I have been feeling really down lately. Not exactly sure why I was all sorts of blue. We were stocked full of martini olives. The camper had a full tank of gas. Mr. C. Cow hadn’t chewed on any of our hand towels in the bathroom lately. Life has been pretty good.
Mr. C. Cow has noticed that I’ve been sad a lot. When I’m sad it makes him sad. This makes me sadder. It’s a vicious cycle of unhappiness filled with cow and otter tears. Instead of swimming around in his own cow tears, Mr. C. Cow decided that it was his job to cheer me up.
When it comes to cheering an individual up there is no one better than my best cow friend/family in the world. He knows what everyone needs when they need a bit of happiness in their life. If cotton candy makes you smile then he’ll fill an entire tractor-trailer full of the stuff just to see you do it. Music and dancing are easy to come by if that makes you grin because he’s there playing three instruments at the same time while dancing just to kick the sad out the door.
What could he do to put a little joy in my life. Worlds largest cocktail glass? One cow parade complete with a float? Pizza in the shape of a heart? Mr. C. Cow knows me better than anyone I know. He knows that the way to make me smile is when he draws me a picture.
A picture of our little family unit makes me smile. These are my peeps. My unit of support. I love each and every one of you guys and I love you Mr. C. Cow for picking me up out of the funk and making me happy again.
Today has been breezy. Not a “this wind is making my hair look great” breezy. More of a “these gusts are whipping my hair into my eyeballs” breezy. I’ve tried to go to the post office a few times to send out postcards but the wild winds keep blowing me back inside.
Because tree limbs keep blowing off of the trees and flying around the power has been sketchy. This has made postcards via the internet impossible. My poor computer is unplugged and looking very glum over not being used. Sorry computer! Blinking power means you’ll have to go energy hungry for a while.
How, due to the weather, am I sending this postcard to all of you? By using one of those mobile clever telephone things. Mr. C. Cow bought it for me because he was tired of me complaining about using his phone. It’s hard to use a cows mobile phone as they have a special “hoof option” that only applies to those with hoofs. Marslean, being a winged unicorn, can borrow it but my tiny otter paws are a no go.
Speaking of Marslean, she’s been sitting at our kitchen table playing one of those word making games since the computer is off limits. It’s one of those educational diversions where you are given random letters to make words out of. When I asked how it was going she wanted to know why the word “Swoodl” couldn’t be a real word.
This started a great conversation as to what the definition of “Swoodl” would be:
Mr. C. Cow – “The act of swinging a noodle around.”
Marslean- “Acting crazy and wiggly at the same time.”
Me – “When you swoon when cuddling.”
Good thing we’re not in charge of new word dictionary definitions!
Hopefully the wind will die down so I can go to the post office, the computer can eat a power snack, and things will get back to normal.
Real life photo taken by me attempting to go outside without blowing over.
Sorry for the, not so neat, editing. Using a smart phone to write is a pain!
I apologize for the lack of a postcard last week Thursday. Mr. C. Cow has been taking typing lessons and spend the entire day practicing. He’s trying to get his “words per minute” speed up from three to ten. Typing with hoofs can’t be easy and finding out that words like “dfa;ejoiardd” and “areraeasdereeee” are not real can be frustrating. Mr. C. could use “talk to type” but he’s determined to do it on his own. I’m glad he’s putting a little effort into it with the classes and practice.
Since Mr. C. Cow was preoccupied with his work, I spent the day at a petting zoo feeding the animals. I must say that I never thought this would be a relaxing way to pass the time. Normally this would be a stressed filled activity involving the feeding of wildlife as well as the feeding of Mr. C. I should call it “expensive and stressful”.
Being an otter, I am naturally curious as to why other animals choose the career path of professional zoo animal. A pro zoo animal is hard enough but being a pro petting zoo animal must be harder. Not only do you have to be on public display but people are always trying to pet you. I don’t even like it when someone touches my beehive. Germs is another reason why I could never take this type of work. Who knows where those hands have been!
I asked a lot of different animals why they decided to get into the professional petting zoo field. The chipmunks were all about the free food. A llama told me it was for the great dental benefits. One goat told me she was doing it to help pay for her liberal arts degree. I can understand the need to make a living. More power to all you zoo animals out there!
