Twenty minutes ago a man on a motorcycle crashed on one of the back roads in the rural part of the county not too far from here. Boss Man has a scanner in his office since he's on the VFD. This man is currently lying on the pavement, unmoving. Blood is pouring out of his ears. It occured to me just now, as I listen to the transmissions from the ambulance and police and helicopter that's flying over my office right now, that I'm probably listening to him die.
A fallen squirrel.
- Thread starter Bambooki
- Start date
I see that they finally caught the Columbus sniper. Thank goodness. It turns out that The Fer knows this guy’s father. How’s that for creepy? In better news, my little town was named among the five safest small cities in the country. Good thing, because I don’t think I’ve locked my back door since I moved in. I keep it locked at night, but I generally feel that the sight of a large Doberman at the door will be enough to deter almost anyone.
Last night The Fer mentioned, almost by accident, I think, that he was shopping for an engagement ring at lunch yesterday. I asked him where but he wouldn’t tell me. It doesn’t seem real that somebody would actually want to marry me. After all, the last guy who proposed knew it was a mistake the minute it came out of his mouth and made every attempt in the following months to undo it. (Thank God for that, too.) So even though I didn’t want to marry The Ex, it was insulting. Now I’ve got this wonderful person in my life whom I adore, and it looks like he’s crazy enough to at least consider signing his life away to me. Still, I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a little tiny part of me that expected it was all some cruel joke. The part of me that’s been treated like trash in the past formed itself a little protective wall, and it still prepares for the worst. However, I think that little part is almost completely crumbled away, because I never even picture my life without him or worry about his leaving.
I wouldn’t marry me though. I’d drive me crazy. In a related note, about five minutes after I wrote the entry about Louis Vuitton getting engaged, it ceased to bother me even a little bit. I have a hard time believing it’s true, but even if it is, I officially don’t care. Not an iota. Amazing how time and maturity work their magic.
Oh! I made my first ham last night. Granted, it was just a store-bought, cured ham that any idiot can make, but I’d never done it before. I didn’t really know that they were already cooked and that you basically just heat them up in the oven. I also made muffins for The Fer, since he’s had a hard couple of weeks at work. Normally he does most of the cooking, but occasionally I step into the domestic goddess role and do my best.
Last night The Fer mentioned, almost by accident, I think, that he was shopping for an engagement ring at lunch yesterday. I asked him where but he wouldn’t tell me. It doesn’t seem real that somebody would actually want to marry me. After all, the last guy who proposed knew it was a mistake the minute it came out of his mouth and made every attempt in the following months to undo it. (Thank God for that, too.) So even though I didn’t want to marry The Ex, it was insulting. Now I’ve got this wonderful person in my life whom I adore, and it looks like he’s crazy enough to at least consider signing his life away to me. Still, I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a little tiny part of me that expected it was all some cruel joke. The part of me that’s been treated like trash in the past formed itself a little protective wall, and it still prepares for the worst. However, I think that little part is almost completely crumbled away, because I never even picture my life without him or worry about his leaving.
I wouldn’t marry me though. I’d drive me crazy. In a related note, about five minutes after I wrote the entry about Louis Vuitton getting engaged, it ceased to bother me even a little bit. I have a hard time believing it’s true, but even if it is, I officially don’t care. Not an iota. Amazing how time and maturity work their magic.
Oh! I made my first ham last night. Granted, it was just a store-bought, cured ham that any idiot can make, but I’d never done it before. I didn’t really know that they were already cooked and that you basically just heat them up in the oven. I also made muffins for The Fer, since he’s had a hard couple of weeks at work. Normally he does most of the cooking, but occasionally I step into the domestic goddess role and do my best.
Again, my obliques hurt from the specialized workout I gave them last evening. But they’re not hurting nearly so badly this time. I had a good workout; my abs get special attention these days as I’ve developed a new routine for myself which involves going excruciatingly slowly and keeping them so taut that when I sit up I feel heinous. But it’s good, because it hurts. Pain=good, it seems. I’m a little confused about my quads, though. I made it up to six plates on the extension machine, which is more weight than any other chick in that place lifts. On the first day I tried six plates, I was able to do three sets of 10 reps. Now, after my first set, I have to go down to 5.5, and even 5 by the third set. Granted, I don’t really want my thighs to get any larger, so maybe it’s time to stop adding much weight and just to maintain what I’ve got.
I tricked The Fer into telling me he’d done more shopping for my ring yesterday. He’s such a sweetheart. He’s making me very antsy, though. I need to stop getting hints because it’s only going to get me all worked up for no reason. Everyone at work does a weekly Monday left hand check on me to see what the status is. I tell them to be patient. Somehow, I think they’re more anxious than I am. God knows my mother is.
My photo class starts on Monday evening and lasts for eight weeks. I’m excited but I’m also really nervous. What if I’m the crappiest photographer in the class? What if I find out that I’m not cut out for this sort of career? I feel like I’m a kid before the first day of junior high. “What if the other kids don’t like me, Ma? What if their clothing is cooler than mine? What if everybody is wearing pegged jeans with slouch socks and I’m not? I’ll just dieeeeeee!”
Enough drama. Suck it up, you ninny. Pretend you have at least a modicum of dignity…
Today’s Update
Lunch: Homestyle Express Chicken with Salsa and White Rice….surprisingly yummy
Doberman status: itchy to get out in the spring weather
Correction: there is no spring weather
Platinum or yellow gold: I can’t decide but both look good with my skin tone
Solitaire or multiple stones: I can’t decide that either. He can surprise me.
Ham for the second night in a row: it was still a damn fine ham
Birds on my feeder this morning: Black-capped chickadee, 2 nuthatch, wren, mourning Dove, red-headed woodpecker
Status of my daffodils and peonies: still emerging despite the snow
Project for today: finding lost alumni from the class of 1966
Weekend plans: trip to Columbus to visit The Fer’s best friend
The Boy status: has visited several small local colleges and probably won’t be returning to WVU
Nap: need it
I tricked The Fer into telling me he’d done more shopping for my ring yesterday. He’s such a sweetheart. He’s making me very antsy, though. I need to stop getting hints because it’s only going to get me all worked up for no reason. Everyone at work does a weekly Monday left hand check on me to see what the status is. I tell them to be patient. Somehow, I think they’re more anxious than I am. God knows my mother is.
My photo class starts on Monday evening and lasts for eight weeks. I’m excited but I’m also really nervous. What if I’m the crappiest photographer in the class? What if I find out that I’m not cut out for this sort of career? I feel like I’m a kid before the first day of junior high. “What if the other kids don’t like me, Ma? What if their clothing is cooler than mine? What if everybody is wearing pegged jeans with slouch socks and I’m not? I’ll just dieeeeeee!”
Enough drama. Suck it up, you ninny. Pretend you have at least a modicum of dignity…
Today’s Update
Lunch: Homestyle Express Chicken with Salsa and White Rice….surprisingly yummy
Doberman status: itchy to get out in the spring weather
Correction: there is no spring weather
Platinum or yellow gold: I can’t decide but both look good with my skin tone
Solitaire or multiple stones: I can’t decide that either. He can surprise me.
Ham for the second night in a row: it was still a damn fine ham
Birds on my feeder this morning: Black-capped chickadee, 2 nuthatch, wren, mourning Dove, red-headed woodpecker
Status of my daffodils and peonies: still emerging despite the snow
Project for today: finding lost alumni from the class of 1966
Weekend plans: trip to Columbus to visit The Fer’s best friend
The Boy status: has visited several small local colleges and probably won’t be returning to WVU
Nap: need it
I’ve got Boss Man’s cold. Damn him. I knew I was going to get it. It’s because he uses my computer in the evening sometimes. Puts his germy hands all over my mouse. Yesterday I felt a sore throat coming on and felt pretty weak and shaky. By evening’s end my throat felt thick and snotty. This morning it’s raw from the drainage. I’m sure by the weekend the infection will move to my sinuses. We’ve cancelled our weekend trip to Columbus to see The Fer’s best friend. I feel so bad about that. They never get to see each other and now I’ve put the kibosh on a rare weekend they have. I told him to go without me and have fun but he refused to leave me home sick.
I kept telling Boss Man that I felt his cold coming on during the week, and he repeatedly told me (with a smirk) that I was just trying to get Friday off. Well, now it’s Friday and I feel terrible, but thanks to him I can’t go home. I’m not giving him the satisfaction or stepping into his little trap. Besides, I’ll probably get a lot sicker before I get better. I might need that sick day next week.
