Sunday, August 05, 2007
For the birds...
What am I, a bird magnet?
The Girlfriend found a baby robin in my back yard the other day. It was pretty big, but it couldn't fly. So, she brought it in, and we put it in the birdie halfway house. Man, that cage has had more occupants than Clinton had girlfriends (I owe that one to Jamie). I fed it a worm left over from fishing the weekend before.
The next morning when I got up, mama bird was at the window talking to it. I can just imagine the conversation.
Mama: What did you do?
At any rate, I was late for work, and didn't have time to parole the baby, so I left, and when I got home, The Girlfriend had let him go. Seems like mama was trying to sneak a file in disguised as a nightcrawler.
I was given a link by a new myspace friend, and it's definitely the funniest, most bizarre thing I've seen in a long while. It's called Jamming a Pair of Scissors Repeatedly Into Your Crotch.
I can't explain it in a manner to give it justice, but suffice it to say that it's pretty much a "how to" guide with even questions submitted by readers. I sent in one myself, but it doubt that I will get it posted. Looks like the last update was back in '97. But here is what I sent in:
"I am 16 years old and have been "jamming" for about six months now. My mother told me this morning that it's time for me to have my first appointment with the gynecologist. Will the doctor be able to tell that I have been jamming scissors in my crotch? And will she tell my mom?"
Oh yeah... they say it's not a euphanism for sex, but I'm not so sure about that...
Monday, July 30, 2007
Obesity and Chance Meetings
Dear Loudmouth Whale at Wal-mart,
Thank you for nearly running me down with your electric wheelchair cart. It was horrible of me to be walking down an aisle that you were intersecting, especially while you were on your cell phone. How inconsiderate of me! I'm sure that weighing 800 pounds must be hard on one's feet. Perhaps if you left the handicapped cart for someone who is actually handicapped, you might drop a few pounds walking to get your hohos and Diet Coke. I didn't realize that being morbidly obese entitled you to an afflicted cart. Incidentally, I'll bet you could pay a little more attention to where you were going if you had that cell phone shoved up your ass. Sideways.
Love and Kisses,
This goes out to all you married men who like to get on social networking sites and flirt. Hello! You're gonna get busted one day. Yes, I'm talking to you, Mr. P. I saw you today, with your wife, and you looked like you were trying to hide in your own armpit. Loser. Don't worry, I'm not into breaking up marriages. But stay off the internet and pay some attention to your wife. You never know when you might run into one of your online "friends".
Life is good. And I really mean that.
Friday, July 27, 2007
I just got back from my daily lunchtime walk, where I was honked at multiple times, and only once was it someone I knew. Mmmkay... Honking I can handle. It's almost kinda cool. Just so long as nobody's following me around and trying to get a date, like the one guy did... that's when I started carrying mace on my walks AND taking a different route every day. People can be so... weird. And not in a good way.
So anyhoo, I'm now back at my desk and I'm having a super elegant and high class lunch of a potted meat sandwich and off brand barbeque corn chips. You can't say that I don't eat like a queen, baby.
You know, I've always loved potted meat. I think I inherited it from my dad - he loved the stuff. But have you ever read the label on potted meat? What in the name of Ra is "mechanically separated chicken"? I get this mental image of someone cramming a live chicken into a blender and hitting puree.
"a paste-like and batter-like meat product produced by forcing beef, pork, or chicken bones, with attached edible meat, under high pressure through a sieve or similar device to separate the bone from the edible meat tissue. Mechanically separated meat has been used in certain meat and meat products since the late 1960s. This product can be contrasted with meat extracted by advanced meat recovery systems."
Sounds delicious! I wonder if they cook it first. OMR, do they cook it at ALL?
Another interesting tidbit: One of my search results was an amazon.com link. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, you can buy potted meat from amazon.com. And I thought I had seen everything. By the time you paid shipping, you could have bought 12 more cans of the stuff at your local supermarket.
Potted meat reminds me of the penultimate ex-boyfriend, because he loved the stuff, too. That, and hot dogs. I think he would eat hot dogs every bloody day. He considered himself the ultimate hot dog chef. His hot dogs were pretty good, come to think of it. I think one of his friends even called him "Hot Dog".
