#so we bought this trailer fridge that you plug in outside right

[nc-vb]

hahaha I think I fractured something in my arm today :')

[demonwriterx]

Tremors Zootopia CH 2 "Goodbye Perfection"

After their meeting with Judy Hoops, Nick and Finnick pulled into the small town of Perfection and parked right outside the convenience store that was “Grey’s Market”. It was the only store in Perfection. The owner, Gideon Grey, another fox, was fair with his prices and everyone didn’t complain but when it came to bargaining, he was a force. Nick couldn’t remember how many times he traded something with Gideon, that seemed like junk to him, only to turn around and see Gideon turn it into a profit. He could recall one memory when he had turned eighteen and found a large refrigerator that could hold refreshments. Nick managed to fix it up, cover the rust with paint, and had it in perfect working condition. When Gideon noticed he offered Nick, one hundred and fifty dollars. Two weeks of working odd jobs and he would have never gotten close to that amount, without a second thought he sold it. The next day, he found out to his dismay that Gideon had been using it to store the alcohol and soda pops. Before, the animals were used to drinking their liquids warm, but once Gideon plugged in the machine he had made double of what he paid for it in one day. If Nick would have kept it, he would have gotten a business going and would have left Perfection within a year of savings. The market was made out of wood and painted red, but over the years, the intense heat and constant dirt storms peeled and dulled the paint down. Even the logo that spelled “Grey’s Market” in yellow, looked sick and nauseating. It was as if they were walking back in time to the Wild West. Nick slammed the truck door close, not even bothering to lock it as he made his way to the market’s porch and to escape into its cool shade. His eyes fell onto Weselton, a weasel who wore jerseys and shorts everyday, practicing with a basketball that needed to be pumped with air. He lived in an old trailer home, right in town, with fake grass and knickknacks thrown across the yard. He lived with his parents, which Nick thought was humiliating and sad since they constantly abandoned him to go to Vegas and gamble. Sometimes for weeks. To pass the time, Weselton dribbles with his basket and annoys the town with his stupid pranks.

Finnick cast a glare at Weselton, who was busy throwing the basketball onto Grey’s truck to notice, until he was called out. “Hey you slimy weasel! If you touch this truck, you’re dead!”

Weselton snorted, bringing the basketball to his chest. “Ooo, I’m shakin’!” He said in his nasally voice. Every time Nick heard it, he couldn’t help but cringe. Once, Finnick saw him throw his basket ball right at their truck and broke their side mirror. He was so angry, Nick had to pull him away from Weselton in fear that he might break his bones. Instead, they agreed he’ll work off the damage by helping in a few odd jobs to pay for it. Ever since then, if Weselton ever stood within ten feet of it, Finnick would run out and chase him off.

The loud squeaks of the door signaled everyone inside of their arrival. Gideon Grey, the pudgy owner was behind the counter, organizing and taking inventory, half-listening to one of his regulars. On the other side of the counter was the even pudgier Benjamin Clawhauser, the hefty cheetah and his wife, Honey Badger, a badger…which was obvious. She was dressed head-to-toe in camo gear and always had a gun on her. Honey and Clawhauser were two survivalists, they came to Perfection to await the upcoming apocalypse. They were a friendly couple but a little paranoid, who loved two things, their guns and their MREs (Meal, Ready to Eat). Clawhauser was counting bullets on the counter while his wife, Honey, was busy complaining about the cartridges that came in for them.

“No, Giddy, this isn’t what I ordered. I ask for hollow points, these ain’t hollow points.” She said, pushing them away towards him. Once Gideon noticed Nick and Finnick, he immediately turned around and got them two cold drinks, placing them on the counter in front of two empty seats. Nick was glad to rest his tail and relax after a long morning. Clawhauser gave him a friendly smile as he puts the bullets away.

“Hey guys, what have you been up to?” He asked.

Nick took a sip of his soda before answering boredly. “Meet some college student, Julie.” His head jerked forward when Finnick slapped the back of his head.