Last night my Dad called around 8pm and asked if he could come over and drop something off. He came to my front door in his suit, just back from a late meeting in Pittsburgh. His hair and raincoat were wet and he made sure to wipe his feet when he came in. In his hand was half a dozen roses, for me. A street vendor had come to his car at a light and he bought me roses. That’s the kind of guy my dad is. Sometimes he comes over to bug me with tax forms and bank statements and sometimes he comes with something thoughtful, like last night. What a wonderfully sweet man. It made my night.
Saw the dentist yesterday. I asked him about my two lateral incisors, which have moved back a bit since I finally stopped wearing my retainer. My orthodontist always told me that I had to wear my retainer forever. I had braces for six years, and wore the retainer faithfully until it finally began to fall apart in my mouth. It cracked and got holes in it. (It was the plastic mould kind, like what you see on television.) Well I put 15 years of my life into my teeth and finally felt I’d paid my dues. (As had my parents, with the $10,000 they put into my mouth—yes, I was a royal mess when the orthodontist began his work.) And how do my teeth repay me, but by moving backward?
Well I’m not going back to the orthodontist. Truth be told, I’m probably the only person who can tell they’ve moved unless you look up close. They’re still beautiful. But it bugs me. So the dentist told me he could put veneers on the lateral incisors to make them appear more forward in the mouth. He also said he could file down my cuspids (canines) and make them less prominent. Now don’t get me wrong, my teeth are straight and gorgeous (now), but I have the most pointy cuspids you’ve ever seen in your life. I look like a vampire. Think of Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt in “Interview with the Vampire”. Okay, maybe not that pronounced, but pretty sharp and pointy.
It’d be expensive, but I think I’ll probably end up doing it. And have my teeth whitened, before the wedding. Although I’m not positive I’m ready to get rid of my sharp little teeth. I’m sure they’d look better, at least to me. Nobody else would probably notice, but I would. And that’s really why I’d do it.
I kept telling Boss Man that I felt his cold coming on during the week, and he repeatedly told me (with a smirk) that I was just trying to get Friday off. Well, now it’s Friday and I feel terrible, but thanks to him I can’t go home. I’m not giving him the satisfaction or stepping into his little trap. Besides, I’ll probably get a lot sicker before I get better. I might need that sick day next week.
Last night my Dad called around 8pm and asked if he could come over and drop something off. He came to my front door in his suit, just back from a late meeting in Pittsburgh. His hair and raincoat were wet and he made sure to wipe his feet when he came in. In his hand was half a dozen roses, for me. A street vendor had come to his car at a light and he bought me roses. That’s the kind of guy my dad is. Sometimes he comes over to bug me with tax forms and bank statements and sometimes he comes with something thoughtful, like last night. What a wonderfully sweet man. It made my night.
Saw the dentist yesterday. I asked him about my two lateral incisors, which have moved back a bit since I finally stopped wearing my retainer. My orthodontist always told me that I had to wear my retainer forever. I had braces for six years, and wore the retainer faithfully until it finally began to fall apart in my mouth. It cracked and got holes in it. (It was the plastic mould kind, like what you see on television.) Well I put 15 years of my life into my teeth and finally felt I’d paid my dues. (As had my parents, with the $10,000 they put into my mouth—yes, I was a royal mess when the orthodontist began his work.) And how do my teeth repay me, but by moving backward?
Well I’m not going back to the orthodontist. Truth be told, I’m probably the only person who can tell they’ve moved unless you look up close. They’re still beautiful. But it bugs me. So the dentist told me he could put veneers on the lateral incisors to make them appear more forward in the mouth. He also said he could file down my cuspids (canines) and make them less prominent. Now don’t get me wrong, my teeth are straight and gorgeous (now), but I have the most pointy cuspids you’ve ever seen in your life. I look like a vampire. Think of Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt in “Interview with the Vampire”. Okay, maybe not that pronounced, but pretty sharp and pointy.
It’d be expensive, but I think I’ll probably end up doing it. And have my teeth whitened, before the wedding. Although I’m not positive I’m ready to get rid of my sharp little teeth. I’m sure they’d look better, at least to me. Nobody else would probably notice, but I would. And that’s really why I’d do it.
I'm unhappy. It's Friday and I'm unhappy. How wrong.
At lunch I was talking with a coworker about yearly evaluations in July, and how last summer Boss Man forgot to do mine because I was out with a hurt knee. And fuckin' Murphy, he heard me. (Of Murphy's Law, that is.)
And wouldn't ya know it. After lunch Boss Man tells me he got a nasty email from the president wanting to know where my evaluation was. So it's on Monday. He couldn't have done it then and there. And he couldn't hold his tongue about it. He had to set the stage for a weekend-long stew-fest. Some people come out of these things in tears. And nobody gets raises at my workplace at their evaluation. Small raises come every year, but evaluations are strictly for the purposes of terrifying and belittling and breaking down the spirits and wills of employees.
We all have to take on a hell of a lot more work now because two people are taking other positions. We have a morning-long Monday meeting. Followed by my afternoon of hell.
And to top it all off, when I came out to my car, the little Nissan emblem on the back just below the windshield was gone. Some asshole must have ripped it off, because I don't think those things just fall. It was anchored in there. Some mother fucker thought it'd be hysterical to deface my car. I'm too sensible to spend the $50 it would probably take to replace it at the dealership. But how fucking rude is that? What a crappy ass day. My throat is killing me. I'mma go nap.
At lunch I was talking with a coworker about yearly evaluations in July, and how last summer Boss Man forgot to do mine because I was out with a hurt knee. And fuckin' Murphy, he heard me. (Of Murphy's Law, that is.)
And wouldn't ya know it. After lunch Boss Man tells me he got a nasty email from the president wanting to know where my evaluation was. So it's on Monday. He couldn't have done it then and there. And he couldn't hold his tongue about it. He had to set the stage for a weekend-long stew-fest. Some people come out of these things in tears. And nobody gets raises at my workplace at their evaluation. Small raises come every year, but evaluations are strictly for the purposes of terrifying and belittling and breaking down the spirits and wills of employees.
We all have to take on a hell of a lot more work now because two people are taking other positions. We have a morning-long Monday meeting. Followed by my afternoon of hell.
And to top it all off, when I came out to my car, the little Nissan emblem on the back just below the windshield was gone. Some asshole must have ripped it off, because I don't think those things just fall. It was anchored in there. Some mother fucker thought it'd be hysterical to deface my car. I'm too sensible to spend the $50 it would probably take to replace it at the dealership. But how fucking rude is that? What a crappy ass day. My throat is killing me. I'mma go nap.
See Minou's last entry for a description of how I feel. My face hurts from all of the pressure. (I know, I know, it's killing you.) I called in sick, too. Thankfully my doctor took pity on me and called in a prescription rather than making me drag my sorry rear into the office. This is my third sinus infection since December. I was supposed to have my review with BossMan today. Oh well. I've ceased to care.
Ugh. My ears hurt too. I think I need ice cream. That usually helps...
Ugh. My ears hurt too. I think I need ice cream. That usually helps...
Finally had my review, and I was surprised to no end at how nice BossMan was and how he went out of his way to make sure that every score I got was cool with me and that I was in agreement on what needed work and what was already good. I am pleased and relieved that it is over. He then bought me lunch, which is unusual for him. Tomorrow he leaves for a 14-day vacation and I just can't complain about that. Of course, I can't complain about him, either. Sometimes I want him dead, but overall he's a decent man who treats me with respect. I appreciate that so much. I wish I could bottle this feeling and save it for the times when he makes me batty.
Feeling a little bit better; I got three rounds of Amoxicillan in me yesterday so I think they were responsible for the slight sinus clearing I've experienced today. I didn't take any decongestants this morning and don't feel too hideous. I sound pretty awful, and apparently I don't look too pretty either. But by this time tomorrow I shall be well on my way to recovery. Tonight I'm scheduled for a one-hour massage, which will bolster my spirits and help to fight off the infection. I'll probably go sit in the hot tub before hand, but cardio is definitely out. My chest is still very heavy and I don't need to be breathing hard. Maybe a few dozen laps walking around the track and some abs, and possibly a knee exercise or two will be my limit.
Last night I had an erotic dream about Stone Cold Steve Austin. Well, not really erotic. But definitely a bit risque. I've been watching too much RAW with The Fer. In the dream he swooped in and saved me from a bunch of drunken frat boys. Dobergirl was at my side, too, and she helped to fend them off as well. Speaking of The Fer, he came home last night with soup and soda and my prescription. And in addition, he brought me a stuffed Cadbury bunny which makes chicken noises when you squeeze the paw. I've been fawning over it every time I go to a drug store. I love that boy!
