Haven’t talked this over with the Husband yet, but sure he’ll agree: since we can’t agree on a name for the fetus, have decided to sell naming rights to child (see also: sports stadium naming), with proceeds going toward child’s college fund. This offer applies to first and middle names only; if you wish to buy the child’s last name, there is a secret minimum that must be met, proceeds of which go to what we’ll call “The Early Retirement Fund.”
Matt: The music is like < falsetto > “Dee dee dee” < / falsetto > and then you hear < bass > “ragghhhhhhh raggghhhhhhhhh ragggghhhhhhh” < / bass >.
Soylent H: …Wow.
Hostilities commenced just after dawn, when the Enemy Squirrel sent a scouting party* across the border** to pillage supplies**.
Little did the party know, however, that there was a gun trained on its every move.
Pow! Bang! Zing!
With the rapid action only a semiautomatic pistol can deliver, the Allies delivered rubber shock and awe. The scouting party was trapped!
Enemy Squirrel’s scouting party* retreated. But it soon returned with full reinforcements*, hellbent on biting apart the fabric of our society**.
Just when things were looking bleak for the Allies, they called in their secret weapon to patrol the borders:
All right, Squirrely. You tell ‘em I’M coming… and hell’s coming with me, you hear?… HELL’S COMING WITH ME!
[to be continued...]
*the damn squirrel himself
**the fence
Ever since we built a gate (did I mention that? Yeah, WE BUILT A FUCKING GATE AND NOTHING CAN STOP US NOW except for maybe the ridiculously hot weather), we’ve been awakened in the morning to the gentle gnawing of a squirrel outside our bedroom window. So yesterday, when a squirrel dropped dead in the middle of our lawn — plop! straight down from the oak tree’s boughs — I kind of hoped it was the gnawer and that he had died of a stomach full of indigestable cedar shavings. But no such luck: again this morning, the first thing I heard was the methodical sound of two incisors chomping away on the middle picket of the gate:
So, Internets, here’s what I done did: I grabbed my gun, removed the window’s screen, and leaned halfway out in my pink silk nightie and fired three shots at the damn thing. Yes I done did.
And you know what that damn squirrel done? NOTHING. He just sat there blinking at me with his goddamn beady eyes, then took another nibble. Fortunately, at that moment, Sgt. Trollop showed up and Mr. Squirrel decided it was time to mosey off into the lilacs.
Tomorrow morning, Squirrel Wars 2009 recommences. Mr. Squirrel, I have reloaded. Your fuzzy ass is mine.
Approximately everyone I know has been hopping on the pregnancy bandwagon of late, whereas I’m just trying to avoid being run over by it. HUSBAND we need to have a talk about your needs, and how you won’t be having them anymore.
Fun fact: SFO doesn’t even give you free wireless, but Horizon Air serves free beer and wine on the flight between my town and SEA. (Well, the late-night flight, not the early morning flight.) I had water. No one else did.
Anyway, I had a wonderful weekend. After my presentation, H and J picked me up at my flat and we went over to Berkeley for dinner, drove up and around (and around, and around — twisty road) for a beautiful view of the Bay area, and had coffee (one of us was still recovering from her presentation and accompanying adrenaline high/anxiety attacks). In the morning we had breakfast next door to the Scharffen Berger chocolate factory, which was fabulous and would have been incomplete without a Scharffen Berger mocha SERVED IN A PINT-SIZE BOWL that one has to lift with both hands. I may start drinking like that from now on.
After that, H and I drove up to the Napa Valley for the day before I had to go home. We looked at (but did not touch) some wineries, shopped a bit, and took pictures (there are FLOWERS and BLOSSOMS and GREEN TREES in Northern California, unlike, say, Washington). J joined us for lunch, along with my husband’s sister’s husband’s sister (or, my sister-in-law’s sister-in-law, if that’s clearer). The next day we girls had a get-together with pastries from Bouchon (yes? how am I on the spelling of that?), then H drove me to the airport (via a wonderful place for lunch). It seemed too short a visit to me, but probably very long for H and the people sacrificing their precious finals week to entertain me!
Now it seems time to write the conclusion to this post, and today I’m finding that hard. It was really wonderful to see H, J, S, and R, and my aunt and uncle and their bulldog (Wally!). And the trip was mostly less awkward than I would have guessed (if you don’t know, don’t ask). But I’m always glad to come home, to see The Husband and The Remarkably Clean House and The Cats (new blog coming soon! probably!), and I’m really glad the hurdle of the presentation is over and done well.
Forty-three days until this graduate school, procrastiblogging saga is over, and I guess I’ll use this week to try to think about maybe, possibly looking for some type of job thingy so to not have made these past two years in vain.
Just finished a fan-damn-tastic date of Taco Bell and President Obama’s address to the Congress, or whatever they call it when it’s not the State of the Union. Mostly we just ingested lots of sodium and cursed CSPAN for not showing enough wide shots so we could see when the Republicans were standing and when they weren’t. (Why would you not stand up for children’s health? Why?!)
Also we played a game of virtual Whack-a-Mole, trying to guess when the Justices and Joint Chiefs would stand. This is the first time I’d noticed that they’re a stoic bunch, which is probably fitting, given their positions. Actually, speaking of it, I’m hoping for a new Colbert Report segment: Whack-a-Republican-Mole, where Stephen Colbert whacks any Republican who dares stand during the President’s address. I recommend repeated whacking for Eric Cantor and his limp-wristed, I’m-only-standing-and-clapping-because-Boehner-stood-up-first clap. There should also probably be repeated whacking for Boehner, who looked like he was being pulled involuntarily into a standing position by some invisible puppeteer.
In other news, The Husband observed, as the Supreme Court Justices entered the House, “Ruth Bader Ginsburg is on my list.”
I don’t think he gets how these lists work.
