Geneva on the Lake photos: Memorial Day

In that one picture of the two people, that's my brother Frankie and his girlfriend, Julie. Look at his face. This was taken about two seconds after he tried to pass the wheat thins and crackers onto me. Julie just made him carry them. Julie was given them by the only person that wanted to bring them, my mom. haha.


This weekend I took a few shots while taking mutch to see the new hotel in Geneva. We visited the Marina and the beach by the house also. It was actually beautiful outside. Except for the foul stench of dead smelts all over the beach and the gagging fit, it was awesome. This is really a beautiful spot in Geneva. The lake looks georgous. The rest is pretty also, In a Napeleon Dynamite kinda way. Soon, I will post pics from "the strip" - that's where the action is.


As I walked across the marina to the new hotel facility I saw the white chairs set up... I really like these shots. (click on the smaller ones to see full size.)

I should put it up as an audio blog.

When I got home from my weekend at the lake, there was one call.
it was still the juvenile correctional facility, but a different caller than the one I talked to.

Today, when I got home from a busy day (that included riding!) there was one message...
Same jail. same dude I talked to.
and when the space for him to leave his name came.

he said: "uhh. callin' fo the girl who picked up the other day."

gulp.

I am so going to make sure calling SBC is one of the first things I do tomorrow.

beacuse you see, I live alo-EXcept for an attack dog also.a real big one with a really big mouth yeah,don't forget to mention the attack dog here- he atacks on command.yes,on command.

so I accepted the collect call from the State Pen

After waking up on this fine, sunny Ohio Sunday and having a cup of coffee, I was just getting really into another repeat of The Inferno (some dumb show on Mtv. I don't even know why I watch it.) and I heard it.
My voice, in a pleasent tone announcing that I am unable to come to the phone.
It's the call from the State Juvenile Correctional Facility. I sprung up and ran to pick up the reciever. I pressed 1 to accept the call.
I dont remember his name, all I remember is thinking that I better be nice because this person is in JAIL and we all know... he know's what my number is. And with people that know a guy, that knows a guy, that knows many guys that are in jail, unt uh. I'm not even touchin it.

I do remember the conversation.
carcerated individual: " ya, uh, you know m'nigga mOOse?"
me: "HUH? no. Listen man, whoever you are looking for is not here. They do not have this number anymore."
carcerated individual: "mOOse. Where MOO'at?"
I interupt. "listen. . . listen. the PHONE NUMBER you are calling does not belong to mOOse anymore. This ain't mOOse house. This ain't mOOse number."

then the same instant silance as when I was returning Stephanie's call.

Then I realized.
It was not the same caller.
most of the time when I get these calls, the person leaving their name is different.
I wonder who's old phone number SBC gave me. I think it's some gangsta dude that is responsible for getting the brotha's out of jail, or outta trouble.

Like the Wolf in Pulp Fiction. A lesser version. Set here in Youngstown, Ohio where people will NEVER stop to let you out in traffic, and it hails as holding the two- time - wold champion murder rate of the world (there are even t-shirts to proove it) that's who mOOse is... wolf gangsta.


I'm gonna wait and see if anyone else calls. If so, I'm gonna call the phone company.

the return call...

I have a land line in addition to my cell phone, which I like to refer to as my "phone phone". It has my answering machine hooked up to it, and the ringer on the phone is shut off. I rarely use it. Mostly for my freelance, and the message on the answering machine clearly states: "Hello, thanks for calling 8th House Design, please leave a message and I will call you back quickly. Thanks." I know it says that, I recorded it myself.