Feeling a little bit better; I got three rounds of Amoxicillan in me yesterday so I think they were responsible for the slight sinus clearing I've experienced today. I didn't take any decongestants this morning and don't feel too hideous. I sound pretty awful, and apparently I don't look too pretty either. But by this time tomorrow I shall be well on my way to recovery. Tonight I'm scheduled for a one-hour massage, which will bolster my spirits and help to fight off the infection. I'll probably go sit in the hot tub before hand, but cardio is definitely out. My chest is still very heavy and I don't need to be breathing hard. Maybe a few dozen laps walking around the track and some abs, and possibly a knee exercise or two will be my limit.
Last night I had an erotic dream about Stone Cold Steve Austin. Well, not really erotic. But definitely a bit risque. I've been watching too much RAW with The Fer. In the dream he swooped in and saved me from a bunch of drunken frat boys. Dobergirl was at my side, too, and she helped to fend them off as well. Speaking of The Fer, he came home last night with soup and soda and my prescription. And in addition, he brought me a stuffed Cadbury bunny which makes chicken noises when you squeeze the paw. I've been fawning over it every time I go to a drug store. I love that boy!
I’ve really seen better days. Today was not horrible; it’s not fair to the people who really had a horrible day and have horrible problems to complain too much. But today I had to do a mailing for BossMan, who’s on vacation for a few weeks. I’d never done one, and I really took some crap for not knowing what I was doing. Also, the sweetest motherly lady in the office got incredibly sarcastic with me and hurt my feelings big time. And Boss Lady #1 talked to me like I was dung. I’ll never be able to not take those things personally. It’s just the way I am. Sensitive, and far too much so.
I missed the premier of The Fer’s first commercial because I was so stressed out and forgot. My massage last night came one day too early. I just sent the letters off to the president to be signed and will get them out tomorrow, but I’m a tad nervous. Today I really worked hard and did my best and it just doesn’t seem to be good enough. And that’s reality, slapping me in the face. I should know that life isn’t always fair and doesn’t usually come out even on all sides. But some little girl somewhere inside of me is stomping her foot and yelling, “Bu my mom told me that all anyone expects is that you try hard!”
Pff. Try hard. Pff.
This place doesn’t give a patoot if you try. To quote Yoda, “Do or do not. There is no try.”
Baptism by fire. It’s the only way to go.
I missed the premier of The Fer’s first commercial because I was so stressed out and forgot. My massage last night came one day too early. I just sent the letters off to the president to be signed and will get them out tomorrow, but I’m a tad nervous. Today I really worked hard and did my best and it just doesn’t seem to be good enough. And that’s reality, slapping me in the face. I should know that life isn’t always fair and doesn’t usually come out even on all sides. But some little girl somewhere inside of me is stomping her foot and yelling, “Bu my mom told me that all anyone expects is that you try hard!”
Pff. Try hard. Pff.
This place doesn’t give a patoot if you try. To quote Yoda, “Do or do not. There is no try.”
Baptism by fire. It’s the only way to go.
It’s a morning from Heaven. Balmy, breezy, sunny and warm. It’s what I needed after yesterday. This morning my coworker apologized to me at 8:01am for her sarcasm and nastiness yesterday. I told her it was no big deal. I didn’t tell her how she’d hurt my feelings; there’s no point in making anything of it. She’s having a hard time now and I’m trying to be very understanding. It meant a lot to me, though, to hear that apology.
Last evening I played with Dobergirl and my mother’s dogs. I guess they’re mine, too. They’re the family dogs. Anyway, I sat in the yard and Dobergirl carried around a basketball (I have no idea how she got her mouth around it), while The Apso sat next to me and snuggled. My parents are away this week at the Greenbriar Resort in southern West Virginia, so I’m doggysitting. The Boy is supposed to come home this weekend and so there’ll probably big a big swingin’ shindig in the empty house, complete with booze and drunken mischief. I wash my hands of it, though. As long as he looks out for my doggies, he can do what he likes. I stepped in last fall when it was necessary and now I’ve stepped back out of the picture. I have no desire to get mixed up in that parent/child relationship any more. It’s not mine to deal with.
Did I mention that The Fer told me that he’s decided to sink his money into one really good solitaire diamond, as opposed to a multiple-stone ring? He ran it by me to be sure that I was okay with it, which of course I was. He told me he’d buy me a different setting for an anniversary if I like, but I’ve been thinking about a solitaire of late and really, it suits me as much as any other style would. I don’t wear much jewelry; just a watch, and sometimes a Celtic band on my right hand. Rarely to I wear bracelets or dangly earrings. A watch and some studs usually do. (The Celtic band is kind of stuck on my right hand so I’m letting it stay for a while.) So something simple and elegant will do nicely. Besides, I’d much rather have one pristine rock than a few mediocre ones.
All he’s told me is that, “It will be sooner rather than later.” Whatever that means….
Last evening I played with Dobergirl and my mother’s dogs. I guess they’re mine, too. They’re the family dogs. Anyway, I sat in the yard and Dobergirl carried around a basketball (I have no idea how she got her mouth around it), while The Apso sat next to me and snuggled. My parents are away this week at the Greenbriar Resort in southern West Virginia, so I’m doggysitting. The Boy is supposed to come home this weekend and so there’ll probably big a big swingin’ shindig in the empty house, complete with booze and drunken mischief. I wash my hands of it, though. As long as he looks out for my doggies, he can do what he likes. I stepped in last fall when it was necessary and now I’ve stepped back out of the picture. I have no desire to get mixed up in that parent/child relationship any more. It’s not mine to deal with.
Did I mention that The Fer told me that he’s decided to sink his money into one really good solitaire diamond, as opposed to a multiple-stone ring? He ran it by me to be sure that I was okay with it, which of course I was. He told me he’d buy me a different setting for an anniversary if I like, but I’ve been thinking about a solitaire of late and really, it suits me as much as any other style would. I don’t wear much jewelry; just a watch, and sometimes a Celtic band on my right hand. Rarely to I wear bracelets or dangly earrings. A watch and some studs usually do. (The Celtic band is kind of stuck on my right hand so I’m letting it stay for a while.) So something simple and elegant will do nicely. Besides, I’d much rather have one pristine rock than a few mediocre ones.
All he’s told me is that, “It will be sooner rather than later.” Whatever that means….
I totally forgot to post a weird little tidbit. Remember how I was angry that my doctor cancelled my January knee appointment and then moved it to March? Then, of course, they called again a few weeks ago to cancel a second time. Well it turns out that he had a complete and total mental breakdown.
Now that's refreshing.
Now that's refreshing.
Friday night: Our bunny died, unknown causes. The Boy had a pot party in my parents' empty house (they're out of town) after he helped us dig a hole and bury her.
Saturday: GOt up early, went to the tractor supply store. They were having "Chick Days". Baby chicks, everywhere. Baby bunnies, too. I almost cried. Planted grass seed in Dobergirl's mud holes. Felt good. Saw "Dawn of the Dead". Bought a baby ferret: Minky. What can I say? I'm weak.
Sunday: It's gorgeous. Lake trip is planned. It's crappie season. Off we go.
Saturday: GOt up early, went to the tractor supply store. They were having "Chick Days". Baby chicks, everywhere. Baby bunnies, too. I almost cried. Planted grass seed in Dobergirl's mud holes. Felt good. Saw "Dawn of the Dead". Bought a baby ferret: Minky. What can I say? I'm weak.
Sunday: It's gorgeous. Lake trip is planned. It's crappie season. Off we go.
I had the most bizarre, up and down weekend. It really was weird and wild.
Friday night I bought 3 giant ribeyes. No, I don’t eat fish on Friday. Don’t do the Catholic thing. We fed The Boy and his girlfriend (who we bought a salmon steak for) and had wine and my famous vegetables on the grill and talked and really got a feel for how they’re doing. They went home at 8pm or so. My parents were at the Greenbriar in southern WV for the weekend. I was hoping since the kids were so worn out from their week at WVU that they’d just chill out.
We played with our bunny and relaxed. Half an hour after we returned her to her cage, we found her dead inside of it. There was doggy drool on her but no teeth marks or sign of violent struggle. The Fer picked her up and cradled her body and looked absolutely heartbroken. She was still warm when we found her. Dobergirl lay with her head on the floor next to the shoebox we put her in. If she did accidentally play too rough and cause the bunny’s death, she didn’t mean to. We’re not sure what happened, because Dobergirl was with us for most of that evening.
So we go next door to ask for The Boy’s help in finding a shovel. He came out and helped us bury her in the rain, along the driveway where at least a dozen other pets are buried. The Boy did most of the digging.
