Thanks, Stadium Pal

ok I've mentioned David Sedaris before. I'm sure you already know who he is. One of my favorite things he's talked about is Stadium Pal. I've made references to it in casual conversation for months. In case you don't want to do all the cross links here, stadium pal is essentially an external catheter that is worn like a condom (I think there is a gal version but I mean really? I don't know any women who would be willing to strap this baby on) with a tubing that runs down your leg (presumably strapped in some secure way to a 'collection bag' at your calf. Supposedly discreet, though as David Sedaris has mentioned, the smell of warm urine is probably easier to disguise in a sweaty outdoor stadium than in say a 747.







I am not sure how this came up but it did again tonight while I'm talking to H via the computer.

Me: (something or other...) "thanks stadium pal"

H: "in time for next year's family santa (for his side of the family its bring a gag gift and then everyone draws numbers and tries not to get stuck with the worst gift. who 'won' last year? me of course with a sparkly sequined 'santa' bra and panties in front of an entire room of people who would turn their heads to see such a thing in the store (though I wonder who actually bought it now LOL) but I digress..." ---you could actually make something like that"

Me: "uh, stadium pal is real, I'm sure it is"

H: "really?"

Me: "yes hang on" (google is my other hidden talent...) "yes, see..."

http://www.stadiumpal.com/

and this is where I lose the ability to talk because, well....ok in case you don't want to read it yourself, here's an excerpt (and it is at this point that I lose all ability to communicate aside from laugh and snort):

Motor Cycle riders that participate in the Iron Butt have found that the Stadium Pal is an absolute necessary. Para Gliders that spend hours in the air have found its uses immeasurable. Oktoberfest, Mardi Gras, New Year’s Eve at Times Square, and the list goes on and on

(plus I swear this list included pub crawling when I first looked...)

ok now that I've typed this, I'm back to snort and laugh and I really can't type when I laugh that hard. It has to be aerobic exercise, that is a bonus right? Thanks Stadium Pal!

Life, the soundtrack

I've been thinking. No that isn't the news-worthy item to warrant this post.

I'm probably not the first to think this either. But as I got up the other morning to make coffee, the boys were watching Deep Space Nine on Netflix, it was the opening sequence with the song. Hmm, let me find a link for that so you'll get the full picture...




so as I walked into (more like dragged myself into...) the kitchen to make coffee I hear the theme song and suddenly making coffee is an adventure. Its important, like the mundane things people do in the opening sequence, it might be a small part of something bigger, something MORE.

And so what I think is that we all need a soundtrack. Now I'm not sure how we'd go about having one playing all the time and who is in charge of making the soundtrack might be a serious downside. I mean it would be a bit creepy to suddenly hear this:




So maybe I don't want to take my chances. I'd rather not have that creepy feeling that something is about to happen and, well, wouldn't most people be tempted to play that for someone else? LOL Seriously? If you were the soundtrack master of someone's life that you didn't know wouldn't you occasionally want to mix it up?

I'd like to say I'd be above that, but I'm sitting here and the neighbor has taken in his trash can, but if I were here watching and was really bored, well I might play that to watch him glance around...I admit it, I might...

So maybe we don't need soundtracks, but this blog does since I have a backlog of completely strange and weird/cool music to share. I'll be working on that, but no auto play of music. Because we all know that sucks.

WTF Parade???

Well today I thought I was going to the city's Christmas parade but really aside from one Santa that threw some candy and didn't look very jolly at all, I'm not sure I was at the right place. I mean seriously...







I know you think I'm being a grinch or maybe my standards for parades are just too high, but I assure you, if you had been there, you'd say it was the WTF parade too.







There were no bands. Ok it was raining. There was a bus there with a high school band from somewhere, BUT I saw one person get out and the rest stay on the bus. No one marched, not even our own town that I could tell. Maybe they were stationary somewhere but I never heard them. It was a bit depressing.







No music at all. In the absence of a band, I'd expect some Christmas music coming from cars or, anything really. Hopefully someone would carry a boombox if nothing else. (they still make those right?) but no....







Only the sound of about 5 firetrucks which led the parade and a police escort. Granted one was dressed up quite festive with some lights (of the Christmas variety, not of the normal 'there is an emergency get out of our way" variety).







