If I could have anything in the world right now, it would be a month of driving around from beautiful place to beautiful place, living out of the truck, with MCB.
Why the fuck would you drive up here from another state and cruise around causing peaceful cows grazing on quiet little ranches out in the country to stampede?
A stampede which had 25 freaked out agitated, shitting, yammering, bovine clustered up directly under my bedroom window.
This carload of gals from south of the (colorado) border are clearly well practiced in rabble rousing.
What happened to a little innocent tipping?
I heard the DJ on the radio today talking about a musician coming to town who originally hails from Bogotá, Columbia.
He pronounced it like “regatta”
Shouldn’t he know how to pronounce the capital of Colombia?
He made it sound like a city in Italy, not one in South America.
Also, the way he said it, without any familiarity, conjured images of a small mountain village.
At some point in the primary/secondary education years, doesn’t everyone still have to learn the names of other countries in the world? All of them? Not just in the Middle East and Russia?
Isn’t that still useful information?
And of course, one cannot be expected to retain ALL of that knowledge for too many years, but we should all be able to get it right when handed the information.
It should at least ring a bell.
One of my chickens was sick – she couldn’t walk; she could barely stand up. I picked her up and cradled her like a babe in my arms while I sat on the stoop of the coop.
She fell asleep for 1/2 an hour.
Knowing that she was clearly dying and wanting her to have a peaceful passing, I brought her to the house and set up a bed in a rubbermaid for her. I figured she could at least be comfortable and not have to worry about being a sitting duck for any predators.
After checking on her throughout the day and watching her slowly fade, I decided to pick her up and hold her for a bit. Her belly was super distended and squishy so I had the thought that maybe she too has water belly.
(Water belly is a weird chicken illness that no one I know has ever heard of but there is plenty about it on the internet. Anyway, it’s when a chicken’s abdomen fills with fluid (from whence we are not sure.) The short term quick fix is to inject a syringe into the belly and drain the fluid. My other bird produces about 2 pints of fluid every six weeks or so. It’s foul. Pun intended.)
So I took her outside and held her while I stuck the needle into her bloated belly. Sure enough, a bunch of fluid began to drain. I also sucked a couple of syringe-fulls out of her.
Then I noticed this weird looking milky greenish squishy pooch under the skin on the left side of her abdomen. It looked like one of those squishy brains that people have on their desks at the office.
Anyway, it became apparent that she was going to die within the next few, so I laid her back in the box and pet her until she spasmed and took her last breath.
I ran inside to turn off the stove and then headed back out to inspect the corpse a little bit more because I love that shit.
But I might not love it any more.
Because, when I turned her over, still in the box, thank the fucking lord, she had HUNDREDS OF MAGGOTS crawling out of the hole I made with the syringe.
Mother of god, the smell.
I am not shitting you.
I am completely traumatized.
MCB “It’s not your birthday anymore after you die.”
ME “Yes it is – it will always be your birthday.”
MCB “No, you have to be alive to embrace it.”
Yesterday I was driving to the big city and I came around a bend and there was a squirrel (dead) lying on his back in the road, directly on the center line, with his right hand on his heart and his left arm outstretched as is reaching for The Light (or for help) and his little mouth open calling to the heavens (or his buddies, but they ran like hell).
My out loud laughter almost drowned out the voice in my head remonstrating, “You sick fucker.”
And because I didn’t take a photo in the middle of the highway, even though it would have been totally worth risking my life, I tried to google-image something similar, which I didn’t find, but, I’m going to share some of the fabulous images I did find when I typed in “dead squirrel on his back with his hand over his heart.”
I’m hoping I can get this right; this is what happened in my almost asleep head last night after reading a chapter in my book about a mom going to a sex toy party.
I wonder if ___ got the vibrator I recommended?
Oooh, that night when I woke up to my college boyfriend jerking off in the bed next to me and all I could think was “I’m right here?!”
That was in Girls – when Adam’s jerking off in the bed next to her
Adam, creeps me out
How much is he like that in real life
How much are most actors just like that characters they play – hannah horvath?
Marni – I’ll bet she and that actor are two peas in a pod
So is Adam Driver as dark and twisted as he is in the show?
Who else? Who else?
Oh, Meryl Streep – she plays so many different people – she’s good
Oh, so not going there
Always sort of the same sniveling gal – Seven, Emma, yeah
And she’s got a kid named Apple
Are she and the Coldplay guy still together?
Oh no, that’s right, she’s the single mom who has a website about how great it is to be a single mom and have great skin and feed your kids all organic food
People hate her for that
Something about her acting like she’s “one of us” but none of “us” has the money and the luxuries that she does
Yeah, I don’t think she is trying to be one of the masses – she’s totally pandering to the way-upper-class
Who gives a fuck
This is a woman who named her kid Apple
Does she masturbate?
Never mind – I don’t want to think about that
Go to bed
I’m in the middle of a novel that was the “it” book a couple of years ago and everyone has read it except for me but I finally got around to it but it’s a tome and I didn’t want to carry it on the airplane when I left last week.
