Pride and prejudice among trailer trash

So I've been meaning to blog about this for the past couple of days:Yep, it's a mobile home. An old one at that - see how the siding and roof are metal? That means it's at least 30 years old. I like how the roof facing is curling up. With the winds out here I'm predicting portions of the
aluminum siding and roof will be strewn about my yard by Sunday afternoon. Yes, my yard. You know why? Because Mr. Murphy decided he wasn't done with me yet and had the people who own the little, scrawny, unbuildable lot next door to me haul that abominition in and plunk it right in my view this week.

I know what you're thinking...Glib, arent' you the epitome of trailer trash yourself? Isn't this your first home that didn't arrive behind a Mack truck? Indeed I have not forgotten my roots, er, axles, but I moved to the land of estates and stick homes. I moved up...or so I thought.

Of course, now that I've gone from trailer trash to landed gentry (as W so eloquently put it) I can't have a used mobile home being put in next door. It would ruin the neighborhood! Not to mention my view.

Just to remind you, this was my view (minus van and trailer) the day I moved in. Note that there is no building behind the windmill.

Here is a picture I took Monday:Yep, that's the unsealed monstrosity brought in by my new neighbors.

Seeing as how I'm now a land barroness, a member of the elite, and getting quite used to peace and quiet interrupted only by an errant mew of a kitten or two, I decided there is no room for such trailer trash in my neighborhood. So I went online and found the regulations for mobile homes in Kern County. Then I called my local planner to see if those rotten neighbors had gotten a permit for their behemoth. Turns out they hadn't. And they can't. Apparantly I'm in hoity toity "Estate" zoning and you can't bring in just any trailer. Nope, it has to be less than 10 years old with a snow load roof. The local building folks advised that I should report these unpermitted bringers-in of tin cans on wheels to the county code enforcement. So I did. And it felt good.

Still, they apparantly haven't gotten the notice to remove the nuisance yet because those poor buggers are out there today trying to figure out how to fit the two sides of their trailer together and get the jacks underneath level. They've even staked out a place for their septic tank --- just a few feet from my water well!!! (That's illegal too - for obvious reasons).

I know what you're thinking...How can you, Glib Gal, Queen of the Doublewide, purveyor of all things paneled, connoiseur of aluminum, and friend to faulty wiring, turn on your own kind?

Quite easily, it turns out. And you know what's even worse? Once they get their fine and notice to remove the thing, I plan to go in and make a lowball offer for their measly 2.4 acres thus completing my empire by gaining ownership on every lot on my side of the street. Yes, it is good to be queen, even if it is of the doublewide.

Flannel, livestock and Kenny

I realize you don't come here for photos but not much else is going on in my life right now so here are some more photos I took yesterday in the snow:
Oh, wait! Some of you might appreciate this: I purchased an article of clothing at the grocery store yesterday. I know, you probably didn't know grocery stores carried clothing but you don't know Tehachapi. The article of clothing? Brace yourself, a plaid, woolly-lined flannel shirt. Even worse, I used my new Albertsons card and am sure it's now on record that I purchased a flannel shirt at a grocery store. I probably should've picked up some Wild Turkey and a Hungryman dinner to complete the picture.

And yes, I am wearing the flannel right now. And I'm listening to one of the valley's four country music stations. I think plaid enhances the quality of country music because I just found myself singing along with Kenny Rogers. Or maybe it's all the time I've been spending around the ranch.

The real reason for this post was to show you (especially BlowHo) this picture:
That's Squiggy, a pygmy nubian goat I helped deliver last week. I call him Squiggy because he's got a squiggly line down his back. Yes, he looks a little feminine to me too. Anyhow, he'll be moving to my place as soon as I put up a fence and find a boyfriend for him. Think the boyfriend will be Lenny...

For those of you disappointed in the boring posts lately, hang in there - I'm headed to hear a live country band at the local honky tonk tomorrow night. It will be my first social outing in the mountains and should provide some sort of entertainment.

