dipper, anyone?

what I got upon googling "big scary truck" ------>



I'm lazy, a bit disorganized and hate homework, so when the kid pointed out tonight that her pesky little astronomy project STILL needs to be paid attention to...

I snarled. See, the plan was for said star gazing to be accomplished during our down time in West Virginny on a climbing trip and NOT during my its-after-nine-pm-mommy-only-time. BUT...since the kid is no longer accompanying me on the camping trip...a mom's gotta do what a mom's gotta do.

Post snarl, I hit her with "Ok. It's a nice night. Get dressed warm. We're going star hunting," and immediately regretted saying it. Dude...it's warm bath and Men's Health time (no. I do NOT read it for the articles. I much prefer licking the pages).

I take a pee (very important to do prior to star gazing, I hear), grab a jacket, saddle up the ponies (ie. put the leashes on the mutts) and head for the Jeep. Headlamp and highlighter in hand...we hit the road searching for...well, absolutely nowhere. We're heading for the boondocks.

We dropped anchor in the driveway of what appears to be a large horse barn and get to star hunting. We hook up with the little dipper, the big dipper (a la ursa major), sirius, orion's belt and are searching for the star nursery round about the time A REALLY BIG TRUCK ALMOST SQUISHES US. Apparently this truck belongs to the rather drunken and well mustached owner of the property we were squatting on...and he wasn't terribly thrilled that we were there...

at least until he realized I'm a girl.

He comes sauntering over in a fashion that, quite frankly, scared me shitless and I've never been happier that my dogs sound mean. I'm all "Oh, sorry, sir. We're just looking for stars." He's all, "Well, there are plenty of them out here." and my dogs are all "WOOF. WOOF. BARK. SNARL. LEAVE MY MOMMY ALONE."

good dogs. this guy was reeking of "sweet. now I don't have to go to the candy store to find my next victim" and I've never felt more secure in saying "oooh. better not get too close. I don't think they'll jump through the windows TO EAT YOUR BRAINS."

He gives us the "well, have fun" farewell, I give the dogs a pat on the noses and we get back to constellation spotting...until seven minutes later when he comes back out.

dood, I thought I told you my pitbulls are man-eaters. step off. we'll be gone in a second, yo.

so imagined how surprised (not very) I was when he gave us a "Planisphere" gadget to help us locate stars based on our current date, time and position. Ok. so he's not a bury-em-behind-the-barn-creep....just your regular ol' garden variety horny dude with an overgrown 'stache. I thanked homeboy profusely, tried my best to get the dogs to bark, again and wanted nothing more than to finish this project up and get to stepping. I'm officially sketched at this point.

full moon. dead of the woods. 'stache man. yeah, I'm ready to be outtie.

just as he clears out to let us finish up, we saw our lives flash before our eyes yet again.

I'll sum up with the following words:
large truck drunken redneck swerved off road papers flying too close for comfort near miss


fuck this project. it's time for a movie and some popcorn...rednecks and full moons make a suki nervous.