I have proof!

I recently went on a fact finding mission to the VERMONT COUNTRY STORE in Weston, VT, and oh it did not disappoint. It was everything I had dreamed of and more. They even had a collection of old scales and I'm not really sure why. Rather than write, I think this story is better told in pictures.

The one and only! Well not really, they have another store somewhere...

 

Finally! A place that carries my overpriced granny panties.

Oh and thanks for taking them out of the packaging. I really couldn't tell what they looked liked from the picture. 

um EWWWWWW!

Grrr it's a bear! Don't worry, I'm told VT dears are friendly and just want hugs.

Mad Cow disease! COOLEST. HAT. EVER.

And the holy grail.....drum roll please......

After the "Intimate Solutions" post I know you asked yourself the question "Well yes Jessica, they carry that smutty stuff on the web because that's where you go to find smutty stuff. They wouldn't dare carry it in there fine place of business in lil' old Weston, would they?" Oh they would, and they do. Trust me, those are vibrators you are looking, shelved among their bath bubbles and back scratchers. That is the infamous rubber ducky vibrator I referred to. And your eyes are not deceived--the package does in fact read "I rub my ducky." And what's up with their obsession with underwear? Creepy.

...and a real blog is coming sooner! I know my public demands it!

Intimate Solutions

WARNING: The following post contains sexually explicit material that may be too mature...blah blah blah-- it's about sex toys, okay? And yes, I know my mother reads this blog but she's got a sense of humor too (FYI mom, don't read this one to Grandma, k?).

Scared? Read on--it's soooo worth it. Promise.

If you're a New Englander, you probably know about The Vermont Country Store, the "Purveyors of the practical and hard to find" (who uses the word "purveyor" these days? The Vermont Country Store apparently--they are just that old school). My mom, born and raised in the boonies of up, upstate New York would get their catalog from time to time and it would have items like flannel nightgowns, mom jeans, linens you would only see at your grandmother's house, and maple syrup.  Here is one of their "new" items for summer:

So if you were staging a production of Little House on the Prairie this summer, the Vermont County Store can hook you up.

Last year, however, The Vermont Country Store realized they were not fully 'servicing' their clientele--you know, the 75 and older crowd. So they came up with "Intimate Solutions":

http://www.vermontcountrystore.com/browse/Home/Apothecary/Intimate-Solutions/D/30002/P/1:100:1000:10120
  
Yes, those are "personal massagers", and a pube-dying gel and a clitoral pump (I'm not 100% what that is...I thought about googling it and then decided that was probably not in best interest).  Now I'm not naive, I am well aware that the elderly are having far more sex then they let on as they damn well should be but there is just something so wrong about this. Seeing kind old Mr. Lyman Orton surrounded by dildos is unsettling. It conjures up thoughts of good old Walter Brimley taking his Diabeetus medication and then a viagra. Just unsettling.....

...But somehow I found this to be terribly Vermont. Let me explain. True Vermonters--born, bred, and raised in the Green Mountains on maple syrup--are very practical, so I have no doubt they love the idea of being able to buy a Mummu, plastic Santa, and vibrator all in one shopping trip. Mr. Orton even reminds us, "Here at the Vermont Country Store, we take a practical, no-nonsense approach to keeping you healthy, physically, emotionally, and...well...sexually too!" Oh you're so coy Vermont Country Store!

I do have to say my favorite is the vibrating rubber duck. I can just see it now...grandma leaves her rubber ducky that makes bath time oh so fun out. The grand-kids stop by on Sunday afternoon for home-baked cookies and time with Nana. "Grandma! Why is the rubber duck dancing like that! What fun!" Years later...maybe when they're 30, 35, they'll have this moment--maybe walking down the street or dropping their kids off at school--when it will dawn on them just what grandma was doing with that rubber ducky.....and their lives will never be the same.....

"Rubber ducky I'm awfully fond of you......"

P.s. I'm working on a maple syrup-flavored lubricant to sell to the country store. Hopefully this will be on that makes me millions!

They call me 'Dances with Squirrels'

My sister and I have a long running squirrel joke. We both went to large Midwestern colleges were the squirrels absolutely ran amuck. I almost fell off my bike once on the way to class because I saw a squirrel carrying something in its mouth. Upon closer inspection I learned it was ANOTHER SQUIRREL! Another time on my way to the dining hall I found two squirrels screwing on the walkway. Animals. So my sister and I often give each other squirrel-themed gifts...almost as a reminder to stay ever vigilant, because you never know when a sneaky squirrel will venture onto your path.

