Cookies stared at the pink glasses that lay perched on a table before him.
"The magical rose colored glasses!"he whispered in awe. "We found them! And before Pumble and Hairy did!" He grinned smugly. The seals scowled and barked disapprovingly.
"Yes, yes, I know it's not nice," Cookies said impatiently. "You're right, we should quit dawdling and go get the glasses." Cookies began to walk towards the giant chair that sat in front of the table, but suddenly a large shadow crossed his path.
"Who goes there?" a loud voice boomed.
"I do," Cookies said in irritation. "Now get out of my way, you over sized pony!" A large stick horse wearing a golden crown stood in front of Cookies and the seals. The seals stared at him adoringly while Cookies glared and poked a wing into his long nose.
"Listen, pony," Cookies said, oblivious to the stick horse's growing irritation. "I need those rose-colored glasses, and I need them now. Now move."
"No," the stick horse said simply.
"Why not?" Cookies sighed heavily. He began to peek around the stick horse, hoping to find alternate routes to the desk. Unfortunately, the barren room left him with little options. He would simply have to convince the stick horse to let him through.
"Because I am the owner of the Rose Colored Glasses," the stick horse said, his voice full of importance. "They have been in my family for hundreds of years. Why should I give them to you, a total stranger?"
Cookies opened his mouth, then closed it. He turned and snapped at the excitedly chatting seals. "Shut up! I do too have a good reason!" He tapped a feather on his head as he tried to think.
"You jerk!" Hearing Pumble's squeal, Cookies sighed and turned around. "Won't you supposed to meet us in the middle of the hallway?"
"Well, we ran into a few unfriendly folks and decided to head this way," Pumble said, popping cereal into his mouth.
"Pumble made a bunch of the residents of the Other Side mad," Hairy said. "They tried to attack us, so we had to lock them in."
"They are friendly!" the stick horse protested. "We only attack if provoked. You must have frightened them."
Hairy looked at Pumble pointedly, who rolled his eyes. He turned to Cookies and said, "So what's going on?"
"This over-sized pony won't let me pass and get the glasses," Cookies scowled. Hairy turned and looked over his shoulder. "The glasses!" he cried. "They really exist!"
"All this for a pair of sunglasses?" Pumble muttered, rolling his eyes and popping more cereal in his mouth.
"These aren't just any sunglasses," the stick horse said. "These are ancient sunglasses that have been in my family for 10 generations. Why do you want the Rose glasses?"
"That's a lot of over sized ponies," Cookies muttered before saying loudly, "We are on a quest and we need these glasses."
"A quest? Really?" the stick horse looked impressed. "No one has gone on a quest in awhile."
"Well, we did," Pumble mumbled. "Can you give him the glasses now so we can go home? I'm starving."
The stick horse thought a moment, and then he smiled. "I tell you what," he said, grinning broadly. "I will let you"--he pointed to Cookies, "look through the glasses. If you like what you see, you can take them with you."
"Finally," Cookies huffed, flapping his wings and flying up to the table. He picked up the sacred Rose glasses and peered through them.
"Why does he get to wear the glasses?" Pumble griped. Ignoring him, Hairy and the seals watched Cookies eagerly. "What do you see?" Hairy called. After a few moments, Cookies sat the glasses down on the table and floated down to the ground. He walked up to the stick horse and stood before him. Instead of being snide, he shook patted him on the neck gravely.
"Thank you," he said. The stick horse nodded majestically and watched as Cookies began to walk out of the room. The others looked at each other, shrugged and followed.
"Wait!" Pumble panted, running after him in such a frenzy his cereal scattered all over the floor. "Why didn't you take the glasses?" Cookies shrugged and looked a bit embarrassed.
"What did you see?" Hairy asked him as he caught up to him. The seals listened eagerly.
"I saw"-- Cookies bit his lip before continuing. "I saw generations of elves, fairies, stick horses and enchanted toys of all kinds growing up. I saw them playing, eating, laughing. I saw words that floated through the air and music that made flowers appear out of nowhere. And I saw the stick horse, and how his life was dedicated to protecting those glasses. After that, it seemed like no quest was important enough to take that kind of magic from the Other Side."
Pumble looked impressed, and Hairy beamed with pride. "Cookies, I'm so"--
"But I could've if I wanted to," Cookies snapped, irritation back in his voice. "And that's what's important. Get the ducks and lets go home." Hairy rolled his eyes in amusement, exchanging knowing looks with the seals. Cookies wasn't as tough as he let on.
"Where are the ducks?" Cookies asked again. Hairy and Pumble looked around. "There!" Pumble shouted. They walked to the edge of the bathroom to see the three ducks from the spa arguing with three new ducks.