Everyday, while scurring around the house I will hear my voice from the tiny speaker on the Casio Phone Mate, "Hello, thanks for calling 8th House..." again, the message CLEARLY states THANKS FOR CALLING 8TH HOUSE DESIGN...
Sure, I get freelance calls, but the majority of calls incoming are:
A pleasent voiced lady says: "Hello, you have a collect call from (in a grumbly tone) "Brudmfmble" at the Ohio Pine Groves Juvenile Correctional Facility if you wish to accept charges, please press 1 after the tone. If you would like a menu of collect rates, please press 2..."
then it hangs up.
The other one is a real turkey.
An even more pleasently voiced woman that sounds like she's basking in the sun in Cabo says, " HELLO! This is Stephanie, I would like a CAll BaCK from you! My number is 1888whatever, you can reach me monday from (and she goes into the days of the week and times available in ALL TIME ZONES.)"

let me explain... see, at first, I just figured that it was some solicior and not answering the phone was a nicer way to hang up or say "no" a thousand times. I figured Stephanie would realize after getting an answering machine seventy times, she'd erase my name off the calling list. But NO. Stephaie is out for revenge. Stephanie is engaging me into a fiber optic version of road rage, "Phone Rage". Stephanie must be a great employee and an award winning customer service agent, because she's tenatious, and she's determined, and dammit, she gets her job DONE. How do I know?

This moring, I woke up to see the blinking red dot that indicates I have messages.

After 15 months and four to five calls a day I called Stephanie back.
but.
it
wasn't
Stephanie.
It was a man (gasp) and I said, "what happened to Stephanie? I need to talk to Stephanie. She's been calling me for a year now and even sometimes four times a day, she really needs to talk to me! Oh MY GOD WHAT DID YOU PEOPLE DO TO STEPHANIE?"
he said: "ma'am do you know Urthra (SERIOUSLY)?"
I said: "WHAAAaa? Damnit, where is Stephanie?"
Then I realized that when the man answered the phone, there was no greeting, no "hello". Infact, the phone didn't even ring. he just picked up and waited for me to talk...it was like he called me.
the man continued: " ma'am, you don't know a Urthra?!"
I said: "look, man, whatever your selling, whoever you're kidnapping, I don't want any part of it. TAKE ME OFF YOUR LIST."
then he hung up on me!
not even a "click"

so I called back. Another MAN answered and this time I took another route.
"Hello, I have been getting messages on my machine from you since last year, four times a day. I am very annoyed with this and I need you TO TAKE ME OFF YOUR LIST. I do not wish to receive another call from your or you're company. Please, TAKE ME OFF YOUR LIST. I get calls for a juvenile correctional facility and you everyday. Please TAKE ME OFF YOUR LIST."
the new guy said: " I am sorry ma'am, you do not know who Urthra is?"
I said: "nope. never heard of him."
He said: "I'm sorry ma'am your isssue is with the phone company, they gave you a number that belonged to an individual that is in alot of trouble."
I said: "so there's NO Stephanie???"

I kinda figured that.
When we were getting the house ready, there was an old school rotary phone on the wall in the kitchen. There was no phone service and there hadn't been, the guy died like, months ago. The phone would ring. yeah! it would just ring. So, when we would pick it up we were able to listen in on an accepted collect call from sombody male in PRISON to a sombody female "awwh, jus sitten hre smokin a blunt watchin the babehs fiddin to ge get mah hair duuhne."

I'm not sure if they ever heard US on the other end. I would pick it up one out of every 4 calls. Eventually I stopped picking it up. Their conversations were boring, don't people have phone sex when they're in prison?

This continued until I was ready to move in and established phone service and high speed internet in my name. I got a NEW number (I checked the old one) and ripped out the possessed phone.

so yes, the phone number Stephanie contacted me at is a different number and service name... and still collect calls from prison.

same dude. drunker...

same man, four hours later.
now he's pretty lit and depressed too...

man at bar: "am I gonna have to put up with you all night?"
me: "hah???"
man at bar: "AM I GOING TO HAVE TO PUT UP WITH YOU A L L N I G H T?"
me: "well, no. you can walk your ass right out that door and deal with real life instead." while pointing at the door.
man at bar: gives me the look of death.

man sitting at the bar: "Are you married?"
me: "yup."
man sitting at the bar: "In knew it. you know how I can tell?"
me: "how?" (intriging, since I'm really not married)
man sitting at the bar: "by the way you eat your french fries."

Grand Opening.

I worked the Grand Opening of the bar last night, which was a huge success. Tom's band played and everyone was having a great time. I was having a great time at 2am when I counted my tips, all $220 of them.

Bailey's West Side Pub

Here's a photo of the bar I have been bartending at...

