Or else all the chickens will run out and be killed by eagles or harriers and then the donkey will run out and be run over by a car and then the goat will run out and eat all of your garden and the horse will run out and poop on your driveway and the cow will run out and stand in the road, causing a huge backup during rush hour and…

well…

That’s no fun.

BTW, some jackass (no, not the ACTUAL jackass) left another gate open on the field and one of the goats did run away last night.

His name is Spudley. He’s a strawberry blonde, likes to nibble on hair and is very fresh. Have you seen him?

That’s him on the left. The guy on the right is a real wise guy and WILL try to have sex with you. I’m just kidding but that’s what my sister in law told me when I met them.

I am a innisent bystandr

 Want to see what I look like?

Well too bad.

Probably thinking about Taco Bell.

This is where I do my important intraweb research. Yes, that is my manly foot.

I am so dirty by the end of the day that I must take a bath. Anyone have a good recommendation for getting the dirt out from underneath fingernails? I bought a cheap toothbrush but it doesn’t work. I just have to get used to the fact that I WILL BE DIRTY.

I love it here.

I feel so much better, so much healthier. I can’t wait for good things to start happening.

I am lucky.

So much happening.

This is Napoleon. He’s very small. He knows this.

That’s one of his girlfriends on the left. Don’t make fun. Size don’t matter!

These things also live here.

That’s not a horse. It’s Nightlinger, the nicest dog ever. But she keeps the bad guys out.

This is the best tub ever. Please be very jealous.

I thought I liked goats.

I was wrong.

These two are assholes!

I will write more tomorrow about my farm days.

It is so wonderful here.

 http://breathethenexhale.wordpress.com/

Because we’re all still in the “getting to know you” stage.

Here goes:

If I were a month I’d be September

If I were a day I’d be Sunday

If I were a time of day I’d be 7 PM

If I were a font I’d be Century Gothic

If I were a sea animal I’d be a manatee

If I were a direction I’d be North

If I were a piece of furniture I’d be a sleigh bed

If I were a liquid I’d be rain

If I were a gemstone I’d be a ruby

If I were a tree I’d be a dogwood

If I were a tool I’d be a level

If I were a flower I’d be a daffodil

If I were an element of weather I’d be clouds

If I were a musical instrument I’d be a drum

If I were a color I’d be white

If I were an emotion I’d be compassion

If I were a fruit I’d be a Macintosh apple

If I were a sound I’d be a heartbeat

If I were an element I’d be calcium

If I were a car I’d be a 2003 red Honda Civic

If I were a food I’d be mashed potatoes and gravy

If I were a place I’d be the Blue Ridge Mountains

If I were a taste I’d be vanilla ice cream

If I were a scent I’d be Ivory Snow

If I were a body part I’d be a hand

If I were a song I’d be Claire de Lune

If I were a bird I’d be a tufted titmouse

If I were a gift I’d be something personalized

If I were a city I’d be Burlington, VT

If I were a door I’d be a red door

If I were a pair of shoes I’d be some comfy Merrell’s

If I were a poem I’d be Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost

Wow. I am definitely Pisces.

But I do have a killer sense of humor.

Oh, sarry. I farted.

Maybe not. For now I am packing (ugggh) and labeling (oooghhh), waiting for the May move date. So much to do.

 I hate  moving. I would rather give birth than move. Well, maybe not because I’ve never given birth but at least at the end you have a cute, little baby.

I will have 37,000 boxes to fold and recycle and miles of masking tape, stuck to everything. And probably some broken picture frames because I am an irresponsible packer.

Until my new life adventure begins, here is a brand new armpit vagina.

(Movie preview man voice) “Coming soon:  The Armpit Vagina 2: Lost in New York.  May 2010.”

They are everywhere. I don’t think I can ever go sleeveless again.

And I don’t have a good excuse. More tomorrow. I hope.

And why aren’t my pictures loading? Sheesh.

My mom sent me some pics from Virginia.

Behold, the elusive tufted titmouse!

And this cute little wren:

Still waiting for the chickadee.

There, I said it.

Not only do I play it, but I LIKE it. I will open it up and check on my crops. I get excited about leveling up and having something new to plant.

I know.  *hangs head low*

I’m one of “those” people.

I have my limits, though. I will NOT pay actual human money to buy Farmville cash.

But dammit, when I see someone’s Facebook update that they have a mystery egg and would I like to hatch it?

YES. YES. I must have that chicken! Please! Share with me your eggs!

And there is something so satisfying about harvesting those crops when they are ripe and ready. And those perfect little squares of land arranged in a symmetrical, organized fashion?

And I was wondering if I should move to the farm in Virginia. Ha. I’m a natural. Right?

Shameful secrets.

I have to go. My cows need milkin,’  and my pigs need “trufflin.”

Like all 8 of you are shaking your heads at me.

It’s just that- my life is static now. Boring and static. Insert Downy anti-static joke here.

There are big life changes coming up and I don’t know where to begin. It involves moving back to Virginia, living in the most beautiful place imaginable, and doing a complete 180 in terms of a career.

But Cristin, that sounds just peachy!

Yeah, but it’s scary. It’s big and scary and gives me insomnia.

I don’t really know how to say the following without sounding like a complete asshole.

My brother has money.

A lot.

He has earned it. He invented computer software, lived in Silicon Valley for awhile, and it was bought by “The Man.” There’s a lot more to that story but I am not at liberty to discuss.  He still works for a well known company. I imagine he has a silo of gold coin like Scrooge McDuck and he goes swimming through it at his leisure.

He’s ten years older than me and technically my half-brother (long story) but he and his darling, wonderful wife, who I adore, want to help me.

I don’t mean help, like write me a check. Because, while that sounds nice,  it doesn’t really help me in the long run.

 I mean help, like have me live with them on their estate and farm (yes, it is an estate) and help with sister in law’s business. It is so generous of them to ask me. I am so humbled. But…

It’s scary.

It would be like starting over. And that’s like admitting what I’ve done didn’t work.

 And really, it DIDN’T work.

So…lots to think about.

And I think the Pioneer Woman has the “city girl lives on a farm and blogs” dynamic down already. And my photographs would look pretty amateur compared to hers.

But I do love the mountains of Virginia.

And chickens.

In the grocery store today I had my choice between two checkout lanes. One had 2 people in line but the super fast teenage boy checker. The other, one person in line but the teenage girl who picks up products as she’s scanning them, reads the labels and makes very strange small talk. Ex. from the other week, “A girl in my high school had a baby in the bathroom today.” Oh, really? That’s nice, can you please stop inspecting my bag of provolone cheese? It’s artisan, I know!

So as I had already started to pull my cart into the girl’s lane, I had a change of heart and decided that it would be smarter to go in the other line with the teenage boy.  While negotiating the path with my unwieldy, lummox of a cart, it’s wheel got stuck on a round rack (the kind that turns) of assorted candy. I didn’t realize the wheel was stuck and yanked so hard, I took the whole rack down, with 14,000 bags of candy that then lay sprawled all over the floor.

Um, oops.

I was so humiliated. That awful kind of embarrassing that takes a second to really sink in. Did that really just happen? Yeah.

 Thankfully, a nice employee came and assured me it was fine and put it back.

Teenage girl stands and gawks, chewing her gum.

End scene.

I can’t help but think at least I didn’t crash into it and fall down like Mary Katherine Gallagher.

SuperStaaaaah!