There was a color guard (the military variety, carrying the flags, not waving them) and the cub scouts, a couple of churches had a truckload of people, the local 'beauty pageant' winners (it was raining so we didn't really see them inside cars, but they were there. And then a few antique cars. And then the crowning WTF? moment:

Ok sorry it was raining and it was hard to get this picture. In case you cannot tell that is a pickup truck, on the top of the cab is a lingerie clad leg with a lampshade. In the back of the truck was a girl wearing a coat and a pole. The second time I saw her she was acting as if her tongue was stuck to the pole. I was a bit afraid what else she might be doing with the pole, but this isn't that sort of town ...had it been New Orleans I would KNOW what she was doing with a pole in the back of a truck, but no.

Otherwise the truck had no sign, no labels, no theme that I could tell. Later in the parade there was another van, its interior full of glittery garland presumably to deck the halls all over city hall or something but also WITH a lingerie clad leg and a lampshade.

Now do you see what I mean? WTF was that?

If there was a theme, then this parade was like Bridget Jones, where no one told these people the theme was cancelled.

AdSense, You clearly weren't reading this blog carefully...

I enabled adsense and placed the ads at the very bottom of the page. This might have been a mistake. Once enabled and I previewed, the ads were as follows:

1) Solutions for House Mice---how to EXTERMINATE them

and

2) Dirty Pigeons (ok that phrase struck me, no idea what that ad was even for. I haven't even mentioned pigeons on here, just chickens and again, I didn't call any of the fowl foul...)

So for the moment, Adsense, you are warned. Read my blog more carefully or you will be exterminated.

Quiche--the other crack

There should be a 12 step program for these things-->

I'm convinced as of this morning that Quiche means 'crack' in some foreign language I don't comprehend (and no I don't mean French. je parle francaise, merci) (moving on before H interrupts with what I sound like when I speak it....

Anyway I am convinced quiche means crack and it should come with a warning label. Normally I'm a healthy eater, not healthy like huge appetite, not the euphemysm as in "well nourished" (aka fat)...just I mean I normally would eat one piece of toast or at most like a egg mcmuffin. Then come these chariots of crack quiche. I have turned into the cookie monster with them. Thankfully the box is almost gone and I will avoid them for another decade (I hope). Maybe I should take a sharpie to the store and write the warning labels on there myself.

Because I didn't mention what's worse. These things for me are like a trojan horse of doom. My gallbladder hates them and in an hour it will be attacking me for even thinking of these things.

So, I tell you: My name is &&&&& and I'm a quiche addict.

The Girl of His Dreams and also a Mouse

So something yesterday evening reminded me of the guy in the UK who was looking for the girl of his dreams. Yes, I know. All single guys (and some not single) in the UK and elsewhere are looking for the girl of their dreams, but no. This guy was unique; he was/is looking for the girl LITERALLY that was in his dreams. He has a nice pencil drawing of what she sort of looks like (though not really, this guy does not claim to be an artist). And while he may be weird, his posts seem sweet and besides, I really want to compare the real thing to his drawing so I can accurately assess his artistic ability.

I ran across him from public radio probably two years ago. I tried to help. I'm a weird but good person after all. I posted to facebook and told all of my friends. I'm not sure anyone was nearly as interested in this cause as I was. Anyway so yesterday evening I followed up. And his webpage shows so sign that he's actually found this girl. His Youtube channel has comments suggesting he still dreams of the same girl but no luck (at least at 4 months ago), and I see I'm not the only one wondering because others are asking "did you find her yet?"

So I guess I'm helping again by posting it here--take a look. It MIGHT be you.

In other news, the mouse was sighted. He apparently was preparing cleaning supplies in the water heater closet where the mops are (yes! that is on the right track for earning your keep) when he abandoned post before doing the floors (nnoooooo) and decided to go back into the boys' room.

I'm told by my youngest he has a little pink nose and cute whiskers while my oldest confirmed that he was walking through much slower this time so they saw him before he darted into their room.

I think he needs a name....any suggestions?

Chicken Joe...

Meet Chicken Joe.

He's mad. He's been crowing at me allll morning because so far, I have not highlighted him and he is not getting the exposure he thinks he deserves. So I will fix that right now (in exchange the hens are to start laying eggs for me which so far they are not doing either, Chicken Joe, so that is your job!)

You probably can't tell but Chicken Joe is tiny, he's less than a pound and when he crows he throws his head back and looks like he will injure himself (oh sorry Chicken Joe, that wasn't the exposure you wanted)...

