J and I were walking along the canal behind the campus on a chilly winter evening. We had been “hanging out” for a few weeks and he had just recently discovered that when he swung over to kiss me I didn’t actually knock his block off like I had previously threatened to. I had recently discovered that perhaps this kissing thing wasn’t as bad as past experience had convinced me it was. Perhaps I had just found a guy who was better at it.
But I digress.
The night was clear and crisp, and the old trees branched out over the canal, which glittered with reflections of lights from the other side.
We stopped under a tree. Flirting, laughing, holding hands. He leaned in.
I heard fireworks…No, not fireworks. Little spashing sounds in the canal.
Ploonk. Plunk ploonk. Plink plunk ploonk.
We looked up to discover that we had paused under a patch of trees serving as a resting area for the entire bird population of Seattle.
And they were all relieving themselves at the same time.
“RUN!”
Somehow we managed to escape the (literally!) thousands of tiny bombs that ensued and made our way back to the sidewalk of safety without any battle wounds.
Ah, romance.
J and I were walking along the canal behind the campus on a chilly winter evening. We had been “hanging out” for a few weeks and he had just recently discovered that when he swung over to kiss me I didn’t actually knock his block off like I had previously threatened to. I had recently discovered that perhaps this kissing thing wasn’t as bad as past experience had convinced me it was. Perhaps I had just found a guy who was better at it.
But I digress.
The night was clear and crisp, and the old trees branched out over the canal, which glittered with reflections of lights from the other side.
We stopped under a tree. Flirting, laughing, holding hands. He leaned in.
I heard fireworks…No, not fireworks. Little spashing sounds in the canal.
Ploonk. Plunk ploonk. Plink plunk ploonk.
We looked up to discover that we had paused under a patch of trees serving as a resting area for the entire bird population of Seattle.
And they were all relieving themselves at the same time.
“RUN!”
Somehow we managed to escape the (literally!) thousands of tiny bombs that ensued and made our way back to the sidewalk of safety without any battle wounds.
Ah, romance.
I have witnessed THE LAST STRAW. Over the weekend, our cat Countess has metamorphosised from mild-mannered and aloof to PSYCHO ATTACK CAT.
It happened on a day just like any other day in which our dog was bugging the cats. Poirot is a blob by nature and more or less lays down and takes whatever the dog will dish out. I think his theory is that if he ignores the dog long enough, eventually it will just rot away.
Countess, on the other hand, usually avoids the dog by staying high enough not to be reached and stares down upon him like “Fool. You are and will always be a lesser being.”
However, this day was different. The dog was dancing around on the floor and yapping at Countess, trying as always to provoke her into…something…but this time IT WORKED.
It was exactly like watching Gollum get really pissed:
Or that scene where Bilbo turns into Scary Bilbo but I couldn’t find any pictures of that. First we heard her…growl can be the only appropriate description. Then the eyes became enormous, the tail took on that electrocuted look, and the claws came out. Within seconds, she was flying through the air with ALL FOUR claws aimed directly at dear dog’s face.
Fortunately he has very quick reflexes and turned tail to run, but she chased him until she had him cornered in the bedroom. Then she let out another growl as if to say, “Look at me the wrong way again and they’ll be finding pieces of you in the litter box for weeks, buddy.”
And things haven’t been the same since. The dog is always up to a challenge, so it hasn’t stopped him from attempting to provoke the cat. But we’ll hear the growl, then the sound of stampeding around the carpet and then a Nazgul shriek that lets you know the cat has just detached one of the dog’s limbs from the rest of his body. He takes what’s left of his bleeding carcass away and doesn’t mess with her for the rest of the day.
He is now accepting his role as the beta cat. He even does Sit and Lay Down for her, his attention glued to her expression to see if he has won approval. He hardly does that for us.
Perhaps we should try the growl & slash routine.
I have witnessed THE LAST STRAW. Over the weekend, our cat Countess has metamorphosised from mild-mannered and aloof to PSYCHO ATTACK CAT.
It happened on a day just like any other day in which our dog was bugging the cats. Poirot is a blob by nature and more or less lays down and takes whatever the dog will dish out. I think his theory is that if he ignores the dog long enough, eventually it will just rot away.