Have you ever heard the song "Unanswered Prayers" by Garth Brooks? Okay, for those that haven't, the chorus goes like this:
Sometimes I thank God
I would like to publicly thank God for not answering the prayer I made to be with this ex-boyfriend. When we were dating, he was "separated". Girls - don't make this mistake. That's all I'll say. But anyhoo, he went back to his wife circa our breakup time. And last month, he was cited for domestic violence because he evidently held her down and wouldn't let her up because she wouldn't give him his Xanax. (This was in the newspaper, so I'm not libeling him or anything.) Since we broke up, he's gotten heavy into drugs. He lost one of his Harley's, and they're wanting to take the other when they can find him. He wrecked his truck, taking out a courthouse light pole, and dragging it all the way home (so I'm told, and he lived about a block away. When asked what happened to his truck, he was purported to have replied "Someone hit it with a baseball." Yeah. He was fried.) He lost his job, his wife kicked him out, and now he's living with his mother.
So once again, thank you God, for knowing what I was asking for would not be what I THOUGHT I was asking for, and putting that particular request in the circular file.
I'm not really sure why I went on about that, except maybe it might give someone something to think about when you don't feel like you're getting what you want. God knows the whole story. He's got the inside scoup.
Okay, no more religical stuff. Weird - this girl I used to know made that word up, and I dreamt about her last night. Her, her aunt (who is dead), and my family and vampires. At least it wasn't a nightmare. Man, my dreams have been fucked up lately.
There was something else that I was gonna - oh yeah! The Castleberry company recently had to recall a bunch of it's chili products. Here is a LIST, just in case you are interested. What really caught my attention was the last FOUR items. Seems like the Castleberry people make dog food in addition to their other "fine" products.
Speaking of "blow", here comes the saw guy... he's just about at retirement age, and is always trying to get me to give him some "bloomer pudding". Guess I better go fend him off.
Peace out, muh crakaz!
PS - Check out "The Girlchild's" blog about her first few days at the BK Lounge - aka Burger King. She is so freaking funny.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Nobody puts Baby in the corner.
I am no longer the Princess in the Tower.
You know, sometimes I wonder if God doesn't just have a great big laugh on my account. I'll bet he sits up there at the end of the day, chillin' with his head angels, going, "You wouldn't believe what that goofwad Sheila did this time." And they all just point and laugh at me while I'm sleeping, and take bets on what I'm going to screw up next. Then, just to make things interesting, they send me those weird dreams where I'm flying but can't control my speed and am always in an area abundant with power lines.
Where was I? Oh yeah. Well, after a stupifying day of work, I came home, fixed myself some fish in the microwave, and remembered that I had no ketchup, so I tossed on some ranch dressing. It was pretty frickin' awesome, but - and I'm getting ahead of the tale here - I do believe that fish and ranch are the exact ingredients of prescription strength laxatives. My tummy will never be the same.
But I digress. After said meal, I decided to take the dogs for a walk, and it turned out to be the greatest thing I've done in a while. I went down this little gravel road where I could unleash them, and it was just so peaceful and relaxing. I came upon a shitload of blackberries, too - a great deal of which I stuffed in my mouth like a kid. I had bright purple lips and fingertips. There were still a ton of them, and so I plan on going back tomorrow with a sack. Mmmm... berries and cream! Towards the end of the road there is this little stream that comes down off the mountain, and it has the clearest and sweetest water ever. Of course, JD plowed right in, and I kept having to move upstream so I wasn't drinking JD water, but it was still awesome. Sometimes, it's the little things. I kept thinking how nice it would be to share the experience as a whole with a significant other, walking hand in hand, that kinda mushy stuff. Then I decided that I would rather be selfish and keep it between me and the dogs. There are only so many berries, you know, and it's hard enough keeping the dogs in line, much less a boyfriend. Yeah, single is good. Unless Johnny Depp is interested. Or Denzel Washington. Somehow, I don't picture either of them being particularly interested in childlike berry pickin' and sharing stream water with an incredibly long-tongued plott hound. Maybe Eliza Dushku would be game, though.
After I got back home, I took one of those ultra long showers, and drank straight from the spigot like I did when I was a little girl... then spent an hour flipping through this catalog that The Girlfriend brought up. It's called "Things You Never Knew Existed" and it's kickass. There's this one t-shirt in there that says "I'm not a rocket surgeon". I nearly laughed myself off the couch, though nobody else really thought it was all that funny. Well it was funny, dammit!
Ra, but I'm rambling tonight. And where is the sarcasm? The rants? The overuse of profanity? I must be getting soft.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
And I didn't even get kissed!
And I didn't even get kissed! A month ago tomorrow, I wrecked my truck. I'm not really sure what happened, but I ended up flipping the thing. It was my fault entirely (unless, of course, I was abducted by aliens, which would explain my loss of memory... let's go with that). At any rate, I got slapped with a couple of fines. I just thank God I didn't kill my fool self or anyone else. Fines I can deal with.