“It’s Judy. Judy Hopps. She is getting some strange readings on her little machines out there.”

Honey Badger lifted her head up, eyes wide, which meant to everyone she was going to begin on a new conspiracy theory. “Shoot, well those kids might find oil or uranium out there! Next thing we’ll know the feds will be knocking on your door saying “Sorry pack your bags!” and so begins…Primal War 3”

Clawhauser gently patted Honey’s shoulder. “Down, Honey. Down.”

Nick smirked, giving them a sleepy gaze. “Yeah, Honey, from the way you worry you might give yourself a heart attack before you get to survive Primal War 3.”

Everyone laughed, while Honey gave him a patient smile. They had known eachother for years, close as most friends. Just then, the compressor of Grey’s fridge let out a chugging and high pitch squeal. The fridge rocked from its own noise as if it was ready to explode or die on the spot.

“Hmm, must be the Bearing right Nick?”

“Must be.” He replied, heading towards it. He had worked on that machine for months and considered it his greatest achievement but Finnick cut him off.

“But we can’t fix it now, we got to get going to Lionheart’s place.”

Nick’s shoulder sagged and turned back to the group. “Right. We got to get plan ahead. Finnick explained it to me.” As they headed out the door, Nick noticed a beautiful, decorative piece of art made out of iron. It was in a shape of an ox head and attached to it was a price tag of thirty dollars. Nick pointed it out.

“Gideon, what is this?” He asked in disbelief.

Honey popped in. “Isn’t it nice? We bought two and placed them in the rec room.”

Nick’s eyes lowered and went up to Gideon. In a low and quiet voice he whispered. “We sold them to you for three bucks a piece!”

Gideon responded with a deadpan look. “And I appreciate it, friend.”

Nick, was once again, hustled out a large amount of cash because he thought he was hustling Gideon by selling it to him by twice the price he thought they were worth. They were ugly and worn, but Gideon managed to buff it out and make it into something desirable. His envious thoughts were interrupted by the blaring alarm of their truck. Finnick and Nick ran outside to see a sulking weasel sneaking off with his basketball.

“Hey Weselton! What I told you about the truck!” Finnick shouted angrily, waving his fist towards him. Wesealton ears went back in fear and shook his head.

“I didn’t do nothin’! Your truck is malfunctioning…or something.”

Finnick snorted and waved him away, not wanting to deal with him. Nick chuckled when they went inside the truck.

“Why don’t his parents ever take him to Vegas?” He asked, Finnick gave him a glance.

“Do you really have to ask that question?”

Nick put the truck in reverse. “Would save us some headache.”

The loud rumple of the bulldozer shook in mighty vigor with Finnick on the wheel. Even if he was too short to reach the pedals, he compensated by maneuvering it with a broken broom stick. Nick was picking up the smaller garbage thrown about in Lionheart’s backyard which served as a junkyard of sorts. The metal stays but paper and other unmentionables had to go. Nick had his nose and muzzle covered by a hoofkercheif, to block some of the dry manure-like smell. He picked up an old black garbage bag only to fall to pieces right on his feet. He let out a grunt and tossed the plastic down in frustration. It was time for a break. Nick collapse on a broken down chair in the yard, marinating in the sun from the flood of sweat drenching his fur. He eyed Finnick lazily as he turned off the machine to join in. Nick reached inside a broken toilet taking out two cans of (very) warm sodas, tossing one to Finnick as he sat down on a abandoned couch next to him. The click and sizzle of the cans filled the air, making Nick speak up.

“Well, I tell you something Finny…no animal pick up garbage better than we do.” He said, glancing at Finnick, who took a sip from his can.

“Yup.” He answered non chalantly.

Nick sighed. “Come on, this is low. We are better than this, garbage collecting? We have got to set out sights on something better.”

Finnick rubbed his temple. “Anything is better than this, I admit, what you got in mind?”