So he's really sexy (better, Chicken Joe?) with his huge comb. He has also bested our bullmastiff. After a lap or three around the yard hanging from the dogs mouth, Chicken Joe survived so he really does have a story to tell.

Ok, Chicken Joe that is enough of the blatant advertising for you, until you get the hens in line and producing eggs. You have your own house for goodness sake, and a heat lamp and a massive garden...you even have an admirer in the neighbor that comes and talks to you over the fence. I think you are good....

heh, and you are sort of sexy.

But seriously, was checking on the chickens and no eggs yet. They are about 4 months old now I think. But one of these days....

So yesterday I wondered if the one that rode around on my shoulder like a parrot when she was young would still do it. So I was in their house and I called her. I was surprised that she walked over to the 6 ft ladder that was hanging out in their house, climbed up 3 steps and flew to my outstretched arm and hung out with me a bit. She's a cool bird (not as cool as you, Chicken Joe...no THAT did not break our agreement!)

Which Reminds Me of a Song...

Sorry but it just won't do to not put in the moose theme song here:




AX382SYQPV62

"Who Says Poop Can't Shine?"

Browsing Etsy this morning because, well some mornings are like that and I found these earrings. Don't ask how I found them, I just did.

And yes, these earrings are currently (at least at the time of this posting for sale on Etsy) and YES, the seller says they are actual poop from moose studded with rhinestones. I'm not sure why we aren't going all out on this with real diamonds but...they are shiny and reportedly not stinky. What's not to love? I am sort of wondering what led to the discovery that moose poop makes good earrings but I suppose the world may never know.

Here's the link to the store: http://www.etsy.com/listing/86348676/real-moose-poop-doo-doo-dung-nugget just in case you want to buy them. I can't imagine a better Christmas gift for your boss, or that 'special' someone, Secret Santa anyone?

Laughing My Ass Off...

oh not now but this can't wait to share...of course if you are my neighbor you will be too...but watch this:




Yes, I'm reading The Wheel of Time. Hmm, that might not fit what you thought of me, well you'll have to be a little flexible here.

Anyway so H (not h1N1, don't we have that straight yet?) shows me this tonight. And I'm watching it thinking partially ohhhh a cloak like that would be niccccceeeee but mostly like wait a minute, if H will do THAT in the front yard, I could totally sit out there...so....

me: "so you could do that in the front yard and I can sit out there and drink wine?"

H: "sure."

me: "cause then I'd be laughing my ass off. I mean really enjoying a good evening."

LOL. You know where this is heading...

Of course after a glass of wine I'll be getting out the nerf type jousting sword things we bought the kids and trying to kick his ass with them in the front and THEN the neighbors will be laughing at ME...

I might require being tied to the patio furniture. You know, because the water bottles of death have me held captive and all.

If you are going to be in the kitchen, at least do the dishes...

So the mouse was sighted! I screamed. I admit it. No, it wasn't because the mouse that decided to move in is actually the rabid thing in my previous picture, but I was heading for a late night snack last night...(this should teach me but it probably won't) when
out of the fruit bowl arose such a flutter
I screamed out of my head to see what was the matter...
a little brown mouse ran across the counter,
crossed over the stove and into the corner....

ok it doesn't rhyme. So sue me. Its a work in progress. Sort of like our song of the weekend:

(to the tune of Love you Like a Love Song Baby)
(and from the dog...)

I love you like a big bone baby
I love you like a big bone baby
I love you like a big bone baby
and I'll drool all over your faaaaacccceeee....

yes I know, also work in progress. I'm never going to bust into the song writing business.

Anyway so I was reaching for the sourdough bread and up popped the little mouse out of the bowl and across the counter and yes (how did you KNOW?) across the stovetop and into the corner. Here's the deal, mouse in our house...

You may NOT go up my pants!
I will not kick you out, but you are not allowed pets!
And, really, if you are going to fruit bowl dive, at least do the dishes. They were still here this morning and seriously, I thought it was understood that if any rodents, squirrels, birds, or of course mice (that is YOU) moves in that they have to pull their weight with the housework. I'll sing crazy songs, whatever. (You've seen Disney you KNOW how this works) and you will do the work...

and maybe make me a dress...

all pretty with ribbons and stuff, you'll need the birds for that....

No I don't have anywhere to wear that sort of thing, but it would be beauuuuutiful watching it be made.

Yes, I AM SERIOUS.


Good, I think we understand each other now.

