The other day, I was sitting in front of my computer when the driveway alarm went off. I got up and looked out the door to see what was going on, expecting it to be UPS or FedEx, and saw two men standing under the magnolia tree next to the driveway, looking toward the back forty. One of them looked over at the door and saw me standing there; otherwise, I would have skulked into the inner part of the house and hidden.
I don’t like dealing with strangers. Perhaps I’ve mentioned?
I opened the door and stepped out onto the side stoop, and one of the men approached me.
“Do you have… uh… not chickens….” he looked toward the back forty, and then back at his friend, who was still standing under the magnolia tree, messing with his cell phone. His friend mumbled something to him.
“Fish?” he said uncertainly.
I’d been expecting “eggs” or possibly “turkeys” or even “pigs”, but “fish” threw me for a loop. I was sure I’d misunderstood.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Do I have what?”
He looked back at his friend, who mumbled something to him again.
“Fish?” he said, moving his hand in the vague motion of a fish moving through water.
“Fish?” I said.
His face lit up. “Yes, fish!”
I shook my head. “I’m sorry, no, we don’t have fish.”
He looked confused and then looked back toward the back forty as though perhaps I was lying to him, and he’d see an army of fish marching toward us to prove that I was a big lying liar. “I… okay, I sorry,” he said, and I assured him it was okay, and then he and his friend left.
Now I’m really wishing I spoke Spanish, because I’d love to know why on earth he thought we might have fish. The only thing I can guess is that they’ve seen all the freakin’ standing water in the back forty and think there’s a pond back there. That, or his friend was messing with him and telling him that the English word for eggs is “fish.”
Photographic proof that (1) I occasionally wear a color OTHER than gray:
(I call this smug, close-lipped smile “The Douchey McGee.” Zoolander ain’t got nothin’ on me.*)
and that (2) I am now a proper scarf-wearing blogger, thanks to Nance.
*Could not remember the name “Zoolander” nor the name of his creator, so said to Fred, “Who is… Ben…”
Fred: “Affleck?”
Robyn: “No. Funny. Not as funny as he thinks he is.”
Fred: “Stiller!”
And then Fred was greatly amused that he’d gotten the right Ben from that cue.
Can someone tell me how the holy fucking hell I managed to hear about Blame, by Michelle Huneven (someone somewhere recommended it, I do not retain the information of exactly where the recommendation came from, you know you envy my razor-sharp mind) and had a sample sent to my Kindle, given that apparently now it is NOT available on Kindle and in fact is not available in any form from Amazon unless I want to pay almost $30 or buy from a third party?
What the frustrating fuckity-fuck is going ON? I liked the sample I read, and now I want to read the goddamn thing! On my Kindle! ARGH!
The morning after my parents arrived, I came downstairs and was greeted by this, sitting on my desk.
My mother said that she thought it was mine (though she wasn’t positive), and that someone gave it to me when I was a newborn.
Is it just me, or is it just a little creepy? Or maybe a LOT creepy? I need to find a place for it rather than on my desk because it keeps LOOKING at me, and I’m a tiny bit afraid it’s going to leap at me all of a sudden and chew my face off.
Steely Dan and Fagen love to spend their days on the cat tree in the front room.
They also love glaring at me, obviously.
I was on the couch watching Lost yesterday (I LOVE YOU SAWYER!), and had my electric throw over me, and at some point I realized that someone was snuggled up to my leg. Imagine my surprise when I looked and saw Dan, snuggled up, happy and warm, and sound asleep.
Silly boy.
Then last night I was watching more TV, and looked to see that not only was Dan snuggled up to me, but so was Fagen! I consider these two scaredy-cats conquered. No cat can resist the allure of the heated throw!
Drum is the snuggliest boy on earth, I swear. As soon as I sit down, he’s on my lap demanding love.
M’Lynn keeps a wary eye on me.
Sweet Clairee.
THLURRRRP
Guess who just so happened to be sitting at my feet yesterday afternoon? And guess who I picked up, and not only did she NOT fight me, she snuggled right into me. I’m sure the formerly skittish M’Lynn would claim that she was drunk off the sunlight pouring into the room or dopey from the warmth of the room, but I do believe she’s a snugglebug at heart.
Jake, showing off his loony side. (ALL sides of Jake are his loony sides!)
Previously
2009: Dogs like to chew! Who knew?
2008: “WHERE’S THE SCAR?! HERE ARE HIS WRISTS, WHERE’S THE SCAAAAAAAAAAR?!”
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: How does one become a house appraiser?
2004: I told Fred about how little things remind me anew of our loss strike me when I’m least expecting it, and I cried again.
2003: And, oh and does fred annoy you? Not any more than I annoy him, probably. 🙂
2002: See something on the floor? Sit on it.
2001: No entry.
2000: Here’s a cute story to satiate your bitchypoo jones until then