Sired In A Limo by Cindy

Oh, boy!!! What we don't know. Living out here on the ranch, with acres for hay and cattle, etc., you think you've seen and smelled everything. The other day, Liana and I were coming back from Alamosa, and I had the radio on (my music station, but, between 12 and 1 they have the stock report, etc.) and we were heading home between noon and 1pm. They were talking about heifers, and what they were selling for, the weights, etc., and I heard this comment about Limosine "sized" - I'm thinking, "WOW!!,limosine sized heifer, that's one big animal." Well, I heard it again and realized they were saying limosine "sired." Needless to say, my imagination began to run amok. I could just imagine all of these heifers lined up at the doors to a huge limosine, waiting to be diddled by some huge bull - sitting on the back seat with a Cuban cigar. So, began the quest to find out what limosine sired meant. A City Girl cannot be blamed for not knowing these things. It turns out that Limosine is a kind of cattle, like Jersey or Angus or whatever. But, you know, I kind of like to think of these very content ladies out here in the pastures, calving now, having memories of their night on the prairie, in this limosine and a very handsome bull, the moon is out, coyotes are howling, the music from the Limo radio is playing "Home On The Range," the champagne is spilling over the rim of the champagne glass, and those girls are looking forward to a wild night of sex. Let's all hope for the same thing.

Tale of Two Gimmers

First we have the Full Gimmer, this is what it is called when you wear you pants legs fully tucked into your boots. Then there is the Half Gimmer, this is where you only tuck the inside part of your pants leg into your boots. I still have not figured out which Gimmer is the correct Gimmer for the fashion conscious woman of the West. I don’t want to make a fashion faux-pas, so I try not to tuck my pant legs into my boots at all. I am now on the look out for Gimmers. I hope no one is just pulling my (pants) leg.

Foot Note: Yesterday, I was wearing my jeans rolled up above my boot tops, and was told I had a Modified Gimmer. What do you mean a Modified Gimmer? I thought there were only 2 Gimmers? Now, I am even more suspicious that this whole Gimmer thing is being made up for my benefit. Still, I don’t want to take any chances.

Posting My Profile on Yahoo Personals

I start my profile with the easy questions first. Yes, I am a female, Caucasian, divorced, 5’6”, with green eyes. My hair color? Brown with a little gray and a few blonde streaks. Oh yes, hair color would be “multi”. Body type, slim, slender, average? Well, that would depend on the time of the month and if I am wearing my skinny jeans or thermals and sweats. OK, I picked slender. Thank God they didn’t ask about my bust size.

Now for the questions about the type of man I am looking for. That's easy, tall and handsome. But, that really narrows the field. How about, anyone taller than 5’6”, hair color: any ; eye color: any; Police record: No; Alcoholic: No; Sex Pervert: Maybe, that all depends

OK, now I have to post pictures of myself. There is the picture of me with the lamp shade on my head last new years eve. How about the one at the beach? No way! OK, how about the one standing next to my Mom? No, bad hair day. This is not getting any easier. I reconsider the lamp shade picture.

Lastly, I have to write a little something about myself. This is too much like homework. I need to get help with this, so I call Cindy over for a consultation. We manage to come up with something witty. I hold my breath and press the submit button. Yahoo!

Man Hunt by Cindy

Liana started out on this search long before I even knew her. Me, at this age, sure wasn't going to put myself out there. I wasn't going to be ignored, shunned, and basically made to feel less than human. So whenever she would suggest that I should put my profile on one of these dating services, my response was no way. So, I thought about it, and wondered, then decided that maybe, just maybe there would be someone out there that would see me and want to reply and "chat". So, I said to Liana, well, I'm thinking about it. Liana, never one to let a chance go by, jumped on my momentary weakness. She was at my house that same day, and, lo and behold, I am watching her pull up the screen with the profile questions. Well, what can I say, there I was filling out this questionnaire. Heart in my mouth, this wind sound blowing through my brain, I typed and answered yes, and no and maybe, and lord!!! They want my size!! Ever in denial I entered petite/slim - the questionnaire kicked out my response. I can't tell the truth! I can't do this. Oxygen was brought in and I managed to complete the questionaire portion. Then, I had to describe myself, my likes, hobbies, something that would possibly generate some interest from some man out there. What to say - there hasn't been any interest in years, does that tell you something? What to say, I asked Liana, and her response was, well, you know - but I don't know! You're under a lot of pressure, they only allow you so many minutes to "pause". So, finally, I called upon all my resources and wrote the truth: I'm 62, wealthy, the body of a young Marilyn Monroe, the face of a Greek goddess, exercise for two hours daily, married three times (a widow from each marriage) enjoy sex as often as I can get it, travel constantly, own homes in California's Wine Country, Tuscany, a chalet in Switzerland, an apartment in NYC, and the clincher, of course, I have no children to leave my money to. I love to be held, to slow dance, to kiss, to be romantic, to laugh, to have long talks, and there's more, we just need to discover it together. You gotta try this, the offers are flying in!

