Yeah, so this 'horse thing' is really pissin' me off...
And, it's affecting my temper in other situations, which isn't good, but... too damned bad.
Let's do them, first... the 'other' situations. First one is the 18 year old, Celine-Dion-in-need-of-a-nose-job chick. I know for a fact that this bim called Eric a coupla weeks ago and invited him to go riding with her. This is wrong on so many levels, I almost don't know where to start, except I do... back off, ya little ho. "Going riding" with someone can be, but often isn't, just 'something to do'.
Do it NOW. *deep breath* Back to the point... I GOT that message. (rolls eyes...) I made it per-fect-ly CLEAR that this was not a good thing. I was ASSURED it happens only once every six or so weeks. Uh huh. So, FRIDAY, she does it again. I'm in the livingroom with his phone when it rings. I look at it, see the number and go, "hmmm." No biggie, but there was this faint bell tolling... yes, "tolling", not ringing, or tinkling. TOLLING, like a funeral bell, thankyouverymuch. He comes racing in too late to answer it and I sure as hell didn't either, because it was a 215 number and I didn't know he was waiting for some other twit-bitch to call about yet another fuckin' horse that ain't materialized yet, by the godamned way. This one is also from Jersey. That much I knew and it was, like I said, a 215 number. While he's whining about missing the call, the voicemail alert sounds. He gets the message, says not one word and deletes it. Says NOTHING, after much vociferous whining. Strange. "Who was it?" I ask. He stutters, "Oh, I couldn't tell. I think it was Jon, it was all broken up and I couldn't hear it too well." The INSTANT he said Jon, my brain coughed up the 411 to match the number and I just looked at him, like.... "Turd." I called the little bitch back and left my own freakin' message... "Kim. You just called Eric. I HOPE it was IMPORTANT. Goodbye." *click* Well, I'm kinda thinking that between that and the day last week when I put the kibosh on her ugly ass milking with Eric, she may just have gotten the fucking message. She milked with BOB yesterday and was here for quite a while, but seems to have stayed the fuck away from Eric. Good for her. Punk. I'd hate to have to "explain" this to her in more detail. But... I WILL if I have to. Now, another way I can see this 'horse shit' is buggin' me is the fact that I just left Rod an off-line message about nobody even calling Eric for his birthday. Just the fact that I actually SAID something to somebody is proof I'm pissy. I wasn't mean to Rod, but I did spread a light layer oif GUILT on the message. Basically, it was "Hi, how ya doin'? Just wanted to remind people Rick's birthday was Friday and not one person in the family has even called him. It probably wouldn't be so bad if the Quarter Horse we're trying to get for him had gotten here, but... I've told Rick lotsa times that everybody is probably just used to not being able to talk to him from when he lived with that bitch. That she made it too hard and that's just what everybody is used to, now. But, I've said that so many times, even I'M sick of hearing it. The boys are here and they brought him cards and I did a little thing for him on my web page and baked a cake and cookies, but still... ya know? Sorry to unload all this on you, but my next choice was Chris and at least this way, I'm not in tears. Take care and I'll talk to ya later, me" See? I was "nice". (rolling eyes AGAIN) The third area in which my "fuck this and you, too" attitude is alive and kickin' is this 'other twit-bitch' with the horse, from Jersey. SHE wants to come see the place, too, but, for some fuckin' reason, she wants to do it with no more than 45 minutes notice of her showing up. No. I'm not gonna live on "red-alert" in this house and outside, keeping everything perfect and un-breathed upon, while I wait endlessly for some dipshit to decide to call. Fuck that. You call, you set up a time FOR THE NEXT DAY or for MUCH LATER the same day, but you will NOT hold me hostage like that. Fuck you and yer three-legged Arabian. I've about had ENOUGH with these fucked-up, stupid godamned 'horse-people'. Just as there is a HUUUUGE difference between 'training' and 'breaking' a horse, there is also a huge difference between horsemen and "horse-people". (And, horsemen and "cowboys", aka "hotdogs", but, that's a whole nother post...) I am a horseman. For the record, I also "train", not "break", horses. Anyway, my lack of good temper in each of the above situations can be traced back to the initial 'horse thing' that I didn't want to jinx by talking about before. It's almost cool that I can see it so clearly this time.
Except for the part where I wanna smack the shit outta the first guy.... (I honestly don't know if I oughta end this here and let the original situation be it's own post or not. This is kinda long already...) Yeah. That's what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna go on and post this, take a few minutes and re-focus my brain to the original issue, now that I've got all the extraneous shit down. I'll be back in a bit....
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