We came back in and surveyed the company: The Boy’s girlfriend, her brother, and some fat kid with a scraggly beard. They didn’t say anything and looked at us ominously. When we left the house, The Fer told me that he’d seen a large bag of weed on the coffee table which they’d quickly hidden from us. We crept outside the basement windows in the dark where they couldn’t see us, and we watched the girl’s brother roll a couple of doobies. They went up into my parents’ attic (the old pot smoking grounds from The Boy’s high school days), so we went up into our attic in the dark and spied on them. And the kids all toked up, including The Boy and his girlfriend. We stared through the window at them for twenty minutes, feeling a combination of rage and extreme disappointment. My little brother just spend five days in jail. You’d think he’d learn. But no. He hasn’t. I’m sorely disappointed in him, but I’m staying out of it. I’m not going to tell my parents unless it’s absolutely necessary. It’s the kid’s life. Let him live it, one way or another. There are definitely worse things than pot, but it's no good nonetheless.
We both got in the shower and tried to relax. The shower caddy fell and the shampoo bottles toppled all over The Fer’s head. He accidentally dropped his toothbrush in the litter box. I got shampoo in my eye. We went quickly to bed before anything even worse could happen. But boy were we upset. We’d lost our bunny, which was so sad, but even worse was the disappointment in The Boy we felt. And the helplessness.
Saturday we rose early and went to the farm and feed store to get our hands on some grass seed. They were having “Chick Days”, and little baby chicks were in feed bins all over the place, peeping and being fuzzy and cute. And in the corner was a cage full of bunnies, and three were tiny baby Netherland Dwarfs, the same as our bun. Only $10. The Fer pulled me away, and we got our grass seed and went home to plant it in Dobergirl’s mud holes. It was quite a lot of work but very satisfying and the first home-beautification thing we’d done as a couple. The grass should start to emerge within a week or so, according to the grass seed guy, who suggested peat moss on the seed instead of straw. We also put up steaks all around to keep Dobergirl out of the mudholes. She just jumped right over them. We found some tomato plant supporters in my parents’ porch closet and set them up as a deterrent. Hopefully she’ll not be too destructive on the new seedlings and they’ll have a chance to come in.
We saw “Dawn of the Dead” with my cousin, and then found our way over to Lowe’s where we got some indoor/outdoor carpeting for our back porch. And then we went to the pet supply store, for cat food.
And the rest I’m sure you can already figure out. They had baby ferrets. I told The Fer I just wanted to hold one. He knew it was all downhill from there. I found a little female who looks almost exactly like my ferret in college. I gave her away to a friend because The Ex didn’t like her. I don’t know what made me give in to him, and I’ve never forgiven myself for giving her up. It was very unlike me. I loved that ferret and it broke my heart to give her up. She died a few months ago.
Minky is absolutely tiny. And unbearably adorable. And such a little rugrat. We love her already. The Fer adores her. And even funnier, he thinks he wants to get another bun, because he misses our old bun so much. I have no problems with that. I’m never going to say no to an animal unless I don’t have the time or resources to care for one. I will not get an animal that I can’t take care of.
Sunday we loaded up Dobergirl and got my cousin and went out to the lake. We stopped to get fishing licenses (fucking Ohio has raised the price for out-of-staters to $40!) and crappie minnows. We grilled weenies and Dobergirl swam and ran through the woods and we caught diddly squat. If there were crappie out there yesterday, the minute she went flying into the water after a ball or stick, they took off. But sitting in a lounge chair in the warm sun with a beer was all I needed to be happy.
For dinner we went to my cousin’s house and grilled kielbassa. This morning at approximately 2:30am, The Fer succumbed to the loudest vomiting I’ve ever heard. I had cramps. We think it must have been tainted meat. I didn’t make it in to work until after 9am. Missed the staff meeting. Bad poos were in the works. It was nasty.
When my parents returned, I showed them Minky but didn’t mention the pot party The Boy’d had in their house. They looked so relaxed and happy…
Quite the weekend.
Friday night I bought 3 giant ribeyes. No, I don’t eat fish on Friday. Don’t do the Catholic thing. We fed The Boy and his girlfriend (who we bought a salmon steak for) and had wine and my famous vegetables on the grill and talked and really got a feel for how they’re doing. They went home at 8pm or so. My parents were at the Greenbriar in southern WV for the weekend. I was hoping since the kids were so worn out from their week at WVU that they’d just chill out.
We played with our bunny and relaxed. Half an hour after we returned her to her cage, we found her dead inside of it. There was doggy drool on her but no teeth marks or sign of violent struggle. The Fer picked her up and cradled her body and looked absolutely heartbroken. She was still warm when we found her. Dobergirl lay with her head on the floor next to the shoebox we put her in. If she did accidentally play too rough and cause the bunny’s death, she didn’t mean to. We’re not sure what happened, because Dobergirl was with us for most of that evening.
So we go next door to ask for The Boy’s help in finding a shovel. He came out and helped us bury her in the rain, along the driveway where at least a dozen other pets are buried. The Boy did most of the digging.
We came back in and surveyed the company: The Boy’s girlfriend, her brother, and some fat kid with a scraggly beard. They didn’t say anything and looked at us ominously. When we left the house, The Fer told me that he’d seen a large bag of weed on the coffee table which they’d quickly hidden from us. We crept outside the basement windows in the dark where they couldn’t see us, and we watched the girl’s brother roll a couple of doobies. They went up into my parents’ attic (the old pot smoking grounds from The Boy’s high school days), so we went up into our attic in the dark and spied on them. And the kids all toked up, including The Boy and his girlfriend. We stared through the window at them for twenty minutes, feeling a combination of rage and extreme disappointment. My little brother just spend five days in jail. You’d think he’d learn. But no. He hasn’t. I’m sorely disappointed in him, but I’m staying out of it. I’m not going to tell my parents unless it’s absolutely necessary. It’s the kid’s life. Let him live it, one way or another. There are definitely worse things than pot, but it's no good nonetheless.
We both got in the shower and tried to relax. The shower caddy fell and the shampoo bottles toppled all over The Fer’s head. He accidentally dropped his toothbrush in the litter box. I got shampoo in my eye. We went quickly to bed before anything even worse could happen. But boy were we upset. We’d lost our bunny, which was so sad, but even worse was the disappointment in The Boy we felt. And the helplessness.
Saturday we rose early and went to the farm and feed store to get our hands on some grass seed. They were having “Chick Days”, and little baby chicks were in feed bins all over the place, peeping and being fuzzy and cute. And in the corner was a cage full of bunnies, and three were tiny baby Netherland Dwarfs, the same as our bun. Only $10. The Fer pulled me away, and we got our grass seed and went home to plant it in Dobergirl’s mud holes. It was quite a lot of work but very satisfying and the first home-beautification thing we’d done as a couple. The grass should start to emerge within a week or so, according to the grass seed guy, who suggested peat moss on the seed instead of straw. We also put up steaks all around to keep Dobergirl out of the mudholes. She just jumped right over them. We found some tomato plant supporters in my parents’ porch closet and set them up as a deterrent. Hopefully she’ll not be too destructive on the new seedlings and they’ll have a chance to come in.
We saw “Dawn of the Dead” with my cousin, and then found our way over to Lowe’s where we got some indoor/outdoor carpeting for our back porch. And then we went to the pet supply store, for cat food.
And the rest I’m sure you can already figure out. They had baby ferrets. I told The Fer I just wanted to hold one. He knew it was all downhill from there. I found a little female who looks almost exactly like my ferret in college. I gave her away to a friend because The Ex didn’t like her. I don’t know what made me give in to him, and I’ve never forgiven myself for giving her up. It was very unlike me. I loved that ferret and it broke my heart to give her up. She died a few months ago.
Minky is absolutely tiny. And unbearably adorable. And such a little rugrat. We love her already. The Fer adores her. And even funnier, he thinks he wants to get another bun, because he misses our old bun so much. I have no problems with that. I’m never going to say no to an animal unless I don’t have the time or resources to care for one. I will not get an animal that I can’t take care of.
Sunday we loaded up Dobergirl and got my cousin and went out to the lake. We stopped to get fishing licenses (fucking Ohio has raised the price for out-of-staters to $40!) and crappie minnows. We grilled weenies and Dobergirl swam and ran through the woods and we caught diddly squat. If there were crappie out there yesterday, the minute she went flying into the water after a ball or stick, they took off. But sitting in a lounge chair in the warm sun with a beer was all I needed to be happy.
For dinner we went to my cousin’s house and grilled kielbassa. This morning at approximately 2:30am, The Fer succumbed to the loudest vomiting I’ve ever heard. I had cramps. We think it must have been tainted meat. I didn’t make it in to work until after 9am. Missed the staff meeting. Bad poos were in the works. It was nasty.