Because it's a WAR out there....

So my oldest son comes home from school the other day. "Mom! Today we watched this movie at school all about the plague. There was a war and the peasants were trying to fight the castle and someone catapulted the body of someone who died of the plague over the castle wall and the narrator said 'then after a few weeks blood was flowing in the streets'"

me: "ewww. Its never a good idea to turn loose a major disease like that."

son: "don't worry, if you died, I'd never fling your body over the wall." (Nevermind that there are no castles nor walls nearby, but I get that we are talking really hypothetical.)

me: "what? you mean if there was a war?"

son: "Yes. It's WAR mom, but I wouldn't fling your body. Maybe just your finger."

me: "what? You'd CUT OFF MY FINGER?"

son: "well yeah. It's WAR and its just your finger, not you"

me: "hmm. my finger isn't me? ... ok nevermind, let's just go back to its never a good idea to unleash the plague on humanity"

11:11 the beginning

Ok so clearly I care enough about 11:11 to name this blog after it. Today seems the day to explain that a little.

11:11 sounds stupid right? I know, if someone had told me about 11:11 7 years ago I'd go yeah yeah, that is just our brain noticeing things that form patterns. It doesn't really mean anything...

Well until it happens to you that is.

so in 2005 I was sitting at my computer much like I am right now, though it was a different house in a different state, but nevermind that part. I have no idea what I was typing or surfing. It was a warm spring day. I had the window open and the townhouse didn't have screens. I'm not fussy about that sort of thing and the fresh air was really nice.

So there I am typing away with a nice breeze, sunshine, free time and bam.

A bird flew in the window circled my head and flew back out without making a mistake or anything. I was like "holy crap that was weird" and I look at the time and its 11:11 am.

I don't notice the time then. Of course I don't, but over the next few days I noticed it more, more and more. It meant nothing to me but it was happening over and over. Now I know the above stuff, I have a graduate degree in a science though I won't say what field...I KNOW all about why I must have been noticeing this. So I started sort of keeping track informally. I supposed I could have gotten all professional on it but it was just something I thought would pass.

It didn't.

At some point I told H (remember, H? not H1N1, the generally good guy I'm married to?) who is essentially rolling his eyes "yeah yeah" at me. Sort of the way you are probably doing. Well maybe not YOU, the one this has also happened to, or You the new age devotee, but you in general are laughing at me about like H was.

So 11:11 shows up almost every day to me. Yes I know it happens twice a day, but really I don't wear a watch, its not like I'm a compulsive clock checker. But I rarely miss 11:11

It starts freaking me out a little. So here is what the internet says about 11:11. I'm paraphrasing and I'm too lazy to go google it right now even though I would say I'm a google master for most things, I am also lazy and you should google it yourself if you care. Anyway, its some sort of gateway to a higher truth. I know right now its a big deal. In 2005 though there were very few 1111 references.

So 11:11 is still happening to me. Oh it might just be random neuronal firing in my brain that I notice it at this point, but now its just a thing. Sort of like if you have a dog that drinks out of the toilet or a cat that gets pushed around in your office chair.

To be clear, I do not think 1111 is going to change the world. But sometimes if you let yourself not worry over things that don't make sense and just keep an open mind, it can change YOUR world. I think everyone gets so uptight sometimes that they forget to be themselves. We all rush around doing all sorts of things and forget who we are. I think traditionally, 1111 is a chance to think what is really the trth of me and how does that relate to the rest of the world.

oh yes, H believes me now, in case you were wondering. At some point last year or maybe it was the year before, he noticed that yes, I would pull out my phone and check the time and it would read 11:11 exactly. "ok, I believe you now..."

That rarely happens you know. There is a story about a pin oak, but I'll save that one for another day.

Enjoy your 11:11 on 11/11/11.

1111

Happy 1111, while I promise to post more later. Here's a good song for today. I have no idea what it means, but its a nice tune :) enjoy!

Nice Beaver

In bizarre random rodent news, tonights full moon is entitled the Beaver Moon. I have no idea and I'm not joking (check the farmer's almanac if you do not believe me). I cannot IMAGINE why our ancestors named it that, except I imagine one of them was like Beavis or Butthead and was snickering around the campfire when it came time to name the 11th or so of the year and raised his hand "how about Beaver?" hehuhehegghe and everyone else just really wanted to go home so they were like ummm ok. And there you have it.

