most folks in healthy relationships share some common traits; if they did not, most folks would never hook up in the first place. but it's in the differences where most folks find the interesting parts.
take mam and i for example: he is cool and level-headed in stressful situations. i, on the other hand, have some genetic code triggered that results in piggish, extreme and often violent behavior.
like this afternoon, when i have sat home and plotted my revenge. seems we had the pleasure of being visited by the hit-and-run fairy last night in our own driveway. when we questioned our neighbors this morning about it, considering they share the friggin driveway with us, they may have heard something. or maybe even remember hitting our car since they were the only other flippin' vehicles in it last night.
the old poor thing with a million scratches already and a permanent stale odor of impending death did not deserve an asshat backing into it and tearing its poor mirror from the car. nor did it deserve the long metal on metal scratch that tore through the length of its passenger door. while mam's old car was being ravaged in the dark, we sat watching television and when we heard the crunch and tires squeal, we honestly thought nothing of it.
despite giving it a valiant effort, our neighbors decided they weren't going to pursue this whole marriage thing after all. i mean, he only sent her to the hospital once in recent months, and her alcoholic binges have been somewhat under control lately. but anyway, since they put their house on the market, they've been throwing out junk at all hours of the night with loud thunks and crashes as they decide their flea market finds aren't worth paying to move.
"are you calling me a liar?" the white trash momma screamed at mam from her front porch. "all i want to do is get the bottom of why my car's mirror has been sheared off and there's a huge scratch down the side of my car when you have some surprisingly similar scratches on the back of your truck," mam replied, quite calmly.
i had been tied to a piece of furniture while this was happening to prevent me from going outside and going all ghetto, and thus breaking down these peace accords. in my head rolled images of taking a louisville slugger to her windshield a la the american idol country chick who inspired my fantasies at the moment. since they are trying to sell their house because neither one can afford it alone, i plotted ways to drive them into bankruptcy. i could stand in my front lawn in nasty short shorts and bra top, my white flabby flesh reflecting the sun's rays so brightly that folks wandering into the see the property would be blinded instantly upon entering the driveway.
the driveway! yes, this afternoon i began thinking of how to best sever their access to the driveway at all. if those redneck-tonka truck driving idiots can't figure out how to park in a driveway, then i'd line the driveway with alligators who'd chew at their asses if they tried to even enter it. besides, all i need is for the *official* survey results to tell me what we already know -- the length of the driveway is on my property. only the paved section by their garage is theirs. and no, i do not need to grant them access to it via my portion of it. (that's why i need the alligators.)
"hon, all i want is for them to accept financial responsibility for their actions," mam explained to me in the car. "all i want," i tell him, "is blood if they choose not to. i mean, c'mon, we're going to be out the deductible regardless. i am just willing to recoup my losses with bloodshed, that's all i'm saying."
"at least call the cops on 'em," i continue. "hit-and-runs carry more weight in the justice system." and if they did hit our aging car, that's exactly what had happened.
when mam came back from trying to rationally talk with them, i could tell by his face things hadn't gone well. "fcuk them," he said. "fcuk those white trash rednecks. i'm calling the cops now. and the insurance company. let them sick their lawyers on them. i'm done."
"there, there, honey," i cooed as he untied me, "just remember a firebomb works much quicker."
Monday, July 30, 2007
Friday, July 20, 2007
costco goodness and other random thoughts
at least this year i am ahead of the game and may actually have purchased my husband's birthday present BEFORE his birthday actually gets here. go me!
before you think i'm some wicked wife, to my defense, i was hospitalized last year for the week before his birthday and by the time they released me, i really wasn't in the mood to go shopping.
this year will be different although i am determined to buy mam's birthday present at costco again. instead of ordering online a really cool hammock like last year that got to see more of the united states than i could ever dream on its delivery to casa mc-clotsky before it managed to get lost in transit, i plan to purchase his gift in the store.
just as soon as the item comes back in stock.
see i could tell you what the item is, but then i'd have to kill you. after i finally tracked down a live, honest-to-goodness costco employee that wasn't either carding at the door like a bouncer or stuck behind a huge line as a cashier (try it, i bet you go as crazy as i did trying to find one) and drug him back to the display, he merely shrugged his shoulders and told me i was outta luck.