When my parents returned, I showed them Minky but didn’t mention the pot party The Boy’d had in their house. They looked so relaxed and happy…
Quite the weekend.
I’m so tired this morning. I think reading Sehra’s entry about Red Bull and her pseudo-narcolepsy (that’s scary, by the way) tripped a mental suggestion. Also, the temperature dropped to 52 and it’s drizzling. Such a typical early spring day. Rain is good though, because I won’t have to water the new grass. None of the little seedlings have poked their heads up yet, and I expect it will be another week before they do.
I had my second photography class last night. We went over the basics of aperture and shutter and light meter. I knew all of it but I don’t think anyone else in the class did. Maybe I should have taken a more advanced class but I figured it was best to start at the beginning, especially since this one has dark room time and I don’t know how to develop my own photos yet. We went out on the lawn for the latter half of class and snapped some shots. This art center is just 500 yards from my house, so I could hear Dobergirl barking and howling in my yard up the street. It was downright embarrassing.
The Fer was late coming home because he was at a local jewelry store, doing more shopping. We stopped there on Saturday before the movie and talked with the jeweler about my tastes and preferences. Is this stuff really happening? Somebody actually wants to tie the Bambooki chain around his ankle? Is he nuts?
I had my second photography class last night. We went over the basics of aperture and shutter and light meter. I knew all of it but I don’t think anyone else in the class did. Maybe I should have taken a more advanced class but I figured it was best to start at the beginning, especially since this one has dark room time and I don’t know how to develop my own photos yet. We went out on the lawn for the latter half of class and snapped some shots. This art center is just 500 yards from my house, so I could hear Dobergirl barking and howling in my yard up the street. It was downright embarrassing.
The Fer was late coming home because he was at a local jewelry store, doing more shopping. We stopped there on Saturday before the movie and talked with the jeweler about my tastes and preferences. Is this stuff really happening? Somebody actually wants to tie the Bambooki chain around his ankle? Is he nuts?
Holy Shit
I think I'm having kittens. Seriously.
The office accountant/database manager just announced her resignation today. Everyone knows she does the brunt of the technical and financial work, and she knows all the ins and outs and she's the one we call when nobody knows an answer. She literallly does everything from accounting to computer programming. She's been here seven years and knows it all.
And now that she's leaving, they're temporarily asking me to take over things like deposits and disbursements and the database. I have no fucking clue how to do these things! I can't even balance my checkbook. Boss Lady #2 said, "Do you like numbers?" Fuck no! I'm horrible with numbers and finances. I'm a god damned idiot about those sorts of things. And I have two weeks to follow her around and soak up what I can, and then I'll be the one in charge of things like depositing hundred-thousand dollar checks and making sure kids get their scholarships. I don't think I've ever been so intimidated in my life. I'm being truly honest and realistic when I say that I don't know if I can do this or not.
I really might fuck this up, big time. I mean BIG TIME.
In all seriousness, I think I'm going to go vomit. Maybe I'll feel better.
I think I'm having kittens. Seriously.
The office accountant/database manager just announced her resignation today. Everyone knows she does the brunt of the technical and financial work, and she knows all the ins and outs and she's the one we call when nobody knows an answer. She literallly does everything from accounting to computer programming. She's been here seven years and knows it all.
And now that she's leaving, they're temporarily asking me to take over things like deposits and disbursements and the database. I have no fucking clue how to do these things! I can't even balance my checkbook. Boss Lady #2 said, "Do you like numbers?" Fuck no! I'm horrible with numbers and finances. I'm a god damned idiot about those sorts of things. And I have two weeks to follow her around and soak up what I can, and then I'll be the one in charge of things like depositing hundred-thousand dollar checks and making sure kids get their scholarships. I don't think I've ever been so intimidated in my life. I'm being truly honest and realistic when I say that I don't know if I can do this or not.
I really might fuck this up, big time. I mean BIG TIME.
In all seriousness, I think I'm going to go vomit. Maybe I'll feel better.
I had a cranky evening. I waited at home for The Fer to pick me up for the gym. I sat on the couch and thought about my inability to do anything accounting-esque, and one by one, bit off every single one of my beautiful fingernails. I quit biting them years ago, but when I get nervous, they again become targets. My nails were gorgeous, too. Now they’re short and stubby and generally not too cute.
Plus, my hormones are running wild this week and I’m a menstrual mess. My head ached all day yesterday. I think I might speak to my gyn about what I can do to alleviate the monthly headaches, if anything.
Anyway, we got to the gym and they were closed because of some community heart walk, so we went home and I drank half a beer and got totally buzzed, but it did relax me. I was jittery and tense and extremely nauseous about this new but temporary phase of my job. I’m torn between two feelings; one of wanting to help the team and these good folks I work with, and one of “What the fuck? It’s not my job and I of all people am a disaster with numbers so why on earth would you want me to do it?” I’m trying to remain within the former, though. They need my help so I’m going to do my best. The problem is that my best just may not quite cut it. It’s not that I’m dumb; I just don’t know anything about fund management and accounting. All my work will have to be triple checked and I’ll be firing questions like crazy at anybody and everybody. Today at lunch I start my training, and I’m 40% confident, 60% intimidated.
To make matters worse, the only clean jeans I had just didn’t fit. I know jeans shrink, especially now that they’re all made of spandex, but the fact that we had to go to the mall and buy me some more, bigger jeans made me crazy. How the hell is this happening? My mom said on the phone today that I’m the happiest she’s ever seen me, and that when I’m happy I eat. I don't overeat. I just eat, period. When I’m unhappy I don’t eat. So it’s inherently a good sign. She and everyone else has agreed that I finally look healthy, and that I was way too thin before. I don’t know how I want to respond when they say those things, so I just say thank you. Whether or not I agree is a different story. My only trouble spot is my torso.
So by this time I’m stressed, buzzing, wearing finally comfy/fat jeans, and have a wicked case of PMS. I was getting snappy with The Fer, so he took me to the only place that would cheer me up: the pet store. We bought a much bigger cage for Minky, and a fleece ferret hammock and toys. They had baby ducklings there, which I cuddled for a while. I looked at the other baby ferrets (Minky is by far the cutest of the lot), and felt so much happier. And de-stressed. We had dinner and went home and put Minky in her new house, which she really seems to like. She’s now officially litter box trained, thanks to a tip from one of the pet store employees. We put soft bedding and towels all over the floor of the cage except for where the box goes. So she automatically poos in the only non-soft place in the cage. She’s got three levels and ramps between them. It’s a ferret palace, dwarfed only by our old condo cage, the 4.5 foot monstrosity that our ferret boys used to live in at home. We did take Minky next door to meet my brother’s ferret, who’s still not died from his cancer. If anything, he’s actually growing more fur and is spunkier. He was a bit rough with the baby, and she chattered and we had to pry him off her. He was playing, but ferrets play hard and rough and she’s so tiny.
I guess it’s time to get an early lunch so I can go down there and do what I have to do, learn what I have to learn. I’ve got two weeks, but that’s barely enough time to get even a basic grasp of what I’ll be doing. My head hurts already.
Plus, my hormones are running wild this week and I’m a menstrual mess. My head ached all day yesterday. I think I might speak to my gyn about what I can do to alleviate the monthly headaches, if anything.
Anyway, we got to the gym and they were closed because of some community heart walk, so we went home and I drank half a beer and got totally buzzed, but it did relax me. I was jittery and tense and extremely nauseous about this new but temporary phase of my job. I’m torn between two feelings; one of wanting to help the team and these good folks I work with, and one of “What the fuck? It’s not my job and I of all people am a disaster with numbers so why on earth would you want me to do it?” I’m trying to remain within the former, though. They need my help so I’m going to do my best. The problem is that my best just may not quite cut it. It’s not that I’m dumb; I just don’t know anything about fund management and accounting. All my work will have to be triple checked and I’ll be firing questions like crazy at anybody and everybody. Today at lunch I start my training, and I’m 40% confident, 60% intimidated.
To make matters worse, the only clean jeans I had just didn’t fit. I know jeans shrink, especially now that they’re all made of spandex, but the fact that we had to go to the mall and buy me some more, bigger jeans made me crazy. How the hell is this happening? My mom said on the phone today that I’m the happiest she’s ever seen me, and that when I’m happy I eat. I don't overeat. I just eat, period. When I’m unhappy I don’t eat. So it’s inherently a good sign. She and everyone else has agreed that I finally look healthy, and that I was way too thin before. I don’t know how I want to respond when they say those things, so I just say thank you. Whether or not I agree is a different story. My only trouble spot is my torso.
