody></table>I realized that this place, this Paradise, was exactly what I've wanted my entire life. I wanted to be out of the city, away from people, away from the crime and the grime, and the smog and the....again, the people. </p><p>Friends ask if I have any regrets. The answer is a solid no. It hasn't been all smooth sailing (read the next post) but I wouldn't change it for the world. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Trouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01701987648275983596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-317295467278020998.post-83437743283241619692022-01-09T17:26:00.000-08:002022-01-09T17:26:06.889-08:00Where To Go? <p> Now that I've convinced myself it's time to leave Salem, where do I go? The better question becomes, "What can I afford?" Luckily, my job has transformed due to COVID from allowing us to telework up to three times a week to allowing us to do it full time. That's fantastic news for us introverts. Work has also opened up their restrictions and now, we can telework from anywhere in the US...with permission. I don't know of anyone who has received permission, but that's mute. Doesn't matter. I don't really want to leave Oregon yet (though Texas has crossed my mind, along with Georgia, Arkansas, and the Carolinas). </p><p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-yMpEQCeRFb8/YduKcDAMLDI/AAAAAAAABnI/YkfCv071TCcoFy7aIiJqNzdg09Lp5wI8gCNcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="180" data-original-width="259" height="222" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-yMpEQCeRFb8/YduKcDAMLDI/AAAAAAAABnI/YkfCv071TCcoFy7aIiJqNzdg09Lp5wI8gCNcBGAsYHQ/image.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Example of $250k houses I've seen</td></tr></tbody></table>Being a single income household, and not making a fortune (think public service paycheck), my options are pretty limited. Oregon's prices have skyrocketed, along with a lot of other states. In order to get out of Salem, I'm thinking outside the box. I'm using the modern version of "close your eyes and touch a map" by opening Zillow and adjusting the search engine to note I want at least half an acre and I want to pay around $350k. Are you laughing yet? There was a time when $350k was a lot for a house in my mind. Now, I've come to the conclusion that to get something even remotely nice, I'd have to pay around $500k. If you've recently looked at houses in Oregon, you know that's the case. Trust me when I say I'm not THAT picky. I just want something that's not in town, doesn't need an entire remodel before I even step inside because it's too nasty, and where the dogs can roam. I'd also like an actual stick built instead of manufactured, which reduced a lot of options but makes it easier to finance and remodel. No way I'm paying $350 for a manufactured home on an acre that was installed in 1980. No way.</p><p>Zillow wasn't my friend. In fact, there were very limited choices. But I still looked at them all. From ALL over Oregon. Then I branched out..and looked EVERYWHERE. Lots of beautiful places in Georgia for less than $350k, but I traveled through there one summer and it was way too hot for me...and once I found out how many snakes were there, I decided I'd leave Georgia to the Walking Dead. (For those of you who don't know, Walking Dead is filmed in Georgia.)</p><p>I'm still looking, but when I find something, you'll be the first to know!</p><p><br /></p><p> </p><p><br /></p>Trouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01701987648275983596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-317295467278020998.post-68442083258196170372022-01-09T16:46:00.000-08:002022-01-09T16:46:13.673-08:00The First Step<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-miti5XZwBRo/YduAIl-QSYI/AAAAAAAABnA/yhSJ9oxrC_4ssMwbHqEEdgGLr8iRzuHUQCNcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="180" data-original-width="278" height="207" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-miti5XZwBRo/YduAIl-QSYI/AAAAAAAABnA/yhSJ9oxrC_4ssMwbHqEEdgGLr8iRzuHUQCNcBGAsYHQ/image.png" width="320" /></a></div><br />Sometimes changes happen slowly...until one day you actually pay attention and realize something is different. You look back and wonder things changed and more importantly, when. When I bought my house in West Salem it was around 2005. I'd walk the dog around the block and often notice home improvements being made, kids playing, dogs barking, and sometimes, people yelling. I didn't really like the city, so I moved away and rented out my house. <p></p><p>Eventually my sister ended up in it, and then my brother-in-law took a job out of town. My tiny 624 square foot house was vacant so I moved back because renting it seemed like too much of a hassle. I hated moving back. But my plan was to fix it up, do my two years of living in it, then off it the first chance I had. I put all my efforts into fixing up the house until eventually, Adam pointed out there wasn't much more for me to do. He may have just been tired of helping me. </p><p>In the almost three years it took for me to reach my house's maximum remodel stage (I joke that I have a house I put $600k into that's worth $300k), the city around began to change too. Covid hit, and with it, came less police oversight...instead of seeing a police car drive past occasionally, it was a rarity. I know, it's not their fault that other neighborhoods needed them more. But the crime, it increased. Someone actually took the liberty of opening my car and going through it...and when I caught them at around 1:00 am, gun in hand, they yelled at me that I shouldn't have left it unlocked. As if leaving something unlocked (by accident clearly) is akin to saying, "Come get it! Everybody is welcome!" The guy, unbothered by the fact that I held a weapon, took his time walking away. I had to tell him a few times to get out of the vehicle. Seriously. Who does that? It's someone who doesn't care about the consequences (or knows there aren't any) and who has no concern for anyone other than themselves. <br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-DOhiG2vhIW0/Ydt_2QSjZAI/AAAAAAAABm4/j-6XvVEjPuYySM9_e59NRxdVnR10wQbywCNcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="180" data-original-width="215" height="240" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-DOhiG2vhIW0/Ydt_2QSjZAI/AAAAAAAABm4/j-6XvVEjPuYySM9_e59NRxdVnR10wQbywCNcBGAsYHQ/image.png" width="287" /></a></div>I started carrying a gun while walking the dogs in the morning because I never know who I'd run into. (Don't worry, I'm fully permitted in case I have any snowflakes reading.) Once a safe and quiet neighborhood, West Salem has turned into a place where the terrorist middle schoolers run the streets along with the homeless. We, the tax paying citizens, can do nothing about it unless we are actually threatened. I can tell you, at that point, it will be too late for them and maybe me.<p></p><p>Basically, this part of Oregon has lost its luster. The riots, protesting, COVID rules, and everything else, has made Salem undesirable to me. It's time to move on. The journey begins. I'm taking the first step. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Trouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01701987648275983596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-317295467278020998.post-61750029371543398442021-12-16T16:53:00.003-08:002021-12-16T16:53:21.868-08:00<p style="text-align: left;"><br />Where have I been?? It's been so long since I've written, despite the fact that life has continued to move forward and I have moved froward with it. Begrudgingly. Quick update.</p><p style="text-align: left;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgn3nXeiWzdHJYk2z7GK6oXOI40CTkIR9h8ulk60cgHfXZZ5Mjh9byvGSyyX48JADNwv6FzKxGIsjAj_umOVEYXYpV5i2yjbxs1a5mk_1C2eIAACBvpmB2GJW_nfZvebBSExdfj9uLUNqb8RW7Mrkme0pDdwyD7erzuZ6y_Ba2YyUFUYwAUS1wBUitrsw=s475" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="358" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgn3nXeiWzdHJYk2z7GK6oXOI40CTkIR9h8ulk60cgHfXZZ5Mjh9byvGSyyX48JADNwv6FzKxGIsjAj_umOVEYXYpV5i2yjbxs1a5mk_1C2eIAACBvpmB2GJW_nfZvebBSExdfj9uLUNqb8RW7Mrkme0pDdwyD7erzuZ6y_Ba2YyUFUYwAUS1wBUitrsw=w241-h320" width="241" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">BG, the 120 # Alaskan Malamute</td></tr></tbody></table>After Trout left to chase tennis ball at the Rainbow Bridge, I fostered Apple from the <a href="https://www.greatpyreneesrescuesociety.org/">Great Pyrenees Rescue Society</a> Apple jointed BG (Bulgera), the Giant Alaskan Malamute that I adopted from my sister. It was in my mind that BG was so sad and lonely once Trout was gone. Fostering would give him a friend but not bring a permanent dog into our lives. I was done with permanent dogs. It's just too damn painful when they leave. Fostering was an epic fail and after three days Apple was renamed Merrick and became a permanent part of our family. Unfortunately, shortly thereafter, BG developed cancer in his front leg and his health declined quickly. It was such a shame, having lost Trout only five months earlier, BG became my rock. And then he became a memory. But, Merrick was there, and she spread her fluffy white hair all over the house just like BG did. And, of course, shortly thereafter, Merrick looked sad because she was alone...so I went back to the GPRS and they found me the perfect dog named Virgil (who later was renamed to Bass). </p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjX-wTLMsjlzJmEt_ZFZSnnqFOlZJMyDol-vpHfqSVo2Dr0QUyUk5w4-kXVqGs-CcPywL9YamTdEd9drSKdfgc7tW7BQ0BPrn7QqETbU0NWsK7x2yKcc6CJdg9_JPZmO3DhBaw3qfZDLckWHJNf4OSMMHtqMZaJVUo_ykLagD2a27zrC7G8sMDaKhoi1A=s320" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="240" height="381" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjX-wTLMsjlzJmEt_ZFZSnnqFOlZJMyDol-vpHfqSVo2Dr0QUyUk5w4-kXVqGs-CcPywL9YamTdEd9drSKdfgc7tW7BQ0BPrn7QqETbU0NWsK7x2yKcc6CJdg9_JPZmO3DhBaw3qfZDLckWHJNf4OSMMHtqMZaJVUo_ykLagD2a27zrC7G8sMDaKhoi1A=w286-h381" width="286" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Merrick in front and Bass at the top</td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">Merrick is now almost five years old (she was 3.5 when I adopted her) and Bass is a little over one year old. Both make sure I have a constant supply of white hair all over the house, so really, it's like BG never left. Both Merrick and Bass are perfect...though if you promise not to tell Merrick, I have a softer spot in my heart for Bass. He is so sweet and kind (and he SMILES), whereas Merrick is a complete diva. And in part, maybe I feel like I have to protect Bass from Merrick because she can be a real brute to him. Merrick is my shadow and follows me from room to room, sleeps by my bed (or in it), and always makes sure that if I so much as sneeze, she's right there should I need anything at all. She's a lot like Trout in that way but Merrick not only loves me but everyone else. Both Merrick and Bass are really people lovers. They don't care who you are, they love you. They haven't met you? They still love you! It's like I have these two great dogs who have so much love to give that they have to find other people who need love too so they can share it. I don't mind at all. </p><p style="text-align: left;">When we go on a walk Bass always sits and waits for people to come over to him...he gets so hurt when they just continue on their walks and don't stop to greet him. Bass actually has his favorite buddies in the neighborhood and when we pass their houses, he dilly dallies waiting for them to come outside and say hello. When he sees them, it makes his whole day! Now that you're caught up, I hear Bass in the kitchen pushing his dog bowl around like he hasn't eaten in years...so I'm off to do my parental work. </p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div></blockquote><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"></blockquote><p></p>Trouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01701987648275983596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-317295467278020998.post-45990680108594967772021-03-03T09:57:00.001-08:002021-11-22T12:31:16.873-08:00The End and A Different Beginning....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">June 20, 2020: Time flies. Fast. I remember when I first adopted Trout. She was a tiny little fluffy faced ball of chocolate kisses. I would walk her and wait patiently as she stopped to explore every blade of grass, to greet every bug, to offer a wag to every person who passed. Now we're twelve years on and I watch her sleep, her body pulsating with every breath, her legs twitching, and sometimes, running. Her head slightly moves as I adjust on the couch. She is vigilant to my every move and I to hers. These days, I don't jump out of bed at night when I hear her cough or stretch because I'm worried she'll eat the remote but instead, it is because I know her days are numbered. Each day that passes is another closer to the end. Closer to a time when I will walk alone. And I can't stand the thought of her taking it without me by her side.<br />
<br />
I tell Trout to let go, but in my heart I hope she holds on forever. I kiss her head, smooth my hands down her snout and look into her eyes, now cloudy like an early winter day. I whisper, "I love you" because more than anything in this world, I do. More than anything.<br />
<br />
That is why I know I must let her go. The final act of my love for her is for me to just let her go. To kiss her that last goodbye and to send her off to the heavens, the rainbow bridge, beach, or wherever dogs wander off to for eternity. But then what?<br />
<br />
Then I start a different life. Not better by any means. Just different. With different priorities and different dreams. </div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> March 3, 2021: <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tKHn8R-uAp8/YD_MXezkdrI/AAAAAAAABfU/uZYU9UFwBI0huOvZKuT86CN2lxHkRDN1gCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/trout%2Bfinal%2Bday.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tKHn8R-uAp8/YD_MXezkdrI/AAAAAAAABfU/uZYU9UFwBI0huOvZKuT86CN2lxHkRDN1gCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/trout%2Bfinal%2Bday.jpg" /></a></div><br />I wrote that almost a year ago, and Trout, my lovely chocolate lab, my best friend, my baby, has now been gone since August 2020. In the end, it wasn't old age but bone cancer that took her from me. She held on to the bitter end. Hot Doc (our vet) said I'd know when it was time...and she would tell me. She would stop following me around...but she never did. Everywhere I went she'd trudge along, just longing to be by my side. People always ask, "When do you know it's time?" In fact, I asked that over over again. "You just do" is often a response. For me, I knew it was time when it hurt my heart more to know that she was likely suffering than it did to let her go. Don't make the mistake in thinking that means it was easy to let her go. It wasn't. It hasn't been. It still isn't. That last day haunts my memories. I've thought of it over and over, wondering if I didn't wait too long, or if I did it too soon. I just know that my personal pain and grief is much easier to bear than the thought of Trout in pain. </div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">So she's gone...and a few short months later I also lost her best friend, our adopted boy, BG, to bone cancer. It's a simple fact, big dogs get it. But oh, why mine and why so close together! BG helped me so much after Trout was gone. Helped me to realize that there was still beauty, and that hole in my heart would eventually heal. He took that hole and filled it with Giant Alaskan Malamute hair and slobbery kisses.</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xEgCr-NyrYc/YD_LV1Je21I/AAAAAAAABe8/KhV9HsFfjC84BhMYV_mbqjvupNZJzevoQCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/trout%2Bfinal%2Bday%2B2.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xEgCr-NyrYc/YD_LV1Je21I/AAAAAAAABe8/KhV9HsFfjC84BhMYV_mbqjvupNZJzevoQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/trout%2Bfinal%2Bday%2B2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">There's still a hole in my heart, and a certain emptiness that wasn't there before, but, I've filled that hole with other things to hide the numbness and help me move forward. I've rescued a couple Great Pyrenees who are the most adorable dogs. They make me laugh, smile, frown, and even make me angry. At times, they make me wonder why I bothered to do it all again. I think the reason is, despite everything, I didn't want to give up on dogs. I wanted to make a difference, even if it's just in a few white fluffy dogs' lives...and I've done that already. So join me now as I move not on, but forward, past what was and toward what will is and will be. And love your pups. Hold them tight. Kiss them goodnight. And be the person your dog thinks you are. </div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div>
Trouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01701987648275983596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-317295467278020998.post-41198665613424713662018-11-27T20:51:00.002-08:002018-11-27T20:51:47.330-08:00So I Moved...5 Reasons Neighborhoods Suck<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_0Cn_VGukOo/W_4eySBIKhI/AAAAAAAABRM/aO5EL13A_IIFGATSZA2d0yAfrJm_FMAMgCLcBGAs/s1600/thumbnail_IMG_7394.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="250" data-original-width="333" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_0Cn_VGukOo/W_4eySBIKhI/AAAAAAAABRM/aO5EL13A_IIFGATSZA2d0yAfrJm_FMAMgCLcBGAs/s320/thumbnail_IMG_7394.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">home sweet tiny home</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;">Newsflash: Living in the country is SO much
better than living in the city. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;">Now, I'm not
just saying that because I'm anti-social and I hate people. Really. Ok,
maybe I AM. But, so far, my experience after moving back to my rental house has
not been great. First and foremost, I downgraded from 50 acres in the country
with my closest neighbor about 1/2 mile away to looking out my back window and
seeing five houses within spitting distance. And I'm not even a good spitter. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;">So, in less
than a month I've come up with my very own list of 5 Reasons Neighborhoods Suck<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;">5. You know
what happens when you put a naturally paranoid gal in a house and surround her
with neighbors, screaming kids, barking dogs and cats that prowl the night?