"sorry, lady. we don't have anymore in stock of those. i could sell you the display but if you want a box, you'll have to wait until tomorrow." as i contemplate the number of scratches on the display and whether it would bug the shit out of me over time because i didn't want to wait until morning, he added, "or i can just write you a raincheck."
nope. a raincheck just will not cut it this year. last year's blood clot gave me a reprieve on punctuality, i have no such excuse this year. (nor do i want one, fcuk you very much.)
"how many are you expecting in?" i ask, trying to gage if i need to make the return trip on saturday or if it can wait until sunday while i mentally rearrange my schedule in my head.
when he says "24", i begin to relax. i have plenty of time until he continues, "but you're the 20th person to ask me that today." damn.
knowing that they open the store at ten, i'm afraid i'll be camping out tomorrow morning, like it's tickets for some sort of super-fantastic-rock-legend-straight-out-of-hell-one-night-only concert. normally, i'm too lazy to be that cheap but it's a whole lotta smackers i'd save by getting at the warehouse of holiness, costco.
seriously, i'll be at the store at 9:30 to stake my claim on one of the 24 "things" due in stock tonight. if you catch the news tomorrow night and see a story about a suburban-assault-vehicle running through a crowd in a parking lot, you can safely bet i was gonna be number 25 in line.
and a random thought for a day...
what marketing genius decided to come out with strawberry-flavored blunts?
i couldn't believe my eyes at wawa while i waited for helga (my nickname for the old, gruff lady who works behind the counter) to take her good old time ringing up the people in from of me.
the pink carton stared out at me while all i could think about was how did this affect the marijuana most people use the friggin' blunts for in the first place? is the strawberry-flavor in the cigar wrapper or in the tobacco?
are the gangs hip to the new pink packaging? it doesn't exactly scream tough urban thug if some g-boy were to pull out a pink box before rolling a fattie joint.
is this the new gay version of blunts? something to entice the gangstas on the down-lo? a new replacement for the ol' friend of dorothy to signal that someone was homosexual?
as i got back into my car and drove away, i shook my head and thought what's next -- blueberry?
before you think i'm some wicked wife, to my defense, i was hospitalized last year for the week before his birthday and by the time they released me, i really wasn't in the mood to go shopping.
this year will be different although i am determined to buy mam's birthday present at costco again. instead of ordering online a really cool hammock like last year that got to see more of the united states than i could ever dream on its delivery to casa mc-clotsky before it managed to get lost in transit, i plan to purchase his gift in the store.
just as soon as the item comes back in stock.
see i could tell you what the item is, but then i'd have to kill you. after i finally tracked down a live, honest-to-goodness costco employee that wasn't either carding at the door like a bouncer or stuck behind a huge line as a cashier (try it, i bet you go as crazy as i did trying to find one) and drug him back to the display, he merely shrugged his shoulders and told me i was outta luck.
"sorry, lady. we don't have anymore in stock of those. i could sell you the display but if you want a box, you'll have to wait until tomorrow." as i contemplate the number of scratches on the display and whether it would bug the shit out of me over time because i didn't want to wait until morning, he added, "or i can just write you a raincheck."
nope. a raincheck just will not cut it this year. last year's blood clot gave me a reprieve on punctuality, i have no such excuse this year. (nor do i want one, fcuk you very much.)