Countess, on the other hand, usually avoids the dog by staying high enough not to be reached and stares down upon him like “Fool. You are and will always be a lesser being.”
However, this day was different. The dog was dancing around on the floor and yapping at Countess, trying as always to provoke her into…something…but this time IT WORKED.
It was like watching Gollum get really pissed. Or that scene where Bilbo turns into Scary Bilbo but I couldn’t find any pictures of that. First we heard her…growl can be the only appropriate description. Then the eyes became enormous, the tail took on that electrocuted look, and the claws came out. Within seconds, she was flying through the air with ALL FOUR claws aimed directly at dear dog’s face.
Fortunately he has very quick reflexes and turned tail to run, but she chased him until she had him cornered in the bedroom. Then she let out another growl as if to say, “Look at me the wrong way again and they’ll be finding pieces of you in the litter box for weeks, buddy.”
And things haven’t been the same since. The dog is always up to a challenge, so it hasn’t stopped him from attempting to provoke the cat. But we’ll hear the growl, then the sound of stampeding around the carpet and then a Nazgul shriek that lets you know the cat has just detached one of the dog’s limbs from the rest of his body. He takes what’s left of his bleeding carcass away and doesn’t mess with her for the rest of the day.
He is now accepting his role as the beta cat. He even does Sit and Lay Down for her, his attention glued to her expression to see if he has won approval. He hardly does that for us.
Perhaps we should try the growl & slash routine.
I get to be in a Cantoni commerical as the pregnant lady on the couch. Of course, at this stage that will require some padding, but I’m totally looking forward to it. And I really want that couch. It’s 5 feet in diameter and perfectly round. It’s called the Cuddle Lounge. Check it out on their website.
Even cooler than getting to sit on a comfy couch in front of a camera, is the fact that this commercial will help to alleviate some of the repressed guilt I have over not applying my 4 years as a theatre major to my carreer.
SU-WEET.
Oh Gross. Oh Gross Gross Gross.
What I want to know is where’s the guy who apparently didn’t notice that he cut his finger off? And furthermore didn’t notice that it landed in the food?
I get to be in a Cantoni commerical as the pregnant lady on the couch. Of course, at this stage that will require some padding, but I’m totally looking forward to it. And I really want that couch. It’s 5 feet in diameter and perfectly round. It’s called the Cuddle Lounge. Check it out on their website.
Even cooler than getting to sit on a comfy couch in front of a camera, is the fact that this commercial will help to alleviate some of the repressed guilt I have over not applying my 4 years as a theatre major to my carreer.
SU-WEET.
Oh Gross. Oh Gross Gross Gross.
What I want to know is where’s the guy who apparently didn’t notice that he cut his finger off? And furthermore didn’t notice that it landed in the food?
“Hello Amy. You have 4 new messages. First new message:
- ‘Hello? Hello, this is John Doe. I’m 83 years old and I want to get a unit shipped to me each month so I can get my commissions. I’m 83 years old and I need to make some money.’
Left Yesterday at 5:02PM. Next Message:
- ‘Hello? This is John Doe. I want to call someone to place an order, not listen to someone tell me what I can’t do.’
Left Yesterday at 5:04PM. Next Message, marked URGENT:
Left Yesterday at 5:05PM. Next Message:
- ‘Hello… I need to place an order and I need to do it tonight. This is very important. Tomorrow might be too late. Please send me a unit each month. My credit card number is 1234… 56.. 78.. 9101121… 3. Someone please call me…tonight…and let me know that you have done this.’
Left Yesterday at 5:10PM. End of New Messages.”
As a side-note, our dear John Doe also left 4 messages on the main voicemail box, 3 on Jamie’s voicemail and 1 on Boss Man’s voicemail (in which he neglected to leave his name, number or any other identifying information and I walk past Boss Man’s office to hear ‘Who are you???”)
Come to find out this morning, there was really no urgency and he didn’t need to place any order at all.
I love old people. Sometimes.
“Hello Amy. You have 4 new messages. First new message:
- ‘Hello? Hello, this is John Doe. I’m 83 years old and I want to get a unit shipped to me each month so I can get my commissions. I’m 83 years old and I need to make some money.’