Crazy happens. I've got surveillance cameras and trail cams hidden in various
spots on my property. I've got more chains around my RV, Quad and utility
trailer than a prison work crew has. I've got guns stored away under tables,
bedframes, and behind photographs. I'll be ready when trouble comes a-knockin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;">Those damn
thieves and killers are not getting away with my stuff.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;">4. Speaking
of cats...I used to feed the feral cats at my place. It seemed innocent enough.
I didn't like it, but it was my rural duty. Now I'm surrounded by cats of all
colors, breeds, and gender. And I'm not even being racist, homophobic, or
critical when I say it sucks huge piles of cat pooh. When I walk out of my
house in the morning it's like I've stepped into a world where people are the
minority and cats are king. Cats are sitting in driveways, under cars, near
street lights, watching my every move. I can't tell if they're interested in
what I'm doing or they are just waiting for the right moment to pounce. Cats
are the Devil's dogs, I tell you. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;">5. I have no
room for anything. Not inside, not outside. I never really appreciated the fact
that I could have a 14-foot pool, 2 kayaks, a pontoon fishing boat, a golf net,
room to ride the quad, storage for years of crap, enough room for a RV and
three cars...until now. Now I barely have room for the pool, which is a
priority, given the fact that my chocolate lab, Trout, will NEVER give me a
moments rest unless she can swim at will this summer. And, I've had to
donate so much stuff to Goodwill, I think they should just do random drivebys
and save me the gas money. Oh, I could burn the stuff...but now I seem to
be missing my burn pile area. Thank you, city life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;">3. I
have to be social. My neighbors stop by. Like we're pals. You know how hard it
was to become a hermit? Now I'm forced to socialize. Someone actually
left a loaf of bread on my doorstep the other day. Either they thought I needed
the carbs or they mistook my house for the local misfit residence and figured
with all the crap piled in the driveway I needed all the help I could
get. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;">2. It's
loud here. The dog and I hear everything. The mailman's coming....I know this
when he's five doors down because suddenly Trout the Lab jumps up and starts
barking like we're being invaded by Russia. Oh, the neighbor down the street
just slammed his car door! Yeah! I hate to say it, but now I know why people
are nosy...it's not on purpose. It’s just that you hear absolutely everything
that happens and it sounds like it's happening on your front door step, so
naturally you look.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; orphans: 2; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Times; font-size: 13.5pt;">1. Neighbors
suck. I have a 78-year-old neighbor behind my house who is lonely and sad. Her
husband died and apparently, he was the alcohol monitor. She drinks and drinks.
By the time I get home at 330 pm she's loaded and ready to scrap. The other day
she yelled that I was a Nasty Bitch. Seriously. Little ol' innocent
me. Ok, granted, it didn't help that I told her to leave me the F*ck
alone and I did not want to talk to her every time I went outside. But in my
defense, I should not have to talk to her EVERY TIME I walk outside and then
spend 30 minutes justifying why I'm not a terrible person because she thinks I
stole my sister's dog and kicked my sister out of my rental. I mean, geez,
isn't it bad enough I actually have to RAKE leaves now because I'm surrounded
by fences and the wind can't adequately do its job? And guess what? There's so
much stuff that needs done around this house, it's like I'm living in a home
with a slum landlord. Well, crap. I've apparently got work to do. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Trouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01701987648275983596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-317295467278020998.post-45608070178484748242018-09-18T20:15:00.001-07:002018-09-18T20:23:42.042-07:00Springfield, MO Day 4, Pappy's Place September 17, 2018<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EKeBh0pn3lw/W6G-Updv1PI/AAAAAAAABQA/yUH6t79EHFsiuuwCYUzG6Vq-JHpiqjvqQCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_7597.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EKeBh0pn3lw/W6G-Updv1PI/AAAAAAAABQA/yUH6t79EHFsiuuwCYUzG6Vq-JHpiqjvqQCLcBGAs/s400/IMG_7597.JPG" width="300" /></a>Pappy's Place BBQ was recommended to me by my hosts at the B&B so before I left town I stopped by to see if the fuss had any merit.<br />
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Pappy's is a tiny little bar that sells BBQ. It's apparently well known for it's pulled pork sandwich, so I ordered that from a man behind the bar that turned out to be friendly despite his initial look up and down of me. (I'm pretty sure in his mind he was asking what the heck I was doing there and why the hell I needed any more food since I've gained about 50# since being in Missouri. Shut up.)<br />
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Food came out fast. Lightening fast. So fast it made me think their microwave must have already been loaded. While sitting at the bar, I opened the wrapper to find a pale pulled pork sandwich that was already sporting a soggy bun. No way this was gonna make it into my belly. I took a few finger pinches of it to taste and just as I imagined, it wasn't all that great.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_Ts6kBY1pEw/W6G-XaeR2VI/AAAAAAAABQU/KGKq54AzmH837JlNyAvbLTJc3HXWGl9xACLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_7604.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_Ts6kBY1pEw/W6G-XaeR2VI/AAAAAAAABQU/KGKq54AzmH837JlNyAvbLTJc3HXWGl9xACLcBGAs/s400/IMG_7604.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm not sure what meat this is...could be coon. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I paid the man, grabbed a jar of BBQ sauce to go (just in case), and headed to my car...where I ate some more of my Buckingham's BBQ. I'm normally a "small, out of the way, dive joint" kinda gal, but this place should be reserved for drinking mixed drinks from a dirty glass when you've just been dumped by the love of your life or when your dog gets ran over by the UPS man. It happens.<br />
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Not a fan.<br />
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Trouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01701987648275983596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-317295467278020998.post-55645292593140996932018-09-18T19:59:00.003-07:002018-09-18T20:02:04.058-07:00Springfield, MO Day 4: Buckingham BBQ September 17, 2018<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lpRqBzlb4Iw/W6GvuU2nRuI/AAAAAAAABOw/ZOO-Hndur3ohZIz8b8RdA8h64pREK66bQCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_7576.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lpRqBzlb4Iw/W6GvuU2nRuI/AAAAAAAABOw/ZOO-Hndur3ohZIz8b8RdA8h64pREK66bQCLcBGAs/s320/IMG_7576.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Why, yes, that is my finger in the shot. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After leaving the non-haunted Bed and Breakfast, I couldn't really figure out what I wanted to do or where I wanted to go. It's the downfall of not having an anal retentive friend traveling with me. Normally, when Jen is with me, we have a huge spreadsheet with places, addresses, tips, and times the places are open. When I travel alone, I have a general idea of the direction I want to go...and I go. In this case, that was an issue. But, my redneck roots took over and I thought, as long as I was in the national headquarters of Bass Pro Shops, I may a well visit them. So shopping I went.<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nuEKEhmcJvg/W6GwKrrVIMI/AAAAAAAABO4/NlcCvpa7Ne0oYNGNOsNtjw7X8f41OJykQCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_7577.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nuEKEhmcJvg/W6GwKrrVIMI/AAAAAAAABO4/NlcCvpa7Ne0oYNGNOsNtjw7X8f41OJykQCLcBGAs/s320/IMG_7577.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
After I spent money on crap I didn't need but that looked cool, I was in the parking lot trying to figure out what next when I looked up and saw the most beautiful site. Across the street was a BBQ joint! It was like the heavens opened up and the clouds parted...and I knew, just knew, it was fate. From where I was, I couldn't really tel much about the place...I wasn't too fond of the huge digital sign in front that grabbed my attention away from the important things...but luckily my brain was able to focus on the big BAR-B-Q words and I headed that direction. Turns out, it was the best move I'd made thus far in Missouri.<br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K2rXoOQ7S0U/W6GzHiS8vAI/AAAAAAAABPM/xmxyt99jT5Qek1EQOnXK3CVJo1-jVO_OgCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_7583.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K2rXoOQ7S0U/W6GzHiS8vAI/AAAAAAAABPM/xmxyt99jT5Qek1EQOnXK3CVJo1-jVO_OgCLcBGAs/s200/IMG_7583.JPG" width="150" /></a><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kCQoZ1W_tPM/W6Gy7gbuDbI/AAAAAAAABPE/zx74QxATwVUWME4TZI2Kt40Snn2IFMnbACLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_7582.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kCQoZ1W_tPM/W6Gy7gbuDbI/AAAAAAAABPE/zx74QxATwVUWME4TZI2Kt40Snn2IFMnbACLcBGAs/s200/IMG_7582.JPG" width="150" /></a>I had found Buckingham Smokehouse BBQ. Buckingham's in Springfield, MO is a branch of 5 BBQ restaurants in Springfield, Nixa, and Ozarks, MO. I'm a pretty flexible BBQ eater, so typically when I'm trying out a new place, I'll walk in and just ask them to serve me something they are famous for. In this case, I was greeted by a tall dude with such a peppy attitude, I seriously wanted to just hang out all day. I didn't get his name...but when he asked me where I was from (no idea how he knew I wasn't from MO), I told him I was from Oregon. His response was "We get people from all over but never as far as Oregon!" and he handed me a plate of burnt ends to try with some mustard BBQ sauce and some horseradish BBQ sauce. I have to admit, I've never been a fan of mustard or horsey sauce, but this stuff had me almost licking the plate.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-35qcANBj32s/W6GzHkmWFBI/AAAAAAAABPQ/ccW1n3zpS20RKKgGuO1dshlKskEjBULdQCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_7585.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-35qcANBj32s/W6GzHkmWFBI/AAAAAAAABPQ/ccW1n3zpS20RKKgGuO1dshlKskEjBULdQCLcBGAs/s640/IMG_7585.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Burnt ends and that special sauce...yummy </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We got to chatting and I told him I was in town to judge the American Royal...and he started telling the cooks and everyone that I was a BBQ judge and then the dude brings me a free rib, too! It was the nicest anyone has ever been to me. Maybe I need to get out more, but seriously, this fellow was awesome. And the rib was perfection, just as the burn ends were. I went ahead and ordered burnt ends and two sides...despite the fact that I was planning on stopping for more BBQ soon...and I have no regrets whatsoever. The baked beans were so good...and the corn was perfection as well. In Oregon, we don't put cheese on our corn, so at first, I was a little hesitant but guess what? Cheese DOES make everything better.<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vxgBXOZkiDA/W6GzIfKAvAI/AAAAAAAABPY/MAU3G6bQhoUZQ1jme-QXhtrECI-6oKOuACLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_7595.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vxgBXOZkiDA/W6GzIfKAvAI/AAAAAAAABPY/MAU3G6bQhoUZQ1jme-QXhtrECI-6oKOuACLcBGAs/s400/IMG_7595.JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
Turns out, Buckingham BBQ did a stint on the Travel Channel for a show back in 2015, and it's still the talk of the place and on their billboard outside..but they have reason to be proud. This BBQ is top notch. Its so good I'm taking some burnt ends home to Oregon so I can enjoy Buckingham BBQ again...to my pals at home, good luck prying any of this out of my fingers.<br />
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While at Buckingham, I ended up chatting briefly with some other people who were visiting the place for the first time. Our conversation basically included the phrases, "This is so good," "OMG, this is awesome" and "First time here too?" They were gracious enough to let me take their photo and post it here. I told them it was for my blog, I neglected to mention I'm not a famous blogger.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CBo_r9jV-Ho/W6GzIM1kKeI/AAAAAAAABPU/yTljcSJu0TYuCbIn1eW9qGJlkKBp7QGwQCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_7593.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CBo_r9jV-Ho/W6GzIM1kKeI/AAAAAAAABPU/yTljcSJu0TYuCbIn1eW9qGJlkKBp7QGwQCLcBGAs/s640/IMG_7593.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy Customers</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Remember I told you about the very friendly, enthusiastic, awesome dude at the counter? He posed for me too! He's totally smiling, can you see it???<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wqcrlGHHQY0/W6G5yEoyQsI/AAAAAAAABPs/CmE4v_AcMfshrMuuQZUGIsAsfocB7HWmgCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_7584.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wqcrlGHHQY0/W6G5yEoyQsI/AAAAAAAABPs/CmE4v_AcMfshrMuuQZUGIsAsfocB7HWmgCLcBGAs/s640/IMG_7584.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The nicest person in ANY BBQ joint I've been to thus far! </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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If you're around Springfield, MO, or any of the other locations, do yourself a huge favor and stop by. Everyone in this state is thrilled with burnt ends...it's ALL about the burnt ends...and this place did them the very best.<br />
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Trouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01701987648275983596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-317295467278020998.post-69083090465819182352018-09-18T19:02:00.000-07:002018-09-18T19:02:41.147-07:00American Royal - KC, MO - Day 3 . September 16, 2018 <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tR1TzB1OQ0w/W6GoEk5qm2I/AAAAAAAABOk/VDibU_CLMsoWz9LtHWnfdkLIQMaC3g4BgCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_7524.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1258" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tR1TzB1OQ0w/W6GoEk5qm2I/AAAAAAAABOk/VDibU_CLMsoWz9LtHWnfdkLIQMaC3g4BgCLcBGAs/s320/IMG_7524.JPG" width="251" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">KC Speedway Day 2</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Didn't rush to the speedway today because yesterday was too flipping hot. I stopped along the way at another McDonalds...and I'm not sure that employees at the MickyD's here in KC understand the meaning of FAST food...then I drove around the speedway about three times trying to find the entrance. By the time I got to the judge's sign in, I was a hot mess, thinking I was too late to judge. Luckily for me, I found my table and was greeted by the most fantastic Table Captain to ever walk the earth.<br />