"Mine!" the first duck from the spa cried.
"Go away!" the second duck from the spa cried.
"Can't we all just get along?" the third duck from the spa asked tiredly.
"Mine! Mine! Mine!" the three new ducks quacked over and over again. As the quacks echoed in the bathroom, Hairy grinned.
"There's no place like home," he said, laughing.
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Monday, September 03, 2007
The Quest continued...
At dawn, the animals in the Land of the Flowered Bed stood lined up at the dresser. Each had filled a small pillowcase with what they considered the absolute necessities. For the seals, that included cans of tuna and salmon and two water guns to keep themselves amused on the journey. For Pumble, his knapsack was stuffed with granola bars, gummy bears, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and mints for fresh breath. As Cookies inspected the rest of their knapsacks, he rolled his eyes but said nothing.
"We march!" Cookies bellowed as he waved a ruler he had duck-taped a broken eyeglass from a pair of sunglasses to.
"What is that?" Hairy asked in curiosity.
"This is my scepter with it's magical seeing eye," Cookies said, fluffing his chest up in importance.
"Right,"Pumble snorted. That's why it's got rhinestones across the eyepiece." The seals giggled, and Cookies narrowed his eyes at Pumble. He opened his mouth to retort when something else distracted him.
"What are you doing here?" he bellowed to the three ducks, who had left the Spa to come on the adventure.
"We're coming too!" the first duck said proudly, sticking out his feathered chest.
"How dare you leave us behind!" the second duck scolded with his bill in the air.
"Arrrrr maties!"the third pirate brandished a wire hanger at Cookies. When Cookies simply stared at him, he grinned sheepishly. "I know it's a bit feeble for a sword, but beggars can't be choosers mate." The seals pulled out their water guns and nodded in agreement.
The group set out down the Hallway of Despair. "Now, be careful," Cookies whispered as the crept down the Hallway. "The Hallway of Despair is right by the washer and dryer, so it is littered with dust bunnies."
"What could possibly be bad about dust bunnies?" Pumble asked, tearing open a bag of gummy bears as he walked. Ten minutes into the journey, and he was already hungry.
"Dust bunnies are the most wicked of creatures," Cookies said. "They will come and bounce on your nose, their fluffy tails sending dust flying in the air that settles on you. This dust is magical in that it can never be cleaned, so you sneeze for eternity. You essentially have a cold forever, and you must always carry a box of tissues with you because your nose and sinuses perpetually leak snot."
The seals, who had been excited about making friends with dust bunnies, decided to quietly follow behind the group. Soon they were out of the Hallway of Despair and into the Great Open Room. They all breathed a sigh of relief.
"What do we have to watch for here?" Hairy asked nervously as he waddled along. He had swaddled up his feet with socks to protect his sensitive toenails, and now looked liked a penguin when he walked.
"Nothing," Cookies said authoritatively. "Nothing can survive here. The land is all carpet and little dust. Nothing can grow or eat." Pumble reached down and grabbed a handful of carpet fuzz and popped it in his mouth. He grimaced and spit it out on one of the ducks, who quacked in protest.
"Ew!" the first duck squealed.
"Gross!" the second duck made a face.
"What did it taste like?" the third duck asked curiously.
"Sand," Pumble said, munching on a peanut butter sandwich.
"You really should conserve your rations," Hairy said gently. "You'll be hungry before we finish the quest."
"I'm sure there's some kind of grocery store around here," Pumble said confidently. "We're in the Land of the Flowered Bed, after all!"
"They don't have anything," Cookies said over his shoulder. "Save your food." Hairy looked at Pumble sympathetically, who shoved the rest of the sandwich in his mouth defensively. He stuck his jelly covered tongue out at Cookies and continued shuffling behind the group.
After they left the Great Open, they hopped across a rainbow that crossed the Brown Stone River that took them across to the Other Side safely. The seals wanted to play in the river, but Hairy held them tightly in his arms so they couldn't wiggle away. The seals were not happy.
Finally, the reached the bank of the other side and stood in awe. Three different rooms and three different paths lay before them.
"Which way do we go?" Hairy asked.
"The way where there's food," Pumble grumbled.
"This is how we're going to do it," Cookies bellowed bossily. "The ducks from the spa will go check out the middle path. Hairy and Pumble will check out the left path. The seals and I will check out the right path. Then we'll all meet back here and talk about which way to go. Deal?"
"Deal," they all chorused. They all split up in different directions and hopped off to their chosen room.
"This room is boring," Pumble grumbled as he and Hairy crept to an open doorway. "We should name it the Boring Room and we'll give it a grey flag, for the national symbol of dullness."
