Sleeping Beauty

We stopped in Weed on our way home from the Oregon coast.  It was time for a splash of diesel and lunch.  When I stepped out of the truck I could not help but pause to admire the beauty of Mt. Shasta . .. the sleeping beauty of Northern California.  Why a sleeping beauty?  While not an active volcano, one never knows what surprises Mother Nature has in store for us.  Yes, Mt. Shasta sleeps but one day . . .

Yeah, there's a place called Weed, California, just off I-5.  Nice little town.  Small, just under 3,000 residents.  T-shirts with phrases about the place sell like hotcakes.

The town of Weed gets its name from the founder of the local lumber mill and pioneer Abner Weed, who discovered that the area's strong winds were helpful in drying lumber.  And believe me, the wind does blow in Weed.

Love Shack

Thanksgiving this year amounted to a five hour drive to the Oregon coast.  We've spent a lot of time vacationing in Oregon.  Spending the holiday seemed like a good idea. 

Here's our camp.  Not too shabby, eh?

I pulled the LOVE SHACK onto the beach around 2 in the afternoon in the midst of a major wind and rain storm.  Gusts up to 50 miles an hour. . . cats and dogs coming down in buckets.  Braving the elements was a whole lotta fun getting the trailer off of the hitch, leveled, stabliized,  utilities connected and most important of all . . . get the satellite dish positioned just right (142 degrees southwest, elevation 36 degrees) . . . cause I was ready for some football . . .only after peeling off the soaking wet clothes.  Man, was I cold and wet.

Even though it was storming, Wifey managed to roast a turkey breast.  We had planned on grilling it outside on the Weber but hells, bells . . . winds over 50 miles an hour and buckets of rain do not a cookout make.

Damn, that was good.

We camped next to a marina that was home to the local Coast Guard station, a number of fishing vessels, a fair number of sailboats and pleasure craft.  It was enjoyable walking the each of the many docks and check out each boat.  Here's a retired vessel waiting for restoration as a museum piece.

Here's what the Coasties are using in its place.  Makes my blood run wild just thinking of how fun it would be to skipper that puppy over major surf. 

Then there were the walks on the beach.  Wifey and Zeenie are looking a bit wind blown.

An old dog trying to teach young dog Kiri some tricks as well as orienting the young pup that sea water is not worth sipping. 

I'm out of focus here.   Maybe Wifey was just thrilled that I was willing to have my picture snapped and got all excited hence the fuzzy photo.  Last Friday it was prime rib night at the local Elks Lodge and we just couldn't miss that!

I snapped a photo of Wifey working (working?) at the computer and then said, Smile, damn it!  And she did. . . and here it is, Wifey smiling.

Then there were the sunsets on each of the 6 nights spent camping.  Oh, the sunsets. . . .

We've lived in many places but our most favorite was living on the California coast.  The salt air.  The sound of the surf.  Fresh seafood.  Seagulls crapping on everything (yeah, even that I miss).  Beachcombing.   And oh, the sunsets.

Wifey?  Same time next year?

Cute video... watch the whole thing:

Pacific Ocean Thanksgiving

Tomorrow two dogs and the wife saddle up with Bob for a ride to the ocean.  6 hours from Cowtown is a beach in Oregon with our name on a parking space in an RV park.  7 days worth of RV parking, rain or shine, we'll be there.

This said, wind gusts to 45 miles an hour, surf between 15 and 30 feet predicted tomorrow and Wednesday for this area.  And that's not to mention the buckets of rain being promised, too.  What the hell, go low and go slow. . . . one way or another, we're gonna get there.

You looking at photos of our last visit.  We were parked in space 81 then and space 81 is our for this next visit. 

Ocean out the back door.  Pounding surf at night. 

Great place to give thanks for all of our blessings (and curses, too).

Pass Da Spuds!

Being of Irish heritage, it's tough not to have potatoes with most every meal.  Hash browns, country spuds, fried mashed potatoes for breakfast.  French fries with a juicy burger, hot beef or turkey sandwiches with mashed potatoes for lunch.  Baked potato, mashed potato, hells bells, how about raw potatoes (ever eat one raw with a little salt)?

Thanksgiving without at least a couple of yams to go with the turkey . .. but better better, good old mashed potatoes.  Meat without potatoes?  No way!

Unconditional Love Sucks

You've heard the term Unconditional Love.  This means that no matter what a loved one does you accept them for who they are.  Accept, defined in my book, is putting up with their bullshit.  Unconditional love is bunk.

I recently offed a couple we had friended.  They were sucking the happiness out of me.  The relationship was all about what the wife and I could do for them with nothing coming back our way.  Give, give. . .and more give. .. finally, I got it.  Enough was enough.  Don't get me wrong.  Nice people.  Takers but not givers.  Maybe they were not so nice after all.  No time for these types.  Life is too short.

