It's about to get feisty up in here!
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Come out come out where ever you are!
We know you are out there! We know you're reading this fantabulous blog. Follow US!
It's about to get feisty up in here!
It's about to get feisty up in here!
Monday, February 20, 2012
Bessie is BACK!
Annnnnnnnd, she's BACK! Bessie had a glorious visit at the local Agway, and after a relaxing week at the Spa, she's back and ready to rock the yard.
Now the next question is, what project to start on first??
Now the next question is, what project to start on first??
Monday, February 13, 2012
Sunday Funday
We hunkered down Sunday night for what has been turning into our Sunday Funday. PBR!
No, I'm not talking about Pabst Blue Ribbon beer, I'm talking about Professional Bull Riding! But tonight there was an added bonus. Jousting!
For weeks, during the PBR, they have been promoting this new show on the History channel, Full Metal Jousting. My first thought? Medieval Times here we come. Sure, everyone's probably been on vacation someplace, enjoyed a lovely meal of a big, honkin' Turkey leg and some other form of food you have to eat with your hands, watch the grease drip down your forearm, and vote for your favorite knight. It's wonderful dinner theater, really.
But apparently, Full Metal Jousting is different! This is real joust to joust contact. Riding on a horse, trying to impale your fellow knight with an 11 foot long pole, made of one piece of Douglas Pine Fir. THIS is entertainment! What other show do you hear "Take my helmet off, I'm going to throw up?" Not the Real Housewives of Orange County, that's for sure! Are they trained for combat riding a horse while having their coach smack them in the shoulder with an aluminum baseball bat? I think not.
Although the competition is early on, I'm eagerly anticipating the blood and warfare that's going to ensue, once these maniacs actually learn how to wield their jousts and control their horses! And the best part? Once eliminated, the contestant who got the boot has the opportunity to stick around and train, so that 'in the case' that a fellow contestant can no longer compete, he can swing back in and take his place. You know that's going to happen!! Bring it on Sir Lancelot!
And bonus event? While we were watching this magnificent game show, MamaSlice was enjoying the competition with SistahSlice as well! That's family bonding at it's best!
Until next Sunday's Funday...
No, I'm not talking about Pabst Blue Ribbon beer, I'm talking about Professional Bull Riding! But tonight there was an added bonus. Jousting!
For weeks, during the PBR, they have been promoting this new show on the History channel, Full Metal Jousting. My first thought? Medieval Times here we come. Sure, everyone's probably been on vacation someplace, enjoyed a lovely meal of a big, honkin' Turkey leg and some other form of food you have to eat with your hands, watch the grease drip down your forearm, and vote for your favorite knight. It's wonderful dinner theater, really.
But apparently, Full Metal Jousting is different! This is real joust to joust contact. Riding on a horse, trying to impale your fellow knight with an 11 foot long pole, made of one piece of Douglas Pine Fir. THIS is entertainment! What other show do you hear "Take my helmet off, I'm going to throw up?" Not the Real Housewives of Orange County, that's for sure! Are they trained for combat riding a horse while having their coach smack them in the shoulder with an aluminum baseball bat? I think not.
Although the competition is early on, I'm eagerly anticipating the blood and warfare that's going to ensue, once these maniacs actually learn how to wield their jousts and control their horses! And the best part? Once eliminated, the contestant who got the boot has the opportunity to stick around and train, so that 'in the case' that a fellow contestant can no longer compete, he can swing back in and take his place. You know that's going to happen!! Bring it on Sir Lancelot!
And bonus event? While we were watching this magnificent game show, MamaSlice was enjoying the competition with SistahSlice as well! That's family bonding at it's best!
Until next Sunday's Funday...
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
It's a Golfer's Paradise
Slice and I have taken to golfing; in my backyard. Now, while I certainly do not have a driving range back there (but did you know that there are plenty of websites out there that will eagerly help you create your very own driving range, putting green, and miniature golf hookup?) I do have plenty of land to do stupid things with. Golfers unite!
A friend of Slice's offered her his old clubs after having not a single bite on Craigslist. I told her to come on over and we could hack balls in my Back 40. I figured this would be a one time deal. Naaaah! Golf Whack Monday has commenced and we eagerly spent the evening hucking balls into the woodline. My boyfriend, AV (short for Avalanche, for the mean truck he drives), came home to find this debauchery and brought up a very good question:
How do you plan on retrieving the balls?
Radio Silence.......
For a while it worked out in our favor as God Dog was all too eager to try to choke himself with a golf ball while running it back and forth to us. But all good things must come to an end and he soon found no fun in this chore.
But then the rocket scientist in us both came out, and the idea of some sort of attachment for Bessie was born. Now, who knows what will come of this idea, or if she will ever return from her Spa Adventure, but this may definitely be on the list of things to look into, after all, range fees at Casa de Sledge are significantly less than any other range around.