"how many are you expecting in?" i ask, trying to gage if i need to make the return trip on saturday or if it can wait until sunday while i mentally rearrange my schedule in my head.
when he says "24", i begin to relax. i have plenty of time until he continues, "but you're the 20th person to ask me that today." damn.
knowing that they open the store at ten, i'm afraid i'll be camping out tomorrow morning, like it's tickets for some sort of super-fantastic-rock-legend-straight-out-of-hell-one-night-only concert. normally, i'm too lazy to be that cheap but it's a whole lotta smackers i'd save by getting at the warehouse of holiness, costco.
seriously, i'll be at the store at 9:30 to stake my claim on one of the 24 "things" due in stock tonight. if you catch the news tomorrow night and see a story about a suburban-assault-vehicle running through a crowd in a parking lot, you can safely bet i was gonna be number 25 in line.
and a random thought for a day...
what marketing genius decided to come out with strawberry-flavored blunts?
i couldn't believe my eyes at wawa while i waited for helga (my nickname for the old, gruff lady who works behind the counter) to take her good old time ringing up the people in from of me.
the pink carton stared out at me while all i could think about was how did this affect the marijuana most people use the friggin' blunts for in the first place? is the strawberry-flavor in the cigar wrapper or in the tobacco?
are the gangs hip to the new pink packaging? it doesn't exactly scream tough urban thug if some g-boy were to pull out a pink box before rolling a fattie joint.
is this the new gay version of blunts? something to entice the gangstas on the down-lo? a new replacement for the ol' friend of dorothy to signal that someone was homosexual?
as i got back into my car and drove away, i shook my head and thought what's next -- blueberry?
Monday, July 16, 2007
queen of stupid
as we tossed the unmarked glass bottle into the women's bathroom trashcan, we stupidly believed we got rid of the last piece of evidence. especially considering we drank the rest of it.
lisa and i were freshmen. high school freshman. which makes us the just about the smartest people in the lunchroom. i mean, did anyone else see upperclassman finding ways to drink in the cafeteria at lunch?
obviously, we had stumbled upon an idea no one else had thought of before.
lisa lived down the street from me, moving in during the summer between eight grade and freshman year. i was so excited! my street held very few other kids my age, and of the few there were, usually had a penis. so the thought of sharing my teenage years with another girl living closeby - someone to try hairstyles with, experiment with makeup, and talk about the boys on the block, had danced in my head.
the day we first met, lisa tossed her long brown hair and asked me if i smoked cigarettes, very casually, as if every 13-year-old girl smoked. with my wannabe bad ass tendencies, i knew we would be fast friends.
(before anyone wonders what happened to the goddess girls during these formative years in my life, we knew each other separately but had not yet fully discovered our goddess-like tendencies.)
as summer turned to fall, lisa and i braved the halls of freshman year together. although having very different rosters, we shared a lunch period, the walk to and from school and even our similarities at home. lisa and her mother her lived alone, about ten houses down from our red-bricked rowhome. no dad, no siblings. just like how my mother and i, save for the sibling part. i would have gladly traded in my brother for a pack of chewing gum at the time.
i don't remember whose idea it was but one day we decided what a good idea it would be to bring a bottle of vodka with us to school. but the big ideas did not stop then! nope, we decided we need to drink it, too. what could be more perfect than those little single, serving-sized orange juice containers for making screwdrivers?
besides, getting a little tipsy at lunch could only ease the rest of the school day. for lisa, this meant getting through whatever remedial class she was placed in. for me, it meant trying to ease the pains of honors english with mrs. o'kane.
a whole week had gone by, and with a slightly sleepy stupor, i enjoyed mrs. o'kane's class for the first time that year -- "great expectations" and ms. haberstram or whatever the decrepit old lady's name was in the book made sense to me. the exact details of the book escape me (still) but for the first time, i relaxed in her class.
but as teenagers are wont to do, i'm pretty sure we could not keep our genius quiet. "i'm buzzed," i'm sure i whispered to the kids around me. and i'm pretty sure lisa blabbed about our discovery that the little orange juice containers could double as old fashioned high ball glass.