Nick attached the septic tube into the open channel right outside Wesealton’s family trailer home. The large rusted septic take rumple as it began sucking in large amount of feces that collected over the months. Finnick cranked the nuts and bolts into the tank, not wanting any cracks to show, to avoid any leaks.

“When you said we should do something else, I didn’t expect this!” Finnick shouted over the heavy noise. “Hey Wesealton, why don’t you help us out? This is your crap anyway!”

Wesealton was sitting on a plastic chair, watching the two foxes work. He ignored Finnick and turned to Nick. “Hey Wilde! Why don’t you run to the store and get me a pack of beer, I’ll pay ya when you get back.”

Nick snorted as he walked back to Finnick. “Not on your life, Weselton!”

He lurched foreword almost losing his balance on his chair. “Wesealton! Duke Weseal-ton!”

Finnick had his arms crossed as he glared at Nick, normally they avoided this job for “obvious” reason. “This is “the” worst idea, you had ever had!”

Nick leaned back and crossed his own arms. “I don’t see you coming up with any ideas! All you do is drag your little feet!” He said defensively.

Finnick growled and moved his paws to his waist, holding a dominant stance. Something that foxes do when trying to win an argument. Nick swiftly mimicked him, not wanting to stand down.

“Are you going to say that to my face, Wilde? That the reason we are still in Perfection is because of me? Do you know how close I am to leaving this place!”

“Alright I’ll take that bluff, how close?”

Before Finnick had the chance to shout it out, the septic tank erupted, leaking right out of the hose and covering the two foxes in a shower of…unmentionable. The two foxes backed away from the onslaught of the spray but it was too late. Nick and Finnick shouted out curses and profanities while Wesealton pointed and laugh at their misfortune. Nick growled, that was his breaking point. He can be hustled out of a profit, he can be paid less than minimum wage, he can chop firewood but being covered by Wesealton’s own dung? That was enough for him to finally leave. Once cleaned up, scrubbed and sanitized, Nick packed their belongings into the back of the truck while Finnick strapped them in with cables. Leaving behind their small trailer home and other furniture they couldn’t fit in the truck.

“Why are you bringing the vacuum cleaner?” Finnick asked as he jumped down from the truck.

Nick shoved the machine inside. “I like this vacuum cleaner.” He retorted, opening the passenger side door.

“I never seen you use it!”

“It’s good for parts!”

Finnick took the wheel and the foxes speed away down the dirt road. They agreed not to tell anyone of their leaving because it would cause them to try to keep the two in Perfection and even Nick didn’t want to admit, that even though they appeared to be loners and shifty characters, but they were actually two softies. One ask and they’ll accept, it was their greatest weakness and also if they get free food and drinks along with it. They drove down the town and they didn’t want to stop until they saw a little shrew, waving them down frantically.

“Oh boy, there’s Fru Fru, I’ll notice that huge wig anywhere.” Nick said, Finnick sighed and slowed the truck down.

“I bet she wants us to chop firewood again.”

“You mean chop toothpicks?”

Finnick stopped the truck in front of their massive mobile home, they could never understand how a small shrew could live in a home 100 times her size. Nick got out of the truck to meet with Fru Fru, helping her climb on his paw to talk in eye level.

“Sorry Fru Fru, we aren’t chopping firewood today, we’re leaving town.” He said with a smirk. His ears perked when he heard a small noise. Boing. Boing. Boing. He smiled when he saw Fru Fru’s daughter, Mindy, bouncing on her pogo stick. Finnick leaned his head out when he heard the familiar noise. Her daughter, about ten years old, always had a number in mind to break her personal record.

“Hey Mindy!” Called out Finnick. “What’s the count?”

“Six hundred and thirty-four!” She squeaked out, not losing any momentum. Fru Fru tossed her hair back, placing her small paws on her hips.

“Oh sure!” She said in a high pitch voice, not believing them. They had said the same thing for years and they still stuck around. That was until she saw their belongings in the back. “Oh my stars! You are!”

Nick nodded still holding his grin, but Fru Fru glasp her little paws together.