Internet Dating - Finding Love on Yahoo Personals

For a single girl living on a ranch, in the middle of nowhere, finding eligible bachelors can be tricky. During the summer months, there are the farm auctions. Large numbers of men attend these auctions. Unfortunately, most of them are not single. Then there are the trips into town. Striking up a conversation with a man in the middle of Wal-Mart is possible, but totally unreliable. Meeting a man at the lumber mill was a bust. More saw dust between the ears than on the clothes. So Cindy and I have decided to try Internet Dating. At least we have a better chance of finding men that are single, intelligent and well groomed. We are off to Yahoo Personals to post our profiles. We will see if the claims are true. Can we shop for eligible bachelors at 2AM in our jammies? Can we find love over the Internet? Yahoo Personals

How to Find a Man to Cut Your Firewood

City girls do not own chain saws. Manly outdoors men own chain saws. So the smart city girl finds a manly outdoors man with a chain saw to cut her firewood. This is the theory, at least.

There seem to be plenty of men in the valley willing to cut my firewood, but at what price? Hey, I am not that easy! I want to be, at least, wined and dined before I let you anywhere near my firewood.

How to Identify "Pervert Vulture Vulgaris" by Cindy

Liana and I take daily walks on the back roads and are always amazed at the various wild critters around here. We walk for our health, and we dress appropriately: Sweats, a fleece jacket, hat, scarf, gloves and our walking shoes, and of course I carry a can of pepper spray and she carries a can of mace. Needless to say, we're not dressing to attract anything. Our Motto: Be Prepared. Of particular dread is the resident critter, Scientific name: Pervert Vulture Vulgaris, Common Name: The Red-Neck Pervert. We generally see this critter once or twice a week, and dread it as he flies down the road and comes to light at our side. I begin my usual mutterings: Is it him? Is it the SOB? Is it the Asshole? Is it the Creep? Is it the Pervert? We always hope that this time we will avoid him. He's pretty easy to identify, as he drives an immense 1 ton truck, he wears a cowboy hat (kind of sinful in a way, as our idea of "cowboy" doesn't include this creepy image). He's old and skaggy looking with a lecherous oogling glint in his eye. His back seat always has a 30 pack of Coors, and the front seat is usually a 30 pack of Coors that has been opened, with empties on the seat, and a beer can in his hand. Oh, yes, he drools. We make positive identification when he asks the same question: "Aren't you afraid of being molested out here? Heh heh heh." Oh, the thoughts that run through our minds, as we pause in our turbo walk. He's in our book, we know him, and we are repulsed.

The Wood Stove - Getting Firewood

I convince Cindy to go with me to the lumber mill in La Jara to by slab firewood. My Chevy truck has a big hitch, so I borrow the Grimwoods long flat bed trailer, complete with ratcheting tie downs, and we set off for La Jara. Neither of us has any idea how to buy firewood, but we decided to wing it. La Jara is about 40 miles away by the back roads. We have to take the back roads because the trailer has no tags. Neither of us have a cell phone to call for help, so we just cross our fingers that we don’t break down or have a flat tire. We arrive at the lumber mill and pretend that we know what we are doing. A very large man, with a very large machine, loaded two cords of wood onto our trailer. He used our tie downs to strap the wood to the trailer, and put air in one of the trailer tires that was flat. He then asked me to dinner. We giggled all the way home at our audacity.

Animal In Distress!!!!! by Cindy

Justin! Justin! there's an animal in distress by the side of the road. Those were my strained words spoken urgently to the owner of this property the other night. I'd been looking out the window of my little house and could see this poor animal struggling, the wind was blowing, snow was blowing, and my heart just ached. Justin's reply was to say he'd go take a look and we hung up. Thinking that he might need my help in locating the animal, I flew out of the house without a coat or gloves and headed up to the road. I dreaded what I might find, but plugged ahead anyhow, and got there before Justin and his faithful dog arrived. Looking down on this poor thing, I yelled across to Justin: You can go home, it's a tumbleweed!!! I'm older, my eyesight is poor and it was getting dark!

Tackling the Clothes Line

Nobody in South Florida hangs their laundry on a clothes line. There is just too much humidity, your clothes will never dry. If you hang out anything to dry, you will make it rain. Well, my little antique house came complete with an antique clothes line. Made from some half rotten logs, nailed together, half of which were lying on the ground. The line itself, is some kind of ancient wire, kinked and twisted, with rotting clothes pins still attached. Being the self-sufficient modern woman that I am, I get my hammer and screwdriver and go to work. I have to prop the logs back up into a standing position, and reattach the cross ties. These are attached with huge nails that I cannot remove. OK, time to find some muscle.

Our handy friend Jim, drops by and gives me some help with the nails. I wait until he leaves before attempting to stretch the old wire back up between the posts. No need to embarrass myself in front of the stronger sex. This takes me a couple of hours of untwisting and yanking, but I did it. I pat myself on the back. Maybe I can adapt to this new life. Never mind that anything heavier than a wet T-shirt makes the line droop to the ground.