Then there's a few relatives.  No names and no identifying their relationship to the wife and I.  Let's just say there are several who are no longer in our circle.   In a nutshell, they are users, whinners, takers, finger pointers, abusers, and narcissistic. 

If there's a point in this post it is about how much is enough.  When you've had enough of someones personality do you douse your feelings with the unconditional love deal and let it slide?  Or, do you listen to the little voice in your heads that seems get louder with every contact of "that person". .. the voice that is saying, "Enough is enough!"

Life is too short to put up with anyone who sucks the happiness out of you.   

Think about this at your Thanksgiving dinner table when that asshole friend or relative of yours has once again ruined a family holiday and sucked the happiness out of the day.    How much is enough?

Ever Had That Feeling?

I Served

Like I had a choice. .. . which I didn't.....but at the end of my tour of duty it all worked out for the best.  Older.  A bit more educated.  Experienced.  College bound.

Did you serve?  If not, how have you served our country in other ways and furthered or supported our democracy?  Do you even vote?

The cornerstones of what America was founded upon are crumbing.

While We're On The Subject

The real Warriors of Rock and Roll:



There's something to be said about a woman of color wearing a fringe top.

Bob's Assisted Suicide Clinic

After my gig as the DOUCHE OF EARL! I'll need another source of income.  Those Baby Bombers are coming of the age where they'll need to reckon with the piss poor habits they've lived with since the 60's.  They're blown out their livers, bladders and cancer-ated other parts of their bodies.  The Bombers will be looking for an easy, painless way out.  BASC or Bob's Assisted Suicide Clinic will be there (for a fee, of course) and just the ticket for that last trip out of Dodge.

There will be an menu of options to choose from depending on what each Baby Bomber will want for an "end".

Like these:

Option #1 Tickle 'Em To Death:   Basically, the patient is placed on a slab, shoes and shirt/blouse removed.  Tickle the feet.  Tickle the pits.  A funny way to go.

Option #2 Scare 'Em To Death:  Also known as scare the shit of someone.  Lead the patient into Bob's Assisted Suicide haunted house.  The boogie man lives there as does Jack the Ripper, Chucky and Jason.   A scary way to go.

Option #3 Screw 'Em To Death:  Also know as fuck their brains out.  This option might be just the ticket off of this planet for former presidents, CEO's, and other celebrities who couldn't ever keep it in their pants.  Last all night porn stars would man the Option #3 station.  This would be an exhausting, sweaty, orgasmic way to go.   The Baby Bomber would really have to work on this one.

Option #4 Look Mom, no hands!:  A circus tightrope walker would escort the patient to either (a) to a big top circus tent and up onto the highwire or, (b) up the cables of the Golden Gate Bridge then instructed to walk the wire or the cable with their hands tied behind their back.  A banana peel will be strategically located somewhere along the Baby Bomber's path.  Oooops!

Option #4 For God and Country:  Here's a patriotic option for ya.  Strap the patient around an Inter-Continental Ballistic Missle (ICBM).  Aim that puppy at one of our non-friendly nations (and there's a bunch to choose from).  Or, place the patient on a large bomb loaded into a B-52.  Fly to an altitude of 60,000 feet, open the bomb bay doors, release the bomb and ride that puppy Slim Pickens/Dr. Strangelove style.  Either way, the patient is going out with a bang!

Gross?  Not nice?  Hells bells.....somebody has to do it.

Almost forgot..... for free of charge, a certain Rolling Stones song will be played at just the right moment for the clinic's most special of guests:

Douche of Earl

I'm taking my act on the road.  It's called Chef Watsoni, The Douche of Earl.  I'll make a grand entrance much like Gene Chandler.  Sing a bunch old songs and do some new rap/hiphop shit.  The Douche of Earl will be first on the song list.  Then I'll cook some food on stage, maybe some barbecued ribs or those snails with stuff packed in their shells.  Pass it all around.  Scarf and barf y'all. . . .that's what I'll tell the crowd.  Scarf and barf y'all!!!

Hell of an act.  Everyone will want to dance and eat with the Douche of Earl.  Who wouldn't want to?  Are ya in?  Coming soon to your city.  Watch for it.

So, Sue Me!

Okay, so the blog hasn't closed yet. So, sue me. Enjoy this place while it's still open. Put your feet up. Stay for a while. Can I get you a beer and a couple of wings?

The poster here is a bit out of focus.  Come to think of it, so am I.
Old junior high school joke while we're on the subject of the guide posted here.
Know how to make a hormone?
Don't pay her.

Hahahahahahaaaaaa, LOL, LOL and all that crap!

Shutting This Blog Down

6 years.

1,800 posts.

Enough.