Anyhoo, I went down to the courthouse at lunch yesterday to pay the fines. I knew it was going to be $351. I paid the fine, got my receipt, and went on my merry way. I didn't look at the receipt until I got back to work.
Here it is:
See how they broke it down? Now I'm confused. I see the FINE part, but what's the rest of this crap?
$10 FINES (This is for charge one)
$20 COURT COSTS (I didn't go to court. Was I charged to walk into the courthouse? I was only in there 15 minutes, for crissake. I could get a blow job that would last longer for $20, and I don't even have a dick.)
$20 CRIME VICTIM'S COMPENSATION (I do believe that my insurance company is taking care of that... incidentally, if the dude I hit ever sees any of that $20 I'll limbo naked through the courthouse metal detector.)
$4 LAW ENFORCEMENT TRAINING FUND (Isn't this like a Catch 22? I mean, if there were no criminals, there would be no cops, and if there were no cops, there would be no need to assess law enforcement training fees...)
$80 REGIONAL JAIL - Criminal (WTF? I didn't go to jail. And I'm not a criminal, dammit. Stop labeling me!)
$10 COURT SECURITY FUND (Ahhh... so this must be to pay the dude who searched my purse before I came in. He confiscated my mace, but after finding that stopped looking. Hey, I could have had an AK-47 in my handbag! I did have a knife.)
$97 JAIL PER DIEM FEE (Hello! I didn't go to jail! I think that since they charged me for it, I should go over there and demand that they let me stay for two nights. At $48.50 a day, the place must be the fucking Ritz-Carlton.)
$20 COMMUNITY CORRECTION ASSESSMENT (Let me help you out here... if I wasn't paying the bloody $20, then you might need to worry about assessing the correction going on in the community.)
$10 COURTHOUSE FACILITY IMPOUND FUND (My vehicle wasn't impounded. It was towed off to some junk yard in the middle of -sheesh, I almost said it. Correction: It was towed so far out of town that I expected to hear banjos playing as I went up the dirt road to see it. I had to pay $50 for said tow, AND, "someone" stole my stereo.)
$60 REGIONAL JAIL OPERATION FUND (Okay, I'm a little confused here. It costs one $48.50 per night to stay in said jail... so what the hell do they need an operation fund for?! Do the deputies spend their breaks in the hot tub sipping expresso or something?)
$10 FINES (Could they not have just lumped that together?)
Maybe we could tack on a few other fees. How are they on toilet paper over at the courthouse? How about a "Scraping Bird Shit Off The Windowpanes" Fee? Methinks they could use some of that money for better parking. You need a tube of KY to get into those street parking spaces. Speaking of KY - if you commit a traffic violation in West Virginia, you'd better pick up a tube. You're gonna get fucked.
Saturday, July 07, 2007
Givin' myself the bird.
What's it with me and birds?
First, there was Squeaky, and then there was Lakota. Yesterday, a baby blue jay fell out of the tree in my front yard.
So of course, I tried to save it. It was awfully hard to catch, but finally I got it and put it on a nice sturdy branch back in the tree... which it immediately fell out of. The Girlchild came out and aided the re-catching of the little thing, and put him on a different branch. He seemed pretty stable there, so we sat back and waited for it's momma and daddy to come and get it. They were flying around frantically, screeching loudly, and looking quite upset. They would land in all different parts of the tree, but never came to where the baby was. It wasn't long before The Boychild and The Girlfriend came out. The Girlfriend wanted to keep it, but she wanted to take every effort to get the parents to come and get it first. We all took turns yelling "Here's your baby!" and pointing, with me trying to screech it in bluejay once or twice. Nada. So The Girlfriend decided they were bad parents, and she was getting it. About that time, it fell out of the tree and headed toward the bushes. Nobody could catch it, and the parents were swooping and making all kinds of racket - momma and daddy seemed VERY irate (which reminded me of a story my mom told me which involved blue jay parents pecking her on the head just for walking under their nest). This made The Younger Ones hesitate and so I picked up a garbage can lid and held it over my head (The Boychild: "Oh my God, she's got a shield.") But the baby had given us all (including the big jays) the slip.
In a few minutes, we saw it a yard over, climbing up some poison oak to get to the top of this building, where momma and daddy were. We never did see it make it to the top. But hopefully, since I didn't adopt it, the little feller survived.