Left Yesterday at 5:02PM. Next Message:
- ‘Hello? This is John Doe. I want to call someone to place an order, not listen to someone tell me what I can’t do.’
Left Yesterday at 5:04PM. Next Message, marked URGENT:
Left Yesterday at 5:05PM. Next Message:
- ‘Hello… I need to place an order and I need to do it tonight. This is very important. Tomorrow might be too late. Please send me a unit each month. My credit card number is 1234… 56.. 78.. 9101121… 3. Someone please call me…tonight…and let me know that you have done this.’
Left Yesterday at 5:10PM. End of New Messages.”
As a side-note, our dear John Doe also left 4 messages on the main voicemail box, 3 on Jamie’s voicemail and 1 on Boss Man’s voicemail (in which he neglected to leave his name, number or any other identifying information and I walk past Boss Man’s office to hear ‘Who are you???”)
Come to find out this morning, there was really no urgency and he didn’t need to place any order at all.
I love old people. Sometimes.
I spent the weekend down in Houston with some old friends from highschool, two of which are getting married this summer, one of whom’s bridal shower prompted the trip. The third friend is one I haven’t seen since my own bridal shower, which was – eghad – FOUR YEARS ago. Time flies.
Three of us had girl time the traditional sleepover way, and it was lots of fun. Except, Leigh, I swear I didn’t mean to put you through the hours of boredom looking at EVERY SINGLE SCRAPBOOK I’VE EVER made. Of course it’s nice to have someone actually see the result of countless hours I’ve spent hunched over a table cropping, arranging and taping – but really, that wasn’t my intention when I brought them all down. I was only expecting to show one or two of them, and I would imagine that even THAT would border on unacceptable levels of forced boredom.
Looking back at that paragraph, I’m realizing that there’s no way any person with a brain bigger than a walnut would believe me. But it’s still true. God knows. He’s got my back. Yeah.
Anyway, I have come to realize that this is why I could never be a success as a salesman…er, saleswoman. I have guilt about advertising or forcing anything of mine on someone else, particularly someone I know. All those years of school fundraisers, bringing colorful overpriced junk catalogs to everyone in my neighborhood, church, and dad’s office were TORTURE. Absolute torture. And I still have guilt from it that requires me to purchase something from every 10-year old with a catalog that comes through. Still paying my dues.
And no, that was not a suggestion to send your kids my way with their popcorn and wrapping paper. I also eat children to get out of committing to fundraisers.
Anyway, thank goodness for patient friends that don’t make a big deal out of my occasional neurosis.
I spent the weekend down in Houston with some old friends from highschool, two of which are getting married this summer, one of whom’s bridal shower prompted the trip. The third friend is one I haven’t seen since my own bridal shower, which was – eghad – FOUR YEARS ago. Time flies.
Three of us had girl time the traditional sleepover way, and it was lots of fun. Except, Leigh, I swear I didn’t mean to put you through the hours of boredom looking at EVERY SINGLE SCRAPBOOK I’VE EVER made. Of course it’s nice to have someone actually see the result of countless hours I’ve spent hunched over a table cropping, arranging and taping – but really, that wasn’t my intention when I brought them all down. I was only expecting to show one or two of them, and I would imagine that even THAT would border on unacceptable levels of forced boredom.
Looking back at that paragraph, I’m realizing that there’s no way any person with a brain bigger than a walnut would believe me. But it’s still true. God knows. He’s got my back. Yeah.
Anyway, I have come to realize that this is why I could never be a success as a salesman…er, saleswoman. I have guilt about advertising or forcing anything of mine on someone else, particularly someone I know. All those years of school fundraisers, bringing colorful overpriced junk catalogs to everyone in my neighborhood, church, and dad’s office were TORTURE. Absolute torture. And I still have guilt from it that requires me to purchase something from every 10-year old with a catalog that comes through. Still paying my dues.
And no, that was not a suggestion to send your kids my way with their popcorn and wrapping paper. I also eat children to get out of committing to fundraisers.
Anyway, thank goodness for patient friends that don’t make a big deal out of my occasional neurosis.
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