Happy Beaver Moon

Except it makes you snicker doesn't it? I mean you can't really imagine a serene beaver near a river looking at the moon. It's way more like this:

Well anyway, enjoy your beaver moon.

In other rodent news, the mouse in the house was spotted in my son's dresser drawer, well he was there until he wasn't. We found him then under the bed, watched him race through the labryinth of preserved animals in jars (that had to be hellish for him) and into the closet only to be routed and to exit the room. I'm not sure where he went next. It was probably my room since he's tried the hall closets...that will make for an interesting post...

Out of the Mouths of Babes

My youngest son is home from school on the edge of better with strep throat. He's not contagious at this point thanks to modern medicine but he doesn't feel good so he's home. He's 8. He's made me snort today, no not cocaine, I dont do that sort of thing, but like laugh myself silly snorting till he makes fun of me "Mommmmm" ::giggle:: Here's how it started.

Now keep in mind. He's 8. He thinks all things related to the bathroom and bodily functions are hysterical.

I'm standing and getting juice glasses down and he comes and stands beside me while we discuss how he feels and whether he thinks school is a good idea today. Now I realize that might be dangerous, but he LIKES school so he's honest about it. He prefers to go so this isn't out of the ordinary. When suddenly he farts loud.

Now normally this would be a cause for me to sigh while he laughs and my older son makes loud comments about the entire thing but today is different. Today I say his name as if to remind him to say "excuse me" and he looks at me with a super overdramatic arched eyebrow (you seriously would have to see this face) and goes "what, THAT wasn't me, it was YOU!" and he doesn't laugh at all. His change in tactics make me take that mental step back and then I explode in laughter. So much for my stance that farting isn't funny.

But that wasn't the end. After the bus comes and son1 rides off, he's watching cartoons while I get ready for work. He comes running in:

"Mom! They just called Allstate Poop!"
me: "What?"
son2: "They just called Allstate poop. And Geiko they are poop too"
me: "who did?"
son2: "the commercial"

To clarify he's offended. My mom works at Allstate and he thinks we are in very good hands.

5 min later, he comes to report another offensive commercial. I'm intrigued but I am getting ready and really who knows what sort of mud slinging commercials someone is putting out there and at least its not calling them real offensive language right?

So we head out to work and he hangs out a little and afterwards he wants to stop by the Allstate office. So we do. And he has to tell the poop story to everyone in there. He's hugely offended and gesturing in incredulousness (if that is even a word). My mom is smart though: "Did they use the word poop"

son2: "they called Allstate poop" and then he proceeds to tell how much money they claim you are paying/losing for various companies

mom: "did they actually say the word 'poop'"

son2: "No, not really, but that is pretty much what they were SAYING right?"

He's so smart. He got the underlying message and translated the profanity to language I could understand LOL

Random Music You've Probably Never Heard.

Ok, I haven't told you yet, I listen to obscure stuff. After much thought on what to share first, I go with one I would almost guarantee you haven't heard yet. Enjoy, but warning. It's catchy.

I'm Stealthy Again, except for that 1 thing...

Ok after some mucking about, my secret identity is back :) I know I'm way too easily amused. I should remove the previous post to erase my error, but well I'll leave it, it will get buried under all of my words mwaaahaaahaaahaaaa.


Also, the dead rabbit is off the porch, well just in case you are wondering.

Secret Identity Woes

Oh that just bites! So I think I'm being sneaky. I think you won't know me, but who am I kidding? I'm new to the disguise thing. Here's the thing. You are not my first. Well I mean this blog isn't my first and I wasn't stealthy enough to create a brand NEW blogger account and well, when I named myself "I *might* be your neighbor but probably not" guess what?

Yes I knew you were smart. Yay! I have smart readers. (ok maybe you missed that one, its ok. It makes me feel better really because I missed this too).

It changed all of my blogs to that. OOPS. Now to be fair I don't actively blog some of them now and that is how it took me 24 hours to figure this out but I'm attached to them and I like to leave them as they were.

So my Stealth stat gets a -1 hit and you get to know the first letter of my real name. The best compromise I can figure out without destroying this baby blog and starting again.

So yes, my name starts with S... maybe its S for somebody. Could be Samantha, Sara, Sharon, Sicily (oh I suppose that is Cicily, so its probably not that. Unless I'm REALLY stealthy....what do you think?)...