So by this time I’m stressed, buzzing, wearing finally comfy/fat jeans, and have a wicked case of PMS. I was getting snappy with The Fer, so he took me to the only place that would cheer me up: the pet store. We bought a much bigger cage for Minky, and a fleece ferret hammock and toys. They had baby ducklings there, which I cuddled for a while. I looked at the other baby ferrets (Minky is by far the cutest of the lot), and felt so much happier. And de-stressed. We had dinner and went home and put Minky in her new house, which she really seems to like. She’s now officially litter box trained, thanks to a tip from one of the pet store employees. We put soft bedding and towels all over the floor of the cage except for where the box goes. So she automatically poos in the only non-soft place in the cage. She’s got three levels and ramps between them. It’s a ferret palace, dwarfed only by our old condo cage, the 4.5 foot monstrosity that our ferret boys used to live in at home. We did take Minky next door to meet my brother’s ferret, who’s still not died from his cancer. If anything, he’s actually growing more fur and is spunkier. He was a bit rough with the baby, and she chattered and we had to pry him off her. He was playing, but ferrets play hard and rough and she’s so tiny.
I guess it’s time to get an early lunch so I can go down there and do what I have to do, learn what I have to learn. I’ve got two weeks, but that’s barely enough time to get even a basic grasp of what I’ll be doing. My head hurts already.
Everything You've Ever Wanted to Know About Groups of Critters
Antelope: A herd of antelope
Ant: A colony or An army of ants
Ape: A shrewdness of apes
Baboons: A troop of baboons
Bacteria: A culture of bacteria
Badger: A cete of badgers
Bass: A shoal of bass
Bear: A sleuth or sloth of bears
Beaver: A colony of beavers
Bee: A swarm, grist or hive of bees
Bird: A flock, flight, congregation or volery of birds
Boar: A sounder of boars
Buffalo: A herd of buffalo
Buck: A brace or clash of bucks
Caterpillar: An army of caterpillars
Cat: A clowder or clutter of cats
Cattle: A herd or drove of cattle
Chicken: A brood or peep of chickens
Chicks: A clutch or chattering of chicks
Clam: A bed of clams
Cobra: A quiver of cobras
Colt: A rag of colts
Cow: A kine of cows (twelve cows are A flink)
Coyote: A band of coyote
Crane: A sedge or siege of cranes
Crocodile: A float of crocodiles
Crow: A murder of crows
Cub: A litter of cubs
Curlew: A herd of curlews
Cur: A cowardice of curs
Deer: A herd of deer
Dog: A pack of dogs
Donkey: A herd or pace of asses
Dove: A dule of doves
Duck: A brace, paddling or team of ducks
Elephant: A herd of elephants
Seal: A pod of elephant seals
Elk: A gang of elks
Emus: A mob of emus
Ferret: A business or fesnyng of ferrets
Finches: A charm of finches
Fish: A school, shoal, run, haul, catch of fish
Fly: A swarm of flies
Fox: A skulk or leash of foxes
Frog: An army or colony of frogs
Geese: A flock, gaggle or skein (in flight) of geese
Gnat: A cloud or horde of gnats
Goat: A herd, tribe or trip goats
Goldfince: A charm of goldfinches
Gorilla: A band of gorillas
Greyhound: A leash of greyhounds
Hare: A down or husk of hares
Hawk: A cast or kettle of hawks
Hen: A brood of hens
Heron: A hedge of herons
Hog: A drift, or parcel of hogs
Horse: A team, pair or harras of horses
Hound: A pack, mute or cry of hounds
Jellyfish: A smack of jellyfish
Kangaroo: A troop or mob of kangaroos
Kitten: A kindle or litter of kittens
Lark: An ascension or exaultation of larks
Leopard: A leap (leep) of leopards
Lion: A pride of lions
Locust: A plague of locusts
Magpie: A tiding of magpies
Mallard: A sord of mallards
Mare: A stud of mares
Marten: A richness of martens
Mole: A labour of moles
Monkey: A troop of monkeys
Mule: A barren or span of mules
Owls: A parliament of owls
Oxen: A yoke, drove, team or herd of oxen
Oyster: A bed of oysters
Parrot: A company of parrots
Partridge: A covey of partridges
Peacock: A muster or ostentation of peacocks
Peep: A litter of peeps
Penguin: A colony of penguins
Pheasant: A nest, nide (nye) or bouquet of pheasants
Pigeon: A flock or flight of pigeons
Pig: A litter of pigs
Plover: A wing or congregation of plovers
Pony: A string of ponies
Porpoise: A pod of porpoises
Quail: A covey or bevy of quail
Rabbit: A nest of rabbits
Rat: A pack or swarm of rats
Rattlesnake: A rhumba of rattlesnakes
Raven: An unkindness of ravens
Rhino: A crash or herd of rhinos
Roebuck: A bevy of roebucks
Rook: A building or clamour of rooks
Seal: A herd or pod of seals
Sheep: A drove or flock of sheep
Snake: A nest of snakes
Snipe: A walk or wisp of snipe
Sparrow: A host of sparrows
Squirrel: A dray of squirrels
Starling: A murmuration of starlings
Stork: A mustering of storks
Swallow: A flight of swallows
Swan: A bevy, herd, lamentation or wedge of swans
Swift: A flock of swifts
Swine: A sounder or drift of swine
Teal: A spring of teal
Toad: A knot of toads
Trout: A hover of trout
Turkey: A rafter of turkeys
Turtledove: A pitying or dule of turtledoves
Turtle: A bale of turtles
Walrus: A pod of walrus
Whale: A school, gam or pod of whales
Viper: A nest of vipers
Wolf: A pack or route of wolves
Woodcock: A fall of woodcocks
Woodpecker: A descent of woodpeckers
Antelope: A herd of antelope
Ant: A colony or An army of ants
Ape: A shrewdness of apes
Baboons: A troop of baboons
Bacteria: A culture of bacteria
Badger: A cete of badgers
Bass: A shoal of bass
Bear: A sleuth or sloth of bears
Beaver: A colony of beavers
Bee: A swarm, grist or hive of bees
Bird: A flock, flight, congregation or volery of birds
Boar: A sounder of boars
Buffalo: A herd of buffalo
Buck: A brace or clash of bucks
Caterpillar: An army of caterpillars
Cat: A clowder or clutter of cats
Cattle: A herd or drove of cattle
Chicken: A brood or peep of chickens
Chicks: A clutch or chattering of chicks
Clam: A bed of clams
Cobra: A quiver of cobras
Colt: A rag of colts
Cow: A kine of cows (twelve cows are A flink)
Coyote: A band of coyote
Crane: A sedge or siege of cranes
Crocodile: A float of crocodiles
Crow: A murder of crows
Cub: A litter of cubs
Curlew: A herd of curlews
Cur: A cowardice of curs
Deer: A herd of deer
Dog: A pack of dogs
Donkey: A herd or pace of asses
Dove: A dule of doves
Duck: A brace, paddling or team of ducks
Elephant: A herd of elephants
Seal: A pod of elephant seals
Elk: A gang of elks
Emus: A mob of emus
Ferret: A business or fesnyng of ferrets
Finches: A charm of finches
Fish: A school, shoal, run, haul, catch of fish
Fly: A swarm of flies
Fox: A skulk or leash of foxes
Frog: An army or colony of frogs
Geese: A flock, gaggle or skein (in flight) of geese
Gnat: A cloud or horde of gnats
Goat: A herd, tribe or trip goats
Goldfince: A charm of goldfinches
Gorilla: A band of gorillas
Greyhound: A leash of greyhounds
Hare: A down or husk of hares
Hawk: A cast or kettle of hawks
Hen: A brood of hens
Heron: A hedge of herons
Hog: A drift, or parcel of hogs
Horse: A team, pair or harras of horses
Hound: A pack, mute or cry of hounds
Jellyfish: A smack of jellyfish
Kangaroo: A troop or mob of kangaroos
Kitten: A kindle or litter of kittens
Lark: An ascension or exaultation of larks
Leopard: A leap (leep) of leopards
Lion: A pride of lions
Locust: A plague of locusts
Magpie: A tiding of magpies
Mallard: A sord of mallards
Mare: A stud of mares
Marten: A richness of martens
Mole: A labour of moles
Monkey: A troop of monkeys
Mule: A barren or span of mules
Owls: A parliament of owls
Oxen: A yoke, drove, team or herd of oxen
Oyster: A bed of oysters
Parrot: A company of parrots
Partridge: A covey of partridges
Peacock: A muster or ostentation of peacocks
Peep: A litter of peeps
Penguin: A colony of penguins
Pheasant: A nest, nide (nye) or bouquet of pheasants
Pigeon: A flock or flight of pigeons
Pig: A litter of pigs
Plover: A wing or congregation of plovers
Pony: A string of ponies
Porpoise: A pod of porpoises
Quail: A covey or bevy of quail
Rabbit: A nest of rabbits
Rat: A pack or swarm of rats
Rattlesnake: A rhumba of rattlesnakes
Raven: An unkindness of ravens
Rhino: A crash or herd of rhinos
Roebuck: A bevy of roebucks
Rook: A building or clamour of rooks
Seal: A herd or pod of seals
Sheep: A drove or flock of sheep
Snake: A nest of snakes
Snipe: A walk or wisp of snipe
Sparrow: A host of sparrows
Squirrel: A dray of squirrels
Starling: A murmuration of starlings
Stork: A mustering of storks
Swallow: A flight of swallows
Swan: A bevy, herd, lamentation or wedge of swans
Swift: A flock of swifts
Swine: A sounder or drift of swine
Teal: A spring of teal
Toad: A knot of toads
Trout: A hover of trout
Turkey: A rafter of turkeys
Turtledove: A pitying or dule of turtledoves
Turtle: A bale of turtles
Walrus: A pod of walrus
Whale: A school, gam or pod of whales
Viper: A nest of vipers
Wolf: A pack or route of wolves
Woodcock: A fall of woodcocks
Woodpecker: A descent of woodpeckers
I’ve begun my training for my new position. And it really really sucks. Hard core sucks. It’s a lot of data entry, fund management, and stuff I can generally mess up. Not to mention dealing with actual checks for thousands of dollars sent in by donors who’ll be pissed if the slightest detail is out of whack. I’m trying really hard and have only a basic grasp of how to enter deposits and how to set up a deposit to go to the accountant’s office. After lunch I’ll learn a little bit about disbursements, which scares me even more. People are going to be relying on me to get the money from the foundation to their scholarships. No pressure there.