so on the morning we saw the deans beginning to circle our lunchtable like a pack of hungry sharks, we shouldn't have been surprised. with the rest of the gals at our lunch table panicking -- even those who did not drink with us -- lisa and i calmly disposed of the evidence. in the days before csi, we were left with having to devise our own methods of subterfuge, the best we could come up with was do down the clear bottle's contents and dispose of the unmarked bottle.
by the time the deans swallowed our lunch table for punishment, there was nothing left behind. except for a few drunk teenage girls.
their interrogation techniques involved separating us, to keep us from sharing one brain in talking ourselves out of our punishment. but i broke like a cheap crayon, smearing contraband mascara all over my face, before finally tossing my cookies into the dean's trashcan when i saw my mom walk in the door.
grounded for life. or what nearly felt like it. detention for most the remainder of freshman year. saturday detention which is nothing like breakfast club movie. there were no hot guys, only juvenile deliquents and future drop-outs and teenage parents. there was no talking because the friggin' moderator would not leave, like the asshat principal in the john waters' flick which would allow us to discover our shared wounds which our teenager years stabbed us with and learn more about the walls, self-erected or otherwise, we built around each other.
nope, it was merely hours wasted staring at the mural of the high school mascot, counting the number of cinderblocks in each wall.
but i was a good student, so my punishment finally subsided and i was able to get on with my academic career, despite the black mark on my permanent record. i can be so smart sometimes, but don't be fooled. it's all just a cover, i am the queen of stupid.
lisa and i were freshmen. high school freshman. which makes us the just about the smartest people in the lunchroom. i mean, did anyone else see upperclassman finding ways to drink in the cafeteria at lunch?
obviously, we had stumbled upon an idea no one else had thought of before.
lisa lived down the street from me, moving in during the summer between eight grade and freshman year. i was so excited! my street held very few other kids my age, and of the few there were, usually had a penis. so the thought of sharing my teenage years with another girl living closeby - someone to try hairstyles with, experiment with makeup, and talk about the boys on the block, had danced in my head.
the day we first met, lisa tossed her long brown hair and asked me if i smoked cigarettes, very casually, as if every 13-year-old girl smoked. with my wannabe bad ass tendencies, i knew we would be fast friends.
(before anyone wonders what happened to the goddess girls during these formative years in my life, we knew each other separately but had not yet fully discovered our goddess-like tendencies.)
as summer turned to fall, lisa and i braved the halls of freshman year together. although having very different rosters, we shared a lunch period, the walk to and from school and even our similarities at home. lisa and her mother her lived alone, about ten houses down from our red-bricked rowhome. no dad, no siblings. just like how my mother and i, save for the sibling part. i would have gladly traded in my brother for a pack of chewing gum at the time.
i don't remember whose idea it was but one day we decided what a good idea it would be to bring a bottle of vodka with us to school. but the big ideas did not stop then! nope, we decided we need to drink it, too. what could be more perfect than those little single, serving-sized orange juice containers for making screwdrivers?
besides, getting a little tipsy at lunch could only ease the rest of the school day. for lisa, this meant getting through whatever remedial class she was placed in. for me, it meant trying to ease the pains of honors english with mrs. o'kane.
a whole week had gone by, and with a slightly sleepy stupor, i enjoyed mrs. o'kane's class for the first time that year -- "great expectations" and ms. haberstram or whatever the decrepit old lady's name was in the book made sense to me. the exact details of the book escape me (still) but for the first time, i relaxed in her class.
but as teenagers are wont to do, i'm pretty sure we could not keep our genius quiet. "i'm buzzed," i'm sure i whispered to the kids around me. and i'm pretty sure lisa blabbed about our discovery that the little orange juice containers could double as old fashioned high ball glass.
so on the morning we saw the deans beginning to circle our lunchtable like a pack of hungry sharks, we shouldn't have been surprised. with the rest of the gals at our lunch table panicking -- even those who did not drink with us -- lisa and i calmly disposed of the evidence. in the days before csi, we were left with having to devise our own methods of subterfuge, the best we could come up with was do down the clear bottle's contents and dispose of the unmarked bottle.