Rest in Peace, Squeaky n' Lakota.
(at least my birds didn't commit suicide like someone else's I know)
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
I'm baaack! Honest.
Here I was again, trying to come up with an amusing antecdote about why I haven't been online since my last liazon with the wonderful Johnny Jack, when I decided that the truth, in fact, might set me free.
So here goes.
Part of the time, I was consumed with jealousy over the announcement that Gerard Way, lead singer of My Chemical Romance, had become engaged. I thought that we had an understanding the last time we spoke that he was going to meet my daughter before he even entertained the idea of even a casual date, much less a date which lead to the slipping of a ring upon some girl's finger. Sigh. Musicians. You just can't trust them.
Meanwhile, I had rented out The Boychild's room to a post-apocalyptic Mormon on the run from Tom Cruise because he refused to join Tom's cult - er... "religious group". Sorry about that. His words, not mine. Turns out that he narrowly escaped death under purple shroud along with the rest of the Heaven's Gate crew way back, because he didn't put any change in the parking meter (he was paying taxes, by Ra, and he wasn't going to pay to park!) and his Gremlin was towed. Otherwise, he'd have been there, tennis shoe clad, and slurping up some suicide gruel. But I digress...
The Former Mormon - I'll call him "Jonah" for security's sake - turned out to be a few fries short of a Happy Meal. (It's true. He was scared of potatoes.) He was a schizophrenic, obsessive-compulsive with a plate in his head that caused him to scream obscenities every time someone fired up the microwave or connected to the internet. Were it not for him being related to a every influential government agent who assisted me in the test tube baby from Roswell experiment that is my daughter, I'd have kicked him out. However, I was set to put up with him for at least a few weeks when he shorted out his brain by donning a conical hat made of aluminum foil and twizzlers in an attempt to keep the aliens from "Signs" from coming out of the TV. Thus, they came to take him away - haha! - to the happy home, with trees and flowers and chirping birds, and well, you know the rest. Lucky guy. I've been trying to get an invite there for years now. They keep telling me to try harder. Oh well.
Saturday, June 09, 2007
Where have I been? Well, I'll tell ya...
I guess some of you have been wondering where I have been for the past... month?
It's a long story best told with a bottle of cheap bourbon and a crackling fire, but I don't like whiskey and I'm out of marshmallows, so I guess I'll just type it up here.
I was going to work one day, when I saw a small Cantonese man hitchhiking. Now I don't usually pick up hitchhikers, because I don't relish the thought of my body parts being strewn across 16 counties. That's just me. But this man, in his little drawstring pants and floppy hat, well, something told me he would kill me. Plus, I outweighed him by at least 50 pounds. So, to make a long story short, I picked him up.
He had a toothy grin, and didn't stop talking the entire time he rode with me. Unfortunately, he didn't speak a word of English, so I have no idea what he said to me. It seemed rather important, but for all I knew, he was giving me a recipe for pickled penguin poptarts. But before I dropped him off at his destination, which was, interestingly enough, either a dog grooming place or a hair removal chick (they were next door to one another), he handed me a bar of candy, wrapped in a handkerchief. He said, "Very important you eat this." (Okay, so he spoke five words of English. I stand corrected.)
It was dark chocolate, which is right up there next to heroin in my mind, so of course, I devoured it, chocolate painting the corners of my mouth as I arrived at work. As I was licking my fingers, I noticed a post-it note stuck to the outer wrapper. I started to read it, and then...
...I woke up naked in a bathtub full of ice. Surprisingly, I wasn't cold at all. That is when I realized that it wasn't ice I was submersed in, but styrofoam peanuts. I looked down at my stomach, which had a big red X painted on it. Puzzled, I looked up, and noticed that across the room from me, Johnny Depp was reclined in a beanbag chair. He was dressed as Jack Sparrow, and was poking at a wound in his own belly, which appeared to have been sewn up with red licorice.
Noticing that I was awake, he said, "They wanted to take your kidney, but I gave them mine instead. Hullo. I'm Jack Sparrow, captain of the Black Pearl. Everyone things I'm Johnny Depp, but I'm really Jack. I just pretend to be Johnny. Pirates aren't respected much these days."
I stood up in the bathtub and the ghost poop clung to my skin, covering all the important parts. Johnny Jack averted his eyes. "You're on my ship," he said, handing me a Cinderella beach towel to cover myself with. "It will be a while before I can get you home. The Oompah Loompahs can't row very fast. Their arms are so short, you see."
