A Bag of Rocks and a Trampoline

I really do have a mean streak! Remember my post about tasers? Well, I will tell you straight up that I have never, ever thrown a rock at anyone ... however, that seems to be a recurring fantasy of mine.

We live across the fence from a school and they have been doing construction work over there. For far too long. The weather has been beautiful so we've had the windows open and what floats through the screen with the gorgeous Spring breeze is the beep-beep-beeping of these noise-polluting idiots backing up big trucks or something. Honestly, do they never go forward? Do they just drive around backward in circles? I thought I'd happily sit and knit and watch my DVR of Martha Stewart the other day and all I could hear was ...

Martha: We have a BEEP BEEP BEEP for you today. We're going to show you how to BEEP BEEP BEEP and then we'll top it off with BEEP BEEP BEEP. We'll also announce our BEEP BEEP BEEP.

Arrrgggghhhhh!!!

I was venting my frustration with our Youngest Daughter on the phone with my usual version of: "I'd like to throw rocks at these guys!" She suggested a trampoline so I could pop up over the 6 foot block fence with a bag of rocks to throw. Definitely had me laughing hard picturing myself bouncing on a trampoline, hurling rocks over the fence.

This, of course, led to the retelling of one of her favorite stories about me from probably 16 years ago. The kids were still in high school and we went camping up in Payson, Arizona. It was one of those busy summer weekends with lots of people enjoying the great outdoors and we were fortunate to find a wonderful campsite right near the road that ran through the campground.

Very late in the evening, a group of nutjobs pulled up and proceeded to set up camp right next to us in a spot that was not a campsite. They unloaded all their stuff and started blasting music that echoed across the mountaintop. It was so loud and so obnoxious.

I was in the tent with the kids and dogs trying to sleep, Hubby was still sitting by the campfire and I. JUST. COULDN'T. TAKE. IT. ANYMORE!!!

I sat up in my sleeping back and screamed at the top of my lungs ...

HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!

YD says my eyeballs were popping right out of my head and I looked crazed. Well, I was!

I was in a royal snit because, frankly, sleeping on the ground is hard enough without throwing in the too loud, crappy musical serenade. I hollered at Hubby, "Let's just throw rocks at 'em!" Of course, we didn't, but I came very, very, very ... very close.

That may be one of the reasons why I have a dislike for camping, aside from sleeping on the ground, cooking on a tiny little stove, trying to clean the dishes in a tiny little tub, peeing in the bushes -- oh, and fishing. Yuck!

But I will say I've been told a story from Hubby's side of the family that makes me grin from ear to ear every time I hear it.

His Dad (my FIL) was the only boy with 6 sisters. When they were children, sitting around the dinner table, he apparently said something smart-mouthed to his mother, which would be my Hubby's Grandma. She got up from her chair to smack him upside the head and he got up and ran from her. So he's now running around the dinner table and she's chasing him, getting angrier by the second. His sisters, not about to let an opportunity to get in on the action slide by, are screeching, "Get him, hit him!"

He runs outside and climbs the tree in their yard, she chases him out there, all the sisters come piling out the door and, by this time, she is so pissed off that she starts picking up rocks to throw at him, trying to knock him out of the tree.

Oh, it does my heart good to hear that other spunky broads have felt this way ... and actually acted upon it. I never met her, but I have a strong kinship with this woman.

So I guess I'll head off to look at trampolines and gather up a big bag of rocks from the yard!