Some Kind of Substance

It's been a gorgeous past week and a half.  Great weather for hanging outside, hunting and fishing and hosting a yard sale.  Not being inside languishing from the lack of vitamin D has felt good for my skin and my soul.  Alaskan weather has blessed up with an Indian summer this year, probably to make up for the rain with all the raining and rain with the sheets of rain and buckets and driving and cats and dogs rain.



This isn't an excuse, WEATHER, I still want a refund for that summer.

Our farm has experienced its first frost of the year already.  The leaves are golden and the high cranberry bushes are a brilliant red. The moose are in the rut season and I was twice charged by a mother cow moose with a calf tonight.  My father was throwing rocks because it was eating the crab apple trees.  I just wanted a photo with my iPhone.

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Apparently I'm funny or some shizouka because Geo Jeffrey of The Far Too Important Blog tagged me with an 'I Blog With Substance' award for his comedy category.

This is my first award.  I feel as nervous as a heretic tied to a stake.  What do I do??  Who do I thank?  There was some talk of blogging philosophy and lofty words that we probably won't understand together, so I'll just share a few stories about substance:

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I was about fifteen and hitting my stride as a professional masturbator.  My favorite time was after school but before my parents arrived home.  I would lock myself in my room for some quality 'homework' time.  Sitting against my wall and naked on the floor, I don't remember what I was thinking about but it was enough only occupy around five minutes. 

This was no ordinary load as well.  I could hear a thwack as some substance struck the wall above my head, but unfortunately, some also arrived in both my eyes.  I threw my head back, smacked said drenched wall and yelled out in pain.  A few seconds later, my mother of all people starts knocking on my door, asking if everything is okay in there.  I didn't even know she was home already.  Horrible. 

I told her I stubbed my toe while changing.

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A year earlier, when I was a week shy of my fourteenth birthday, my miracle brother Jacobus was born.  To celebrate, my father took his brood to an expensive seafood restaurant the day after his birth.  I scarfed down crab legs and shrimp cocktails, and topped the dinner off with a vanilla ice cream topped with hot fudge sundae. 

The next morning, I stumbled down the stairs clutching my midsection and moaning to my parents.  I stood next to my mother as she was making coffee and stated, "Mother, I don't feel so we---" and the substance of my stomach EXPLODED all over the counter.  Brown-colored crab meat and partically digested shrimp tails slapped against the tile backsplash.

The only comment from mi madre?  "Get out of the kitchen, you're going to make people sick!"

To this day, my cousins and siblings that witnessed this event only have to say "...you're gonna make people sick!" to have us rolling with laughter.

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I don't remember when I discovered this, but I suffer from hemophobia.  I believe I was seven when I was riding my bike, and as children are prone to do, ended up scraping my knees against the cobblestone street.  Walking home was an easy task and it was not until I was locking my bike up that I noticed the two rivers of red flowing from my knees, staining my white socks.  I was confused at my sudden lack of oxygen and black spots appearing before my eyes.

Next I remember waking up with a lump at the base of my skull.  I checked my surroundings, then promptly passed out after discovering the dried blood substance on my legs.

To this day, I can't even watch FAKE blood on television.


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So there, no one can say I don't blog with comedial substance ever again.  Also, to the person who searched for 'ishotmyself blogspot' and ended up here, REALLY?  And shame on you Google.  If someone shot thyself...I don't know if I'd want to read that blogspot.