Stay tuned for Summer!
A friend of Slice's offered her his old clubs after having not a single bite on Craigslist. I told her to come on over and we could hack balls in my Back 40. I figured this would be a one time deal. Naaaah! Golf Whack Monday has commenced and we eagerly spent the evening hucking balls into the woodline. My boyfriend, AV (short for Avalanche, for the mean truck he drives), came home to find this debauchery and brought up a very good question:
How do you plan on retrieving the balls?
Radio Silence.......
For a while it worked out in our favor as God Dog was all too eager to try to choke himself with a golf ball while running it back and forth to us. But all good things must come to an end and he soon found no fun in this chore.
But then the rocket scientist in us both came out, and the idea of some sort of attachment for Bessie was born. Now, who knows what will come of this idea, or if she will ever return from her Spa Adventure, but this may definitely be on the list of things to look into, after all, range fees at Casa de Sledge are significantly less than any other range around.
Stay tuned for Summer!
Monday, February 6, 2012
Wanted: A Nest of my Own
As a kind forewarning, many of the adventures you will read about will or have taken place at SistahSledge’s homestead. As previously mentioned she inhabits approximately 4 acres of this earth. It’s a great set up – some house and some land which fosters our antics. Unlike SistahSledge I have yet to plant my stakes.
The pursuit began about a year ago, visited my favorite realtor (and only realtor I know) and we set up listings. So within minutes I get barraged with emails that say all these things in this special realtor language I don’t understand. For example - you would think 1.5 bathrooms means one and a half bathrooms. False! In special realtor speak that means one full bathroom and five half baths (1.5 isn’t common, you see 1.1, 2.0 etc. – I’m waiting for the day I get 0.0, I feel it’s close). So the listings are set up, I have decided of a few towns that I think will provide some good options and I’m off.
About six months later, after I deciphered realtor language, went to some open houses, and spent countless hours driving/riding my bike around to look at houses – I decided it was time to re engage my realtor and actual start to schedule appointments and look at these potential homes. Why I didn’t do this sooner – good question. Looking at homes provides hours of endless entertainment and makes you realize your “messy” living conditions are far cleaner and less repulsive than you could’ve imagined.
In the heaping handful of structures I’ve looked at – I’ve seen some quirky things. The first house I ever looked at was this putrid mustardy yellow. I walk through the kitchen (where the counters weren’t attached to the walls) and was interrupting dinner of the elderly woman and her son who apparently lived there. Awkward party of 4!
That initial experience left me hungry for more. So accordingly the showings continued. One house had a dog the size of a grizzly bear, who I considered adopting without the homeowners permission (more affectionately known as stealing). That house actually had U shaped floors due to some terrible Tim Allen home renovations. Another house had so much oil leaking out of the furnace I considered siphoning it up and dumping it back in their tank. That house had a clothes line that went from their front window to the tree in the front yard. Because nothing says “Welcome!” like some underbrithces hanging out front.
In short – the quest continues. It’s a challenging equation – find something within my price range with a good (relatively dry) chunk of land and a house that won’t fall over or blow up. Eventually I'll find something, and in the mean time am provided with cheap entertainment with my saint of a real estate agent.
Spaaaaa Daaaaay!
Ok, so sure, I wish that I was writing about MY spa day. But I'm not. It's about my tractor's spa day. Yes, that's right, my tractor's.
Now sure, I know, normal girls may send themselves to the spa, or their beloved dog, but not this chick. Nope, Bessie is going in!
Good ol' Bessie has seen her better days since the Blizzard of October. That stinkin' blizzard where trees came down, yards were destroyed, and lucky for me, I had a tractah! Just up until a few weeks before the snow storm came through I was having a conversation, talking about how I was thinking of bringing Bessie out to pasture. She's a bit excessive, kind of clunky to mow the lawn with, and an overall expense I could really live without. But Bessie is like an old boyfriend that keeps coming back. Just when you think you are over him, he does something that makes you all doe eyed and dumb and BAM! He's back in your pants. That's how I feel about my tractor, and that's exactly what happened with this snow storm.
For 5 days straight Bessie was a champ. I was bribing people with beer, food, tractor rides,bucket rides, and chain saw fun (not necessarily in that order) to help me clean up the yard that looked like it was destroyed by an army of beefy Spartan soldiers (anyone see 300? anyone??). Sure, Bessie almost flipped herself down the hill in the backyard, but she moved wood and debris around like it was no big deal. I honestly don't know what I would have done without her (and my two legged helpers who also came to help).