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I'd love to be able to show you photos of the BBQ we judged. Or to share with you a bit of the twenty minute monologue we had to listen to prior to judging...or to recite to you the BBQ judge's code...in which as a judge you literally stand up and raise your right arm and promise and swear to judge the BBQ to the best of your ability subjectively and objectively for truth, liberty, and justice (or something like that). But alas, those things are all forbidden by the BBQ Judges code of conduct and I'm pretty sure a violation results in death.<br />
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I will tell you that we judged turkey, chicken, sausage, brisket, pork tenderloin, pork in another form, and ribs. I am allowed to tell you that some of the food was excellent. I'm not supposed to tell you that some of it, mainly some sausage, was so bad that we deduced the contestants must have cooked it then injected it into the sausage casing....which resulted in something I hope I never see again. The texture and the taste was similar to canned dog food. Before you get all snarky and say, "Have you tried canned dog food?" The answer is YES. I wanted to see what Trout was actually eating...and that's also why she now gets homemade food or FreshPet (because in the event of a zombie apocalypse, I know I could stomach FreshPet if it came down to living or dying). <br />
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On Sunday at the event the vendors were gone...it was rather quiet...and people were packing up by the time we were finished judging. I didn't stay for the awards because I had an appointment three hours away to check in at a B&B. <br />
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But, I must mention that on Saturday and Sunday I met some fantastic people. I hung out with a couple from Montana on Saturday who were some of the nicest people I've met thus far while judging BBQ, or even traveling for that matter. I also ended up sitting next to a fellow I had talked to briefly outside while we were waiting to get into the judging area...and he was also a great person. On Sunday, I met people from my table that were fun to talk to and who made the down time of judging much more entertaining. And yeah, they were pretty awesome too! I seriously didn't encounter one asshat the entire time I was at the event...which is shocking because I'm literally an asshat magnet.<br />
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The thing about going to these events is that everyone is there because they love BBQ. It's an automatic bond that sometimes reaches past the event and into Facebook...and even when it doesn't, it's still very rewarding to hear people's stories and to glimpse into someone's life. Talking to people usually makes me appreciate what I have and where I've been. I'm lucky to be able to travel and judge BBQ, and I can more easily recognize how fantastic that is when I meet like-minded people. I'm typically a hermit, so when I'm forced to step out of my comfort zone and be with people, I'm always amazed at what happens.<br />
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Of course, the best thing about traveling to KC to judge BBQ is what comes next...three extra days in KC to explore, to eat BBQ, to meet people, and to see fantastic things I'd never see from my living room window.<br />
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So let the games begin. <br />
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Thank you to <a href="http://www.americanroyal.com/bbq/">American Royal BBQ</a> for having another great event. And to all those I met, THANK YOU for being such great people!!! <br />
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Trouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01701987648275983596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-317295467278020998.post-37491602988363275562018-09-17T19:36:00.001-07:002018-09-17T19:59:45.823-07:00American Royal - KC, MO - Day 2 . September 15, 2018 <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The <a href="http://www.americanroyal.com/bbq/">American Royal World Series of BBQ</a> is a yearly event held in Kansas City, currently located at the Kansas City Speedway. The Royal is in it's 39th year and is an official <a href="https://www.kcbs.us/">Kansas City Barbeque Society</a> (KCBS) sanctioned event. As a KCBS judge, I get the honor of paying my airfare and other expenses to KC but get to taste all the bbq my stomach can stand during the competition when we are judging.<br />
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I'll give more details about how to become a judge in another blog...but until then, I'll keep rattling on about the American Royal.<br />
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The American Royal is the biggest bbq event in the world (according to their website)...and I can promise you the event was HUGE.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xkIDHsLanqw/W6BaFNK79mI/AAAAAAAABNQ/2K8Z4sUWsrUumsaLa4sWQpGTMVVPBsPxgCLcBGAs/s1600/pano%2Bbbq.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="250" data-original-width="640" height="156" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xkIDHsLanqw/W6BaFNK79mI/AAAAAAAABNQ/2K8Z4sUWsrUumsaLa4sWQpGTMVVPBsPxgCLcBGAs/s400/pano%2Bbbq.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A Pano shot from the stands at KC Speedway..the event took up the entire infield.</td></tr>
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There were so many people on the infield, it was like walking around the biggest bbq store in the world. The vast array of bbq's that contestants were cooking on was amazing. Every brand you can think of was represented. I took some photos of a few to show you the realm of possibilities.<br />
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I guess on Friday nights there is some stuff going on...cooking starts...and from what I hear, there's a wee bit of drinking that may go on...(I'm hoping to confirm this next year, wink wink). On Saturday there is an Invitational competition, and only the best of the best participate in that event. Those teams are ones who have won a Grand Championship..and they not only participate in the invitational but also in the Open Meats competition on Sunday. There is also a "Sides" competition that includes beans, veggies, potatoes, and desserts. Lucky is the judge who gets to evaluate ALL the events!<br />
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I was chosen to judge the Open Meats and Sides competition. I arrived early so I could walk around and check out the entire festival which includes music, food and bbq sauces for purchase, and a lot of free samples of bbq and sides. Guess what? It was hotter than Georgia asphalt so getting there early was a bad idea. By the time I walked from my air conditioned car, to the speedway entrance, down the bleachers, across the speedway, then across the grass and to the infield, I was sweating and in need of some seriously cold water and a chair. People everywhere were dripping sweat and taking it all in like champions...while I whimpered and begged for shade. I'm sorry, but Oregon doesn't get that hot or humid. I'm a delicate flower. I found shade (right before I passed out)..straight from Salem, Oregon!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Best Damn BBQ sauce from Salem, OR.</td></tr>
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I met up with Mike White and his wife who had a booth..and they kindly invited me to stand in the shade for a spell. If you are in search of some awesome sauce, check out their website: <a href="https://www.bestdamnbbqsauce.com/">Best Damn BBQ Sauce</a> you won't be sorry. I found these guys at the Salem Wednesday market earlier this year and brought samples of their sauce back to my office...it was a hit. Their Sweet Lady Love and Hot Damn That's Hot sauces are perfection in a bottle. Buy some. Buy a lot! They are champions. Literally. Their Sweet Lady Love sauce took 1st place at the Royal once... That's impressive stuff.<br />
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Saturday's judging was for sides and desserts. The sides our table tried included a really bizarre mushroom sandwich thing (not my fav, I hate mushrooms); a "veggie" open faced sandwich with cheese, bacon, zucchini, and other veggies; cream cheese stuff jalapeños; and a green pepper stuffed with corn and zucchini. In the sides competition, there is no real rule other than there can't be more than 7% meat in the dish. Obviously, that's pretty subjective.<br />
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After the first course, we tasted about six different type of baked beans followed by a round of potatoes...which included a lot of mashed potatoes and one potato salad..which was a rather disturbing color. I think sides would be a very difficult thing to make since not everyone likes all sides...and trying to be original can be difficult when there are over 200 entries.<br />
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Once we got to the dessert section our table was filled with anticipation for the judging to start...except one judge who declared he did not like cheesecake...what a fool. (I kid, he was actually pretty cool and his wife liked cheesecake so it's all good).<br />
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I'm a cheesecake fanatic...so imagine my shock and awe when we got to judge a peanut butter and chocolate cheesecake, a raspberry one, and a pumpkin one! I was all giddy like a fat girl ijudging BBQ (Oh wait...snap. Must stop eating.). Anyway, we also tasted some pumpkin shake/smoothie, some cake balls, and an adorable lemon/whip creamy thing that would have been fantastic if I liked lemon even a little bit.<br />
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Sad but true story here: we are NOT allowed to take any photos while judging. In fact, our phones have to be tucked away completely...but we are allowed to take home what we don't eat...so the picture here is a fantastic piece of chocolate peanut butter cheesecake and raspberry cheesecake after they've been smashed into a ziploc bag, pushed into an ice chest, thrown into the back of a car, and then driven 20 miles in 90 degree heat with what felt like a wall of humidity. I'd say it still looks delish given what it's been through.<br />
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After all that food, I drove myself back to the hotel, carried my smashed cheesecake to my room, flopped on my bed and didn't move for 12 hours (except to reach over and take another bite of cheesecake).<br />
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It's a totally rough volunteer gig. It really is. </div>
Trouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01701987648275983596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-317295467278020998.post-30489619642014441542018-09-17T18:46:00.000-07:002018-09-18T20:18:54.295-07:00Springfield, MO - Day 3 . AFTER the Royal Haunted B & B September 16, 2018 <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Rushed out of the Kansas City Speedway/American Royal parking lot and drove three hours to stay the night in a "haunted" B & B called <a href="https://www.walnutstreetinn.com/">Walnut Street Inn</a> that sits in downtown Springfield, MO. If any of you have read this blog before, you know my friend Jennifer and I take a haunted tour most Halloween's...so I thought in order to get in the spirit, I may as well partake upon a haunted night's stay here in Missouri.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rosen Room</td></tr>
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The Walnut Street Inn is a quaint little place that was built in mid 1890. The current owners don't mention anything about hauntings on their website and any reports of ghosts is clearly missing from the B&B's guest logs. There are some torn out pages in the log, adding to the mystery of the place...but alas, in all the photos I took, I didn't see one orb. So either the ghosts that are there are quiet, or the place is not dusty at all. You be the judge.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rosen Room near the door</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bathroom in the Rosen Room</td></tr>
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What I can tell you about the place is that it's incredibly clean and has a lot of original aspects still in place. There are three rooms on the 2nd floor, where the Rosen Room is located. Near the back is a steep set of stairs that lead to a back door that guests use after hours.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Siting Room on the 2nd Floor</td></tr>
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There's a lovely sitting room on the second floor that all the rooms open up to...and it's clean and cozy. No really my cup of tea, as I'm totally not into "house" history as much as I'm into serial killers and graveyard history...but my first thought upon seeing the Rosen Room and the decor of the house was that my friend Jennifer's mom would LOVE the place.<br />
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The rumor of a haunting was apparently started when someone was staying in the Rosen Room and they saw a woman sitting at a desk who was dressed in Victorian clothing. The guest told the woman it was his room and she replied it was hers...then she disappeared. Staff reportedly have seen a woman in Victorian dress as well...but it's all hush hush and since it was, I didn't mention it to the friendly hosts so I got no first hand knowledge. I'm annoying enough without asking about ghosts and murders everywhere I go.<br />
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Haunted or NOT? The bottom line is this: you know when you step into a room and it gives you chills...or you feel like someone is watching you...and the hair on the back of your neck stands up? I would have loved to feel any of that after driving three hours from Kansas City to spend the night in the Rosen Room. Instead I heard the creak of the stairs as we climbed to the second floor...the product of original floors in a 1890's home. I heard the drip of water in the bathroom, the guests above me walking and talking, and street noises as people drove past the Inn. I'm not going to say it's not haunted...but I will freely admit if it is, the ghost are quite shy and are harmless.<br />
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In fact, I didn't get that creepy feeling in any part of the house. And you can bet I got up around 3 am and walked around, floors creaking under my feet, and also snapped some photos in my room at that time...but nothing. And trust me, as much as I pretend to be a ghost hunter, if I felt even a little uneasy in the place, I would have high-tailed it to my car and slept in the back seat like a scared little girl who's just saw her parents having sex. </div>
Trouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01701987648275983596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-317295467278020998.post-79385831611747657042018-09-16T20:16:00.001-07:002018-09-18T20:20:15.248-07:00American Royal 2018 - Kansas City, MO: Day 1 - Arriving to Volunteer<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Volunteering IS a rewarding thing. And to volunteer does make the world a better place. But, once you discover the type of volunteer work I did this weekend, you stop and consider whether I'm a saint or a sinner.<br />
