9/10/07

here. My favorite would have to be either the “boiled” on a lobster plate, or the “bugstah” plate on a red Beetle. I don’t think I saw a single Beetle, old or new, that didn’t have a personalized plate.

* * * Last weekend, Fred told me that he’d gotten an email from a local reader indicating that she was interested in buying eggs from us. I recognized her name from a few email exchanges, Fred and I talked about it for a few minutes, and finally I said “Oh, just tell her she can come get some if she wants, or you can meet her somewhere on your way home from work next week.” She and her fiance opted to come here to Crooked Acres, and after a little while of freaking-out along the lines of “What if they’re crazy?!”, we calmed down and figured that if they were crazy, we’d just throw the eggs at them and run. Surely Frick would defend us. Frick or Mister Boogers, one. So they showed up, and we met them at the front door with two dozen eggs. We charge $2/ dozen, and when she handed over a five dollar bill, she and Fred had a brief verbal tussle over whether we needed to give her change (for the record, she said we didn’t need to give her change. Though the story might be funnier if she was all “Give me my dollar!” and Fred was all “Exact change or nuttin’!”) I went inside to grab change for her, and when I got back to the front porch, she and her fiance were standing there, eyes glazed over, as Fred talked – and talked and talked and TALKED – about the garden. I don’t even remember what he said, because I tuned him out (I’ve heard it before, y’know) and watched the hummingbirds flit around the porch. Some time later, I tuned back in and thought to myself, Has he even taken a breath in the last twenty minutes? These POOR people. They probably just wanted to get their damn eggs and go, and now they’re captive to the Fred Soliloquy. Then I tuned back out and watched more hummingbirds flitting about. We get a LOT of hummingbird traffic on the front porch. I’d seen hummingbirds flitting around out there from time to time, but I had no idea just how many of them go zipping around there, slurping food from the feeders and chasing each other off. Hummingbirds, in case you didn’t know it, are very territorial. Fred finally stopped talking about the garden, and the conversation moved on to other topics, so I tuned back in and even contributed to the conversation – it flowed pretty well, with no awkward pauses, thankfully – and by the time they left, I was amazed to find that rather than the half hour I thought we’d been out there, it had actually been over an hour. “Another reader met,” I said to Fred as we walked through the house. “And another one NOT crazy. When are we going to end up meeting a crazy?” “You sound like you want to meet a crazy,” he said. “Think of the entry it’d make if we’d gone out to give them eggs and they chased us through the house with knives, then Frick tripped them up and Mister Boogers held them down ’til the cops arrived!” “True, that. Except that Mister Boogers would run like a scared little bitch. Maxi would have kicked ass, though.” “Indeed.” * * * Also last weekend, we went to Fred’s family reunion in Cullman. It was at a restaurant we’d been to several years ago (also for a family reunion – Fred’s father’s family has a family reunion every year over Labor Day weekend) and we had a vague idea of where it was, but couldn’t seem to find it. We went up and down several streets, both of us talking about how familiar the area looked. I suggested we call his father’s cell phone, but his father and stepmother don’t have a cell phone, and he didn’t know his sister’s cell phone number. We drove around some more, and then I came up with the best idea ever. Pulling out my cell phone, I texted the name, city, and state of the restaurant we were looking for to “466453”. Two seconds later, Google texted me back not only the address of the restaurant, but also the phone number. A few minutes later, we’d located the restaurant. Google is THE SHIT. The reunion was fine, even though I never ever remember anyone from one year to the next (probably because most people tend not to show up every single year). The room acoustics sucked and I had a hard time hearing or understanding anyone except the people sitting right next to me. We were sitting across from a woman around our age (maybe a little younger, I don’t know. All I know is that she was somehow related to Fred. I don’t even remember her name.) and her little boy. He was kind of entertaining, her little boy, because he was friendly and not cowed at all by being around strange adults like some kids are (like I was, anyway). At one point, his mother said to me, “He was wondering if he (she gestured to Fred’s sister’s husband) is from Italy?” I smiled at him and said “France, actually.” “Oh!” he said. “But he’s probably been to Italy!” I said helpfully. And he kindly did NOT look at me like he was thinking “What kind of idiotic thing is that to say, lady?” The funny thing about gatherings that involve Fred’s family is that I’d sit there and listen to them talk all day long, but after a couple of hours Fred gets antsy and wants to get the hell out of there, so after we’d eaten and waited a little while, Fred said “Are you ready to go?” and I said “Yeah, if you want to”, and we were out of there. * * * New fosters! These won’t be around long – adoptions are picking up at the pet store – so don’t get too attached! They’re awfully sweet and awfully cute. After the last batch, it’s kind of nice to have friendlies who will come over and climb on you and not hiss or cringe when you get near. Fred named this batch, after Dark Towers characters. Apparently I messed up the ka-tet with my usage of the name “Oy” with the first bunch of fosters, but we managed to come up with names that hadn’t been used before. Roland. Eddie Dean. (Does he look strikingly like a wolf, or is it just me?) Susannah (though given her propensity for biting, Detta might have been a better name). Jake. Billy Bumbler. Callahan. I know I recently had a discussion with SOMEONE about orange cats and how 90% of them tend to be male, but I can’t remember who the conversation was with, or even whether it was in person or via email. In any case, imagine my surprise when I found that the buff (light orange) tabby was female. Callahan is the neatest color I’ve ever seen on a cat. If you just glance at him, he looks gray, but a closer look shows that he’s almost got an orangey tint to him. This shows his color a little better: The brown tabbies look so much alike that I didn’t think I’d ever get them straight, but in just a couple of days, I have. Jake’s the smallest, Eddie Dean’s the prettiest (I mean, they’re all pretty, but Eddie’s particularly so, especially in person), and Roland’s the largest of the three. They’re friendly and playful and in good shape (Susannah and Billy Bumbler both have goopy eyes, but terramycin is taking care of that) and I wish they were staying around a little longer. I know they’re going to be adopted really quickly, though. A metric tonload of kitten pictures can be seen here. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Stinkerbelle hasn’t been through the whole new-fosters thing, so her nose is a bit out of joint now that she can’t hang out in the foster room whenever she wants. The one who’s having the biggest issue with it, though, is Spanky, who wanders around the house howling forlornly as though there’s SOMETHING different, he just can’t put his paw on what it is. * * * Previously 2006: No entry. 2005: No entry. 2004: No entry. 2003: “Fuck it!” I said. 2002: “Stinky?” I said. 2001: I stole this survey from Noreen, but I’ve seen it all over the place recently, and god knows how much I love to be one of the cool kids! 2000: Look! It’s nay-chuh! (Comments closed due to spammers)]]>