"I'm sure there's nice things in here," Hairy said kindly as they crept inside. He smacked Pumble in his robust chest and pointed. "Look at that giant red thing over there! That must be a volcano!"
"And those boxes must be a space center of some kind," Pumble said excitedly. "They have a launch pad and everything!"
Hairy gasped and clutched Pumble's arm. "Pumble look!" Pumble turned the direction Hairy was pointing and gasped. "Aliens!" A furry stuffed dog and three strange looking ladies were staring at them and waving their arms. Hairy couldn't tell if they were saying hello or telling them to go away.
"Excuse me," Pumble called, "Do you have any food?" Suddenly, the creatures began to run toward Pumble and Hairy.
"Well, how rude," Pumble griped as Hairy jerked his arm. "Run!" They took off running out of the room, slamming the door shut behind them.
Meanwhile, the ducks had headed off down the middle path. When they reached the doorway, they gasped in delight.
"A new pond!" the first one cried.
"Just for us!" the second one cheered.
"I don't think they think so," the third one warned, pointing to three ducks who were peering down at them from the edge of the bathtub.
"Let's get them!" the first duck said, running into the bathroom.
"We shall overtake the strange pond!" the second duck cried, following after him.
The third duck shrugged. "Why not?" he thought. He ran after his two friends.
While the ducks battled it out with the Other ducks, Cookies and the seals had reached the doorway of the third room.
"Someone needs to learn the term decorating," Cookies said snarled as he surveyed the barren landscape behind him. "And wall color." The seals began to squeal and point as they hopped up and down.
"What is your problem?" Cookies snapped as he tried to see what they were pointing at. "Is it true? Could it be?"
Cookies took a few steps closer and gasped. "It is true!" he cried happily. "We've found the Rose glasses!"
To be continued..............
"We march!" Cookies bellowed as he waved a ruler he had duck-taped a broken eyeglass from a pair of sunglasses to.
"What is that?" Hairy asked in curiosity.
"This is my scepter with it's magical seeing eye," Cookies said, fluffing his chest up in importance.
"Right,"Pumble snorted. That's why it's got rhinestones across the eyepiece." The seals giggled, and Cookies narrowed his eyes at Pumble. He opened his mouth to retort when something else distracted him.
"What are you doing here?" he bellowed to the three ducks, who had left the Spa to come on the adventure.
"We're coming too!" the first duck said proudly, sticking out his feathered chest.
"How dare you leave us behind!" the second duck scolded with his bill in the air.
"Arrrrr maties!"the third pirate brandished a wire hanger at Cookies. When Cookies simply stared at him, he grinned sheepishly. "I know it's a bit feeble for a sword, but beggars can't be choosers mate." The seals pulled out their water guns and nodded in agreement.
The group set out down the Hallway of Despair. "Now, be careful," Cookies whispered as the crept down the Hallway. "The Hallway of Despair is right by the washer and dryer, so it is littered with dust bunnies."
"What could possibly be bad about dust bunnies?" Pumble asked, tearing open a bag of gummy bears as he walked. Ten minutes into the journey, and he was already hungry.
"Dust bunnies are the most wicked of creatures," Cookies said. "They will come and bounce on your nose, their fluffy tails sending dust flying in the air that settles on you. This dust is magical in that it can never be cleaned, so you sneeze for eternity. You essentially have a cold forever, and you must always carry a box of tissues with you because your nose and sinuses perpetually leak snot."
The seals, who had been excited about making friends with dust bunnies, decided to quietly follow behind the group. Soon they were out of the Hallway of Despair and into the Great Open Room. They all breathed a sigh of relief.
"What do we have to watch for here?" Hairy asked nervously as he waddled along. He had swaddled up his feet with socks to protect his sensitive toenails, and now looked liked a penguin when he walked.
"Nothing," Cookies said authoritatively. "Nothing can survive here. The land is all carpet and little dust. Nothing can grow or eat." Pumble reached down and grabbed a handful of carpet fuzz and popped it in his mouth. He grimaced and spit it out on one of the ducks, who quacked in protest.
"Ew!" the first duck squealed.
"Gross!" the second duck made a face.
"What did it taste like?" the third duck asked curiously.
"Sand," Pumble said, munching on a peanut butter sandwich.
"You really should conserve your rations," Hairy said gently. "You'll be hungry before we finish the quest."
"I'm sure there's some kind of grocery store around here," Pumble said confidently. "We're in the Land of the Flowered Bed, after all!"