Well even Clark Kent shoes his hair right? My catwoman isn't out of the bag yet is it? I stood behind you today and you didn't even notice, I'm sure it was you. You didn't know me though. I think we are safe.

I'm just like David Sedaris

ok, not really even close. That comment was overexuberant and outright delusional, but its raining and the dog has a dead rabbit that I can't figure out what to do with and this is sort of how my real conversation went today:

me to my husband (let's for future reference say he is H. Of course that isn't his initial and I realize there might be more H's in my life but I can't call him H1 because that is too close to H1N1 and he's an overall good guy): "I should post that on the blog" (ok to clarify not the h1n1 comment, this was about something else...but anyway...)

H: "Sure. Why not?"

me "...by the way, the cool dandelion picture...
I stole that picture btw, its probably a felony
I think its an album cover I have no idea
I have no right to it and I blatantly took it LOL I'm soooo bad"

H: "I will visit you in prison"

me: "that is kind of you"

H: "I'll keep your comissary card supplied with funds for you."

(wow, who knew prisoners had cards to spend things on, that is a new one I have to think about...)

me: "I knew I loved you for a reason"

But seriously I did clip the dandelion picture and I apologize. If I knew where it rightfully came from I'd give proper credit but I clipped it from someone who had no more right to it than I did. So if that is you, let me know. I'll make restitution. I don't really want a commissary card. Maybe a platinum visa, but not a commissary I don't think they sell things I like.

Me: "heh that last little bit of conversation should be on the blog LOL"

H: "I would not want you to go without. ... Sure why not?"

Me: "I'm like David Sedaris when he's talking about his sister...the one with the bird at the end "forgive me forgive me forgive me"...where his family hates him because anything they say can be used"

H: "Yes, I see how you are now"

You know you don't HAVE to hunt for your food right?

(aka please don't kill the furry little animals)

But now that you did and its pouring down rain, I find myself having an ethical dilemna.

So here is how today is going so far (well since the last time I spewed stuff on this page). Ok, I know its not ALL that has happened, but its all that I'm going to tell you about because the rest really isn't any of your business.

I took a shower (no that isn't the unusual part) and get out and the dog wants in. Well of course he does, its pouring down rain now. So I start to open the backdoor and notice he has a stuffed toy in his mouth.

Hmm, to appreciate this scene you need some backstory.

My dog --




No, that picture isn't REALLY my dog. But it looks just like him and it might be if I could get him to stand still and he didn't have blood all over his paws right now and a dead rabbit in his mouth, but I digress.

My dog is 3 years old almost exactly. He's a bullmastiff in case you can't tell and he weighs a bit more than this example, about 110 lbs. Until recently he was a master whiner if he could lay on the couch all day. Ok that isn't quite accurate he still whines, if I could record it and share it with you, you'd be suitably impressed. I promise.

Anyway, as I previously mentioned he's the CHICKEN KILLER! No wait, that isn't really right, I just let my emotions run away with me POOR FUZZY FOOTED CHICKEN Ok, give me a moment to collect myself....

Actually I love my dog. I used to carry him through the fields on walks because he'd whine and be too tired to go on (did I say he was a master whiner, I wasn't joking). Anyway, so he killed the chicken. And not to paint him in a bad light, but the very day after, he accidentally took out my 18 year old cat. This I am sure wasn't his fault, she had a seizure and he was "helping" but anyway back to today and my shower.

I open the backdoor to find this:

What I think is one of his stuffed toys that sometimes get left outside in the yard, is actually an adult rabbit. Thankfully this picture isn't too gory or clear. I know, normally a clear shot would be nice, but in this case I'm saving you from EWWW


So here is the thing. I'm torn. Its raining hard. I want to let my dog in. He wants to bring in his "dinner" Umm, not. I do not want the poor rabbit to be all nasty on the deck, but its raining and I don't want to touch the carcass either nor bury him properly in the pouring down rain.

I'm torn. Poor rabbit deserves a decent burial BUT maybe that is a waste. Maybe letting the dog eat her and the whole Circle of Life thing is the way it should go.


I really don't know, but that thing is NOT coming in the house.

24

No, not the TV show. That is definately cool, ok awesome (if I could jazz up this blog with the little beep beep beep beeeepbeepbepbepbep thing of 24 that might make it more exciting, right? Ok, I know, not really. If you are at work you'd hate me just like I hate when other people have sound on their pages and suddenly FEEELINGS NOTHING MORE THAN FEEELINGS is blaring through the speaker and I'm scrambling to close the page and pretend nothing happened.