by the time the deans swallowed our lunch table for punishment, there was nothing left behind. except for a few drunk teenage girls.
their interrogation techniques involved separating us, to keep us from sharing one brain in talking ourselves out of our punishment. but i broke like a cheap crayon, smearing contraband mascara all over my face, before finally tossing my cookies into the dean's trashcan when i saw my mom walk in the door.
grounded for life. or what nearly felt like it. detention for most the remainder of freshman year. saturday detention which is nothing like breakfast club movie. there were no hot guys, only juvenile deliquents and future drop-outs and teenage parents. there was no talking because the friggin' moderator would not leave, like the asshat principal in the john waters' flick which would allow us to discover our shared wounds which our teenager years stabbed us with and learn more about the walls, self-erected or otherwise, we built around each other.
nope, it was merely hours wasted staring at the mural of the high school mascot, counting the number of cinderblocks in each wall.
but i was a good student, so my punishment finally subsided and i was able to get on with my academic career, despite the black mark on my permanent record. i can be so smart sometimes, but don't be fooled. it's all just a cover, i am the queen of stupid.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
all in the family
dear goddess, i can't believe this is happening again.
my mother wants to sell her house and move to a smaller place. and my brother and i aren't ready to move again. we don't live with her but we have barely recovered from last time.
nearly ten years ago, when we finally moved out of the norf philly ghetto to the beee-u-tiful suburbs of philadelphia, it was complicated.
my brother and i took care of everything. we packed, we arranged for buyers to do walkthrough, we worked with home inspectors. we protected the home inspectors when my mother refused to let one contractor leave when he gave her an unacceptable list of repairs. he wasn't bludgeoned to death or anything. the exchange went something like this:
seriously, my brother and i listened to the exchange, ears pressed against the basement door for two reasons -- as witnesses, we could be made to testify or worse, be held as accomplices. maybe this was the time our mother snapped. we never before heard the f- bomb dropped from her lips in such a short time span. except for the time someone stole our downspout to sell for drugs but that's another story.
about the only thing we didn't do was write checks for the repairs. trust me, if either of us made enough money to cover any of the costs, we probably would have done it.
this time, she's downsizing. alone. once again, she's witnessing another a neighborhood decaying around her and this time, she vows not to stay put.
which leads us to her decision to want to move. honestly, she's wanted to move for the last 2 years, but when you've lived in a house for almost a decade without doing much in way of repairs, of course you're going to have to binge on the do-it-yourself workshops.
but she's not a diy-er. she's a stomp-her-hooves-until-one-of-her-children-does-it-for-her. (shhuoohcdifh doesn't sound as snappy as diy.)
if anyone ever wanted to know where i get my bitchiness from, seriously, one look in her seemingly mild-mannered demeanor would prove instantly where the chlorine in my gene pool came from. because, with one withering glance, she can put you in your place. silently and quickly, you WILL know you fcuked up.
whether or not you actually did something.
but now that she's got the itch to move, we need to drop everything and help her. before i cast me and my brother into the worst light, we would help her in a heartbeat if some of her requests weren't so incessant.
and like the friggin' energizer bunny, if you don't pick up the phone, she just keeps calling and calling and calling... seriously, if this were any person BUT mother, i would:
1) obtain a restraining order, and 2) confront the person and possibly invoke a fight to test the limits of said restraining order.
and now it's too late. the realtor posted the sign on her lawn on sunday.
by sunday night, my brother and i were over her house cleaning out the last of the basement flotsam.
local inspectors, you're on your own this time. may goddess have mercy on your soul.
my mother wants to sell her house and move to a smaller place. and my brother and i aren't ready to move again. we don't live with her but we have barely recovered from last time.
nearly ten years ago, when we finally moved out of the norf philly ghetto to the beee-u-tiful suburbs of philadelphia, it was complicated.
my brother and i took care of everything. we packed, we arranged for buyers to do walkthrough, we worked with home inspectors. we protected the home inspectors when my mother refused to let one contractor leave when he gave her an unacceptable list of repairs. he wasn't bludgeoned to death or anything. the exchange went something like this:
her: "you ARE OUT OF YOUR FCUKIN' MIND if you think i'm fixing all that crap. get the fcuk out of my house.