When I returned from my educational excursion, Mr. C. Cow was eating a peanut butter banana sandwich and watching old reruns of “As The Cowbell Tings”. Sneaking a peek at his timed typing practice quizzes, I noticed he increased his word count from three to a solid twelve. In celebration of his mastery over a keyboard I should take him to the petting zoo sometime. With extra food to keep the costs down and a cocktail to calm my nerves.
I’ve been to a lot of different kinds of bars before. Cocktail bars. Salad bars. I’ve even tasted a candy bar at the risk of losing my girlish otter figure. Mr. C. Cow has decided to “raise the bar” by finding us one that involves nachos.
When I think of a nacho bar, I keep picturing a bunch of cheesy tortilla chips kicking back, having a beer, discussing the pros and cons of jalapeños. I know this can’t be true as tortilla chips prefer to discuss the market price of tomatoes.
Mr. C. Cow, being smart in the food department, knows I’m just being silly and informs me that a nacho bar just involves the opportunity to make as many nachos as possible. If you want to eat fifty plates of nachos that are only covered in lettuce and salsa then knock yourself out. I don’t know how one could eat fifty plates but Mr. C. has goals.
I do have a bit of a nacho problem as I want to try all of the toppings but can’t seem to fit them onto one plate. Mr. C. Cow suggested I skip the tiny plates and use a hubcap from the camper instead. I don’t feel like washing cheese off of a hubcap so I’ll just skip the whole process. He can partake in the all you can eat while I find the type of bar that serves craft beers.
After I had a few libations, I felt it was time to call it a day. The camper was parked for the evening and I just wanted to go to bed. Mr. C. Cow wasn’t done making nachos so he decided to use a surfboard to carry his creations back to the camper. A surfboard is almost as ridiculous as a hubcap plate but a little more awkward due to length. How was he going to get it in the camper? How many nachos does it take to fill a surfboard? Is it safe to try to walk down stairs with a nacho surfboard?
To combat the stairs he kinda nacho surfed the board down, carefully, not losing a single jalapeño or chip. We should start a nacho surfing competition. Give out prizes for style. Points lost if you lose a topping.
On that note, I bid you all a good day but before I finish today’s postcard I want to leave you with a joke.
What do you call cheese that isn’t yours? Nacho cheese!
What does “S.K.A.T.E”? stand for exactly? “Secret Karate And Tater Tot Enterprises” was the answer that Mr. C. Cow came up with. I think he just wants to eat tots while doing his “sweet karate moves”. I’m thinking more on the lines of “Selling Kale At The Emporium”. Since there doesn’t seem to be any tater tots or kale around we’re just going to assume they want us to roller skate and not ask too many questions.
Mr. C. Cow is the master of roller skating. I chalk this up to being able to find skates for hoofs. I have a hard time finding any for weeny otter feet and usually end up sitting inside one giant skate. It is pretty comical because all you can see is the top of my beehive as I wheel myself around.
This roller skating rink was pretty funky because there was a colossal tube of lipstick just, randomly, sitting next to some storage lockers. It didn’t look used, but I told Mr. C. Cow that he was not allowed to put any one. You don’t know where it’s been. For all we know it could belong to a giant retro 80’s skate princess with a cold. If a regular cold is bad enough I’m afraid to know what a giant’s retro cold would be like.
The plus side to all of this wheeling myself around in one roller skate and blocking Mr. C. Cow from a grave lipstick error, was the entertainment. As DJ Bass Bear spun a set of 80’s tunes (that felt like you were in some sort of weird film), Mr. C. spun around beautifully in a helicopter whirlwind of flare. At least that is what others told me. When you’re stuck in one roller skate trying to do your thing it’s kinda hard to see. I hope someone at least took a video or a picture for later viewing!
This was a lovely, yet short, excursion from traveling on the road. Mr. C. Cow could have went on skate dancing all night but I was starting to get a bit uncomfortable in my roller skate. I hadn’t packed my personal one so I had to rent one from the rink. Fear of foot odors past and a feeling that I needed a good shower cut our visit short. Next time I’ll remember to pack my own skate. One that fits well enough so I can watch Mr. C. and his helicopter whirlwind flare moves.
It’s very difficult to find hiking boots that fit a tiny otter foot (paw…flipper…whatever..). Since my foot is so small others have suggested that I look in the children’s shoe section for a better size. Children with feet my size do not hike. They kinda waddle around and fall down a lot. No real market for hiking boots.