Oh come on, you know it happens.

Anyway so I wake up this morning and get some coffee made and sit down and discover, this site has stats (I left it open all night and there is a pretty graph and world map no less!).

My geography is terrible but I think I know which countries my two visitors are from...which means I know one of you ("HI") and the other of you is a mysterious visitor (ohhhh ahhhh). Maybe you've never had a blog but feeling like No One was going to be your biggest fan is a scary proposition, but I got over that hump pretty fast and I'm super excited for like 5 minutes after which time it occurs to me that maybe I'm boring after all. Maybe the one visitor who doesn't already know how strange I am, accidentally found me, didn't like me and ran away...

So instead of worrying about that now, I raise my coffee mug to the world map "may you turn green soon"

And, well if you visit, tell a friend or something....or tell me this blog stinks if you must. otherwise I might start trying to make echoes to listen to myself talk.

Honey, some hot chicks are moving into the spare bedroom....

I have 6 chickens, there were supposed to only be 4 and they were supposed to only be hens, but well something happened at the hatchery...

Back in early summer we created a massive garden. This thing could feed the entire block. I didn't really MEAN for it to be in preparation for the apocolypse but well, on paper things seem, well, smaller. So I drew up plans for a raised bed garden to be planted sort of biointensively...but we'll discuss the garden another day. Today is about the chickens and they came later, but for today they are coming first.

Here's the thing, soft hearted animal lovers shouldn't go IN a hatchery, especially not with their children who are also soft heared animal lovers. Because here is what happens...

me: "Let's go check out the hatchery, it's not far and we can see which kind of breeds we want later."

sons: "ok" (driving and car singing duration: 45 minutes)

me to hatchery girl (hg): "do you have any chicks we can see?"

hg: "we only hatch on wednesdays"

How do they KNOW that anyway?...and of course it was Tuesday...

hg: "but look around, we have some left over."

And there is where it all goes awry because really chicks are CUTE even when they are a week old instead of a day old. Not to mention they are packed in little wire cages looking like they deserve a home.

son1: "oh look these look just like chipmunks, can I have one?"

me: "we are just looooking. Oh look, this one is an exotic Japanese one that grows a tail 7 feet long..."

Ok, you see how the impulse control problem arose....and here it goes:

me: "how much are they?"

hg: "$1.75 for regular and $3.75 for the rares" (approximately, afraid I might be misquoting and hg is going to sue me now, but I'm crossing my fingers on that one).

Now imagine a cloud of "please???"

me: "are these all hens?"

hg: "well the ones over here are sexed and hens, but the ones over there (points to indicate the chipmunk and Japanese ones we are standing by), we don't know for sure"

Yes, I know. Common sense says WALK AWAY NOW. But what do I do? Obviously if you are following this theme at all, you can guess...

me: "how long before we'd KNOW? I mean when do they crow and make noise?"

hg: "oh you'll have several months."

me to children: "ok which ones do you want?"

Now before you think, what a crazy lady. Me, oh I forgot, I live inside the city limits. Are we allowed to spontaneously become chicken farmers? I have no earthly idea. But here is the idea: they need protection for several weeks indoors anyway and then we do own some land and we'll build something out there if needed. I have a friend who likes birds, a quick text confirmed she can "save" us in a pinch....

HG was helpful, over the top helpful, as in over the top of the box adding more chicks to our order helpful. I only saw her add one extra "because sometimes they don't make it or you might have a rooster and will have to give him away"...but after we get in the car after spending $10 total...

me: "how many chicks are in there?"

son: "7"

(ah, yes, if you read carefully you will know that I said I have 6. I started out with 7, they all made it to juvenile status and outside to the yard. where, unfortunately, the dog made it into the garden under the fence and snatched one. He wasn't really trying to eat it, he wanted to play but, well, he didn't play well. RIP Fuzzy Foot)

So, the chicks did live in a rubbermaid homemade 'brooder' in the spare bedroom. This made me the source of much laughter amongst my family. "Are the chickens still in the HOUSE?"

Yes. Yes they are. They like to sit on our hands....

A month later..."Are the chickens still in the HOUSE? ::snicker::"

Yes. Yes they are. They like to fly up a bit and will ride on our shoulders like parrots. There is a downside to chicken parrots though--they poop in your hair.