[pause for thoughts to register with electrician. as electrician turns to go up basement steps, whirl around like tasmanian devil, split flying as you prepare to scream]
where the fcuk do you think you're going?"
him: "i'm leaving ma'am. i am not going to take your ab--"
her: "i thought i told you to get the fcuk out of here? get OUT!"
him: "i can't go out the front door?"
her: "no."
him: "but my car is out front..."
her: "i don't care. get out."
him: "but how am i supposed to ---"
her: "OUT. get out. i don't care. go out the basement door and walk around. i told you to get the fcuk out of my house. MY house." [contractor dodges the dragon's tale as he hightails it out the basement door.]
seriously, my brother and i listened to the exchange, ears pressed against the basement door for two reasons -- as witnesses, we could be made to testify or worse, be held as accomplices. maybe this was the time our mother snapped. we never before heard the f- bomb dropped from her lips in such a short time span. except for the time someone stole our downspout to sell for drugs but that's another story.
about the only thing we didn't do was write checks for the repairs. trust me, if either of us made enough money to cover any of the costs, we probably would have done it.
this time, she's downsizing. alone. once again, she's witnessing another a neighborhood decaying around her and this time, she vows not to stay put.
which leads us to her decision to want to move. honestly, she's wanted to move for the last 2 years, but when you've lived in a house for almost a decade without doing much in way of repairs, of course you're going to have to binge on the do-it-yourself workshops.
but she's not a diy-er. she's a stomp-her-hooves-until-one-of-her-children-does-it-for-her. (shhuoohcdifh doesn't sound as snappy as diy.)
if anyone ever wanted to know where i get my bitchiness from, seriously, one look in her seemingly mild-mannered demeanor would prove instantly where the chlorine in my gene pool came from. because, with one withering glance, she can put you in your place. silently and quickly, you WILL know you fcuked up.
whether or not you actually did something.
but now that she's got the itch to move, we need to drop everything and help her. before i cast me and my brother into the worst light, we would help her in a heartbeat if some of her requests weren't so incessant.
and like the friggin' energizer bunny, if you don't pick up the phone, she just keeps calling and calling and calling... seriously, if this were any person BUT mother, i would:
1) obtain a restraining order, and 2) confront the person and possibly invoke a fight to test the limits of said restraining order.
and now it's too late. the realtor posted the sign on her lawn on sunday.
by sunday night, my brother and i were over her house cleaning out the last of the basement flotsam.
local inspectors, you're on your own this time. may goddess have mercy on your soul.
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
goldfinch
Goldfinch - Awakening to the natural spirits, summer solstice and season
a few posts and many weeks ago, i wrote about the strange little highlighter bird who came knocking at my kitchen window.
well, he's still here. and now he's brought a bunch of friends with him.
after about three weeks of him knocking on the window, i had resolved that on my next trip to petsmart, i would pick up a cage and bring him inside. with that much determination, the poor little bird needed some reward for his efforts. but after doing a little research on what to feed him, i realized he was not an indoor bird when i recognized his mugshot online. my little friend was a goldfinch and probably not used to having his wings clipped by living in a 24" cage.
so my next trip to petsmart involved wandering into unfamiliar territory - the bird aisle to look for seed and a feeder. the trip was supposed to only involve dropping the monkeys off for their late spring / early summer bath with the saintly groomers at petsmart.
how do i know they are candidates for sainthood? first, they bathe chloe, the only golden retriever on the planet to abhor water.