I absolutely hate this, and I’m only doing it because it’s the right thing to do. They do need me; I’m actually semi-important in this particular case. That, or else my regular job is so unimportant that it can be put on the back burner for a few weeks. Highly likely, that option. Anyway, I couldn’t say no. They tout themselves as a team, which I guess I’m a part of.
My mom was on her computer, which she knows nothing whatsoever about, and stumbled across the “history” button on the browser. Turns out somebody had been looking up information on how to shoot up Oxycontin. Gee, I wonder who that could have been.
The Boy’s roommate is an Oxycontin addict. He doesn’t go to class, sold his books, and spends his whole life getting high. I’m not stupid; I know The Boy has at least tried it. But I don’t want to believe that he’s an addict. Maybe a casual user. Maybe not at all. But it wouldn’t surprise me. I don’t think my mother told my father. He’d lose it. We’d have to commit him. Besides, what can they really do for The Boy any longer? You cannot help those who don’t want to be. Sad as it is.
This weekend: we paint. We’ve chosen one of the bedrooms (I have four; how ridiculous is that?) to be our office, and will be painting the walls a mauve or maroon color. All of the other rooms are light: light purple, light yellow, light blue. I want something dark and classically Victorian. Then we’ll get some desks and set up our systems, so that The Fer can do his web design from home and I can get my photography on file and start up the basics of my business. I’ve decided that I’d like to dive in by the first of next year. Although that date may be pushed back to April of ’05, depending on financial things. It’d be hard to pay for a honeymoon on a virtually non-existent (at first) salary.
I absolutely hate this, and I’m only doing it because it’s the right thing to do. They do need me; I’m actually semi-important in this particular case. That, or else my regular job is so unimportant that it can be put on the back burner for a few weeks. Highly likely, that option. Anyway, I couldn’t say no. They tout themselves as a team, which I guess I’m a part of.
My mom was on her computer, which she knows nothing whatsoever about, and stumbled across the “history” button on the browser. Turns out somebody had been looking up information on how to shoot up Oxycontin. Gee, I wonder who that could have been.
The Boy’s roommate is an Oxycontin addict. He doesn’t go to class, sold his books, and spends his whole life getting high. I’m not stupid; I know The Boy has at least tried it. But I don’t want to believe that he’s an addict. Maybe a casual user. Maybe not at all. But it wouldn’t surprise me. I don’t think my mother told my father. He’d lose it. We’d have to commit him. Besides, what can they really do for The Boy any longer? You cannot help those who don’t want to be. Sad as it is.
This weekend: we paint. We’ve chosen one of the bedrooms (I have four; how ridiculous is that?) to be our office, and will be painting the walls a mauve or maroon color. All of the other rooms are light: light purple, light yellow, light blue. I want something dark and classically Victorian. Then we’ll get some desks and set up our systems, so that The Fer can do his web design from home and I can get my photography on file and start up the basics of my business. I’ve decided that I’d like to dive in by the first of next year. Although that date may be pushed back to April of ’05, depending on financial things. It’d be hard to pay for a honeymoon on a virtually non-existent (at first) salary.
I’ve just finally come to the end of my cold, and this morning I have a headache and a weird and suspicious tummy ache. The kind that occasionally signals the barfies. I’m hoping and praying that it’s just a post-hormonal headache and a lack of morning food. I’m going to be really upset if I get sick yet again. I can’t afford to be. I need every day in this office shadowing our soon-to-be-departed project coordinator. Ugh. The weekend was so great to forget about this hellacious turn of office events.
Speaking of the weekend, The Fer and I gathered up our courage, went to the hardware store, and picked out a classically Victorian dark color for our front room with the bay windows. It’s a burgundy color. Like wine. It’s very dark and very bold, like none of the other rooms in the house. All of the others are light. Light colors are easy and safe and not at all scary. This color was a little bit intimidating, because you really don’t see many rooms painted in a dark color. But it turned out fabulously. This room will be our office, so the next step is buying desks and setting up our computers for his web design and my photography business. The sooner the better. I’m anxious to get out on my own. We want to add a border around the top of the room, so if this coming weekend is wet or icky, that’ll be anther project. We’re really getting into fixing up this house. Even though I’m renting it, it will someday be mine, along with the other two, so the better I can make it look now, the better in the long run. We’ll probably be there for a few more years anyway.
=================================
You know, I have to say, I really don’t understand why grown adults dabble in drugs, pot or otherwise. I’m not in any of your shoes, so it’s not my place to judge. For me, though, it’s incomprehensible. I refuse to put anything in my body that shouldn’t be there. Let’s face it, I’ve got enough problems with my body as it is. Bad knees, poor immune system, severe depression (still taking my meds, by the way…every morning); I can’t afford to pollute my body with such substances. Almost everybody experiments in their youth. I didn’t, but I’m the exception rather than the rule. It’s understandable that young people want to see what’s out there. But I think that it’s foolish to go any farther than that. (Quite frankly I think it’s foolish to experiment at all, but I’m trying to be realistic.) I will never believe that pot has anything other than a negative effect on a person’s life. If you need an external substance to relax or be happy, you’re barking up the wrong tree. It comes from changes you make in your own life. I think I hate pot because it makes people lazy and complacent, and changes nothing whatsoever in their lives. Natural highs are the best thing in the world. Put down the joint. Go rock climbing. White water rafting. Why would anybody sit in a house inhaling foul-smelling smoke and staring off into space when they could be outside living their lives and doing something they’ll remember when they’re old and wheelchair bound? I think it’s pathetic, and I’m never going to apologize for my opinion.
It is, after all, just an opinion.
Look at the mess that has become my little brother’s life. This weekend held more drama, but none I care to share. I don’t know how my parents have done it, though.
And speaking of nothing, somehow we got around to discussing my knee and skiing after church on Sunday. And my father told me that he thought I should just sell my skiis and be done with it. And I nearly cried when I heard that. True, it sounds like skiing could be the worst possible thing for my knee. The two sports that tend to cause the most dislocations are tae kwon do and downhill skiing. I know this, and I’m well aware that I may be barred from the sport for life. All the folks on my “Knee Geeks” message board (a support group for people who’ve fucked themselves up one way or another) are full of people who have major pain every day. People who’ve had multiple surgeries with miserable results. A few folks who’ve had a patellectomy. That’s right—had their freaking patella removed. (How gross is that?) I don’t want to spend my middle and later years in that much pain. So if I am told that I probably shouldn’t ski, is it worth it? I’ve been skiing for almost twenty years now. Is that enough to get me through this lifetime? Dad told me to sell my skiis and buy more scuba equipment. My heart felt like a cold piece of stone in my chest. How can I never ski again? I live to ski. I love to ski. And I’ve worked so hard and I’m good at it. I’m really good. There’s not a fucking slope on the average mountain that I can’t tackle. (Unless it involves a cliff or something. That’s The Boy’s specialty.) I realize I harp on this issue a lot.
