We’re very determined. What’s for breakfast?
Merry, this place is hysterical. Never one to do on the weekends, but a scream otherwise. OTT Americana.
AAJumper glares at Merry with envy and exclaims “what is this about not getting much rain???” AAJumper asks for volunteers to help build the proposed nacho ark, as it is possibly the only way to get her beloved Cypress to Indio!
Well, out here near Ventura County, we seemed to have gotten the brunt of that storm! I’m suprised my pool didn’t lift out of the ground and float away! My husband actually went out on a call (he’s a firefighter) where a pool had been emptied (they were redoing plaster or something) and one end of the pool actually lifted out of the ground almost 2’!!!
AAJumper immediately volunteers to be the Indio spokesperson for the new arena mud line of skin care products. After all, she figures she’ll most likely be slopping in the mud anyway tomorrow. And with her luck, she’ll probably get to take an full body mud bath by the end of the week!!!
I think we should only go to the Grand Prix, that are held in places with good weather. No Rain, it would wash off the Mud Masque.
Befuddled hostess flashs that ever so attractive smile, annoucing “We just had to make sure, but it looks like the Canadian border is the limit on these lovely, once in a life time bracelets.” Rummaging thru her cards, then drapping one over a royal purple cloth…“Oh my, Arlie is that correct? We only have several dozen left. And we just don’t know when we will be getting these back in stock.”
Camera closes in for a parting shot, as the SOLD OUT flashes across the screen… 
All I needed to know was, how do you tell when that bucket-thingy is deep enough in the ground to raise it up? I could’ve done it, you know! Might’ve taken out a section of the arena fencing, but the ring would’ve been done! 
… And as for the drive into the cemetary… Hey, I was just trying to add a little levity to the situation. Who woulda’ thunk that the roadways would be so narrow in a cemetary? Don’t they realize that a lot of people drive big honkin’ pickup trucks as their primary vehicle? 
Whoa, all of the cultists back away from Merry. She is on a tirade for sure. Everyone takes a big gulp of air, then bites into their koi salad sandwich. It’s obvious they’re forcing the meal down their throats. A collective, “Ummm-ummm, this is might tasty!” is muttered from the crowd on the beach… 
Elizabeth. Nobody does wakes like the IRISH catholics. Are we gonna have to throw down?
Something seems to smell a bit… ripe.
I suppose one could blame sushi, or terriers, but that certain “je ne sais quoi” is a bit quoier by the casket.
“Rusty, put your blenders down, their use has already caused another Stage 3 Power Alert. Get in the truck with Merry and take your “whine” with you, she can be your designated driver.”
The hearse with the thread begins to pull away, followed by the vehicle carrying the Canadian Mountie honor guard.
Merry ruminates over the Miraculous Mud Masque scam… plan… “This could work,” she says, savoring the last glob of guacomole. “I see words like ‘organic’, ‘all-natural’, ‘earth-friendly’ and ‘recycled’ being used to describe our product! It’s secret ingredient: pre-digested vegetation!”
Now, Merry must reveal the “inside joke” about Beezer “stroking her imaginary beard” and “ruminating”: Okay, so we have this darling little pygmy goat that is the babysitter for the orphan filly. Couple that with Queen of Horse Show Mom’s penchant for butchering common words/phrases of the English language. So one day Beezer’s driving the car. QHSM’s in the backseat, I’m in front next to Beezer. We’re chatting about the goat. QHSM says, “I love to see her just lying in the sun ruminating.”
Dead silence.
You see, my mom was referring to the goat chewing its cud; the goat is a “ruminant”, like a cow, because it chews a cud. But “ruminating”, well, means “pondering something”.
So, naturally, at the same instant Beezer and I get this visual image of our goat lying in the sun, stroking her goat beard and pondering Plato or the shaky Mideast peace accord.
Since QHSM gets very hurt and defensive when we point out her language ineptitude, we remained silent. Sober on the outside, busting up on the inside. 
And that concludes our little animal language reference for today!
AAJumper stumbles in, covered in a fine layer of desert sand. She shakes her head, and sand flies out of her hair in all directions. She has been wandering in a stupor since Friday night, when she was engulfed in The Great Indio Sandstorm of 2001. The days in the desert have taken their toll, and if you listen closely, you can hear her repeating “where is jump number one?” Unfortunately, jump number one, in fact, blew away.
Okay, I think that it can still be called HITS, but it should stand for Horse Shows in the Sandstorms. I was gonna ride in the classic, really I was, but it was postponed due to the fact that you could not see any of the jumps from the ingate, the sand was so thick in the air. And then came Saturday…oh, it was not good. I have some really bad habits that I need to work on…let’s just leave it at that. No lawn darting though…that’s the only good news.
AAJumper, becoming more coherent, reaches into her backpack for the jar of mud she brought back from Indio for the cult to inspect. As she opens the jar to reveal the treasured mud, she is shocked. The once thick and creamy mud has been replaced by the wicked sand!!!
By George you have seen that class haven’t you? 
Ah yes…it was anticipated and not that I’ve completely dried out…I have one last question???Where are we gonna be hangin’ next 
SuaveReno, WHich thread do you want me to deliver the Strawberry Margaritas to?
We must be careful about having so many adult beverages around elizabeth’s hubby, Bill. I see on the news that William Shatner has opened sort of a halfway house for women struggling to become clean and sober, in honor of his dearly departed former wife. elizabeth, you did marry someone with a heart after all. However, did you also have to marry someone who insists on examining each of my warmbloods and asking, “So, is this one a Saddlebred?” 
Just then there’s a knock at the door. An anonymous gift-giver has left on the doorstep an extra large pizza topped with… CANADIAN BACON!
Obviously, Merry has passed into the next stage of grief…shopping!
“I must admit,” Merry finally says with a toss of her head, “that the little goat is awfully cute. She may actually come in handy at horse shows. You know, I can get her a little Baker goat blanket, and then have Beezer or cousin Katey traipse her around juuuusssst outside the ring right before my amateur under saddle class. When all the other horses, who are not acquainted with the goat, spook and bolt, we can innoncently proclaim the goat is just our barn’s mascot. So sorry! Oops!” 
Now, onto the Bylaws/tenets of our cult:
- Thou shalt not take the name of Fleet Apple in vain.
- Thou shalt not covet the Canadians’ beer or their asses.
- Thou shalt not kill… except in the case of a rival competitor showing up at the backgate wearing your exact same show outfit.
Anymore?
And a voice from Somewhere Above is heard proclaiming:
“Sim-sala-bim, my childlike cultists, ride in peace.”
But I think it needs to be support group for husbands whose wives are addicted to the COTH BB!!! My husband would be sure to join!
Spelling and typing were never my strong points. But after a few pitchers of Margaritas ???
For new comers to the wake the embarassing typo has been corrected. Beezer thank you for you editing skills, or more than just a few of us would know how really bad my typing is.
Well back to the blender.