“Oh but I need your help fellas! I have a big order to fill and I need to build a new pottery kiln! It will only be a month’s work!”

“Sorry Fru Fru, we really can’t!” Finnick replied, trying to stick to the plan.

“Well you heard him Fru Fru.” Nick put her down, making her jump down to the ground. She dusted her working dress slightly.

“What if I throw in lunches?”

Nick gulped and turned to Finnick, he usually has the final say. Fru Fru noticed their hesitation and added. “And cold sodas.” She said in a sing songy voice. Nick cringed at Finnick. The truck raced down the dirt road with Finnick cheering behind the wheel with Nick laughing beside him.

“We did it! We beat temptation!” Finnick said holding the biggest grin Nick had ever seen. Nick leaned back, putting his paws behind his head.

“Never thought I see the day. We are finally free from this dump.”

“You know it, it might be hard getting an apartment in the city but we’ll figure something out.”

“Oh right.” Nick’s ears lowered but he had a little bit of optimism. “I’m sure we won’t live under a bridge.”

Finnick sniffed and look ahead towards their new life. They were already 15 miles passed the line of Perfection and were already seeing signs of civilization, the tall power lines and towers stretched across the road. Finnick looked up at them as glimmering hope of a new life and saw a lone animal working on one of them.

“Now that’s one job I will never do, anything around eletrictity.” He said, pointing up to the figure as they drove right next to the tower.

Nick squinted his eyes through the glaring sun. “Hey, is that Bellweather?” Bellweather was the bum of the town, she slept under the stars wearing the same wool coat everyday. She acted sweet most of the time but when she gets drunk, she goes on a massive rant against predators. “Predators must die! Prey will rule the races!” Nick thought that was a little strange but the townfolks just ignored her threats as a drunk’s antics.

“Nah, couldn’t be…” Finnick replied but he looked back up again. “How can you be sure?”

“No it’s her! I know that coat anywhere! Hey stop the truck.” Finnick rolled his eyes and scoffed.

“Can’t believe this crap.” He drove to the trunk of the tower and parked the truck. The two foxes got up and sure enough, they recognized the female sheep. Nick cupped his paws around his mouth and shouted.

“Hey Bellweather! What are you doing up there!”

Finnick scratched his head and yelled out. “Get down before you hurt yourself!”

Bellweather sat at the half point of the tower but it was at least a few floors high. Nick and Finnick glanced nervously at each other when they got no response from her. Finnick chewed the inside of his mouth as Nick rubbed the back of his head.

“Well…shoot, guess we have to leave her up there, let’s go Finny.” He said, heading back to the truck.

“Are you serious?”

Nick turned around. “I was just kidding! But…we can’t leave her up there.”

“Yeah…you’re right, it wouldn’t be right if we leave her. She’s probably stuck.”

“Probably.”

They both stood side by side in silence until they meet eachother’s eyes, each putting up a fist. With a few shakes, Nick threw scissors and Finnick threw rock. Nick tilted his head up at Bellweather.

“Thanks Dawn, thanks a lot.” And he started climbing. He was muttering under his breath the whole time he climbed up. “Stupid racist sheep, have to drag my tail to drag yours down?…what bad luck. Right when I was leaving this dump.”

He reached up on the bar right below Bellweather. “Alright, just take my paw and-!” He retracted his paw, almost losing his balance from the sudden shock. Bellweather was slumped against the metal bars, her mouth slightly open and her eyes dull. She sat motionless on the tower, dead.

——————————————- I hoped you enjoy!

[jillmckenzie1]

In the Pursuit of Home

Four hours ago, I blew a fuse on my inverter. Four hours and twenty minutes ago, I didn’t even know what an inverter was or that half the plugs in my Airstream were powered by an inverter, which is monumentally different (and altogether far less powerful) than those plugs that are grounded.

Learning. Don’t plug a space heater into an inverter circuit.