"They don't have anything," Cookies said over his shoulder. "Save your food." Hairy looked at Pumble sympathetically, who shoved the rest of the sandwich in his mouth defensively. He stuck his jelly covered tongue out at Cookies and continued shuffling behind the group.
After they left the Great Open, they hopped across a rainbow that crossed the Brown Stone River that took them across to the Other Side safely. The seals wanted to play in the river, but Hairy held them tightly in his arms so they couldn't wiggle away. The seals were not happy.
Finally, the reached the bank of the other side and stood in awe. Three different rooms and three different paths lay before them.
"Which way do we go?" Hairy asked.
"The way where there's food," Pumble grumbled.
"This is how we're going to do it," Cookies bellowed bossily. "The ducks from the spa will go check out the middle path. Hairy and Pumble will check out the left path. The seals and I will check out the right path. Then we'll all meet back here and talk about which way to go. Deal?"
"Deal," they all chorused. They all split up in different directions and hopped off to their chosen room.
"This room is boring," Pumble grumbled as he and Hairy crept to an open doorway. "We should name it the Boring Room and we'll give it a grey flag, for the national symbol of dullness."
"I'm sure there's nice things in here," Hairy said kindly as they crept inside. He smacked Pumble in his robust chest and pointed. "Look at that giant red thing over there! That must be a volcano!"
"And those boxes must be a space center of some kind," Pumble said excitedly. "They have a launch pad and everything!"
Hairy gasped and clutched Pumble's arm. "Pumble look!" Pumble turned the direction Hairy was pointing and gasped. "Aliens!" A furry stuffed dog and three strange looking ladies were staring at them and waving their arms. Hairy couldn't tell if they were saying hello or telling them to go away.
"Excuse me," Pumble called, "Do you have any food?" Suddenly, the creatures began to run toward Pumble and Hairy.
"Well, how rude," Pumble griped as Hairy jerked his arm. "Run!" They took off running out of the room, slamming the door shut behind them.
Meanwhile, the ducks had headed off down the middle path. When they reached the doorway, they gasped in delight.
"A new pond!" the first one cried.
"Just for us!" the second one cheered.
"I don't think they think so," the third one warned, pointing to three ducks who were peering down at them from the edge of the bathtub.
"Let's get them!" the first duck said, running into the bathroom.
"We shall overtake the strange pond!" the second duck cried, following after him.
The third duck shrugged. "Why not?" he thought. He ran after his two friends.
While the ducks battled it out with the Other ducks, Cookies and the seals had reached the doorway of the third room.
"Someone needs to learn the term decorating," Cookies said snarled as he surveyed the barren landscape behind him. "And wall color." The seals began to squeal and point as they hopped up and down.
"What is your problem?" Cookies snapped as he tried to see what they were pointing at. "Is it true? Could it be?"
Cookies took a few steps closer and gasped. "It is true!" he cried happily. "We've found the Rose glasses!"
To be continued..............
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Eureka!
I just thought of a brilliant quote to explain why I sound so much more intelligent through writing than speaking:
“The words that come from my mind and my mouth come from two entirely separate entities.”
“The words that come from my mind and my mouth come from two entirely separate entities.”
They're back!
"Excuse me?" Cookies called loudly, trying to settle the chattering seals. "Hello? Can we get started?"
"You can't blame them for being excited," Hairy smiled indulgently. "They've been cooped up all summer."
"And whose fault is that?" Cookies scoffed, visibly exasperated. "I told you to keep them entertained when I went off on my semester abroad.
"You just went to the Guest Room," Hairy rolled his eyes. "It's not like you went to England or anything."
"My passport won't let me get that far!" Cookies snapped. "Besides, Pumble is the one who went on a month-long flower tour with his girlfriend."
"Ladybug is not my girlfriend and it was only three weeks and six days," Pumble said defensively. "You're just jealous you didn't get to see the Field of Giant Sunflowers."
"You wouldn't know a sunflower if it bit you," Cookies muttered.
"Flowers don't bite!" Pumble shot back, not being able to resist adding, "Dummy."
"Hey, hey, hey," Hairy said, stepping between them as Cookies launched toward Pumble. "Now listen, we've all had a busy summer and we've kind of dropped off the face of the Earth. Cookies has something that's going to bring us all together though and kick the year off right."
"It is something I learned on my sabbatical," Cookies trilled arrogantly. He narrowed his eyes at Pumble and said, "I actually learned something." Pumble stuck his tongue out at Cookies and lumbered over to the seals, who were still chatting excitedly.
"So how was your summer?" he asked. The seals exploded into squeals and barks, and Pumble listened carefully. "Really, Antarctica?" he asked. "Were the ducks in the Spa ok with that?" The ducks, who were eavesdropping as they paddled about the bathtub in the Spa, erupted in indignant quacks.