Last Wednesday a sneaky squirrel did just that. While sitting at my desk my attention was diverted by a scampering noise just above me. This wouldn't have been terribly odd if I was on the top floor of my office. But I'm not. I'm on the first floor. I noted the noise but didn't give it too much thought. Did someone take a dog up to the second floor and I hadn't noticed? Were the office ladies upstairs scampering back and forth on tiptoe? (this actually did pass my mind for a fleeting moment)

A few moments into the scampering Dave appeared at my door saying nothing more than "We've got a squirrel." We spent the next couple of minutes looking both frightened and amused as we listen to the squirrel run between offices.

Now a week previous to this, Amanda had put a box of candy that had been invaded by ants on our back stoop with the intention of taking it to the dumpster. The box sat there for a few days, forgotten, and we soon found a gang of squirrels outside of our office chowing down on Dum Dums and Hersey Kisses. While this whole scenario was hilarious (imagine a little squirrel holding a lollipop in both hand--f*cking cute!), it now meant we had a gang of squirrels hopped up on sugar with their sugar source removed. We now had little crack addicts on our hands with no crack--not so funny anymore....

So upon returning from the holiday weekend this week, we came back to find some "presents" in the office--bits of our old dropped ceiling chewed up and on the floor, kleenex balls that the squirrels had been crawling down in to the office to get to add to their nest, and the sound of small scampering feet above our heads...aww the joys of being in a building that used to be a goat barn! (yes, where my desk sits is probably where goats formerly use to take a sh*t...pleasant thought).  A humane trap has been set so now we just wait...

To be continued...... 

P.s. To my Florida friends, I keep telling myself  "Well, at least it's not a rat." At least I hope not....

Never Ask a Vermonter for Directions

This weekend I decided to venture into the great outdoors with a hike up Putney Mountain. While that sounds impressive, it's a fairly gradual incline. Down and back is only about a mile since the starting point is quite a ways up the mountain. I saw a 75 year old woman in sea green sweater set hiking it. No joke.

While the hike was pleasant, what I actually want to talk about is the drive to Putney Mountain which happened to be just as amusing/enjoyable as the hike its self. Yes, this is another post about me being lost in Vermont. But read on, it's worth it. With my Vermont Explorer's Guide in hand, I hopped in the car thinking I had all I needed. I thought wrong.

Getting to Putney is actually pretty easy--just jump on the interstate and get off a few exits later. And I foolishly thought finding, oh let's say, A MOUNTAIN, would be equally as easy. Now if you're from Vermont or perhaps even spent a few days here you will know this assumption is indeed a foolish one. Vermont is known as the "Green Mountain State" because, well, there's just green mountains everywhere. Pretty much the whole state. But when Midwesterners think of mountains (remember we live in that wide flat land between New York and California), we picture the Rockies--huge pointy peaks covered in snow, so high the tops get lost in the clouds. The Green Mountains remind me more of hills on steroids.  Don't get me wrong, they're gorgeous, I'm just trying to let you know that it is possible to misplace one if you're not exactly sure where it's at.

When I got off in Putney I noticed the typical exit sign: "GAS -->, Food -->, Lodging -->, Phone-->..." Wait, phone?! What was even more odd is that the sign looked fairly new. I'd be very surprised if it was a decade old. Think about it, when was the last time you saw a road sign advertising a phone? In our digital world where cell phones are now some right of passage for 12 year olds, it is very rare indeed that we find ourselves using a payphone, let alone actively looking for one.

While this sign made me chuckle, even having lived here for less than a month I was not terribly surprised. I travel all the time for work, have been to plenty of rural places around the US, and never in my life have I gotten such awful cell service. I don't get any service at my office but there's a rumor that there is a stairwell in the library where you can get service...and one spot in the parking lot...and I found out today there's one in the career resource office at the director's desk...just her desk...not the other side of the room. It's like being a crack addict but instead of chasing down the rock we're looking for precious precious cell bars.

 So I've taken this to be part of "the simple life." Few text messages, dropped calls, my phone often just going to voicemail....It has made me a tad less distracted, but in this day and age I think we've become accustomed to being distracted. Being plugged in 24/7 helps to take us away from the monotony that is our working life. We have texts, FB, the worldwide web....really, how did people distract themselves before the digital age? And how do people get an work done now.....

While I now knew where the phone was in Putney, I still did not where the mountain was. Referencing my handy dandy Explorer's Guide....turn left at the General Store. At this point a road name would have been helpful...because I later found that general store burnt down in the fall of 2009 (oddly for the second time in about a year).

I figured this out after I passed it. After  making a U-turn and after another left turn onto West Hill Road. I referenced the guide again. It read, "just above the Putney School you'll see dirt road on your right." Well I past the Putney School--does that mean I'm "above" it? How can you be above a road? How is that a direction?! Oh, and do you know how many dirt roads, dirt driveways, dirt EVERYTHING there is in Vermont?! Considering this is my second post discussing a dirt road, I'm sure you're getting the picture by now that it's a lot.