Mr. C. Cow can, strangely enough, find boots in his hoof size but has the problem of having to buy two pairs. Four hoofs = two pairs of hiking boots. He’s usually very thrifty and waits for a “buy one, get one half off” sale. As for where he gets boots for hoofs, I assume it’s the same place he finds anything else that fits a cow. The internet. Maybe I should browse the world-wide web for otter shoes.
Boot shopping aside, today we went camping instead of our usual nightly stay in the camper. The weather has been merciful so it’s not too hot or rainy to put up a tent. Gives me an opportunity to wash and hang bed sheets outside while giving Mr. C. Cow the opportunity to search for the perfect stick to roast s’mores on.
My laundry endeavor was going brilliantly while Mr. C. Cow’s s’more stick search was not. I had managed to wash and hang multiple loads of blankets while he moo-plained about “this stick is too short” and “this stick looks too sticky”. In exchange for his help, I promised to help him find the perfect stick. His help proved to be pretty amazing as his blanket hanging skills made our campsite look like some sort of hippy blanket den. Right on!
As for the s’more stick search, this proved to be more difficult than I had imagined. Who knew that a stick had to be the perfect length, height, and width, as well as have a balanced marshmallow surface ratio. How am I suppose to figure out this whole surface balance ratio thing? Do I need to use a calculator or a protractor? Do we even own a protractor? Does anyone, actually, own a protractor and use it the correct way that isn’t a mathematician?
After much measuring and calculating, the proper s’more stick was put into service. To optimize our marshmallow output, our stick was able to accommodate, comfortably, twenty-three marshmallows. I, personally, don’t see the point of roasting twenty-three marshmallows for two individuals. Mr. C. Cow, on the other hand, does not see the point in not taking advantage of such a fine specimen of s’more stick.
One Cow + One Otter + Three Marshmallows Roasted = Two For Mr. C. Cow And One For Me. This seems like proper math! Mr. C. Cow, on the other hand, sees it as twenty-two for himself and one for me. Fair? Not really, but I don’t want more than one anyways. Here’s to hoping he doesn’t get marshmallow sick.
Bishop and I have been together for a very long time. Longer then the time it takes a beehive to out of style then back in style. (Has it ever been out of style? I’m bad at examples today!) We have been together for so long that no one is starting to wonder how a relationship between a polar bear and an otter works. (It works on love, commitment, and sometimes having to deal with the whole height issue thing.) I’m always on the road traveling and sending postcards with my best buddy Mr. C. Cow while Bishop working hard at the equipment shop. When we both have a bit of free time we like to go someplace romantic (Woo Woo!) and enjoy each other’s company. The being “just the two of us” part is sometimes hard when Mr. C. is involved.
Case in point: This past week Bishop wasn’t busy at the shop and we were close to home so he asked if I would like to accompany him for a romantic dinner. I, of course, said YES and went off to primp my hair to large, amorous proportions while Bishop took off the hard hat (He doesn’t always wear one!) and brushed his furs. Mr. C. Cow was FURIOUS at us!
“Why can’t I go have dinner with you guys? I like dinner!” -Mr. C. Cow
“It’s a “romantic dinner” and we would like to take some time to spend together.” – Me
“I like romantic dinners!! Those are the ones where you get to eat candles right?” – Mr. C. Cow
This went on for quite some time until Marslean stepped in and offered to dine with (code word for “watch”) Mr. C. for the night. She promised him candles as long as he didn’t try to eat them. There were promises of a hay appetizer followed by some sort of fancy berry desert that would more then make up for his exclusion from our date night.
This worked out splendidly! (As far as we knew at that time.) We drank champagne, danced, ate, and enjoyed each others company all evening long. Stories were told of how we met and how we ended up together. When Bishop tried to pick up a tiny wine glass with his giant paws I giggled just as he giggled at my colossal hair knocking over a floral arrangement. Having the time alone was wonderful and we sorely needed it.
When we returned our greeting was in the form of toilet paper stuck to the ceiling as if by some magical force. Shaving cream covering a bulldozer. A cow asleep on a pile of candles. Marslean almost in a panic over a box of soggy pizza. Our night might have went beautifully but something happened at home.
I wonder what it was……
I took photos in Second Life and used them. Huzzah!