"No, we weren't," the first duck sniffed.
"Imagine the nerve of them, trying to steal our spa to turn it into some barren wasteland," sniffed the second duck.
"I thought it was quite clever, actually," the third duck said bashfully. "No one else thought to dump loads of ice cubes into a bathtub to create glaciers." The other two ducks glared at him.
"Hear ye, hear ye!" Cookies bellowed, drawing everyone's attention to him as he extended his wings broadly. "I have an announcement to make! I have come up with a brilliant plan."
Pumble rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. Hairy elbowed him. The seals looked up adoringly.
"We, the animals of the Land of the Flowered Bed"--Cookies paused dramatically--"Will go on a adventure."
The animals looked up at him in confusion. The ducks in the Spa were the first to fire questions at him.
"What kind of adventure?" the first duck quacked.
"How are we going to get there?" the second duck asked.
"Can we be pirates?" the third duck queried hopefully. The other ducks looked at him. "Pirates?" they asked in unison.
"Very good, duckie," Cookies grumbled, obviously distraught the third duck had caught on. "We're going on a treasure hunt."
This announcement set off another series of questions, and Cookies held up his hand to quiet them.
"We're searching for the Rose Sunglasses," he said loudly, flapping his wings to get their attention. "These sunglasses belong to the Girl, and are reported to make the wearer see all the happy and hidden things on Earth. For example, these glasses show you all the mysterious creatures that still lurk about, like unicorns or mermaids."
"How did you find out about these?" Hairy asked.
"I'm brilliant, of course," Cookies said smugly.
"If we have to sit here much longer, can I have some popcorn?"
The seals hopped up and down and barked excitedly. Cookies looked annoyed at their question.
"I don't know where it is!" he snapped. "That's why we have to find it!"
"When are we going to leave?" Hairy asked, pen poised to write it down in his calender.
"Tomorrow at dawn." Cookies spoke formally, delighted at the frenzy that erupted in front of him.
"Tomorrow?" squawked the first duck. "What will we do?"
"What will I wear?" panicked the second duck.
"Does this eye patch look good on me?" the third duck asked, posing with his best pirate face.
The seals clapped and jumped in approval, and the third duck bowed.
"Tomorrow at dawn," Cookies said ominously. "Until then."
To be continued....................
"You can't blame them for being excited," Hairy smiled indulgently. "They've been cooped up all summer."
"And whose fault is that?" Cookies scoffed, visibly exasperated. "I told you to keep them entertained when I went off on my semester abroad.
"You just went to the Guest Room," Hairy rolled his eyes. "It's not like you went to England or anything."
"My passport won't let me get that far!" Cookies snapped. "Besides, Pumble is the one who went on a month-long flower tour with his girlfriend."
"Ladybug is not my girlfriend and it was only three weeks and six days," Pumble said defensively. "You're just jealous you didn't get to see the Field of Giant Sunflowers."
"You wouldn't know a sunflower if it bit you," Cookies muttered.
"Flowers don't bite!" Pumble shot back, not being able to resist adding, "Dummy."
"Hey, hey, hey," Hairy said, stepping between them as Cookies launched toward Pumble. "Now listen, we've all had a busy summer and we've kind of dropped off the face of the Earth. Cookies has something that's going to bring us all together though and kick the year off right."
"It is something I learned on my sabbatical," Cookies trilled arrogantly. He narrowed his eyes at Pumble and said, "I actually learned something." Pumble stuck his tongue out at Cookies and lumbered over to the seals, who were still chatting excitedly.
"So how was your summer?" he asked. The seals exploded into squeals and barks, and Pumble listened carefully. "Really, Antarctica?" he asked. "Were the ducks in the Spa ok with that?" The ducks, who were eavesdropping as they paddled about the bathtub in the Spa, erupted in indignant quacks.
"No, we weren't," the first duck sniffed.
"Imagine the nerve of them, trying to steal our spa to turn it into some barren wasteland," sniffed the second duck.
"I thought it was quite clever, actually," the third duck said bashfully. "No one else thought to dump loads of ice cubes into a bathtub to create glaciers." The other two ducks glared at him.
"Hear ye, hear ye!" Cookies bellowed, drawing everyone's attention to him as he extended his wings broadly. "I have an announcement to make! I have come up with a brilliant plan."
Pumble rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. Hairy elbowed him. The seals looked up adoringly.
"We, the animals of the Land of the Flowered Bed"--Cookies paused dramatically--"Will go on a adventure."
The animals looked up at him in confusion. The ducks in the Spa were the first to fire questions at him.