To make this rambling story short, I spent the next 20 minutes wandering around dirt roads and a few driveways making wild guesses as to whether they were the correct dirt road. In completed exasperation, I decided to drive a bit further on West Hill road to see if inspiration would strike or I would receive a sign from the heavens...and I did, in the form of a road sign that read "Putney Mountain Rd." Using my amazing powers of deductions, I concluded that this was in fact the road that lead to the mountain. It did. Moral of the story? Don't ask Vermonters for directions unless you feel like going on an unplanned adventure...even if they wrote the directions down in a book.

Dear Mr. Vermont Explorer's Guide,

Typically when someone buys an explorer's guide, it is because  a place is foreign to them, and they would like to explore it. In this case, road signs, when they are actually on the roads, are helpful in said explorations. In future guides, please include road names, not road markers that can be burned down.

Thank you,
Jessica

Beware the Fisher Cat

Just as I had in moving to Florida, my move to New England brings with it the opportunity to encounter a host of new flora and fauna. The newest animal to catch my attention has been a member of the weasel family, the Fisher Cat.

Having grown up in Ohio I had never heard of them before (they are apparently native to the Northeast and Canada). I learned about them one day when Amanda and I were discussing our cats (I swear I'm NOT a crazy cat lady...it's just, what else do you talk about when you don't have kids?)

Amanda: "Don't let your cat outdoors. Cats up here don't last more than a month."

"She's an indoor cat. What gets them?"

"Coyote, bobcats, and ugh, FISHER CATS."

This is a Fisher Cat: 

 Scary, right?!?! They're apparently about the size of a house cat but can take down a deer if they are really hungry--A DEER! That's madness...or perhaps just a wise tale. Either way it's not something I would want to run into in a dark alley (or very well lit alley for that matter). One even attacked a kid in road in Rhode Island last year. They're so vicious that they are the namesake of the AA baseball team in New Hampshire. That's right, the fisher cat is one bad mamagama.

So my new thing lately has been to blame everything that goes wrong on the fisher cat.

"Alirght, who spilled water on the floor and didn't clean it up?"

"Fisher cat."

"Did anyone grab that fax I've been waiting for?"

"I think it was the fisher cat."

"Who ate my muffin?"

"Probably not a fisher cat. They like meat and the occasional mushroom. Was it a meat muffin? If so then yes, probably a fisher cat got it."

So the next time something gets broken, misplaced, or your day is just not going as planned, blame it on the fisher cat. They're evil. Even if they didn't do it, they were likely thinking about doing it.

Cows and Ducks

Yesterday was a "very Vermont day."

My co-workers and I drove down to Brattleboro or "Brat" for short (about 25 minutes) around lunch time to look at new office chairs. On the way back, about a mile from the College, we were stopped by a utility worker standing in the road. She was middle-aged with curly blonde hair and a scrunchy--a throw back to 1988.

"Where ya headed?"

"The College."

"Well there's a live wire down in the road so ya can't go that way. Do ya know the back way?"

You mean there's a "back way to the college?! Let me explain--in order to get to the College you turn off a "highway" (I put it in quotations because, yes, it's an interstate with a number, but calling it a highway would be generous), and head down a country road for about two miles that takes you through the local village "center"--a post office, historical society, and 18th century New England church. Oh, and the weather was windy, but sunny...losing power here is fairly regular occurrence.

At this point I turned to my co-worker--we'll call him Dave--who is a native of Brat, who just sort of stares back. Ms. 1988 sees our confusion and proceeds, "Well just head down Ames Hill. Don't take the right to South Pond but instead get on Cow Path 40. Now once you're on Cow Path 40..."

Wait, did she just say COW PATH 40? I didn't catch it the first time she said it but I most definitely did the second time. ".....you're gonna want take a right onto Thomas Hill and then a left...." I tuned out at this point to contemplate the name "Cow Path 40" and hoped Dave was listening. So I get the "cow path" part--must of been a path for cows at some point, right? But why the 40? Was this some interstate for cows? Or "the back 40?" Someone had 40 acres or 40 cows at some point? I was thoroughly perplexed. 

Fortunately Dave was listening and seemed to know where we were going. So we turned onto a dirt road and the adventure began!

Now don't get me wrong, being from the Midwest originally I've seen my fair share of dirt roads. It just seems that most of the village was a dirt road. When we got to Cow Path 40...well there was no sign. Dave pointed out that it is one of the most stolen signs in Vermont. While I can't verify that, in college I would have definitely loved to see it hanging in my dorm room. As we bumped down the country dirt road, Dave would point to patches of trees saying "well so and so lives there and that's so and so's place, they built it." While peaceful out here, I'm not sure I quite understand why people would choose to live here. Of course, I could never quite figure out why people wanted to live in the gated-overly-planned communities in cookie cutter houses in Florida either. I like having privacy I guess, I just want know my neighbor can hear me scream in case of a bear attack. 