This is the new owner, Tom Bailey. He is a good friend of mine, and we grew up together.
He lived next door and my memories of his hobbies during our childhood include playing air guitar to Van Halen on the roof, firing eggs at me from his deck, and bouncing basketballs off of my head. He taught me how to play truth or dare. He was and still is one of the best people in my life. he's a great dude.

we have some really good french fries, the kind you drown in vinegar. Look at them cooking in the new fryer! Y U M I love french fries.

here's Tom and Ty, the cook, getting ready to have some fries. Tom looks like he's got a hot one in his mouth.

Ty askes me "So what's your blog about?" in the kitchen


I tried to get a picture of my favorite addiction (beside US Weekly) the MegaTouch 4000's "3Peak Deluxe" sister to my favorite,"TriTowers" but the batteries went dead. When you get high score on this one, it names the mountains that you have cleared the cards from in front of, I have high score and it says "Mount Steechez". hah.

Cowboy the Paint Gelding...

and his georgeous owner, Natalie.
Here are pics of the Paint I have been excercising. I sat in on Nat's lesson on Friday and snapped a few.

fired up #2

Blow up my cell phone with messages like:
"CCCHHHHHRRRRRIIIISSSSSTTTINNNNEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!! WHERE ARRRRRE YOOOOOU?! WHY HAVEN'T YOU CALLED ME BAAAACK!? MAYBE SINCE YOU NEVER ANSWER YOUR PHONE, THE PHONE I'M PAYING FOR, YOU JUST SHOULDN'T HAVE THE PHONE! CAAAALLLLL YUUUUUURRR MOOOTTTHHHEEEERRRR."
when I've been at WORK for the last 10 hours.

...and the cell phone I am grateful to have, that is part of the business' plan.

fired up: #1

Since this is my blog, I am going to act like it from now on. I will be posting things that get me fired up every now and then. because that's what I would do in MY blog- and because I don't have anyone to complain to (like a boyfriend).

I'll get fired up, but it depends what kind of a mood I am in, weather you know it or not if you:

During the conversation bring up horses, and the how to ride them (- because you've been trail riding twice & your an expert) and the proceed to tell me it's really not that hard.

I said dressage. I very well could have said pshmeetshamll. you wouldn't know the difference.

I now have three jobs. I even missed survivor tonite for one of them. yup, that's how serious I am about this situation. I am working at a banquet center, doing freelance, and bartending. ahhhnd on top of it all, I am riding again. So much better than sitting in front of the computer ALL DAY in a cave or, on the couch. so. much. better.
For now.
When people ask "do you go to school?" my reply is "no. I'm a burned out graphic designer."

I worked both jobs today. The banquet Center in the morning, and the bar in the evening. When I got to the bar, the bartender on duty was one of the people I haden't met yet. As I walked towards the back of the bar, she asked "What can I get you" in a vocally accosting style. I introduced myself to her, and shook her hand. "JEEEEZUUUUUUUUUS!" I gasp. Because, beside sporting some massive camel toe (ooWh) she's also in possession of the world's WORST f'n handshake. The "next time I'll just pat you on the back" handshake.

I'm totally in on the whole "good-handshake" thing, and what it means. I believe that a woman should have a good handshake, however if I shake a woman's hand and it feels more like getting my hand trampled on by a FA-18 fighter jet full of elephants while landing, then I'll gasp- "JEEEEEEZUUUUUUUUUS!"

I thought she was a magician and that she turned her fingers in for some vise grips on the fly. It actually hurt.

After the introductions, she proceeded to sit at the bar and have more than a few Goldschlagger shots.
"haha, honey, don't shake! dont shake!, I already have enough gold in my system, B E L I E V E ME." she'd say as I poured them.
alright.
what you said.

synthetic feels good!

I got a saddle. I bought it at a used tack auction, it's a Weaver, 17.5 reg, synthetic. It's got alot of cushin, and it was only EIGHTY BUCKS!
sweet.

this is not my car well, it IS, but it's not my actual car, but a photoshopped version of what happend..where is the camera when you need it?!

uh.huh. I did this to my car sunday night. I DROVE RIGHT OVER THE STOPPIE THING! who does that???

it's been a while since I've owned a FORD, so it took me a minute to remember I still DO have AAA!
I had to have a towtruck come and lift me off of it!

lame

I was out working with the new excercising prospect "Cowboy" yesterday. After lunging him, the daughter (Natalie) got on him in a western saddle.
hmmm.
He looked like he was limping on his front inside leg...
yup. he was giving to it.