"What kind of adventure?" the first duck quacked.
"How are we going to get there?" the second duck asked.
"Can we be pirates?" the third duck queried hopefully. The other ducks looked at him. "Pirates?" they asked in unison.
"Very good, duckie," Cookies grumbled, obviously distraught the third duck had caught on. "We're going on a treasure hunt."
This announcement set off another series of questions, and Cookies held up his hand to quiet them.
"We're searching for the Rose Sunglasses," he said loudly, flapping his wings to get their attention. "These sunglasses belong to the Girl, and are reported to make the wearer see all the happy and hidden things on Earth. For example, these glasses show you all the mysterious creatures that still lurk about, like unicorns or mermaids."
"How did you find out about these?" Hairy asked.
"I'm brilliant, of course," Cookies said smugly.
"If we have to sit here much longer, can I have some popcorn?"
The seals hopped up and down and barked excitedly. Cookies looked annoyed at their question.
"I don't know where it is!" he snapped. "That's why we have to find it!"
"When are we going to leave?" Hairy asked, pen poised to write it down in his calender.
"Tomorrow at dawn." Cookies spoke formally, delighted at the frenzy that erupted in front of him.
"Tomorrow?" squawked the first duck. "What will we do?"
"What will I wear?" panicked the second duck.
"Does this eye patch look good on me?" the third duck asked, posing with his best pirate face.
The seals clapped and jumped in approval, and the third duck bowed.
"Tomorrow at dawn," Cookies said ominously. "Until then."
To be continued....................
Monday, August 27, 2007
Princess dreams
As the Blonde Duck of the Pond, I've decided I want to be a princess.
Not just any princess mind you--Sleeping Beauty. Ever since I was four, I've had a huge fascination with Sleeping Beauty. When I was little, I had a little kitchen set that was essentially a big plastic cart with a fake stove and oven. Some of my happiest memories are playing with my kitchen and plethora of My Little Ponies scattered across the living room with Sleeping Beauty playing in the background. Even now, that DVD is the first thing I pop in to watch if I've had a bad day.
For some reason I don't understand, my husband actually buys into the idea I'm a princess. He has been blinded by my fairy godmother's spell and actually thinks I'm a delicate, elegant and dainty creature. While it's true I love to twirl about and talk to baby animals, I am not elegant. All anyone has to do is watch me eat to know that. However, I have several of the requirements necessary of anyone worthy to don a tiara:
1) Blond- Sleeping Beauty, Cinderella, Rapunzel, Little Red Riding Hood, the original Little Mermaid, the orginal Beauty (Hans Christian Anderson, people!)
2) Love of baby animals-- Snow White charmed birds. Sleeping Beauty enchanted tiny woodland creatures. Cinderella had her mice. I have puppies, baby birds and any stray creature fortunate enough to stumble along my path (bats included.)
3) Sweet- My mom and husband said it so it's not bragging.
4) Dainty- The nurse at the hospital in Waco called me dainty when I was sick and in crazy mode from being surrounded by the private school anorexics for too long, and I've never forgotten it. I'm dainty!
5) Compassion- Although I may have an acid tongue when it comes to certain political subjects, it's in my nature to try and rescue everyone. Dang it.
6) Generosity- I'm more generous with those I love and people I view to be kind than just "anyone." Unfortunately, a year in the world of media has taught me that some people I show generosity just take advantage of me and stab me in the back. But of course, a real princess would not dwell on such things.
7) Class- You never see Cinderella on a reality T.V. show screaming how Prince Charming cheated on her with her transsexual step-sister. It's called class, people. Not trash.
8) Desire to make the world a better place- One of these days, I will have my singles table at a restaurant, a puppy farm and a way to inspire creativity in children.
9) Married or engagedto a prince- He thinks I'm royalty. He wins!
10) Loyalty- A princess should have loyalty to her family, her country and her duties as a princess. I have all three, although my duties as a princess are quite flexible depending on my mood (doing the dishes is not one of them.)
Princess qualities I do not have:
1) Singing- I sound worse than a cat being drug down the highway with his tail stuck in the car door.
2) Elegance- I can eat a 1/2 pound hamburger drenched in mayonnaise, barbecue sauce, grated cheddar cheese and plenty of grease in a minute and thirty seconds. And have you never seen me attempt to walk in any heel higher than a inch? Put a giraffe on stilts and you'll get the same impression.
3) A real title- It's real in my mind! I really have a castle somewhere, I promise.
4) Grace- It's not my fault that all my dancing consists of mindless wiggling.
5) Spoiled- Wait a minute....