White Out

Well not really, but it is snowing here today and given my coastal upbringing it's pretty darned neat. Especially unique is the way it snows sideways. I kinda like the way it looks in the yard:
MB - I thought you said it didn't snow here?

Here's a picture of the rainbow I saw from the dining room window yesterday.Oh, and for all you folks concerned about my dating life...I've already gotten one phone number. Yep, a single father of four who lives in a travel trailer down the road. He's the son of the people I bought the house from. Hot prospects abound.

Back to work.

In

I know, I owe you more but I've been living on a ranch feeding, birthing, burying, mending, and being attacked by creatures for a week. Good news is that I'm finally in my house (tonight's my first night). Bad news is that I'm on dial-up so this will be short (maybe that's good too...). Anyhow, here are some of the views from the house. This is the back yard, so to speak:Here's the view of the Tehachapi Valley and southern Sierra Nevadas looking north:And here's what you'll see out one of the bedroom windows if you are lucky enough to come visit.
Yes, it's nicer than I'd remembered. And it's supposed to snow tonight! More later.

"WTF?" 101

I know, I know, I've been neglecting you lately. But I have a good excuse this time...I've been busy packing because, you know, I have to move. And not just move, but CHANGE MY WHOLE FRICKIN' LIFE next week.

Yeah, I say a big, fat Holy Cow to that one too. That's also about when I start thinking, "What the f*** am I doing?"

I think there are about three basic types of self-conscious "WTF?'s" we go through in life. (The others are all just third party "WTF?"s where we're wondering WTF someone else was thinking and those don't really count in this discussion.)

The first is the "WTF?" you feel when, say, you wake up on St. Patrick's Day in the cab of your truck wearing a Santa hat and gardening gloves and wonder "WTF did I do to end up here?" Then you laugh at yourself, curse for not getting some passer-by to take a digital photo of you looking so ridiculous, and make a note to tell your friends what they missed so they can make fun of you for a couple of years. This is the post-stupid-behavior "WTF?" that hopefully leads to reflection and self-awareness.

The second is the kind I think a few of my blogging buddies, Buzz, Melon, and Spotty, are facing these days. This type of "WTF?" is the overthought meaning of life WTF? and it seems to be the plight of every single, career-minded, rut-stuck, above-normal-intelligence-level individual I know. You see, once you've achieved a certain level of success, you are finally comfortable and living like an adult, you've got no boundaries, no rules, no constraints, yet you feel like you should be doing more, better, different...just doing something other than going to work, meeting friends for beers and sushi, and then heading home to watch TV with your cat on your lap or sitting next to the invisible significant other you no longer love while chatting on the phone long distance with your old friends who are now married and envying you for your independence and freedom. Then you go to bed, get up and do the very same thing the next day and in your quiet time you wonder "WTF?". But this "WTF?" is the one that asks why you're not moving at all. This is the "WTF?" I was feeling a few months ago when I decided to sell the house and get moving...literally.

The third is like the "WTF?" I felt when I found myself at age 17 marching around Orlando, Florida in the heat of July, being yelled at by a drill instructor named Drummond who had just told us our sissy arses would all be going to war in a desert in the Middle East, feeling like I'd just made the worst decision of my life. It's the pit-of-your-stomach-venturing-into-into-the-unknown kind of "WTF?" that makes you question why you are where you are and wonder how it will turn out because you're already in the middle of a wild ride and someone else seems to be at the wheel. You can't really change it because the ball is in motion, so you've got to deal with it. That's the "WTF?" I'm feeling this week, as I'm in the middle of leaving my home of eight years, moving away from all my friends, and quitting a decent job to move to a small town where I don't know anyone, have no plans for employment and am told the dating pool consists of 18 single men, three of which are in the closet and 14 of which are absolutely dysfunctional, and one of whom has a poo bag. I don't know where it'll lead, but I know it will be somewhere new.

I guess the point of this post is that life is one big "WTF?" and each of use has to decide which "WTF?" we're most comfortable living with. After all, the minute we cease having "WTF?" moments we're either happy, content, bored, or dead.

MB - I'll say it before you, WTF is up with this post?