second, they manage to get her back into the bathing area without choking her. i watch through the large plate glass window as they gently pull ms. gandhi who has now gone utterly limp, legs splayed out like a giant dust mop towards the same swinging doors that sadie happily tromped through only a few minutes before.
without a doubt, chloe made a friend with another groomer along the way into the back and manages to not only ensnare the second groomer's legs with her leash, she also attempts to hop up on that groomer's table to get away. all of which shocked the shit out of the poor little bichon already on the table, who since he was already tethered to the table could only assume that naturally since he had nowhere else to go, that he claimed dominion over that 2 foot by 2 foot space. the poor guy had half of a haircut before an 75 lb golden retriever tried to make him a pancake by jumping on him. the fact that she landed on another dog did not faze chloe in the least bit.
meanwhile i stood there with my hand over my mouth watching this comedy of errors take place. like a mama watching her child go off to school for the first time -- i laughed at little, i wanted to cry a little, too. all as i sensed her fear and mental pain she would endure of her upcoming bath, until finally mam leans over and tells me, "c'mon, she'll be fine, let's go get the birdseed and get out of here.
so with forty dollars worth of birdseed under my arms, we head back to casa mc-clotsky to install the new feeder under the tree outside my kitchen window where finchy appears. (what you don't name your goldfinches who visit?)
mam managed to install the feeder with relative ease and which minimal advice offered from me as to location, location, location for which branch it should be hung on. while i was warming to the idea of having an outside bird as a pet, i grew cold at the idea of having bird poop on my car parked nearby.
so finchy and i made a deal -- i promised to supply food, he promised to not poop on my car. all of which worked swimmingly, he kept his promise and i kept mine.
except i failed to make similiar deals with the rest of the birds who hit the roadside diner outside my window.
we went through two large bags of seeds before the bombs started. first they started small and relatively unnoticeable. then they began drop them in clusters around my sparse garden, everywhere but my car. and as the pack of finches, robins, and woodpeckers began to show in droves, they also acted more and more like frat boys -- complete with all their cleaning habits as well.
but you think after all the hassles i put myself through that finchy would be happy. not only have a i provided food for him, i feel like a pimp with all of the female finchies who have stopped by the feeder. i'm not sure but finchy may have even gotten lucky if the little nest nestled high in the tree actually has baby finches in it.
so why would finchy continue to knock on the friggin' window?
it's not just the kitchen window anymore. he knocks on the window of whatever room i happen to be in. at first, i believed it was a coincidence that he knocked on the kitchen window when i was in there. when he began knocking on the windows in the family room, i thought he merely needed a break from the rest of the crazy females hanging out at the feeder.
but when the little sucker began knocking on my bedroom window as i was putting away laundry the other day, i figured enough is enough. it's bad enough i am now talking to the birdies like the crazy neighbor, "don't get too close to my car" and "keep it down out there".
figuring there must be some reason why the cosmos is stalking me with a 3 ounce bird, i checked "the google" for an answer for what symbolism lies behind finches flying into your windows like something out of a hitchcock film.
the result? goldfinches symbol an awakening to the natural spirits, summer solstice and season. the freakiest connect? the little brown finches who've been pooping all over my garden symbolism multiplicity. after the chills stopped running down my spine, i thought to myself am i doubly lucky if this bird who is reminding me to post to my blog also poops on me on my way out the door?
in anyway, i tell you what, if i find a yellow highlighter outside the bathroom window, i will know my life has really gone to the birds.
a few posts and many weeks ago, i wrote about the strange little highlighter bird who came knocking at my kitchen window.
well, he's still here. and now he's brought a bunch of friends with him.
after about three weeks of him knocking on the window, i had resolved that on my next trip to petsmart, i would pick up a cage and bring him inside. with that much determination, the poor little bird needed some reward for his efforts. but after doing a little research on what to feed him, i realized he was not an indoor bird when i recognized his mugshot online. my little friend was a goldfinch and probably not used to having his wings clipped by living in a 24" cage.