So on my way to the airport I stopped at the local bookstore to pick up something with fewer than 2,000 pages and weighing less than I do.
Totally overwhelmed, I stared at the Staff Picks wondering which staff might have the same taste that I do.
Then one staff member saw the stupefied look on my face, pointed to a perfectly sized paperback and said, “That is a fantastic book.”
What she didn’t mention was that it is a young adult book about a girl with “Bubble Syndrome.” Remember The Boy in the Plastic Bubble?
So obviously, because it is a teen book, the girl in the hermetically sealed house who only has contact with her mother and her nurse (dad and brother died when girl was a baby – before she got so sick) falls in love looking out the window at the boy who moves in next door.
What ensues is classic, teenage angsty, does he like me shit and lots of IMing.
Blah blah blah. I’m bored but I’m going to keep reading because I don’t have another book with me.
Girl decides that she’s so in love that she is willing to risk her life (which she knows she is doing if she ever leaves the bubble) by going outside. Story goes on and she accepts that she is going to die so in making it worth it she takes the boy to Hawaii and they have sex.
Mom, who is also her physician freaks the fuck out because her daughter has just guaranteed that she will die.
Girl gets sick, ambulance is summoned, heart stops, heart starts again, girl goes back to the bubble, girl refuses to see boy anymore because it’s too painful that they can’t have a life together, boy’s abused mother finally gets up the gumption to leave shitty dad, and girl watches u-haul pull away.
Doctor calls from hospital to tell girl, “You actually don’t have this disease. You got sick because you’re 18 and have never been exposed to any germs (since your mother has kept you in a bubble all of this time), and in all actuality, your mother is a FUCKING LOON who did this to you for all of these years because she fell off the deep end when your brother and father died and thought this would be the safest way to raise you.”
Right? We went straight from first kiss to losing virginity to a Gillian Flynn (Gone Girl) novel.
Is this a relatable story for many teens?
I guess some would say “Yes”; Meet a boy. Kiss a boy. Have sex with a boy. And oh yeah, your mother is BATSHIT CRAZY.
But the craziest part of all is that sure, girl finds out she’s not really sick and laments her lost 18 years, and is rather pissed at her mother, but then, she hops right on a plane to NYC where the boy has gone, and surprises him with a copy of Le Petite Prince and life is just grand.
Happily ever after.
Emotional scarring? Inability to maintain a healthy relationship? Hypersensitivity to germs? Actually, hypersensitivity to everything? A desire to murder Mom? A call to Social Services? Mom in prison? Mom in a loony bin?
Mom forced to spend the next 18 years of her life in a plastic bubble?
I guess not.
And I guess that that particular bookstore employee’s “picks” will not be my picks.
People in airports SUCK.
SUCK BALLS as a matter of fact.
I began in Orlando and will end in Durango. In between…Dallas Fort Worth.
By some miracle from the heavens above, I was chosen for TSA Precheck. That means, I got to walk to the front of a separate security line, didn’t have to remove my belt or shoes. Didn’t need to remove my laptop from my bag.
Some punk-ass with a fucking skateboard was right behind me and tried to cut in front of me. In my oh so passive aggressive way, I dropped my shit all over the floor so that there wasn’t space for him to slither by.
He was, like, 20. He needs to learn some so manners. Apparently it was my job to teach them to him.
As I placed my purse and carry-on onto the x-ray belt, he put his skateboard on top of my shit and began to push. Then he stepped on my foot.
“Back. Off. Dude.” Glower, snarl, condescending smirk.
Left him in the dust.
On the plane, my seatmates were ideal. They were a couple who spoke with each other, finding no need to engage me in any conversation.
But, when we landed, they were the first two people to not only turn on their phones but to start talking on them.
Her conversation sounded trivial yet reassuring to whomever was on the other line.
He pulled out TWO iPhones and talked on one while checking emails on the other.
“My company sucks. They fucking suck. They’re fucking ridiculous. Fuck them.”
I don’t know what made his company suck so badly or what the company does that’s so important that he had to contact them before we even pulled into the gate, but from the looks of him in his red white and blue gym shorts, backwards ball cap, and sunglasses (on the plane), I gathered that he wasn’t a 30 year old heart surgeon saving lives from the Friendly Skies.
In other words, nothing life and death seemed to be happening so did we all need to be subjected to the crisis of his company sucking?
I stood up as soon as it was my turn. Anyone who has flown should understand that there is an etiquette to disembarking – you go in order of where you are sitting.
That’s when the gal in the jumpsuit/romper thing and false eyelashes came up behind me and said, “You have a bag and I don’t so I’m going to (push past) go ahead of you.”
I’m standing in the aisle reaching into the overhead bin and she tries to crawl under my uplifted arms and over my feet knocking the guy whose company sucks in the head.
Fuck you and fuck your pajamas.
I think I hit her in the head with Sanjay the suitcase as I pulled it out of the bin. Accidentally, but I wasn’t sorry.
Yes. Airplane travel apparently also brings out the best in me too.