If you’re worried about my lack of electric plugs at this point in the story, don’t be. My grounded plugs are still working and my Airstream itself has power (praise God because it’s a whopping seven degrees outside). The major concern here is that my interior Christmas lights are plugged into one of the inverter circuits. Oh, and so is my TV. So, I’ve spent the entirety of my evening with no lights and no Christmas movies. Naturally, my bah-hum-bug levels are skyrocketing through the roof.

Three hours on YouTube later (via my iPhone), I have learned how to undo my Airstream’s front seat cushions and shove my head into a small hole underneath the dining seat (while trying to remember what was said in aforementioned YouTube videos). Really, I have no choice but to fix this thing. Plan B is not an option because, well, it doesn’t exist. Hard fact: I’m not rolling this tin can out of here anytime soon. If you follow my Instagram stories, then you know that it took me and my brother 42 tries just to get her level (and he’s no spring chicken when it comes to handy work).

So, amidst texting my Airstream dealer (please ignore the fact that this sounds like a drug reference), DMing one of my best friends from high school who constantly has to deal with my ignorant shenanigans, crying, throwing the dining room cushion the whopping 23 feet to the back of my humble abode, maintaining a decent amount of sanity with my head submerged inside a tiny cut out hole, pushing buttons and probing around wires that could very likely electrocute me, I did it. I fixed the inverter.

Airstream, one. Stephanie, one. Okay, who am I kidding? The Airstream is royally kicking my ass, but the point here is that there has been a restoration of both the Christmas lights and the Christmas movie marathon.

If I were really keeping score (and I’m totally not keeping score), the Airstream would be up 37-14 (this is me, not keeping score). Between losing my back window in my maiden voyage to Colorado to the huge dent that is now on the passenger-side back panel from God knows what at my rinky-dink RV park in Houston to my water freezing in transit to Amarillo and to the perils of cold-weather camping in the Rocky Mountains, I’m often shocked that this silver bullet is still standing. Hell, I’m often shocked that I’m still standing.

Fact. My confidence in solo trailer travel has increased exponentially, but I am often plagued by two things. One. There is not a day that goes by that I don’t have to learn something new to merely function in my day-to-day life. Two. This really cool, amazing experience can get really lonely.

I’ll expand. I usually like to lead with the bad news first, but in this case, I’ll work through the good and end with, what I am going to call, the not-so-good (in the spirit of optimism).

When I hitched the Airstream to my Denali back in May, I had never towed anything other than a ten-foot long U-Haul trailer in my entire life. When I tell you that I had no idea what the I was doing, I quite literally mean that I had no idea what the I was doing. Aside from a half-day tutorial from Claudio, my personal Airstream Jedi, and a one-hour crash course on backing up from Steve, my aforementioned Airstream dealer, I had zero experience with nearly everything that was required to keep the trailer in working order. And, despite the insecurities that flooded over me due to this inexperience, I had purchased the trailer, so my only option was to attach the trailer to my car and take it off the lot.

Disclaimer. I have recently noticed my affinity towards putting myself in situations where I am forced to do things that I would not normally do as a byproduct of my fear of failing. Meaning, I intentionally place myself in extreme circumstances where “no” is not an option in order to create an environment where fear cannot exist because the only viable choice is “yes.”

So, I hitched. I towed. I drove the Airstream to Sun Valley from the dealership in Boise (with the seven-way plug trailing behind me, if you recall). I backed it up with flying colors. I packed her full of everything I thought that I would need and then we embarked on her first real trip to the motherland of Colorado, sleeping at a movie theater parking lot somewhere outside of Salt Lake City along the way.

Then, Denver paralyzed me. I realized how difficult it was to find a camping spot. I was too intimidated to even attempt to use my propane. I didn’t have a water line or sewer hookup while crashing in the back parking lot of my mom’s office building, and I didn’t want them, because it just felt like more things for me to learn how to use and then break and then learn how to fix. I remember sitting in my brother’s kitchen as he innocently told me to go out and see the world. I smiled and nodded with every ounce of dwindling confidence inside of me.