::snicker:: ::snicker::

A month later.. "Are the chickens still in the HOUSE? " (no more snickering, apparently they have figured out this is not going to change anytime soon)

Yes. Yes they are. We've built them a pen now in the middle of the room with plastic picnic blankets, 4 dog gates, cardboard, pine shavings, parrot perches, sticks, their stuffed lion toy (yes, they did like to perch on his arms and cuddle with it), mirrors, an embroidery hoop (yes, Fuzzy Foot would jump through it for a mealworm), and, oh yes, the heat lamp that perches on the electric guitar stand.

A month later.. "Are the chickens still in the HOUSE"

Yes. yes they are. But we've had a couple of flight attempts, they play in the boy's toys and walk on the dresser. (Also I didn't mention this but there was fine dust starting to accumulate in spite of a weekly mucking out and reassembly of our chicken room. Those girls really find every bit of wood dust from the shavings and throw it in the air)... We are building a shed.

A week later. "uh, that's not a shed, that's a playhouse"

Me: Yes, Yes I know.

So the chickens moved into their own 100 sq ft garden cottage with working windows, window boxes, shutters and a fresh coat of pumpkin orange (I don't care what my dad says, its NOT "schoolbus-yellow-you-should-repaint-now") with pale green shutters.

Wow I started all of that just to tell you about my conversation with Chicken Joe, but now my fingers are tired and that will have to wait till later.

Who IS this masked blogger anyway...

heh, well that is the point really isn't it? I *might* be your neighbor, but I'm probably not. I'm just a girl, I'm not sure if you'd say I was ordinary or disordinary (extraordinary I am not) but also, well, I'm not going to tell you. In this blog I will reserve the right to protect my identity with small changes. After all, I can't be a superhero without a disguise, right? So with that regard, keep in mind I am not going to tell you what time zone I am actually posting from (I only wish I were in Italy), my 'real' dayjob, or anything else because well I live next door and you see me everyday anyway at the grocery store or somewhere else. You just never really considered that I might be this weird girl and why should I break your illusion of comfort now?

And in any case, we are all bonkers, at least the best of us are. So I will make it a habit of continuing to believe in at least 6 impossible things before breakfast.

Pizza Rolling out this Blog

Honestly I am writing this blog on a whim and yes, pizza rolls were involved. Many were harmed in the creation of this blog and I do not mind saying I have no guilt about that. I am not a writer really, well maybe I am (the world may never know). But, I love words and words are what I'm sharing here (but not the pizza rolls, you cannot have those so don't even think about it).

Here's how it really started. I should be working today (or alternatively cleaning house) but my son is sick and so I'm stuck home and I have MASTERED avoiding housecleaning. I mean not really, I'm not a hoarder and you won't find dead animals under layers of newspapers in my house (though you will find them in jars in my son's room but that is another story entirely)..but I'm, hmm, like the absent minded professor really if the absent minded professor didn't have a full time job and tended to wear fashionable clothing except when he stayed in his jammies all day...oh yes, and if he were a girl. Ok I'm nothing like the absent minded professor, just my house.

Anyway I also easily digress which is why what should be my stream of consciousness is more like a flood...anyway...so this blog starts out with a mouse in the house, pizza rolls and a sword and me killing time with the mastery that I have.

Last night as I was watching TV I saw a vague shadow run down the hallway which sort of caught my attention since a shadow has never 'run' before. I get up and investigate to see that its "I think" a harmless field mouse which just ducked into the hallway closet. I wake my boys because a mouse is like prime boy fodder. We all investigate the closet and he scrambles between our legs and into the water heater closet down the hall. Of course we don't let that stop us. None of us are afraid of mice btw.

Well we might be if it were that mouse --> but it wasn't :)

The funny part is that a field mouse last spring ran up my son's pants while we were standing in the field. He remained completely calm and stood still as we said "where'd the mouse go?" and he said "the mouse ran up my pants" which, after some investigation and "surely nots" we found that it did....anyway so now this mouse that looks remarkably similar is in the house. My son is sure that its the same one stalking him because he liked his pants so much but today he woke up sick and is home. I am in here on the computer and go to check on him and he's sitting on a wooden chair in the living room with my plastic sword from halloween across his lap. I figure its to defend his pants just in case.

So then we had pizza rolls and I thought about this story and figured what the heck. I will share the weirdness that has come to be my life with the world, well at least with the few of you that will think its funny.

Maybe there will only be one of you, but I won't let that defeat me.