"alright, Nat. he's lame. we should probably call it quits."

She jumped off, and I suggested to her not to turn him out the next day.
I'm not sure if her horse lame before, (she's so cute) because of the way she acted when I told her...(but then again, she HAS to know.)
Then her mom came into the barn and I told her that Cowboy was lame, right away she asked: "should I call the vet?"

I told her a little about what it is, and how important it was that he doesn't get turned out in the mud because he can really hurt himself, to check him at a walk today to see if it was any better, or if it was worse.

Did he go lame because he didn't want to be ridden? he was looking fine on the lunge...beside being stiff
or did he go lame because of me lunging him? The areana area of their barn is only a little bigger than a 20m circle, could it be the bending?

I wish I had a good trainer to ask for advice. Beside getting food for thought about this kind of stuff, I want to ask questions about hunter/jumper stuff, it's different than the dressage, and I don't want to have Natalie's trainer who she talks lessons from once a week, telling them that something I said is bull. I was going to sit in on her lesson, but I have to work. ugh.
I think I'm going to try and find a place to take a hunter lesson once a week. Maybe that would be the easiest thing to do.
however, FINDING a good hunter coach around HERE is another story...

"34B AL-RIGHT?!"

A friend of mine recently purchased a bar, on the west side of Youngstown where I have revived the career formerly known as bartender. I've also been working at a banquet center (long hours, pretty easy work) where I am also getting bartending shifts. I really need to write about that, because that is worth writing about~ I think all the employees are DRUNK by the end of the night
but anyway.
I was working the afternoon bar shift today and serving glasses of wine to a 50 something year old man that is a regular to the bar. He's a little bit perverted, but he's nice enough...and getting even nicer with every glass of wine I give him.
By the third glass:
Guy at bar: "you know, like carnivals and festivals and such?"
me: "yeah, carnivals. I've been to a carnival or two."
GAB: " well, I used to guess things, like weight... and women's bust sizes."

I am standing there behind the bar, and it only takes a millisecond to hone in on where this is going...

(this is coming after an exhausting two week of new-job-people-finding-out-how-old-I-ACTUALLY-am, and directly off of a conversation where as, I tell him how old I am which in turn, somehow entitles him to get more PERSONAL.)

me: "no. dude. you don't guess women's bra sizes at carnivals. not even in vegas, man." (I HATE this crap.)
DAB: "uh, lemme see, I bet I can guess yours! Um...lemme see....."
he instantly starts naming numbers outloud...

me: (O.M.G. this motherfucker is staring at my boobs in my shirt, using some LAME ASS excuse to stare at my boobs in my shirt. he's LOOKING hard at my BOOBS! Here, could ya move yur drink so that I can mount this bar and giddyup into my coveted bendover move so that you can evaluate my ASS?!. jerk. your game is wack, jack.)
he's still calling out numbers. "36C!...36D!..."
me: " alright, man, you're all wrong."
he was relentless.
me: "34B AL-RIGHT?!"

I'm so embarrassed. I feel like I've just given my first lap dance. I never felt this way about this stuff when I was younger, but of course those were cute college boys guessing back then

So, after I successfully changed the subject, he started reeling it in again. He was telling me about how the young boys aren't respectful, and how the older gentlemen will take women out to dinner on dates, and more malarke.
he finally got the wine balls to ask me if I ever dated an older man.
(ouggh. no way. oooh.)
me: "I like em young." (WELL??? What else was I going to say??)
DAB: "Why not, you never know..."
me: "ohh, I got a really emotional father complex." (not really)

THAT"S what else I could have said, because IT worked.

If there's one thing I like being a woman, it's catching a guy glancing at my boobs.
A non-chalant regular ordinary guy thing.
If there's one thing I hate about being a woman, it's having some drunk fucker size me up -blatently. For a dollar tip.