A pheasant in my grill

One of my fears when I sold my 4-Runner and bought the Honda was that I was no longer going to have the weight and bulk of the truck to keep me from speeding. Well, I was right. You don't have to have a lead foot with this little girl, she just likes to move.

I took a little side trip up to North Dakota and down and across to Sioux Falls for a wedding. Well when you have driven as much as I have in the last few months high speeds start to feel very normal. Going 65 mph is like crawling along at a snails pace. And seeing that I cruised across Wyoming at around an average of around 95 I guess that I just didn't realize how fast I was going.

When I saw the lights in my rear view mirror I panicked for a second. I started to slow down and peeked at my speedometer. 98. Oh shit! If I was still going 98 mph I must have been doing well over 100.

The cop walks up to the my window....

"100, huh." He says.
"Yup," I said and smiled sheepishly.

He was actually a very nice cop and kept apologizing for having to give me a ticket. I told him that I hadn't been pulled over since I was 17 so he must be really good at his job. He asked me how much the ticket would cost me in California. I told him I didn't know because I'd never gotten one when in reality I knew I would probably be in handcuffs in the back of a California Highway Patrol car. All in all, I'm surprised this was my first speeding ticket since I was a teenager and I if I was going to get a ticket, at least I damn well deserved it.

After getting the ticket I decided that I was going to stick to back roads where its harder to speed and the Highway Patrol doesn't patrol. So I'm going about 80 down a very pretty back road and WHAM... a pheasant flies right into my grill. Its guts and feathers went everywhere. So the rest of my trip I drove around with feathers in my windshield wipers and guts on my windshield. I still haven't cleaned my car off yet and I don't envy the guy at the car wash who is going to have to.

The Pimp and Ho Ball 2009

One of the biggest social events of the year in Deadwood is the Pimp and Ho Ball. Yes, the Pimp and Ho Ball. Everyone had been talking about it for weeks. I left most of my clothing in storage in California so I didn't really have any good "ho" wear. Not to mention that there are many types of hos. There are ghetto hos and call girl hos and playboy hos and country hos and cute hos and ugly hos... the possibilities were endless. A week and four outfits later I finally decided to go as a sultry high class ho. I must say that walking through town, we were quite the spectacle. Tourists were stopping to take pictures with us.

At the actual ball we had VIP seats in Dr. Feelgood's Love Lounge (it's good to have connections) and a perfect view of the ice sculpture of the woman's bust where other party goers were doing shots of purple hooters from her nipples. There were also a variety of jello shots (can't remember the last time I did one of those) in plungers and "suck and blow" form. My girl Meggie and I were having a lot of fun with those. My two favorite costumes were Charlie's Disco Ho costume (she's the one on the left) and Meggie's lace boy shorts that said Lil Devil on the booty. All in all a fun night. Who said they don't know how to have fun in the middle of nowhere.

Beer Pong Championship and a mad Molly

Tuesday night was the final beer pong tournament of the season and the Championship. The winner wins a keg of beer.

My partner was a local "professional gambler" (and drinker) named Steve. I like Steve because he's an old hippie. Chill, laid back and easy going. Well unfortunately Steve had been on a bit of a bender. He was smashed when he got to the bar for our 6:30 pm start time. I made him promise to not do any more shots until we, at least, played our first game.

Well our first game he was on fire. We kept hitting their cups and they hadn't gotten one of ours. Then Steve stumbles into the table and knocks over three cups. Shit. It's okay we caught up. It was one to one. We had it. Then Steve knocks over our last cup. Their game. Needless to say I was a little pissed. We'd had it.

Second game we were playing a couple guys from Spearfish I'd never met. They seemed nice enough at first. This game I was on fire. Steve and I kept getting double balls back. Second time in a row the guy on the other team takes the ping pong ball and chucks it at me. It's only a ping pong ball and it's not like it hurts, but that is not cool sportsmanship. I was a little ticked and let him know it. Then they start cheating. Beer Pong rules state you can not catch a ball and you can not block a cup. Well last cup the guy grabs the ball out of the air. Then they start to say that we're cheating. Well I just about went ballistic. I'm on the stage yelling at the guy. I was mad, and for most of you who know me, I do not get mad like that. I was ready to throw down. In the end we got our judgement but I was so pissed that I couldn't make a shot the rest of the night. And lucky for those guys they left, because one more comment and I would have thrown a punch.

Randy and Ruben ended up winning the tournament but they have a distinct advantage over the rest of the us. They are both tall (at least 6'4" and probably taller). That means that can reach halfway across the table and see the tops of the cups. I'm not making excuses for my performance, I know I suck.

I'm sad that beer pong is over for the season, but I am not sad that I don't have to drink another warm Bush Light again. Amen.

I FINALLY made it to the guys with big heads

After we dropped Tim off at the Rapid City airport (which was tiny) my mom and I decided to take a drive down to Mt. Rushmore. The drive was absolutely beautiful. I'd been meaning to make it a side trip for a couple days but for some reason I can't get out of Deadwood, there's just too much to do.

Mt. Rushmore was pretty amazing but what got me was the museum and the sense of history that it brought. It also went into what each of the presidents represented to the artist and why he choose them. But by far my favorite exhibit was the when they showed all the initial dynamite explosions. Blowing up things is so cool.

My mom did say something that I kind of agree with though. She said, "Mt. Rushmore is all and good, but the mountain would be much prettier if they would have left it alone."

Sugar Shack on Mama's Day

My mom's boyfriend, Tim, was in town for Mother's Day weekend. I subjected him to Friday night karaoke and forced both him and my mom (after a few beers of course) to sing. For a couple of physicists they were surprisingly easy to get up on the stage. I'm not saying they were the greatest singers in the world but I was impressed with both their singing and confidence.

Tim had a flight out on Sunday afternoon so my mom decided that we would stop for lunch in a little town on the way to Rapid City. When I say a little town I'm talking one gas station, two cafes and I giant two story rocking chair. I really don't even know if it is a real town it just may be a scattering of random houses and a roadside stop.

The place that my mom wanted to eat at was closed. Apparently they serve fresh trout straight off the river. Instead of trout, we got the Sugar Shack. The place was pretty packed. It's probably the only place around to eat out on Sundays. We'd been on the road and I had to go to the restroom. As I'm doing my thing I can hear every word in the restaurant upstairs and I could see people walking above me. Not my favorite restroom experience.

The other thing of note about the Sugar Shack is that the owner is a really big Dale Earnhart, Jr. fan. I mean really big. EVERYTHING in the place was decorated in a Dale Earnhart, Jr pattern (number 88 by the way), even the curtains.

Peeping Tom

Sunday morning I woke to an interesting sound outside my bedroom window. I shook my wine hangover off. (Karaoke had been really sweet the night before. A local sets up karaoke for his friends in a theater at the wine bar once a month. I got in because I was in the right place at the right time... and I can sing.)

I looked over at the window and this fatty large rodent had his paws on the window and was staring down at me.

Well, not be out done... I put my hand on the window and tried to talk to him. He was so kinda cute, but big. I had seen him wandering around the yard the week before and waddling around the fallen logs over the creek in my mom's backyard. I wanted to relate to him, or at least make him my pet. But I had no idea what he was. Beaver, Ground Hog, Prairie Dog? I finally figured out that he was a Marmot.... a Black Hills Yellow Bellied Marmot at that. AKA.... Woodchuck... So I guess the question isn't is "How much wood can a Woodchuck chuck".... it's how many times is Tom going to wake me up.