Sigourney Weaver, Adult Beverages, And A Prissy Horse Show

My apologies for the long span between posts. I seem to be suffering from a serious case of writer's block.

There were a few times when I almost had something to blog about.

The other night I was three beers deep after a long day of horse show (I'll get to that in a minute), screaming at the television because Sigourney Weaver was going back for the whiny kid in Aliens (plural) and I was all, "What is WRONG witchu, girl?!? She ain't even yo' baby! Drop that shit like a bad habit and GET ON THE SHIP before that Alien eats yo' BRAINS!!!!"
... and for, like, a hot second, I had though of the most brillant thing to blog about.
But, as is often the case when I indulge in a few too many "adult beverages," I wasn't sure if the idea was that brilliant...
or I was that loaded.

C'est la vie

And yeah, then there was the aforementioned horse show. I usually go to these things because there are a million kiddies from our barn trying to show and if my friend, the owner and head instructor, were to attempt it on her own, she would most likely end up, at worst, killing a child (or parent) or at best, putting a kid in the wrong class (which she did anyway but it worked out fine in the end).
These shows are your typical hunter/pleasure/equitation classes. You go in there with your horse all clipped and shiny and clean and your boots all spit-polished and your blouse and hunt jacket all fresh from the drycleaners and try to look as good as you can.

Needless to say, this is NOT the type of showing that I used to do.

I used to ride Jumpers, which means that it doesn't matter how you look - all that matters is that you do your round of jumps clean (don't knock 'em down) and fast (you're racing the clock). In jumpers, you could do the round backwards and as long as you did it faster than anyone else, you win.

In short:
Hunters: Frou-frou nonesense where whoever has the most money usually wins
Jumpers: Real riding

Still not convinced? You know the stadium jumping portion of the olympics? That's jumpers. There are no hunt classes in the Olympics.
I rest my case :-)

But then my friend needed one of her horses - the horse that I've been training since the winter and hope to buy eventually - to go in the ring so she could see how he behaved before she put kids on him.

A lot of begging and one thrown-together hunt outfit later, yours truly was in the show ring prancing around in hunt seat and trying not to roll her eyes in front of the judges.

(And PS - the answer was not well-behaved at all. I've never seen that horse move so fast in my life. It was like riding a nuclear weapon that was locked on a target)

So I was going to blog about it, and then it honestly didnt seem like it was worth the effort, but in explaining why it wasn't worth the effort, I blogged about it.

Wait...what?!?
Now I've gone and confused myself.

In other news, Brian and I are going backpacking this weekend, and we're bringing my sister (ie, the opera singer) with us.
...And this is after I explained to her that you have to go poo in the woods.
Surprised that she's still game?
I certainly was.
We're also bringing Milo for the first time, namely because A) we're going a very short distance on account of the newbie backpacker, and B) The newbie backpacker is a third set of hands with which to strangle...I mean...hold Milo while we're out in the woods.

And if anybody else sees this trip gearing up for something you only see in the movies, that makes two of us.

A husband and wife
An opera singer
And a retarded dog
head out into the woods for the adventure of a lifetime.
They may not have the skills.
They may not have the know-how.
But what they lack in experience
They make up for....in poo.
This summer.
Backpacking hits a whole new octive.


So I'm sure I'll have some kind of hilarity to report on when we return. Make sure you tune in for THAT post - it's sure to be worth your while.