Actually, it’s my journal. So fuck it. I’ll harp until the cows come home if I want to.
I’m feeling angry and aggressive today. It’s very hard to be grateful for the past 18 years of skiing in the light of knowing that I might not be able to ever again. EVER AGAIN. What the fuck is that shit? How can I not ski? It’s what I fucking do, man.
And yet the other little voice in me asks if I really understand what it’s like to live with pain. Yeah, I have a lot of minor pain in my knees now. Every day they hurt, but it’s manageable. It’s Tylenol-pain. It’s not narcotic-pain. I don’t want to live with narcotic-pain.
So unless the orthopedic surgeon tells me to strap ‘em on and head for Chile this summer (which I doubt he will), it looks like I’d better start preparing myself to make a choice.
Speaking of the weekend, The Fer and I gathered up our courage, went to the hardware store, and picked out a classically Victorian dark color for our front room with the bay windows. It’s a burgundy color. Like wine. It’s very dark and very bold, like none of the other rooms in the house. All of the others are light. Light colors are easy and safe and not at all scary. This color was a little bit intimidating, because you really don’t see many rooms painted in a dark color. But it turned out fabulously. This room will be our office, so the next step is buying desks and setting up our computers for his web design and my photography business. The sooner the better. I’m anxious to get out on my own. We want to add a border around the top of the room, so if this coming weekend is wet or icky, that’ll be anther project. We’re really getting into fixing up this house. Even though I’m renting it, it will someday be mine, along with the other two, so the better I can make it look now, the better in the long run. We’ll probably be there for a few more years anyway.
=================================
You know, I have to say, I really don’t understand why grown adults dabble in drugs, pot or otherwise. I’m not in any of your shoes, so it’s not my place to judge. For me, though, it’s incomprehensible. I refuse to put anything in my body that shouldn’t be there. Let’s face it, I’ve got enough problems with my body as it is. Bad knees, poor immune system, severe depression (still taking my meds, by the way…every morning); I can’t afford to pollute my body with such substances. Almost everybody experiments in their youth. I didn’t, but I’m the exception rather than the rule. It’s understandable that young people want to see what’s out there. But I think that it’s foolish to go any farther than that. (Quite frankly I think it’s foolish to experiment at all, but I’m trying to be realistic.) I will never believe that pot has anything other than a negative effect on a person’s life. If you need an external substance to relax or be happy, you’re barking up the wrong tree. It comes from changes you make in your own life. I think I hate pot because it makes people lazy and complacent, and changes nothing whatsoever in their lives. Natural highs are the best thing in the world. Put down the joint. Go rock climbing. White water rafting. Why would anybody sit in a house inhaling foul-smelling smoke and staring off into space when they could be outside living their lives and doing something they’ll remember when they’re old and wheelchair bound? I think it’s pathetic, and I’m never going to apologize for my opinion.
It is, after all, just an opinion.
Look at the mess that has become my little brother’s life. This weekend held more drama, but none I care to share. I don’t know how my parents have done it, though.
And speaking of nothing, somehow we got around to discussing my knee and skiing after church on Sunday. And my father told me that he thought I should just sell my skiis and be done with it. And I nearly cried when I heard that. True, it sounds like skiing could be the worst possible thing for my knee. The two sports that tend to cause the most dislocations are tae kwon do and downhill skiing. I know this, and I’m well aware that I may be barred from the sport for life. All the folks on my “Knee Geeks” message board (a support group for people who’ve fucked themselves up one way or another) are full of people who have major pain every day. People who’ve had multiple surgeries with miserable results. A few folks who’ve had a patellectomy. That’s right—had their freaking patella removed. (How gross is that?) I don’t want to spend my middle and later years in that much pain. So if I am told that I probably shouldn’t ski, is it worth it? I’ve been skiing for almost twenty years now. Is that enough to get me through this lifetime? Dad told me to sell my skiis and buy more scuba equipment. My heart felt like a cold piece of stone in my chest. How can I never ski again? I live to ski. I love to ski. And I’ve worked so hard and I’m good at it. I’m really good. There’s not a fucking slope on the average mountain that I can’t tackle. (Unless it involves a cliff or something. That’s The Boy’s specialty.) I realize I harp on this issue a lot.
Actually, it’s my journal. So fuck it. I’ll harp until the cows come home if I want to.
I’m feeling angry and aggressive today. It’s very hard to be grateful for the past 18 years of skiing in the light of knowing that I might not be able to ever again. EVER AGAIN. What the fuck is that shit? How can I not ski? It’s what I fucking do, man.
And yet the other little voice in me asks if I really understand what it’s like to live with pain. Yeah, I have a lot of minor pain in my knees now. Every day they hurt, but it’s manageable. It’s Tylenol-pain. It’s not narcotic-pain. I don’t want to live with narcotic-pain.
So unless the orthopedic surgeon tells me to strap ‘em on and head for Chile this summer (which I doubt he will), it looks like I’d better start preparing myself to make a choice.
Well, the man actually put down money on a ring. Believe it or not. I have no idea when it’ll all go down, and he’s still in the process of finding one that he likes. He gave the store a deposit, though. These folks are the oldest jewelers in town. They’ll take care of him. He said last night that he wanted me to know this stuff because he’s absolutely serious and that he does intend to marry me. That it’s not some “cruel joke”, to quote my above entry. I do believe it, but I can’t quite digest it yet. It doesn’t seem real, though I know it is. My brain just can’t quite get itself around the concept. How could I really have found someone I love more than anything, who’s my absolute perfect match, who makes me happy and who helps me make myself happy? He puts up with my family. He takes out the trash for me. He tucks me in every night. He picks up my pills and cooks me dinner when I’m sick or tired. He tries harder than any man, any person, I’ve ever known. He fits with me like a puzzle piece. Like a yin yang. We fit perfectly and each of us has pieces in the other.
It’s nauseating, really. I try not to be girly and gooey about it, because nobody wants to hear that stuff. I certainly don’t. Anyway, sounds like I won’t have any more diamond updates until it’s actually on my finger. And when that event is scheduled, I have no way of knowing. No way. Couldn’t even predict it if I tried.
Moving on.
Actually, there’s nothing to move on to. Photo class, Lebanese meat pies, more drama with The Boy…old hat, I guess.
It’s nauseating, really. I try not to be girly and gooey about it, because nobody wants to hear that stuff. I certainly don’t. Anyway, sounds like I won’t have any more diamond updates until it’s actually on my finger. And when that event is scheduled, I have no way of knowing. No way. Couldn’t even predict it if I tried.
Moving on.
Actually, there’s nothing to move on to. Photo class, Lebanese meat pies, more drama with The Boy…old hat, I guess.
Ugh. What is it with older guys who think that they’re appealing to younger girls? Honestly.
At lunch today I encountered the creepy maintenance guy who used to flirt with me. And he wasn’t just a verbal flirt, he was a physical flirt. He was always touching me. Since I’ve worked here, I’ve not really been single. Yes there were a few months between The Ex and The Fer, but I was really seeing The Fer the whole time. And I don’t think Creepy Maintenance Guy (CMG) knows about The Fer, but I’m not going to bother to tell him, because that shouldn’t be the only reason for keeping your mitts to yourself. He used to come up here to my office and sit in my chair and come over and rub my shoulders, and it always made me really uncomfortable, but I let it happen because I thought maybe he was just one of those types of guys. Should have gone with my gut instinct, though. For the first time in about a year, he came up to me today and started rubbing my back really sensually. (When I’ve got a rock I can hit him in the eye with it.)
Why don’t these guys get it? What in the world gives them the ego to assume that they can paw younger women and get away with it? It wouldn’t matter if he looked like Brad Pitt or Newt Gingrich. It’s still just not cool.
At lunch today I encountered the creepy maintenance guy who used to flirt with me. And he wasn’t just a verbal flirt, he was a physical flirt. He was always touching me. Since I’ve worked here, I’ve not really been single. Yes there were a few months between The Ex and The Fer, but I was really seeing The Fer the whole time. And I don’t think Creepy Maintenance Guy (CMG) knows about The Fer, but I’m not going to bother to tell him, because that shouldn’t be the only reason for keeping your mitts to yourself. He used to come up here to my office and sit in my chair and come over and rub my shoulders, and it always made me really uncomfortable, but I let it happen because I thought maybe he was just one of those types of guys. Should have gone with my gut instinct, though. For the first time in about a year, he came up to me today and started rubbing my back really sensually. (When I’ve got a rock I can hit him in the eye with it.)
Why don’t these guys get it? What in the world gives them the ego to assume that they can paw younger women and get away with it? It wouldn’t matter if he looked like Brad Pitt or Newt Gingrich. It’s still just not cool.