Fast forward to February when I'm trying to use her to move wood and she runs like garbage. Slow on the start, won't go up hills, break is sticky, so I call up my favorite Agway where she hatched from and asked them to come out and service her, like the way a lady should be serviced. As the kid from Agway said as he went to start her up, "Alright, let's get this girl going," I thought to myself, "Wow, he knows it's a she!" Silly I know, but I was secretly pleased he wasn't looking at me like I knew nothing about my tractor. I think I impressed him when he asked if it was hydrostatic and I answered "Yes" and knew what I was talking about. Either that, or he was impressed that she looked like she just came out the winner in a girl-on-girl mud wrestling match.
All I know is that she better come back running like a dream, seeing as just this ride to and from alone is costing a pretty $180. That's $180 I could be using towards my own spa day......
Now sure, I know, normal girls may send themselves to the spa, or their beloved dog, but not this chick. Nope, Bessie is going in!
Good ol' Bessie has seen her better days since the Blizzard of October. That stinkin' blizzard where trees came down, yards were destroyed, and lucky for me, I had a tractah! Just up until a few weeks before the snow storm came through I was having a conversation, talking about how I was thinking of bringing Bessie out to pasture. She's a bit excessive, kind of clunky to mow the lawn with, and an overall expense I could really live without. But Bessie is like an old boyfriend that keeps coming back. Just when you think you are over him, he does something that makes you all doe eyed and dumb and BAM! He's back in your pants. That's how I feel about my tractor, and that's exactly what happened with this snow storm.
For 5 days straight Bessie was a champ. I was bribing people with beer, food, tractor rides,bucket rides, and chain saw fun (not necessarily in that order) to help me clean up the yard that looked like it was destroyed by an army of beefy Spartan soldiers (anyone see 300? anyone??). Sure, Bessie almost flipped herself down the hill in the backyard, but she moved wood and debris around like it was no big deal. I honestly don't know what I would have done without her (and my two legged helpers who also came to help).
Fast forward to February when I'm trying to use her to move wood and she runs like garbage. Slow on the start, won't go up hills, break is sticky, so I call up my favorite Agway where she hatched from and asked them to come out and service her, like the way a lady should be serviced. As the kid from Agway said as he went to start her up, "Alright, let's get this girl going," I thought to myself, "Wow, he knows it's a she!" Silly I know, but I was secretly pleased he wasn't looking at me like I knew nothing about my tractor. I think I impressed him when he asked if it was hydrostatic and I answered "Yes" and knew what I was talking about. Either that, or he was impressed that she looked like she just came out the winner in a girl-on-girl mud wrestling match.
All I know is that she better come back running like a dream, seeing as just this ride to and from alone is costing a pretty $180. That's $180 I could be using towards my own spa day......
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Friday, February 3, 2012
The story of how it all began
The day started out like any ordinary Thursday. Drag myself into work, start my regular email routine, and talk about how I want to leave early. But what made this Thursday different from any other Thursday was that I WAS going to leave early. And I was dragging my pal SistahSlice with me!
Here's the deal with Slice and I. We are two fiercely independent women, who would rather sulk and do things on our own, before we legitimately asked for help. Last winter I stubbornly, and probably stupidly, shoveled my roof, albeit, I was crying, but I was doing it on my own. But then Slice wrangled some troops and helped me with the rest (effff yooooooou Winter in New England!). That previous fall I also did my leaves solo, which is no small task when you have nearly 4 acres of land. Of course, I wound up crying in a leaf pile then as well, when I thought I lost my stupid dog collar transmitter for my mutt of a dog, who shall from this day forward be referred to as 'God Dog'. Tarps, Backpack blowers, and a stupid dog dragging sticks. Good times. But the tasks are all completed, through blood sweat and tears! But I digress. Back to Thirsty Thursday afternoon in the 'field.
So the plan was, leave work at 3:30, head to my humble abode, and do work! What is work, you may ask? Ask away. Work involves playing lumber jack and dragging in wood from my backyard, into my basement. Gotta feed the wood burning furnace! But, dragging wood means utilizing the man tool of my Mahindra tractor, the tractor that brings all the boys to my yard. If you ever need to figure out a way to coerce grown men into helping a damsel in distress, the way to their heart is through power tools. Well, food and power tools. It's debatable at times which one pulls ahead in the race to win. But a big honkin' farm like tractor will definitely help. And pretending to be cute and helpless, that helps too. I mean, we pretend at being helpless, cute goes without saying!
Anyways, Slice and I started haulin' wood and quickly settled into our routine. I drive back and forth from the dump with the wood, she stacks in the basement, God Dog runs around the backyard, generally like a jerkoff, trying to get run over by the tractor and test his boundaries by running through the electrical boundary of the yard. It's a well oiled machine!
We finish woodlympics, Slice puts away her gloves that she has been referring to all afternoon as her OJ Gloves, and we stumble on a trusty friend, one who has been known to follow us into battle, and trouble - Mr. Boston. Blackberry Brandy. Riot Punch, as Slice affectionately refers to him as. Whatever you call it, it's nasty. But yet delicious at the same time. What accompanies Mr. Boston? Golf ball whacking in the back yard of course!