Wrapping myself in the towel, I went to Johnny Jack's side, and helped him up on deck. Sean Connery was at the wheel, and little penguins were scurrying all over the deck, eating poptarts. Sean was drinking pickle juice from a corned beef can. He toasted me, and went about his business.
Anyway, to make a long story short, it took nearly a month to get back to Virginia, what with the Oompah Loompahs not really making good time and all. I nursed Johnny Jack (who preferred that I call him Peaknuckle in front of the penguins) back to health. We parted good friends, but I knew that I would never see him again. He had to return to his wife and children, none of who knew his real identity. Before we parted, however, he snipped off one of his beard braids and made it into an ankletfor me. When I slipped it on my wrist, I found myself whisked back to my truck, just where I was when I noticed the Post-it note. I picked it up. It said, "invented by Romy & Michelle".
I knew that already. Duh.
Friday, May 04, 2007
Thank you Jhosseffe
It's funny how things can go from bad to worse, and then suddenly, they're better than all right.
I started writing a post about how miserable my day was. And yeah, it was pretty sucky.
This is how it went down.
First, my baby bird was dead when I work up this morning. I feel so bad - I mean, I tried really hard. Poor lil' guy. I just wanted to hold him and stroke his funny looking lil' head and tell him it would be okay.
But, it all turned around after work. I went outside, and a friend of mine was parked next to me. I was surprized and puzzled, and I went over to see what was up. He handed me what looked like a ball of fabric, and when I looked inside, there was a baby chick! He knew that I was sad over my baby bird, and he brought me one of the baby chickens he'd raised from an egg.
That has got to be the sweetest thing anyone has done for me. And I love this chick! It is so cute and chirps so pretty. It will sit on my shoulder, and it's little downy feathers are so soft against my ear.
The baby's name is Lakota... and here he/she is.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Little Birdie Foo Foo
Today at work one of the guys came upstairs and handed me an open box. He said, "I thought you might want this."
I peeked in, and it was a baby bird! Oh, it was so gangly and funny looking, and I fell in love with it instantly. Someone had found it out back of the shop. Poor lil' thing - it was just sittin' there looking so sweet.
I'd found a new purpose in life. And this time, doggone it, this baby was gonna live.
Some of you will remember the tale of Squishy, the baby rat. No? Okay... well back when Loki (Ra rest his soul), The Girlchild's snake, was alive, he at mice. One day the pet store was out of mice, but they had rat pinkies. I didn't know what a pinkie was, and the pet store dude said they were baby rats. I thought that would be fine, so they brought one out in a box, and I paid and left. When I got home, I gave the box to The Girlchild, told her what was up, and she went on up to her room to feed Loki. About 30 seconds later, I heard a scream and her shouting my name, followed by a voice that I know was hers, but was at least an octave close to dolphin. "It's just a baby! It doesn't even have it's eyes open!!"
So to make a long story short, I tried to keep the baby rat alive. Squishy lived about 5 days. But by gosh, I tried to keep him alive. I even took him to work so I could feed him every 2 hours. I stimulated his little hiney so he would go poop. I kept a light on him so he'd stay warm. And I bawled like a baby when he died. Poor lil' Squishy. I mean, he really was adorable. I got a lot of "it was only a rat!" and I knew that, but it wasn't to me and Karrie (and The Boyfriend of the moment, who despite of fucking me over later, was very supportive and understood, and even cried a little himself because seeing me so sad made him sad). But I digress...
Fate has presented me with another baby to look after now. I really think Squeaky has a chance.
I looked him up on the internet, and I'm pretty sure he's a robin. I compared him to some pictures of babies and I'm guestimating that he's about 10 days old. He has some feathers, but some fuzzy spots, too. He seems really strong - he's got a great grip on my finger. And he eats like a horse!
When I was at work, I didn't really have anything to give him. I tore off a little bit of my pepperoni bread and chewed it up and spit it in a cup and fed him that... which he loved. Then later he started squawking again with his huge mouth wide open, and I'd eaten all the bread. So I went on a recon mission and came back with a few crackers one of the guys had leftover from lunch. I made him some spitty crackers, and he liked that pretty well, too. I offered some to my boss twice removed, but he declined. He also said that I'd take care of that bird until it died and then he'd have to take care of me for two weeks while I cried. Touche', Jamie.
At any rate, I did some research and found a recipe that involved kitten chow and baby rice cereal, and I mixed up a batch of it. He likes it!
So without further ado... allow me to introduce Squeaky.
Posted at 5/2/2007 9:35:01 pm by Rowan
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