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I DID donate a lot of time...two days! And I DID fly over 1,800 miles on my OWN dime to volunteer. And I did volunteer for a non-profit. I DO sound like a saint, right? Would it change your mind if I said I was volunteering as a bbq judge at the 2018 <a href="http://www.americanroyal.com/bbq/">American Royal World Series of BBQ</a>? Probably, right? Oh well, after my last volunteer gig with the 40 3rd and 4th graders, I think I deserved this one.<br />
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I hopped on a plane in Portland, OR (after 3 delays and 2 hours of additional wait time, I'm really nearing sainthood) and landed in Kansas City, MO on Friday night. Here's a fun fact: if you're more than two hours late to pick up your rental car, Budget cancels your reservation. Did you know that? It makes for an entertaining wait in line. And it gives one cheeky chick (namely me), a chance to almost get beat up while reserving a car.<br />
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It went like this:<br />
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While I was waiting in line for my car, I heard the counter dude explain that a lady had come in earlier and was all ticked off about the Jeep she rented having some fingerprints on the dash. The counter guy (who I'm gonna call Earl) said the lady basically ripped his head off and spit down his neck...which I found very entertaining and sad at the same time.<br />
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Being a shy, polite, and boring gal, I walk up to the counter as two new customers step into my place in line. The customers are a man and wife duo, and its pretty clear the woman is in charge...she's bossing the man around like he's a two year old and he's tipping his head and jumping at every word.<br />
Keep in mind, this duo have not heard Earl tell his story....<br />
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I get to the counter and look at Earl and in the nicest possible voice say,<br />
"I hope I get a car because if I don't, I'm gonna have to rip your head off and spit down your neck."<br />
Earl starts to respond when all the sudden Macho woman behind me says,<br />
"WHAT DID SHE JUST SAY?!!!!"<br />
Earl says, "She said she was gonna rip my head off and spit down my neck." And he laughs a bit.<br />
And I laugh. Because it's REALLY funny that this lady is now bouncing up and down and moving her weight from foot to foot like a boxer ready to lunge.<br />
Then Earl tells me that it was a sad moment...and he's talking about the other lady saying that to him...but Macho Lady doesn't know that...and she starts asking again,<br />
"WHAT DID SHE SAY!??"<br />
And I laugh again, cause now she's really worked up...<br />
Finally Earl says to me, "You should have seen her (Macho Lady's) eyes bulge!<br />
And I turn around and Macho lady is asking again, "What did you say to him?"<br />
Although at this point I should stop goofing around, I say, "Yeah, I said I was gonna rip his head off and spit down his neck." And I pause for effect...then Earl jumps in and tells the poor lady about the other customer...and she looks at me...and I look at her and smile my biggest shinny smile...<br />
and she says to me, "I was about ready to come over there and give you a beating!"<br />
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I looked her up and down and said, "Oh don't do that!" with as much of a shake in my voice I could muster without cracking up while the little devil on my shoulder was saying, "You could take her!" <br />
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I drove straight to McDonalds, waited in the drive-through for a good 30 minutes for a quarter pounder with cheese and unsweetened tea, and wondered if I told the teenager at the drive-thru I was going to rip her head off and spit down her neck I'd get my food faster. Probably not.<br />
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As I climbed into my hotel bed...the one that came with full time freeway noise as if the fast lane was at my headboard, laughed one more time about Macho Lady...and I prayed for her husband.<br />
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...and the rewards are endless...but for some reason, I don't necessarily feel as though I've given much of myself...because my<br />
I don't necessarily think that's true of the type of volunteering I participated in this weekend. 2018 <a href="http://www.americanroyal.com/ournewhome/">American Royal World Series of BBQ</a> competition<br />
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Trouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01701987648275983596noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-317295467278020998.post-78904202062050867782018-07-20T19:42:00.002-07:002018-07-20T19:57:40.244-07:00Volunteer Gig: Kid's Camp 2018<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I just spent four days volunteering at a camp for kids grades 3-6 sponsored by a local police department. It's four days of kids, kids, kids. Oh, and fun stuff for them to do that allows them to interact with various agencies such as Police, Fire, Fish and Wildlife, Bureau of Land Management, Search and Rescue, SWAT, and a Martial Arts company.<br />
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There were around 250 kids, which felt like 25,000. I'm not much of a kid person, so I really stepped out of my comfort zone but I found it quite rewarding. I'm naturally curious about all things, so I stopped thinking about how I'd much rather be downing margaritas (and trust me, I needed them after the first few hours) and started thinking about the kids and their behavior.<br />
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Here's what I noticed or learned...<br />
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All the kids were great at times...some were awesome most of the time...and a few were obviously sent from the depths of hell to push me into insanity or alcoholism. I was actually afraid to drink during the week since I could imagine I'd never want to stop. Seriously.<br />
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Third and fourth graders are so full of energy and life, they actually made me want to be a healthier person. I wanted to be able to run and jump and laugh and scream at will without my bones creaking or my foot, back, neck, ankle, etc, hurting. Trust me, though, after a day with those kids, I needed a nap and a soft couch...for hours.<br />
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Some girls don't want to compete against boys. Some girls apparently learn (at a very young age) that it's not "fair" to compete against boys. I politely explained that it's not fair...for the boys! I want to ensure ya'll know I'm not totally generalizing, some of the girls were all for it, but the majority had serious issues with competing against boys. We weren't even playing for prizes...and still, some girls refused to play at all because they didn't feel comfortable competing because they thought the boys had an unfair advantage. What exactly are we teaching our little girls to make them think they aren't equal? And, even more of concern, is how are we going to make these girls believe they CAN compete when they are older if they can't even do it in the third grade?<br />
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Some girls learn way too soon that being "pretty" gets you special treatment. I actually had two little girls run up to me and tell me they got a prize because they were "cute." I'm sure it wasn't meant as a bad thing, and it wasn't a gesture done out of any weirdness...and they <u>were</u> the most adorable girls I've ever seen. The girls were thrilled they were given free slurpies and they didn't have to do anything at all other than smile and look pretty. So smile. And be pretty. Cause good things will come. Right.<br />
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Some girls fall in love and chase boys they have no chance of getting. I'm not just talking about me and the cute fireman I saw (cause I DO realize I'm way too old and entertaining for him) I was shocked to see this behavior can begin as soon as third grade....and I felt so bad for the little girl who didn't understand why the boy didn't return her affection (in this case, that would have been in the form of sitting with her when he said he would). It was horrific to see this little 3rd grader heartbroken over a boy who would never really notice her. And I thought she was way too young to feel that way. And I wanted to warn her, this is the first of many! Sad. Poor thing.<br />
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Parents lie about their kid's medical history. I say this with all the kindness and love I can muster, but trust me, I surmise that some of these kids certainly have medical issues (think ADHD, autism, etc) that parents didn't report to staff. This information is important in placing kids with the right team and ensuring the kids get the attention they need and deserve. Having this information can make the difference between your kid having a great time or feeling like someone is badgering them because they are incapable of sitting still during a 40 minute presentation.<br />
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Perhaps the most important thing I learned is this:<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">Teachers and those who work with kids on a daily basis are saints.</span></b><br />
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I've never obviously* had kids. (*thank goodness) But, there is no greater form of birth control than having your high schooler participate in a kids camp and allow them to be around 40 kids and be primarily in charge of ensuring the kids get to their destination on time, keep quiet when needed, play safely, don't take cuts, don't scream, cheat, push, pull, stomp on, run over, chase each other with fish guts, or any other action activity that may be unacceptable at any given time. So get those kids out there to volunteer!<br />
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Aww, kids. You gotta love them...especially since you can't put them in the backyard with the dog...who am I trying to snowball? Trout doesn't even stay in the backyard. She has full run of the house and I'm pretty darn sure any kid of mine would have full run of everything too.<br />
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This was an awesome experience, so get your web browser up and moving...start looking for a kid's camp to volunteer with! And if YOU work with kids, thank you thank you thank you! You're a super special person who deserves all the best in life!!!<br />
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Trouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01701987648275983596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-317295467278020998.post-32285235690828826632018-07-20T18:12:00.003-07:002018-07-20T18:12:24.047-07:00Welcome Back! <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Greetings readers (Mom and Dad),<br />
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I recently finished my second Masters and now find myself with so much free time I feel like I've just graduated high school and am ready to face the world. Oh if only it were true. Man, the things I would do! <br />
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Actually, I took a new job awhile ago (and no, it has NOTHING to do with either of my Masters), but it's a great job..well, really, it's a great job to motivate you to retire. ahah. Don't tell my boss I said that. The people are nice, there's lots of security, and my new boss only micromanages a little. *Cough. <br />
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Anyway, with all that free time, I've decided to expand my horizons again. Just bought a Sears Allstate scooter...but it's in Texas....so I haven't even seen it. Still, it's a start. Soon I'll be the queen of over 40 year old geeks and dorks. The world will be mine! (Insert evil laugh here).<br />
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And for your reading pleasure, I'll try to document some of my world take over here. Stay tuned. <br />
<br />This time I mean it. <br />
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Trouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01701987648275983596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-317295467278020998.post-83643655070026331182017-03-26T12:24:00.001-07:002018-09-17T19:38:48.387-07:00BBQ: First smoke of the season: BBQ Failure.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 13.5pt;">Last weekend I cleaned out the smoker and spent
nearly $100 on fresh meat. Specifically, brisket and ribs. My two
favorite food groups: Pork and Beef. After trudging to the corner
gas station to fill two propane tanks I've been avoiding for months, I was
ready to start the smoker and already dreaming of the deliciousness that would
send my taste buds into bliss later that night. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 13.5pt;">My smoker of choice for the last few years has
been the <a href="http://www.olp-inc.com/"><span style="color: blue;">Smoke
Hollow</span></a>. It is wide enough to fit a full rack of ribs
without cutting them in half and has about five shelves. It's perfect for
smoking chicken, ribs, and attempting to cook brisket. I'll admit I'm
still in the attempting stage as far as brisket goes. And probably will
ALWAYS be in that stage. But I digress...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 13.5pt;">It was cold outside, but shouldn't have been
cold enough it disrupted the smoker's abilities. But it did. It
took forever for the temperature to get up to even 150 degrees. I put the
brisket on around 3 a.m. and for many agonizing hours, viewed the temperature
gage hovering around 200. Nothing worked to get it up. Eventually,
I gave up the fight and moved the meat to the oven. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 13.5pt;">As you can imagine, both the ribs and the
brisket were not even in the category of "good." Bummer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 13.5pt;">Instead of troubleshooting, I decided I'd gotten
all the love out of the Smoke Hollow I'd purchased years previously and went
through the agonizing decision making process of replacing it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 13.5pt;">Having four BBQ's on my back patio made me
hesitant to rush into anything. I didn't need a duplicate of what I
had...and if per chance I got the Smoke Hollow working, I didn't need two of
the same brand. How do you decide what to buy? That's the million-dollar
question.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 13.5pt;">I'll run you through that process in my next
post. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: "times"; font-size: 13.5pt;">(Nothing like a blog teaser, eah?) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Trouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01701987648275983596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-317295467278020998.post-83595822637519335272016-10-31T21:19:00.003-07:002017-03-26T12:04:00.447-07:00RT2016 day 12 and 13: French Quarter Halloween <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The final stage of Road Trip 2016's J2 (Jess and Jen's) Vacation was two nights at the <a href="http://www.fourpointsfrenchquarter.com/">Four Points Sheraton French Quarter</a>. We paid a small fortune and booked at least 9 months in advance to score a balcony room on Bourbon Street. We know, we know, that's a tourist attraction. But it's a wild, crazy, scary, hog wild entertaining time. It's supposedly better than Mardis Gras because the weather is more predictable. During Halloween there is generally no rain and the weather is still pushing upper 70's. So, for our entire trip, while back home in Oregon they are suffering through rain, we've been blessed with warm sunshine. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gpYbKtFMDJo/WBgSbhv5UqI/AAAAAAAABHQ/IJ0BTNDO_uMvz0fkaZUG3RudxCyHl7TlQCLcB/s1600/DSC00313.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gpYbKtFMDJo/WBgSbhv5UqI/AAAAAAAABHQ/IJ0BTNDO_uMvz0fkaZUG3RudxCyHl7TlQCLcB/s400/DSC00313.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from our balcony</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lots of these type of costumes...and my favorites.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fOx9vX77Kag/WBgUBdhoJRI/AAAAAAAABHc/nOorzRsQvKA4hn_KAoGbw2q5q-MVAx6HwCLcB/s1600/DSC00297.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fOx9vX77Kag/WBgUBdhoJRI/AAAAAAAABHc/nOorzRsQvKA4hn_KAoGbw2q5q-MVAx6HwCLcB/s1600/DSC00297.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>Our balcony room is on the 4th floor, which frankly, is a bit high to really get great photos. It is also too high to, in my opinion, safely throw beads. But, it's a great way to get the ex<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1AYT57haQ7M/WBgSxDv40iI/AAAAAAAABHU/jGUyr1PpB-ApVAEB2tjI3Z4favXAUYFxgCLcB/s1600/DSC00291.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>perience and not be in the thick of the madness.<br />
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Oh and what madness it is. Take Vegas and multiply it times 1000. Take the best Halloween party you've ever been to, add 100,000 more people and that many more costumes, and you get this. It's a rip roaring, ear splitting, parade of freaks. It's people in elaborate costumes walking stately through the crowd to drunks stumbling past with their shirts off and often in their tighty whiteys (or purple or reds). It's a whole lot of men wearing less than they should be...tutus, speedos, naked lady costumes, feather boas, preacher outfits, and a hell of a lot of men in slutty dresses. And speaking of slutty, there are a few hundred slutty ladies, drunk ladies, church ladies, regal ladies, and even scary ladies. There are things out here that I may never forget, that my eyes won't forgive me for, and that my face will always have laugh lines to blame them on. Every barn animal, video game, nursery rhyme, Disney movie, Saturday Night Live sketch, fiction and non fiction movie, every condiment, food, and even occupation has been accounted for. No one or thing has been spared. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VLJ1tb-PudM/WBgUxkweXXI/AAAAAAAABHg/eaNiM7Qy3bAe1Sex2S20oZNqlh274EfGgCLcB/s1600/DSC00286.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VLJ1tb-PudM/WBgUxkweXXI/AAAAAAAABHg/eaNiM7Qy3bAe1Sex2S20oZNqlh274EfGgCLcB/s640/DSC00286.JPG" width="458" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Possibly a supporter of Alien Rights?</td></tr>
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And then there are the parades. They randomly come through the night, sometimes with a theme and other times not, bringing their marching bands, flashing lights, screaming costumed partygoers and beads. Beads everywhere. Beads being thrown from balconies, to balconies, on balconies, and on all the passersby who strut to and fro, oven passing our location up to 20 times or more. As they pass, we can see the transformation the night brings...from sober partier to fantastically intoxicated breast showing irresponsible freaks of nature.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jXFdSIWcpTw/WBgVlKczcHI/AAAAAAAABHo/iTWZvyVBgbkvlANkUX_4gtUPuTzW7E4SACLcB/s1600/DSC00266.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jXFdSIWcpTw/WBgVlKczcHI/AAAAAAAABHo/iTWZvyVBgbkvlANkUX_4gtUPuTzW7E4SACLcB/s400/DSC00266.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hot guys were on the balcony below us. Literally. This one was burning up in this costume. </td></tr>
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Despite the noise and the smells of vomit, stale beer, sweat, all mixed with the fragrant of all types of food that torture of our senses, we keep watching. It's too entertaining to turn away. We spent around 5-8 hours just watching, laughing, tossing beads, comparing photos, toasting to the tragedy that is this scene. This is what we came for. To see grown men and women acting like animals. No doubt, that is what we have seen. <br />
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We have also seen, here on Bourbon Street, the honest to goodness Church goers that come and try to push God's word in the faces of these animals. These Churchies carry 15 foot crosses and bring word of how terrible homosexuality is, of how we are all going to hell, of how only the righteous will be saved. They stand among the crowd with their bullhorns and their pamphlets fighting the good fight against evil. From my view, on the 4th floor, it appears that the only real evil in life is not accepting everyone for how they are and trying to push your beliefs onto strangers.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drag Queen vs. Churchies</td></tr>
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Here, on Halloween, we accept them all. We welcome them all. Halloween in the French Quarter is something I would encourage you all to do once in your life. Take in the bliss that is the French Quarter, experience the freedom of becoming, just for one night or a weekend, whatever your heart desires. <br />
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When the sun rises tomorrow, we'll be back to our normal lives. We'll be packing our bags, preparing our trip back to reality. A reality that starts and ends with working so we can afford to do whatever we want, to go where we want, only to be told we don't have enough time or money to do so. This, on these streets littered with empty beer glasses, beads, religious flyers, and people all whacked out and dressed like crazy freaks...this is freedom, albeit short lived and perhaps a little more crazy than it needs to be. And freedom is good. Because when I sit at my desk on Wednesday at 6:30 a.m. prepared to finish the week this is what will keep me going. I'll sit back and have a moment where I hear a little voice inside my head that says, "Remember when...." And I'll smile<br />
Because I'll always remember. And those memories are what make up a life.<br />
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Trouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01701987648275983596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-317295467278020998.post-26222768154286798432016-10-31T19:53:00.002-07:002016-10-31T19:53:59.222-07:00RT 2016: Day 11: Garden District Day 2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mq6zZmxIKmY/WBgBDWsAAbI/AAAAAAAABGo/LNyWw9uy-JAOJlJTAeQUKrrGGB-AL6b4ACLcB/s1600/DSC00164.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mq6zZmxIKmY/WBgBDWsAAbI/AAAAAAAABGo/LNyWw9uy-JAOJlJTAeQUKrrGGB-AL6b4ACLcB/s320/DSC00164.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dinner eating his dinner. </td></tr>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mq6zZmxIKmY/WBgBDWsAAbI/AAAAAAAABGo/LNyWw9uy-JAOJlJTAeQUKrrGGB-AL6b4ACLcB/s1600/DSC00164.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a>Headed to a Gator tour today since Jenn decided she's not a chicken sh*t (for those of you who are not delicate, that word is shit). The tour was a slow pontoon boat with about 25 people on board. The captain was an original Cajun who actually lives in the Bayou (or so he said). The tour was educational but frankly, the last one I took on a 6 man boat was a lot more entertaining to me...and we got a lot closer to and saw more gators. There was a little chap of about 5' who swam toward our boat, snagged a marsh mellow then swam away. By chap I mean gator. That was about the extent of the excitement unless you count about two dozen turtles and a 2' gator that was actually on board in a box. Everyone took turns holding it but I passed. I don't play with my food. Some great photos, though.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Sh8fnrWaUZc/WBgBpHURshI/AAAAAAAABGw/WyxYXJqUPuQn7j5t-EdyanmVMMzhdirMACLcB/s1600/DSC00167.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Sh8fnrWaUZc/WBgBpHURshI/AAAAAAAABGw/WyxYXJqUPuQn7j5t-EdyanmVMMzhdirMACLcB/s640/DSC00167.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These were HUGE lily pads. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I like to call this one "Jessica's photo" so if you see it on Jenn's page, you know who posted it first. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-v9XYEofC2Y4/WBgCqgxkuRI/AAAAAAAABG8/k9dQcOHki7ktX4kfq4rp2myUM4Fg9fBbwCLcB/s1600/DSC00213.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-v9XYEofC2Y4/WBgCqgxkuRI/AAAAAAAABG8/k9dQcOHki7ktX4kfq4rp2myUM4Fg9fBbwCLcB/s640/DSC00213.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Turtle family hanging out in the sun. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Memorial for a victim of Katrina...his house is just out of the photo, totally demolished. </td></tr>
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After the tour, I stayed at the hotel while Jenn toured the Garden District. She saw all these things that I was much too lazy to see: Sandra Bullock's house, Peyton Manning's family home to name a few. Me, I don't care where Sandra lives, though I wish her the best and if she's reading, please send money. <br />
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But, I wasn't a total bore. I did laundry. You may think, oh, what a great way to spend your vacation, but I like the people part of vacation (partial lie) so I wanted to see who else was doing laundry while on vacation. I spent probably 45 minutes talking to a great lady from New York. She was a Walking Dead fan so we chit chatted about the latest deaths and about how it's much more than a zombie show. In fact, I just read an interview by some famous dude who writes zombie movies (Mr. What's His Name) and he said the Walking Dead was actually a soap opera with zombies. Hater. Are you tired of the Walking Dead? Write your own blog and you won't have to read this one. <br />
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Later, I saw the woman and her entire family in the lobby. They were dressed up and headed to the French Quarter. Of course I had to take her photo.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trump University Graduate to the left, my Walking Dead buddy (Cat) in the middle.</td></tr>
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Also, in the lobby of our hotel, we saw a wonderful costume from Alice In Wonderland. Check this one out. It was made by the woman's son who apparently sews for drag queens. Not sure what that means, but somehow the woman thought it warranted pointing out. Fantastic costume! <br />
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Back in the room, I took a nap and Jenn went into her room. So halfway between awake and asleep, I have what can only be described as a haunting occur in the room with me. Someone tried to push me upward while I was lying on the couch. I shit you not. Scared the bejebus out of me. I can only imagine I was not awake and was dreaming, but it was one of those dreams that stick with you and makes you wonder if you really are alone....I told Jenn about it and she said she had some weird dreams the night before about the haunted house behind the hotel. Great. Fantastic. <br />
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We slipped off to Voodoo BBQ in order to calm my nerves and build my strength. And that night, you can bet I slept with the EMF reader near my bed. And with the light on. Around 5 am I grew a pair and decided to turn the light off. I got back in bed, got comfy, and the darn EMF reader went off like a fire alarm, beeping and flashing. Scared the living crap out of me. Seriously. It had been on all night without a peep and the second I turn the light off, I get a reading. After a quick change of diapers, I went back to sleep and didn't have any other issues. <br />
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Note to self: EMF readers suck. </div>
Trouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01701987648275983596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-317295467278020998.post-7777213828866700392016-10-29T20:30:00.001-07:002016-10-29T20:30:42.439-07:00RT 2016: Day 10: Myrtles Plantation to New Orleans<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Leaving Myrtles Plantation slightly disappointed for not having seen one ghost, we headed toward some other plantations and New Orleans. Apparently the plantations think they are worth a lot more than I do. We drove past a few plantations and Jenn took photos...but didn't tour any. <br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QorKH44umqc/WBVjjYy_MSI/AAAAAAAABGE/VtP87Sh6HNIDo2_MVx9viWAcZWYAFZ17ACLcB/s1600/pizza.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-QorKH44umqc/WBVjjYy_MSI/AAAAAAAABGE/VtP87Sh6HNIDo2_MVx9viWAcZWYAFZ17ACLcB/s400/pizza.jpg" width="300" /></a>Our first stop was <a href="http://www.katiesinmidcity.com/">Katie's Restaurant</a>. This place has a Portland vibe. And the food, oh the food is worth the stop! Garlic Feta Fries, Hulu pizza (Canadian bacon, pineapple, chicken, and BBQ sauce) were both fantastic. Seriously, if you get to New Orleans and you don't stop at Katie's, you are missing a gem. <br />
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After trudging through traffic we arrived at the in the Garden District at <a href="http://www.avenueplazaresort.com/">Avenue Plaza</a>. (Thank you to Jenn's aunt for allowing us to stay here!) Avenue Plaza is a large Worldmark resort that is directly on the trolley line with great restaurants within walking distance. <br />
<br />After ditching the rental car (because you don't need a car in New Orleans in the tourist sector and certainly don't want to pay for parking, if you can find it) we made our way to Royal Street for a Killers Tour. <br />
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Walking what seemed like miles in the hot, humid, action packed French Quarter was a lot like waking up in Vegas to find you're tied up and have been placed in the trunk of a Ford Fiesta. Not like that's happened, YET, but I can imagine it would suck. Our tour met in the front of a famous building that houses spells and other freaky stuff I'd rather not mess with. Yeah, potions and spell ingredients? No thanks. Church is starting to sound better and better.<br />
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Our tour guide was a festive drama queen named Randy who was very entertaining. He was very knowledgeable and very, very peppy. Loved him. During a pit stop we found out his master plan is to move to New York, work in a gay bar (you know, cause he's gay, which I pretended to be shocked about), and drive an Uber. It was pretty interesting to listen to him. He has such a passion for life. Just being around him made me want to go to NY and work in a gay bar so I could watch him in action. I think he's a real heart breaker who does it with flair and a lot of waving of the arms and intense facial expressions. <br />