Since I'm not spoiled or demanding in the very least, my darling mother has volunteered to make me a Sleeping Beauty costume like the one I had when I was four for Halloween! I am so excited! I'm going to wear it to work, on Halloween, on Easter, on Christmas.....to be a princess, one must look the part, you see.
Until then, I will go about twirling my way around work and lifting my skirts as I climb the stairs, talking softly to the crickets and spiders I pass. A girl has to start somewhere to create her kingdom!
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Catching
Walking out the door, I saw a small girl with white ringlets running around my front yard with a butterfly net. Wearing only pink- pink shoes, a pink dress, pink bow--she would stand quietly in the center of the yard. Her eyes would follow something I couldn't see. Slowly she would walk up whatever creature she was chasing and throw her net over it, clasping the net closed at the top so the creature couldn't escape. Then, she would place a jar in the net and usher the creature inside, screwing the lid on tightly. Dozens of jars lined the driveway, and I walked over to her.
"What are you doing?" I asked curiously. She shushed me and held a finger to her lips, her tongue sticking out as she concentrated on something in front of her. Slowly, she reached for her net. In one quick swoop, she flung it down to the ground.
"Missed him!" she cursed. "Darn it!" Raising an eyebrow, I watched the curious blond girl creeping around my front yard.
"What are you trying to catch?" I asked, peering at the empty jars. "I don't see anything in there."
"That's because you're not looking," the girl said, as she inspected the tree closely. "If you would look, you'd see something."
I looked at the jars again. Nothing. "I still don't see anything," I said, smiling politely. This child was crazy.
"You're not looking," the girl repeated in a sing-song voice. "If you would look, you could see."
"There's nothing there," I said, losing my temper. "I looked twice!"
"That's because you're trying to see it," the girl said, undisturbed by my frustration. "You have to look for it and want to see it. You just can't see it."
"Right," I muttered, nudging one of the jars with my foot. "Look but not see. Whatever!"
"Don't touch that!" the girl gasped, running over and clutching her jaw. "This is a good one!"
"A good what?"
"Idea."
I stared at her dumbfounded.
"An idea? There's an idea in that jar." The blond girl sighed and shook her head. "Of course there's an idea in there. They're all ideas."
"What does an idea look like?" I asked curiously, staring more intently at the glass jars. All I could see was my own reflection in the glass.
"It depends from idea to idea," the blond girl said loftily. "The good ones look like shimmering butterflies made from pink stardust or a delicate flower. The bad ones can look like a frog or a pile of squiggling worms."
"What about the mediocre ones?" I asked, fascinated. "They look like cheese," the girl answered decisively. She continued to creep around the yard, clutching her net. Staring at the jars, I sighed.
"I don't see them," I sighed. "How do you see them?" The blond girl sighed and sat up from staring through the grass blades. "I look," she said simply. "There's a lot of things that exist in our every day life that people can't see. Particularly adults. But you can see them if you look at them. You just have to be free."
"Free?" I asked in horror.
"Free," she repeated, smiling at me. "Haven't you ever had an idea that was so brilliant that you were filled with passion and fire and wanted to fly throughout the clouds and never touch the ground?"
"Yes, several times," I responded.
"That's free," the girl said, picking at a slug on the sidewalk. "So just think of that idea and you can look, not see." I squeezed my eyes and thought to myself. When I opened them, the jars were bursting with magnificent and ordinary creatures.
"Oh my gosh!" I cried, clutching my chest. "I saw them, I saw them!" The child smiled and I watched as she continued to pounce around my yard.
"What do you do with all these ideas?" I asked, looking at the crowded jars littering my driveway.
"Keep them," the girl said.
"Why are you going to keep them? I asked. She looked up at me, her big blue eyes drilling into my face.
"There's never a bad idea, just poor delivery," she said, with a smile. And with that, she returned to her butterfly net, catching ideas under the late summer sky.
"What are you doing?" I asked curiously. She shushed me and held a finger to her lips, her tongue sticking out as she concentrated on something in front of her. Slowly, she reached for her net. In one quick swoop, she flung it down to the ground.
"Missed him!" she cursed. "Darn it!" Raising an eyebrow, I watched the curious blond girl creeping around my front yard.
"What are you trying to catch?" I asked, peering at the empty jars. "I don't see anything in there."
"That's because you're not looking," the girl said, as she inspected the tree closely. "If you would look, you'd see something."
I looked at the jars again. Nothing. "I still don't see anything," I said, smiling politely. This child was crazy.
"You're not looking," the girl repeated in a sing-song voice. "If you would look, you could see."
"There's nothing there," I said, losing my temper. "I looked twice!"