so my next trip to petsmart involved wandering into unfamiliar territory - the bird aisle to look for seed and a feeder. the trip was supposed to only involve dropping the monkeys off for their late spring / early summer bath with the saintly groomers at petsmart.
how do i know they are candidates for sainthood? first, they bathe chloe, the only golden retriever on the planet to abhor water.
second, they manage to get her back into the bathing area without choking her. i watch through the large plate glass window as they gently pull ms. gandhi who has now gone utterly limp, legs splayed out like a giant dust mop towards the same swinging doors that sadie happily tromped through only a few minutes before.
without a doubt, chloe made a friend with another groomer along the way into the back and manages to not only ensnare the second groomer's legs with her leash, she also attempts to hop up on that groomer's table to get away. all of which shocked the shit out of the poor little bichon already on the table, who since he was already tethered to the table could only assume that naturally since he had nowhere else to go, that he claimed dominion over that 2 foot by 2 foot space. the poor guy had half of a haircut before an 75 lb golden retriever tried to make him a pancake by jumping on him. the fact that she landed on another dog did not faze chloe in the least bit.
meanwhile i stood there with my hand over my mouth watching this comedy of errors take place. like a mama watching her child go off to school for the first time -- i laughed at little, i wanted to cry a little, too. all as i sensed her fear and mental pain she would endure of her upcoming bath, until finally mam leans over and tells me, "c'mon, she'll be fine, let's go get the birdseed and get out of here.
so with forty dollars worth of birdseed under my arms, we head back to casa mc-clotsky to install the new feeder under the tree outside my kitchen window where finchy appears. (what you don't name your goldfinches who visit?)
mam managed to install the feeder with relative ease and which minimal advice offered from me as to location, location, location for which branch it should be hung on. while i was warming to the idea of having an outside bird as a pet, i grew cold at the idea of having bird poop on my car parked nearby.
so finchy and i made a deal -- i promised to supply food, he promised to not poop on my car. all of which worked swimmingly, he kept his promise and i kept mine.
except i failed to make similiar deals with the rest of the birds who hit the roadside diner outside my window.
we went through two large bags of seeds before the bombs started. first they started small and relatively unnoticeable. then they began drop them in clusters around my sparse garden, everywhere but my car. and as the pack of finches, robins, and woodpeckers began to show in droves, they also acted more and more like frat boys -- complete with all their cleaning habits as well.
but you think after all the hassles i put myself through that finchy would be happy. not only have a i provided food for him, i feel like a pimp with all of the female finchies who have stopped by the feeder. i'm not sure but finchy may have even gotten lucky if the little nest nestled high in the tree actually has baby finches in it.
so why would finchy continue to knock on the friggin' window?
it's not just the kitchen window anymore. he knocks on the window of whatever room i happen to be in. at first, i believed it was a coincidence that he knocked on the kitchen window when i was in there. when he began knocking on the windows in the family room, i thought he merely needed a break from the rest of the crazy females hanging out at the feeder.
but when the little sucker began knocking on my bedroom window as i was putting away laundry the other day, i figured enough is enough. it's bad enough i am now talking to the birdies like the crazy neighbor, "don't get too close to my car" and "keep it down out there".
figuring there must be some reason why the cosmos is stalking me with a 3 ounce bird, i checked "the google" for an answer for what symbolism lies behind finches flying into your windows like something out of a hitchcock film.
the result? goldfinches symbol an awakening to the natural spirits, summer solstice and season. the freakiest connect? the little brown finches who've been pooping all over my garden symbolism multiplicity. after the chills stopped running down my spine, i thought to myself am i doubly lucky if this bird who is reminding me to post to my blog also poops on me on my way out the door?
in anyway, i tell you what, if i find a yellow highlighter outside the bathroom window, i will know my life has really gone to the birds.