20 MINUTES  later and another unmarked road we circled our way back to the College....Had Dave not been in the car I'm convinced I would still be wandering the back roads of southern Vermont.

Speaking of Dave, he and his wife just bought ducks. Why ducks? Well they hope to one have a pond to put the ducks in. In fact Dave started to dig his own pond one day, just cause. He lives out on one of the back roads we spent the afternoon transversing. He'd been talking about the baby ducks for the last few weeks so the Office Manager and I--Amanda will call her--decided it was time to see the little bundle of joy.

Upon entering Dave's house, he took us to a den. There stood a 30 gallon rubbermaid container containing four peeping ducks! I think I have to put duckings up there with kittens and puppies for cuteness factor. After feeding them and holding them for bit, Dave's wife yelled "Everybody grab a duck! Time to swim." So we all, well, grabbed a duck and proceeded to move them to the porch to another rubbermaid filled with water.

So here I sat on Thursday night in Vermont, watching pet ducks swim a plastic tub. Who says I need cable?

Oh, and on a side note tonight I'm having country style ribs I bought from a local farmer and organic green beans--yum! Not to rub it in or anything....:)

The DMV

So today is the day I officially became a Vermonter...well, at least according to the state of Vermont! You can tell a lot about a state from it's DMV. For instance, the DMV in Florida was in a strip mall, naturally, like 95% of everything in the state is in a strip mall. It oddly always reminded me of a hospital waiting room. Lots of elderly folks, screaming children, and generally disgruntled people.

Vermont on the the other hand...let's just say it was a completely different experience...

Step 1: Find DMV office.

Easy enough, right? I live in the 6th largest city in the state there's got to be one somewhere downtown....or apparently in the next village over in a "mobile unit" that is open twice a week for a 6 hour window of time. Hmm.

Step 2: Find DMV office.
So I took off work this morning to drive to Dummerston. Right before I left I plopped myself down in front of the computer to get an address to plug into my GPS. According to the Vermont DMV website, the Dummerston Mobile Unit is on Route 5....no address, just Route 5. It was like my computer was saying "yup, just take a right at the old Johnson farm and you should see it just past the dead tree on your right side." Why has this website been able to get away with just printing "Route 5" for an address? Probably because Vermonters don't question it. "Oh it's on Route 5? I'm sure I'll see it." Evoking the Vermont spirit this is what I had to say to myself--"I'm sure I'll just see it.". So I hopped in my car and started north on Route 5...hoping to eventually see it.

Step 3: Find the DMV
It's a good thing they had a picture on the website of the building that the mobile DMV was located in because they sure didn't have a sign on it. As I zoomed past it, I thought, "Hm, that non-descript building in the field looks like that non-descript picture on the internet."

After pulling a U-ie in the Colonel's Tavern (Karaoke Wednesdays!) parking lot across from the KOA I found my way back to the what apparently was the DMV office...located behind the "District 2" garage. I parked in front of what appeared to be an outhouse (no joke, would have taken a pic if I hadn't forgotten my phone), and proceed to an open door in the basement of the building.

Step 4: Sign away your first born child
Upon entering the basement office, rather than "taking a number," I signed in at an unmanned desk...which seem wholey ineffective because a guy sitting behind a desk with the print out "4" taped to the front came over and asked me if I was next...yes I suppose I was. I'm finding Vermonters like somewhat organized chaos...or I guess what they actually like is believing in the civility of others, which is a great thing. For example, in downtown Brattleboro there is a 5 way stop/intersection with no stop sign or traffic light. People just negotiate their way through it. Two cars will go from the north, another will turn right...it's organized chaos based on civility.   So the list gave the resemblance of order, but even had there been no list we would have very civilly waited our turn in the order we came in. This would not have happened in Florida.

I, no joke, had to bring 9 different documents with me in order to register my car and get a license in Vermont, the most surprising of which was two papers proving I was now resident of the great state of Vermont. Is the state really that exclusive about who they let in? Isn't me moving to the middle of nowhere proof enough? Florida is such a transient state (nobody who lives in Florida is actually from Florida), they're not really choosy about who they let in.

So a few more signatures, an eye test, and a picture later, I'm officially a citizen of the Green Mountain state! I wonder if I will now have the power to find things without having a specific address....

So what does Vermont's DMV tell us about the state? If you can get through all the inconvenient obstacles we put in your way--including finding our office--I guess we'll let you stay.