Easy for you to say, bro. You are good at these things. And, you have someone to share in the learning and the breaking and the fixing and the planning. Not me. Not today. Nope. Today, the choice to move just feels too damn heavy.

 And, so I sat in that. The heaviness. For two months. Until my mom’s boss basically gave me the boot and I came to the cathartic realization that, in my current state, I had bought an Airstream to live in the back parking lot of an office building. In other words, life not exactly going to plan.

So, I spent a day Googling campsites and reading road maps and researching the 72 questions that were buzzing through my tired mind. And, I did it. I planned my first real trip to Zion to Newport Beach to Yosemite to Flagstaff to Sedona to Houston. Me. I planned it. And, yes, lots of shit went wrong along the way. But, I hooked up my sewer line and drained my tanks and used my propane and checked my batteries. And, I witnessed some of the most grandeur sites that the United States has to offer.

More importantly, I grew. I sat with myself through the good and the bad and the beautiful, and I paid homage to the piece of me that didn’t think I could do it by waking every morning to be the one who was doing it. I started to shed insecurities layer by layer until the only thing left was a belief in myself that, yes, I am this woman driving around in her Airstream with the confidence to do it alone.

Ouch. That word. Alone. I warned you about the not-so-good part of this adventure. I’m not even sure that “adventure” is the right word choice here. Because it is my actual life. Maybe this is one of those awful word plays on the SAT where it reads, “All adventures are life, but not all lives are an adventure” and you have to determine whether the statement is true or false. True, my current life is most certainly an adventure, but it is also just that, my life.

From afar, the perception of this life is infused with freedom and flexibility. From afar, I’m saving money and seeing the world. From afar, I’m living out too many people’s dreams who will never actually take the opportunity to seize those desires simply because they are scared.

Hear me. If you want something bad enough, you will stop at nothing to make it happen.

From afar, the loneliness is not an ever-present reality. Because, no one was sitting on the floor with me last Sunday as I cried for two hours while listening to Marshmello’s “Happier” on repeat. I had just left Houston – a place where I feel deeply connected to a community, a place where I had settled and established a routine – to return to the geography that inspires my soul, only to realize that I am now in a town where I know nothing and no one.

My back is pressed against the fridge. Nugget is curled up in my cross-legged lap, and I can smell the pumpkin spice candle burning on the dining room table, the table that is surrounded by the glow of the Christmas lights plugged into the inverter circuit. I am cozy. And happy. And, yet, I am simultaneously overcome by sadness because of the silence that sits behind the music that is flowing through the Airstream’s surround sound.

Fact. I can confidently do this alone. Fact. I do not want to do this alone.

And, what is “this?” Because I am not trying to make some grandiose statement about tiny home living. I am not saving money by living in Breckenridge, Colorado for an entire winter (seriously, I’d be better off renting a room than this concrete slab). I am not on a mission to force more people into a nomadic way of life.

I am simply trying to understand where I want to plant my roots or even if I want to plant my roots. I don’t necessarily need a person to find that answer. But, I want a person. Because I’d rather be typing this long-winded diatribe next to the warmth of another body. Because I’d rather have someone else pick the campsites while I handle the grocery shopping. Because I’d rather laugh inside the deepest connection to another human when, after three hours of watching YouTube videos, we still can’t figure out what the hell we’re doing. Together.

So, maybe he’ll want to jump in with me. Or, maybe he’ll ask me to stay. I don’t feel a deeper attraction to the former or the latter. I don’t have an expectation for that outcome. I simply know that I must continue to live my life with the confidence that this adventure steadily sharpens and provides. He will find me. Or, I will find him. Or, hell, we’ll both swipe right on each other and engage in five days of witty banter that culminates in an actual first date of unprecedented epic proportions.

What I know is that whether we stay, or go, or stay and go will be irrelevant. Because the adventure will be us. And, this confidence that I’ve gained, it will always be mine. But, him, he will be home.

from Blog https://ondenver.com/in-the-pursuit-of-home/