Picture this. Two slobs - Slice and I - with a can of Bud Light in one hand, Blackberry Brandy on the ground, Slice covered in dirt with her UConn hoody on, and I in this grubby lumberjack inspired flannel shirt, teeing up to do some damage in the backyard. Simply awesome right? It was. Especially when God Dog was nearly hit with a line drive by Slice with her one in a million not-so-sliced drives!
This brings us to step 2 of the evening. Sledge and Slice Movers Inc! We had arranged to go and check out this armoire on Craigslist, and with a BF who can't lift, bend or twist for 6 weeks, female lifters united! However it was like a scene straight out of the Twilight Zone. First we are almost sidelined by an offensive driver who apparently would rather t-bone us in the street instead of waiting for us to back into the driveway, then, the seller of the armoire was clearly more impressed with our slop tart appearance and actual motivation to move this thing then he was in even contemplating helping us. He kept talking about his blown ACL and why he couldn't ride that trusty steed of a dirtbike he had parked in his garage. How about shut up and get out of our way! As we're standing in the bed of the truck, I look at Slice and say "We should blog about this stuff! I think it's pretty humorous!"
And so here we are. The story of two chicks who do dude like things. Jump on, hold on tight and prepare for the ride!
Here's the deal with Slice and I. We are two fiercely independent women, who would rather sulk and do things on our own, before we legitimately asked for help. Last winter I stubbornly, and probably stupidly, shoveled my roof, albeit, I was crying, but I was doing it on my own. But then Slice wrangled some troops and helped me with the rest (effff yooooooou Winter in New England!). That previous fall I also did my leaves solo, which is no small task when you have nearly 4 acres of land. Of course, I wound up crying in a leaf pile then as well, when I thought I lost my stupid dog collar transmitter for my mutt of a dog, who shall from this day forward be referred to as 'God Dog'. Tarps, Backpack blowers, and a stupid dog dragging sticks. Good times. But the tasks are all completed, through blood sweat and tears! But I digress. Back to Thirsty Thursday afternoon in the 'field.
So the plan was, leave work at 3:30, head to my humble abode, and do work! What is work, you may ask? Ask away. Work involves playing lumber jack and dragging in wood from my backyard, into my basement. Gotta feed the wood burning furnace! But, dragging wood means utilizing the man tool of my Mahindra tractor, the tractor that brings all the boys to my yard. If you ever need to figure out a way to coerce grown men into helping a damsel in distress, the way to their heart is through power tools. Well, food and power tools. It's debatable at times which one pulls ahead in the race to win. But a big honkin' farm like tractor will definitely help. And pretending to be cute and helpless, that helps too. I mean, we pretend at being helpless, cute goes without saying!
Anyways, Slice and I started haulin' wood and quickly settled into our routine. I drive back and forth from the dump with the wood, she stacks in the basement, God Dog runs around the backyard, generally like a jerkoff, trying to get run over by the tractor and test his boundaries by running through the electrical boundary of the yard. It's a well oiled machine!
We finish woodlympics, Slice puts away her gloves that she has been referring to all afternoon as her OJ Gloves, and we stumble on a trusty friend, one who has been known to follow us into battle, and trouble - Mr. Boston. Blackberry Brandy. Riot Punch, as Slice affectionately refers to him as. Whatever you call it, it's nasty. But yet delicious at the same time. What accompanies Mr. Boston? Golf ball whacking in the back yard of course!
Picture this. Two slobs - Slice and I - with a can of Bud Light in one hand, Blackberry Brandy on the ground, Slice covered in dirt with her UConn hoody on, and I in this grubby lumberjack inspired flannel shirt, teeing up to do some damage in the backyard. Simply awesome right? It was. Especially when God Dog was nearly hit with a line drive by Slice with her one in a million not-so-sliced drives!
This brings us to step 2 of the evening. Sledge and Slice Movers Inc! We had arranged to go and check out this armoire on Craigslist, and with a BF who can't lift, bend or twist for 6 weeks, female lifters united! However it was like a scene straight out of the Twilight Zone. First we are almost sidelined by an offensive driver who apparently would rather t-bone us in the street instead of waiting for us to back into the driveway, then, the seller of the armoire was clearly more impressed with our slop tart appearance and actual motivation to move this thing then he was in even contemplating helping us. He kept talking about his blown ACL and why he couldn't ride that trusty steed of a dirtbike he had parked in his garage. How about shut up and get out of our way! As we're standing in the bed of the truck, I look at Slice and say "We should blog about this stuff! I think it's pretty humorous!"
And so here we are. The story of two chicks who do dude like things. Jump on, hold on tight and prepare for the ride!
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