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Back at the hotel I pulled out the sleeper sofa (I'm getting the luxury arrangements) and quickly dozed off. Jenn, again, was unable to sleep due to the spirits who came to her dreams. I'm pretty sure she had nightmares about the tour but she's certain it has to do with the haunted house on the property. All I know for sure is I'm glad I'm not paying the light bill on this place. <br />
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Trouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01701987648275983596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-317295467278020998.post-67739340815348058132016-10-29T19:53:00.000-07:002016-10-29T19:53:03.864-07:00RT 2016: day 9: Biloxi to St. Francisville, LA Haunted Plantation<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Jenn returned to the room late with no millions. The next morning we hit the road and headed to St. Francisville, LA. What was there? Haunted plantation of course. But, prior to getting there, we had to pass a Bass Pro Shops. When I travel I stop at almost every Bass Pro Shop and or Cabelas that I see. Apparently, Jenn does not. Upon walking up to the doors, Jenn's first comment was, "Are you kidding me?" She was obviously impressed. More so when I took her upstairs and showed her the shooting range. I was talking it up since Jenn is totally voting the wrong way, I figured she'd have a problem shooting even a toy gun. I told her I took a gun on vacation with me every time we've traveled and she had a little baby calf running around until I said, well, if you're opposed I can go ahead and save only myself if necessary. After talking to people about the dangers of travel, she decided a gun was fine. I'm still only saving myself. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Txv0ltWFhJE/WBVQ24BVNXI/AAAAAAAABFE/lRexed-o_AwkybjNR3xZfxnFySJz-3MqgCEw/s1600/14611158_10211321813506874_3722506874766162536_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Txv0ltWFhJE/WBVQ24BVNXI/AAAAAAAABFE/lRexed-o_AwkybjNR3xZfxnFySJz-3MqgCEw/s640/14611158_10211321813506874_3722506874766162536_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Entrance to Heaven. Note the alligator door handles. Pretty cool place. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-P_gQT1YPV4Y/WBVSnnt3A0I/AAAAAAAABFQ/jETIJr3iWVoZjgPW8NdNHnOV4xO1wsJtgCLcB/s1600/IMG_5976.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-P_gQT1YPV4Y/WBVSnnt3A0I/AAAAAAAABFQ/jETIJr3iWVoZjgPW8NdNHnOV4xO1wsJtgCLcB/s320/IMG_5976.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shotgun shark.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Anyway, Jenn is the pool shark of target shooting. She kicked my butt (and right now, after reading this, her head is so big that I'm sure she's going to have difficulty getting back into the car to move hotels). And although I beat her score once, she kicked my butt three out of four times. All I can say in my defense, because YES, it matters, is that I'm the one packing the Glock. I'm sure if I handed it to her she'd pee. Or she'd throw it at the person and run. <br />
<br />
I shopped at Bass Pro while Jenn walked around and looked bored. Now she knows what I feel like at all these historical sites. I didn't dilly dally as long as I would have had I been alone, and before I knew it, we were back on the road to our night's accommodations. <br />
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We headed to <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Myrtles_Plantation">Myrtles Plantation</a> for a night of ghost hunting and scary stories. Horray! Another plantation!<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2dPkFx-zus8/WBVYRUp4juI/AAAAAAAABFg/bpah5UDUgdwds3dFXylQs_DbZZ4bWfVRgCLcB/s1600/DSC00024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2dPkFx-zus8/WBVYRUp4juI/AAAAAAAABFg/bpah5UDUgdwds3dFXylQs_DbZZ4bWfVRgCLcB/s320/DSC00024.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Side yard of Myrtles Plantation</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2dPkFx-zus8/WBVYRUp4juI/AAAAAAAABFg/bpah5UDUgdwds3dFXylQs_DbZZ4bWfVRgCLcB/s1600/DSC00024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>Myrtles Plantation is either the most haunted place in Louisiana, the most haunted place in the USA or not haunted at all. Depends on who or what you believe. We stayed in the Caretakers Cottage which was a very cute stand alone cottage that sits behind and to the side of the main house. Story has it on the front porch you can hear the old caretaker walking back and forth at night. So of course, I let Jenn have the bed near the front porch, door, and window. I pretty much wanted to ensure Jenn experienced the best possible haunting and frankly, there was a back door I planned on running out screaming if needed. <br />
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Dinner was at the Plantation at the Carriage House Restaurant with turtle soup. As darkness approached, we started walking around the grounds looking for ghosts and trying not to die of a heart attack. I took the below photo when it was pitch black outside. It clearly shows a man hanging from a tree...or a piece of Spanish Moss that was closer to my flash. <br />
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tTp6VCbpUYg/WBVZchk64kI/AAAAAAAABFs/K0YMZmEsPCoEPOn9ASUqzVi5ew1wNI42wCLcB/s1600/DSC00045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7fW-utApgXM/WBVZuZqwYVI/AAAAAAAABFw/Mx6uIfQsViIl75ilKK96Yv-NrFZcFrJAgCLcB/s1600/DSC00068.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7fW-utApgXM/WBVZuZqwYVI/AAAAAAAABFw/Mx6uIfQsViIl75ilKK96Yv-NrFZcFrJAgCLcB/s640/DSC00068.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Man hanging from a tree. Can you see the rope? Just call me Ghost Hunter.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After our scary walk we went back to the Caretakers Cottage and used the EMF readers to check out whether we would sleep that night. The EMF reader was on my bed and kept going off as I was watching videos about the Plantation. That seemed weird. So finally I broke the cardinal rule of ghost hunting (at least when you aren't being filmed for a TV show) and I started asking the spirits questions.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tTp6VCbpUYg/WBVZchk64kI/AAAAAAAABF4/GEtZbqGerqEJrmCZ6O5iOPru0UBzluQ4gCEw/s1600/DSC00045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>Me: "Are there are any spirits near me?"<br />
EMF reader indicated yes.<br />
Me: "I think that was an error. Are there any spirits near me?"<br />
EMF reader indicated yes.<br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tTp6VCbpUYg/WBVZchk64kI/AAAAAAAABF4/GEtZbqGerqEJrmCZ6O5iOPru0UBzluQ4gCEw/s1600/DSC00045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
Me: Uncontrollable fear induced chuckling: <br />
"This thing must be broken. Are there any spirits near me?"<br />
EMF reader didn't do anything at all.<br />
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tTp6VCbpUYg/WBVZchk64kI/AAAAAAAABF4/GEtZbqGerqEJrmCZ6O5iOPru0UBzluQ4gCEw/s1600/DSC00045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>Me: "That's more like it, see, we're safe." <br />
<br />
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-tTp6VCbpUYg/WBVZchk64kI/AAAAAAAABF4/GEtZbqGerqEJrmCZ6O5iOPru0UBzluQ4gCEw/s1600/DSC00045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>Since I was on a roll, I started asking other questions and Jenn pointed out it wasn't a magic 8 ball. Whatever. After getting the answers I wanted, I drifted off to sleep without an issue. Jenn on the other hand ended up staying up until around 2 am hearing steps on the front porch. Better her than me.<br />
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Trouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01701987648275983596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-317295467278020998.post-25635880896209315252016-10-29T18:20:00.001-07:002016-10-29T18:20:21.920-07:00RT 2016: Day 8: Savannah, GA to Biloxi, MS (yes, I wrote Biloxi) 10/26/16<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Today we left the hotel early and headed toward Alabama…our
goal was to go through Alabama and arrive in Biloxi, MS in time for some
gambling and BBQ.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Not much to see along
our route and thankfully, there were no historical things that Jenn just
couldn’t pass by.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">It helped that
Ms.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Jenn was slightly hung over from a
night of sipping martini’s that tasted like candy bars.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Note to self:</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">If it’s too good to be true, it is.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">We made it to Montgomery, AL and stopped at a great place
called Southern Comfort BBQ.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Jenn keeps
protesting about the amount of meat she’s eating yet she ordered the pulled
pork sandwich.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">That thing probably had
about half a pound of beautiful pork on it.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I ordered the ribs and despite them being a bit overdone (which I’m sure
is difficult to avoid when cooking in mass production), the food was worth the
trip.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Jenn and I both highly recommend
the potatoes and white gravy…yumalicious.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">We decided to push forward and through Alabama and around 5
pm we made it to Mississippi.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Thanks to
Jenn’s great planning we stopped for a quick taste at a special bbq place called
<a href="http://theshedbbq.com/">The Shed BBQ</a>.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I like to point out that I would have
stopped anyway if she wouldn’t have planned the trip since they had billboards
up 50 miles out with fair warning that the place was at exit 57.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">But, one person’s precisely planned trip is
another person’s fate.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Now, be
warned.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">This is not the place you want
to bring your future in laws if you are trying to impress upon them your
maturity or your excellent taste in BBQ locations.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">It is, however, the place to go if you want
to explore, satisfy your bbq taste buds, and even listen to great music. It was
difficult for me to find the entrance and in fact, a rather embarrassed man
opened the door on my head, which clued me in that there was a door.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I’m very smart.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Seriously, this place is a long, winding hot
mess.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">It is reportedly made of all
recycled materials that have been haphazardly placed to design a long, awkward
maze of style and grace.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">You’ll quickly
find that yes, it is a modge podge of various artifacts held together with
nails, glue, and probably duct tape.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">But
what’s inside this monstrosity really matters.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">And what’s inside is what you come for.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">There is a small area of wooden decking in the “store” area where
shirts, hats, rubs, sauces, glasses, and everything else you can imagine lies
in wait for the overzealous consumer (that would be me).</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Once you order, you walk (carefully as to
avoid the bicycle wheels, license plates, shot glasses, boar’s heads and
hanging t-shirts) to an inside eating area that consists of painted picnic
tables arranged on gravel flooring.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Yes,
I said it, gravel.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">There are so many
pieces of, well, for lack of a better word, crap, in this place that you could
literally return day after day for the next ten years and find something new
each and every time.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">It’s a scavenger
hunter’s dream combined with eclectic tastes and some of the very best brisket
I’ve had this entire trip.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">But the
brisket is just the tip of the pig, I mean, cow.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">(And brisket isn’t on the tip of the cow
either, just sayin).</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">We ordered some
appetizer that resembled a hush puppy that was filled with cream cheese,
peppers, corn and some other magical spices.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">This was amazeballs.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">That was not
the name, but it should be.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">(The Shed,
feel free to use this name and just pay me a small dividend.)</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OwehAAS6ZIA/WBVHYbFRXGI/AAAAAAAABEs/QgJJFGNDCwscfHQbx22Vzc0nvP9A4Fv2ACLcB/s1600/IMG_5948.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OwehAAS6ZIA/WBVHYbFRXGI/AAAAAAAABEs/QgJJFGNDCwscfHQbx22Vzc0nvP9A4Fv2ACLcB/s640/IMG_5948.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Shed. Literally. Naw, this is just a portion of The Shed. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PUeQROXE8W0/WBVHffJDzPI/AAAAAAAABEw/Y67hhbYim0QHQcxifKYNzWT1rEflNTBigCLcB/s1600/IMG_5951.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PUeQROXE8W0/WBVHffJDzPI/AAAAAAAABEw/Y67hhbYim0QHQcxifKYNzWT1rEflNTBigCLcB/s640/IMG_5951.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Your eyes do not deceive you. Chickens and cats in the parking lot. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NI6qIKUpJZY/WBVH6drTA2I/AAAAAAAABE0/226lwGTUqdcY6tpaz-nPFkLT4De4nErdACLcB/s1600/IMG_5953.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NI6qIKUpJZY/WBVH6drTA2I/AAAAAAAABE0/226lwGTUqdcY6tpaz-nPFkLT4De4nErdACLcB/s640/IMG_5953.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See why I didn't know where the door was? It's a long, dirty maze of goodness. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Finished the night at Harrah's in Biloxi,</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">honestly, I wasn't sure if Jenn was ever coming
back.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">She went down with 100 bucks and three
hours later I hadn't seen her.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I started to wonder if she had been kidnapped by rowdy 90 year olds or if she was on a winning
streak.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">My winning streak was
brief.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">It entailed about 20 bucks and 15
minutes at the Walking Dead slot machine.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">I won big (that would be $27 bucks) then lost the 27 plus most my
original 20 within about five minutes.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">In the elevator on the way back to the hotel, alone, cold, tired, and
wet (ok, just tired), I held the remaining change in the palm of my hand,
showing the man in the elevator my spoils.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">He said, “Look on the bright side, you really only lost roughly $19.75.”
Then he skipped out of the elevator with a smile on his face.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Yeah, laugh it up, old man, laugh it up.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span></span></div>
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Trouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01701987648275983596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-317295467278020998.post-12452551632483179592016-10-29T17:46:00.002-07:002016-10-29T17:46:57.562-07:00RT 2016: Day 7 Savannah, GA (Day 2) <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
On this glorious vacation day we ate a pretty crappy breakfast at the hotel and then took a bus to the hop on hop off tour start. After much deliberation, we opted to try this since I am lazy. I figured a 90 minute tour of the area and then unlimited on and off privileges would be stellar. <br />
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For all you movie buffs, apparently the movie Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil was filmed here. As was Forrest Gump, Forces of Nature, and Something to Talk About. Both the tours we took here talked a lot about Midnight in the Garden and apparently, prior to that movie, you could purchase a home for little to nothing. So thanks movie fans. Really appreciate it. I certainly can't afford to move here now. <br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AIsZMj8efuw/WBTlJb_eXDI/AAAAAAAABD8/klqZRUEI-tMWUKbmj3rcA_CY5kEEhYiHACLcB/s1600/pirate%2Bhouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AIsZMj8efuw/WBTlJb_eXDI/AAAAAAAABD8/klqZRUEI-tMWUKbmj3rcA_CY5kEEhYiHACLcB/s1600/pirate%2Bhouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AIsZMj8efuw/WBTlJb_eXDI/AAAAAAAABD8/klqZRUEI-tMWUKbmj3rcA_CY5kEEhYiHACLcB/s320/pirate%2Bhouse.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Pirates House. Looks like a craphole. But it's not. Really. </td></tr>
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For lunch we stopped at <a href="http://thepirateshouse.com/">The Pirates House</a> and had a cheeseburger and a catfish sammy. The cheeseburger was thick, juicy, and topped with pimento cheese. Fabulous! Jenn and I ordered a pirate drink and snagged an awesome pirate mug...you know, so when I'm at work, sitting at my desk, thinking about my future I can look at the mug and smash it against my...wait, I mean, so I can remember how much fun vacation was. Nice, strong drink. Cheesy mug. That's what vacation is about. That and listening to Jenn as she worries about everything from bug bites to my driving. And I'm a perfect driver. Not one accident yet. Sure, a lot of near misses. But not one recordable accident.<br />
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After food, we got back on the trolley and headed to a church. I'm not usually allowed in churches (something about spontaneous combustion) but since the trolley driver said they let anyone in, I assumed I'd be safe. And safe, I was. I didn't stand too close to the open flames although I did tempt fate enough to take a photo. This was a Catholic church called </div>
<a href="http://savannahcathedral.org/">Cathedral of St. John the Baptist</a>. This place was so beautiful. It made me want to convert. Then I realized there was still time for me to catch fire, so I snapped some more photos of the beautiful windows (yea, I know, probably sacrilegious) and we took off to see a haunted house. Wouldn't want that goodness from the Church to sink in.<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-W7Uh4ZipWas/WBTpaN3hyXI/AAAAAAAABEM/wCu0wgoSWfkqgynLrrKWRNEnUsjzpoRFgCEw/s1600/IMG_5893.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>We toured the haunted and historic <a href="http://sorrelweedhouse.com/">Sorrel Weed House</a>. This place has a great story behind it. Most recently, it was a house above and store below. The current owner bought it and ripped all that storefront crap out and was beginning to restore the home...when he found some hidden gems. First he found a draft of Robert E. Lee's surrender letter (which is probably worth more than ALL of my possessions) and a parlor glass and decanter set, that was hidden in the ceiling. Just goes to show you, make sure you look UP as well as DOWN. This house has a sad story about a woman who walked in on her cheating husband and then somehow ended up either being thrown or jumping to her death off the balcony. If that would have been my husband, HE would have gone over the balcony. The slave girl who was sleeping with the hubby apparently killed herself a few weeks later in the house. Sad stuff. Moral of the story: don't cheat. Or get caught. Or kill yourself. <br />
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After 7 hours of touring around the historic area of Savannah, I was more than done. I dumped Jenn after the haunted tour and took off back to the hotel. I ended up eating a great meal the <a href="http://www.plantersinnsavannah.com/the-olde-pink-house/">The Olde Pink House</a>. That place had a great drink called the Pink Lady. It's raspberry Absolute vodka and lemonade. Afterwards, we met up again and Jenn went to the Olde Pink House and had some fried thing. Then I went back to the hotel since I'm older and wiser than Jenn.<br />
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Jenn. Poor Poor Jenn. She wanted to try a place called <a href="http://jensandfriendsbar.com/">Jen's and Friends Bar</a> where they apparently make martinis like rice crispy treat, smores, snickers...you get the idea...candy like. Jenn didn't come crawling into the hotel room until after midnight and when she did, she just repeated herself over and over. It went something like this: <br />
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Me: "Did you have fun?"<br />
Jen: "Yes, I had a rice crispy treat martini and I met some guys from Australia and a woman who just bought a house. Guess how much the house was? $78,000. Can you believe it!" <br />
Me: "Sounds like fun." <br />
Jen: "It was so much fun! I met a woman who just bought a house and guess how much it was?"<br />
Me: "$78,000?"<br />
Jen: "$78,000! Wow! Can you believe that!"<br />
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Yes, I can believe it. </div>
Trouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01701987648275983596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-317295467278020998.post-50190600709856833952016-10-28T07:31:00.001-07:002016-10-28T07:31:21.387-07:00RT 2016 day 6: Hilton Head SC to Savannah, GA<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chicken fried steak and grits from Page's Okra Grill</td></tr>
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This morning we were rushing to get going. It felt like I was getting ready for work. Thanks Jenn. Jerk. Anyway, we stopped for breakfast at <a href="http://www.pagesokragrill.com/">Page's Okra Grill</a>. Jenn had some chicken fried steak that was about the size of a small dog. It tasted very good...meanwhile I had eggs, bacon, and grits. Grits are great. If you smother them in other stuff. They are bland otherwise. Very bland. Oh well, good news, I didn't eat too much (this time).<br />
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ybeymkAzs5c/WBNco5om3yI/AAAAAAAABC8/TInQIDU4wJAmoaQMuB4HNroyVMkxDTy3QCLcB/s1600/14581544_10211330298198986_7501282175199841087_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ybeymkAzs5c/WBNco5om3yI/AAAAAAAABC8/TInQIDU4wJAmoaQMuB4HNroyVMkxDTy3QCLcB/s1600/14581544_10211330298198986_7501282175199841087_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>We stopped in Beaufort, SC and went to a fort, can't recall the name, probably something inventive like Beaufort Fort, and were attacked by mosquitoes from hell. Seriously, it was like we were in a remake of Birds (for you young folks that's a scary movie where birds attack). We didn't spend much time there since it was made abundantly clear that Jenn doesn't like mosquitoes...and she continued to moan and groan about it for HOURS. In fact, it's hours later and she's still talking about the baseball size mosquito bite on her forehead. I keep telling her it's hardly noticeable unless you look at her face. And that's the truth. Looks like someone slammed her head into a table top. Very entertaining. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Best hush puppies thus far: Salty Dog.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ybeymkAzs5c/WBNco5om3yI/AAAAAAAABC8/TInQIDU4wJAmoaQMuB4HNroyVMkxDTy3QCLcB/s1600/14581544_10211330298198986_7501282175199841087_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ybeymkAzs5c/WBNco5om3yI/AAAAAAAABC8/TInQIDU4wJAmoaQMuB4HNroyVMkxDTy3QCLcB/s1600/14581544_10211330298198986_7501282175199841087_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ybeymkAzs5c/WBNco5om3yI/AAAAAAAABC8/TInQIDU4wJAmoaQMuB4HNroyVMkxDTy3QCLcB/s1600/14581544_10211330298198986_7501282175199841087_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>Next stop, Hilton Head, SC. Why? Because I didn't plan the trip. It's $6 to get into the area. WTF. Greedy bastards. We paid our cash and continued on to the Salty Dog, beca<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ybeymkAzs5c/WBNco5om3yI/AAAAAAAABC8/TInQIDU4wJAmoaQMuB4HNroyVMkxDTy3QCLcB/s1600/14581544_10211330298198986_7501282175199841087_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>use it's famous. And I wanted a t-shirt and food. Gumbo and hush puppies. Both were excellent. Anyway, on the way there, the remains of Hurricane Matthew were obvious. It was like we were driving through a logging operation in the hills of Oregon . Trees on houses, cars, trees on the side of the road in huge piles (that's almost EXACTLY like a logging operation in Oregon!). It was pretty fantastic to see what Mother Nature can do when she doesn't like our evil ways. Or maybe it has to do more with low pressure over warm water and water vapor. Whatever. Pick the explanation you prefer.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paid $6 bucks in Hilton Head to see what I can see on any Oregon backroad</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hurricane Matthew's destruction: Basically on every side road in Hilton Head, SC</td></tr>
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Once in Savannah we located our home base and were excited to see it was in the middle of the town...so no driving issues for us. Jenn had scheduled a hearse tour so we stuck close to the area and ended up eating at a place called Cajun Café. It's on the waterfront which was about a block from our haunted hotel, <a href="http://www.plantersinnsavannah.com/">The Planters Inn</a>. The Planters Inn is supposed to be haunted...because it's old. No great stories from the staff or other visitors. They do have a wine and cheese happy hour type event at 5ish. Jenn who keeps bitching, err, I mean complaining, that I'm spelling her name with two "N's (and I keep telling her I'm the writer, if you want it your way, write it) partook on both nights of the wine. Loads of wine. So basically she was tipsy before dinner. What a lush. Wait, is she reading this? I mean, she drank one glass of wine then retired to her room. NOT (hehehe, she's reading this, I know, I kid!)<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">DB pushing sauce to customers.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ybeymkAzs5c/WBNco5om3yI/AAAAAAAABC8/TInQIDU4wJAmoaQMuB4HNroyVMkxDTy3QCLcB/s1600/14581544_10211330298198986_7501282175199841087_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>Anyway, Jenn with two N's or one, was sitting at the Cajun Café when she befriended the very drunk bartender named Drunk Bartender, or DB for short. DB convinced Jenn, who was already a bit snockered, to order a 'pickle back'. Which I personally think is something the locals only serve to tourists but who knows. It's a shot of Jameson with a pickle juice backer. Sounds absolutely horrifying to me. But Jenn drank it and DB also drank one...and they both proceeded to get even more intoxicated. I mean, happier. Jenn ordered alligator bites and I had this not so amazing pulled pork nachos. Anyhoo, Jenn ended up getting DB's phone number so we could hang out with DB the next day.<br />
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Of note, DB is very proud of Cajun Cafe's home made sauce and made sure everyone tried it. It was very entertaining watching DB interact with the customers...and it made me really want to quit my day job and become a bartender. I mean, hell, who doesn't want a job where you can talk all night and drink? Ok, I admit, I'm a bit old for that. Maybe. <br />
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Eventually, our hearse ghost tour started and then ended. I'd like to be able to tell you it was awesome but the 1985 used hearse needed some serious mechanical help. One of the rear bearings was going out so it sounded like we were being followed by a team of horses. Clank clank clank. And the driver, John, though very nice, looked like a homeless dude who hadn't showered in months. The cool factor is all in the fact that you are riding around in a hearse....that sounds like a horse drawn carriage. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hearse tour...bad photo? Well it was a bad tour, I didn't think it deserved high props. </td></tr>
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Another successful day, if nothing else, because I was not at work. As the days slip past, and work starts to beckon, I'm sure the idea of becoming a drunk bartender will sound much more appealing...<br />
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Trouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01701987648275983596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-317295467278020998.post-72100510505831259082016-10-24T15:33:00.001-07:002016-10-24T15:33:05.688-07:00RT 2016 Day 5: Another night in Charleston, SC<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We're going to hell. Church is closed. </td></tr>
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Late start again. I don't recall breakfast...but afterwards we went back to Market Street area and went our separate ways. Jenn wanted to see more houses and I wanted to see ANYTHING but more houses. So she skipped off on her merry way and I went directly to a church, St. Phillips, to try to sneak in and get saved. We have seen more churches on our travel than anything else, and these folks must be very religious or very hypocritical. Needless to say, God saw me coming and the preacher made sure to tell me the church was closed before I got all the way up the steps. If that's not a sign, I don't know what is. <br />
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Preacher said I could still go into the graveyard, which again, may speak volumes for what God thinks about me, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity to be in another old graveyard. One thing to take note of: squirrels. They are the devil's rodents. They were hiding in trees and bushes and making all kinds of racket at the most scariest of times. Seriously, at one point I wondered if the walking dead were pushing themselves out of graves. Almost peed. Once I figured out it was squirrels, I put on a brave face, wiped my tears and kept going. That was one of the times I wished God was on my side. For shizzle. <br />
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I love graveyards. I like to walk through slowly, reading names...because I firmly believe as long as someone's name is remembered, they are remembered. And truly, that's the most we can all hope to accomplish...to be remembered...even if by strangers. </div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-R_cXtFUkz_E/WA6GLZuadJI/AAAAAAAABCQ/sKqSKL3nrYAgxDDCGuj06qbp9OLqBGf2wCLcB/s1600/14732244_10211294743110131_5811386773769923098_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-R_cXtFUkz_E/WA6GLZuadJI/AAAAAAAABCQ/sKqSKL3nrYAgxDDCGuj06qbp9OLqBGf2wCLcB/s320/14732244_10211294743110131_5811386773769923098_n.jpg" width="320" /></a>I overheard a tour guide talking about good food at the exit to the graveyard...but didn't quite hear where...so I put on my stalker *cough* investigator hat, and followed the foursome that DID hear the directions. It would have been much easier just to ask, but I like a challenge. What I did not know was that the wayward travelers had obviously been married for a long time and were used to, shall I say, discussing things. Loudly. In an almost argumentative way. (Yet another reason I'm not married...of course, that and because I haven't found the right drunk guy.) I had to turn away and walk different directions at times to keep my cover...but eventually I saw them head toward a seafood place on the wharf. But, as I glanced sideways I noted a BBQ place, so I cut off my surveillance and ended up at the best place I've been so far in the south for BBQ, <a href="http://www.cumberlandsmokehouse.com/">Cumberland Smokehouse</a>. I slinked to the bar and texted Jenn, telling her I was taking a food break. She met me there, under protest, and we consumed the most delicious duck fat fries covered in pulled pork and cheese. Great stuff. Seriously, I had planned on hanging out there all day but eventually, I got up and went off to find another adventure. <a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-R_cXtFUkz_E/WA6GLZuadJI/AAAAAAAABCQ/sKqSKL3nrYAgxDDCGuj06qbp9OLqBGf2wCLcB/s1600/14732244_10211294743110131_5811386773769923098_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was great, I mean grade "A" level "9" brisket. </td></tr>
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So what do you do in Charleston when you have nothing but time on your hands, why stop and talk to strangers, of course. Along my travels I hung out with a Canadian who was on a bus tour with about 30 other folks. As you can imagine, he was NOT a youngster. I saw him sitting all alone by the courthouse steps so I sat next to him and we talked American politics (he says we're all screwed, just for the record), about his wife, his job as an engineer in Norway (before Canada), and about young folks and how disrespectful they are. You know you've reached adulthood when you can talk to an 80 something stranger and relate to everything they say. Damn. <br />
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Eventually, Jenn grew tired of old houses (for the day) and we hung out at a restaurant until time for our evening tour. We toured a haunted jail. Scary right? Let me just say we survived, but there was one little tourist who almost didn't. Initially we were waiting for the tour when this kid, maybe 8-10 (I'm terrible with kid ages) is sitting near us with his mom. He was playing with his phone and something didn't work and the kid says, "Jesus Christ!" Ok, maybe it's St. Phillip's fault for being closed and all, but I'm guessing this little brat says that kind of inflammatory shit all the time (get it, inflammatory shit, how inflammatory!). Later, his Mom told him to stop messing around and then she looks at everyone and says, "Jesus!" So I'm pretty sure the apple is not far from the tree...and in fact, maybe hasn't fallen at all. <br />
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I didn't let the kid bother me because I have a higher kid tolerance level than Jenn. If you know Travel Buddy Jenn (which I'm sure you can call her), she gets very...hmm...what's the best word....enraged? at children. There was a moment when I actually felt sorry for the little punk and I kept an eye on Jenn to make sure a "ghost" didn't push the little jerk down the stairs. It could have happened.<br />
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Great tour, terrific tour guide. Seriously, this guy was pretty darn good. But, the best was yet to come. We rushed back to our home for the night and watched the season premier of Walking Dead. It was Jenn's first episode ever...and she liked it so much she said something like, "This probably wasn't the best episode for you to have me watch if you want me to ever watch it again." So, Jenn isn't too into the Walking Dead. But, as I keep telling her, it may save her life one day, you know, when the zombies come. <br />
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Off to Savannah, GA by way of Hilton Head, SC. <br />
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Trouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01701987648275983596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-317295467278020998.post-50196127360859515702016-10-23T06:45:00.001-07:002016-10-23T06:45:10.845-07:00RT 2016 Day 4: Augusta, GA to Charleston, SC<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Somewhere along the path to Charleston. Not sure if this is hurricane related or just bad luck. </td></tr>
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Made it to Charleston, SC. Saw a few bits of destruction on our way here which were nature's way of telling us all to watch our backs. Other than that, it was an uneventful drive. We did skip breakfast since Augusta seemed a little bland. Big mistake, going the route we went, there weren't many choices. Hardys and Subway plus a few bbq stands along the road were the only food sources in sight. And when I say bbq stands along the road I mean a dude sitting in a lawn chair with a bbq next to him. No signs, nothing but smoke coming out of the bbq and a fold up table with napkins. It was too early in the morning for BBQ (yeah, even in my world there's a TOO early for bbq time) so we ended up finally seeing a McDonalds around 11:00 am after I'd already gobbled down a solitary piece of white bread we found in the back seat. Maybe the morning bbq wasn't such a bad idea, come to think of it. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Toured Magnolia Plantation outside of Charleston...nice house and beautiful (and famous) gardens. </td></tr>
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In Charleston, we hit the Market Street area and went on a carriage ride. That was enough history pumped into my veins to last me a lifetime. Some beautiful homes, a hell of a lot of churches, and a few graveyards welcomed us to the city. Of interest was rainbow row, which is a row of houses painted bright colors that makes the street look festive. Joke's on the tourists who buy shirts and key chains showcasing the area, as our guide made sure to tell us the area was basically full of brothels. That story actually made me WANT to buy a rainbow shirt. <br />
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History tour over, we stopped at Charleston Crab House for dinner. Jenn didn't get her wish of fried food but instead ordered a pasta with fish...that probably was made with two full cubes of butter based on the liquid in the bowl. I ordered a sample plate with cheesy mashed potatoes, crab, shrimp, grits, and crab cakes (shaped like an actual patty unlike the crab balls from earlier). It was pretty good, but I'm not a seafood person, so I'm not sure if it was great. <br />
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Some nice shops, lots of stuff no one needs, and a lot of accents to be heard. We do a ghost tour of a jail next, so we'll see how scary and frightening that is. I'm guessing anything with the word "tour" in it is probably pretty mellow, but Jenn the ghost hunter is ready to go and find some spirits. Maybe we'll get our cards read. I've never done that and would love to know if my future holds a divorce decree. <br />
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Trouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01701987648275983596noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-317295467278020998.post-38768786884290620202016-10-23T06:18:00.001-07:002016-10-23T06:18:17.746-07:00RT 2016 Day 2 Part 2: Dinner and Meth, I mean Math<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Tonight's accommodations is bed and breakfast called <a href="http://www.bradyinn.com/">The Brady Inn</a>. Not usually my cup of tea since the extent of my historical curiosity ends with what I had for dinner last night. But Jenn is a real history buff and enjoys making me stop at all these important and interesting places. Left to my own devices, I'd be at the Best Western right now watching TV and stealing bad coffee while listening to the neighbors grunt and groan. Then I'd complain about it all day tomorrow for various reasons. <br />
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Anyhoo, this Brady Inn is nice and the ceilings are really high. I'm just wondering about the attic entrance that's near my bed...and how I ended up under it while Jenn is near the door for a fast escape. Cute rooms, great grounds to walk around, wonderful wrap around porch with rocking chairs and bug spray provided. Which perhaps isn't a good sign. <br />
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We headed off to dinner once Jenn drank her glass of free wine. We stopped at the <a href="http://www.madisonchophouse.com/">Madison Chophouse Grille</a> for dinner. What I didn't know was that would change my life. Seriously. <br />
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/--t439W0NW84/WAl7aZz0WZI/AAAAAAAABAw/Desi7QIkA9w0fMsEfWK7jqzHdYJ8BJ_gACLcB/s1600/14671297_10211254195016454_4621327529235228036_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/--t439W0NW84/WAl7aZz0WZI/AAAAAAAABAw/Desi7QIkA9w0fMsEfWK7jqzHdYJ8BJ_gACLcB/s1600/14671297_10211254195016454_4621327529235228036_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/--t439W0NW84/WAl7aZz0WZI/AAAAAAAABAw/Desi7QIkA9w0fMsEfWK7jqzHdYJ8BJ_gACLcB/s400/14671297_10211254195016454_4621327529235228036_n.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="300" /></a><br />
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You wanna know why? Because it was there I discovered A Reason to Live. Honestly. I actually discovered two Reasons. The little babies are mason jars filled with everything you need to have a good time and forget the work week. Apparently it's the same drink as a Grateful dead made with vodka, but I've never drank that either. Ingredients include: vodka, coconut rum, peach schnapps, melon liqueur, sour apple pucker, blue curacao, sweet and sour, orange juice, and pineapple juice. It'll knock your socks off. <br />
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Before my first reason to live, we sat down at the bar to eat. This place was hopping. There was a convention in town and the bartender, Mary, asked if we were there for it. <br />
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Mary: "Ya'll here for the math convention?"<br />
Us: "For the meth convention?"<br />
Mary: "Yeah the math convention."<br />
Us: "Did you say METH convention?"<br />
Mary: "No math. MATH"<br />
Us: "Oh thank heavens!" <br />
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For a second there, I thought we were on hidden camera. Wasn't sure whether to say yes or no. We look around and made sure everyone had teeth and weren't picking at sores. Everyone had a good laugh about it. After my Reason to live, or maybe during, I'm not sure what order things happened after I started sipping that drink....I started talking to the guy next to me. He WAS with the math convention. He worked for Carnegie something or other and was a textbook salesman or something. Clearly my attention span wasn't that great. <br />
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Math dude: "I sell textbooks for math teachers."<br />
Me: "How is that even possible? Math hasn't changed that much over the years, right?"<br />
Math dude: "Yeah, not many" <br />
Me: "So you sell math. I'd guess that's a hard sell." <br />
Math dude: "That's why I drink."<br />
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Yeah, I wish I had that excuse. When he left, a 30-something refrigerator repairman sat down. His name was Jay. Between rushing outside to smoke and eating a large steak, Jay and I became fast friends. Or so I treated him that way when I started asking questions<br />
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Me: "So you have kids?" <br />
Jay: "Yeah, one on the way"<br />
Me: "How long have you been married?"<br />
Jay: "I'm not." <br />
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About here is when I should have shut up and stopped asking questions, but since I already had a reason to live under my belt, I couldn't stop my mouth from taking over.<br />
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Me: "Interesting."<br />
Jay, "Yeah, we're gonna get married soon as she's divorced but the court wont give her a divorce. Been trying for three years. Judge must not believe in divorce."<br />
Me: "Judge know you knocked up someone else's wife?"<br />
Jay: "Yeah and we live together and the husband lives with someone too."<br />
Me: "You break up their marriage?" <br />
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And shockingly, instead of Jay telling me to mind my own business, we had a long boring talk about the judge and how he kept putting stipulations on the unhappily married couple. Good news for Jay, or so he thought, the judge was retiring in a month so Jay was pretty sure he'd be able to marry soon.<br />
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Now if that wasn't a bucket full of drama with a side of complications, I don't know what is. Pretty glad my table only consists of a main course of boring with a side of over the hill. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Time of call it a night </td></tr>
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When Jenn started pniching her face (which is Jenn's way of indicating she's had too many drinks) we decided to call it a night and made our way back to the B&B. <br />
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Travel has a way of reminding you what's important. It's not the food and the scenery (although those are a bonus) but instead it's the people. The stories. The way strangers open up and share things. The way everyone suffers and survives. Take Jay. Below the surface, past the drama and complications (many of their own making) there stands a boy in love with a girl. And that's adorable. Just freaking adorable. And that's a nightmare all by itself. <br />
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Trouthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01701987648275983596noreply@blogger.com0