"That's because you're trying to see it," the girl said, undisturbed by my frustration. "You have to look for it and want to see it. You just can't see it."
"Right," I muttered, nudging one of the jars with my foot. "Look but not see. Whatever!"
"Don't touch that!" the girl gasped, running over and clutching her jaw. "This is a good one!"
"A good what?"
"Idea."
I stared at her dumbfounded.
"An idea? There's an idea in that jar." The blond girl sighed and shook her head. "Of course there's an idea in there. They're all ideas."
"What does an idea look like?" I asked curiously, staring more intently at the glass jars. All I could see was my own reflection in the glass.
"It depends from idea to idea," the blond girl said loftily. "The good ones look like shimmering butterflies made from pink stardust or a delicate flower. The bad ones can look like a frog or a pile of squiggling worms."
"What about the mediocre ones?" I asked, fascinated. "They look like cheese," the girl answered decisively. She continued to creep around the yard, clutching her net. Staring at the jars, I sighed.
"I don't see them," I sighed. "How do you see them?" The blond girl sighed and sat up from staring through the grass blades. "I look," she said simply. "There's a lot of things that exist in our every day life that people can't see. Particularly adults. But you can see them if you look at them. You just have to be free."
"Free?" I asked in horror.
"Free," she repeated, smiling at me. "Haven't you ever had an idea that was so brilliant that you were filled with passion and fire and wanted to fly throughout the clouds and never touch the ground?"
"Yes, several times," I responded.
"That's free," the girl said, picking at a slug on the sidewalk. "So just think of that idea and you can look, not see." I squeezed my eyes and thought to myself. When I opened them, the jars were bursting with magnificent and ordinary creatures.
"Oh my gosh!" I cried, clutching my chest. "I saw them, I saw them!" The child smiled and I watched as she continued to pounce around my yard.
"What do you do with all these ideas?" I asked, looking at the crowded jars littering my driveway.
"Keep them," the girl said.
"Why are you going to keep them? I asked. She looked up at me, her big blue eyes drilling into my face.
"There's never a bad idea, just poor delivery," she said, with a smile. And with that, she returned to her butterfly net, catching ideas under the late summer sky.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Mysterious Creature Sighting 2
This mysterious creature in the bush fascinates me. You see, at first even I was a bit skeptical. It must be the wind, I thought. Your imagination is acting up again. It's a cricket or locus, just a slight of fancy.
Oh no. This thing is REAL. The only question we have to answer is what is the mysterious creature? I have four theories on the subject, all which have different supporting evidence. This is what we know in general so far:
1) The mysterious creature has moved to a new set of bushes closer to the boats.
2) Sometimes a strange rotting/ ripe trash smell accompanies the rustling the creature makes.
3) Even when you throw a multitude of things at the creature (shoes, rocks, sticks, Spaz's shoes) it never emerges or moves. So it has a lot of self control or it's just either dumb. Either one could work.
Theory 1: A mouse
There are several reasons I think it could be a mouse family, or even a bachelor mouse. One, the bushes are quite low to the ground and surrounded by tall brush that is about two feet tall. There's a large field behind my work building, so they could get plenty of food if they traveled across the parking lot to get to it.
Biggest supporting evidence: I once saw a brown blur near my foot that scampered into the grass and disappeared. It was about four or five inches long and about the size of a hot dog bun. It looked fuzzy and made little scurrying noises.
Theory 2: A snake
Now, I do not like snakes. These loathsome venomous creatures fall into my same mental category as alligators and sharks, who I would have no problem extinguishing from the planet. Food chain be damned--you can't tell me the world would not be better without nasty snakes and alligators who eat puppies. Anyway, the brush is tall enough for a snake and the bushes would be a perfect cool, dark spot.
On the side of our parking lot is lots of tall trees and bushes which could provide another hiding spot. The only problem is the snake would have to slither across a parking lot, open field, a parking lot and open sidewalk and through a bunch of machines. Would a snake really be hanging out with all those people and cars around? Regardless, I won't be sticking my hand in the brush or bush to investigate any time soon.
Theory 3: A family of birds
For some reason, these bushes attract birds more than an air-conditioned birdbath. The bushes are dense enough to hide nests, but loose enough for birds to crawl in and out of. The brush holds plenty of tasty bugs and the rain floods out several earthworms from the thin soil during the rain. However, my most compelling reason is the fact that a dove couple is very protective around the edge of the bushes. Perhaps the baby doves are simply rustling to tell me hello and show off their silky brown coats.
Theory 4: A puppy
Fine, don't even listen to me. Yes, I know it's not logical. Yes, I know I'm cracking up. You know, I had a good point but now I'm not going to tell you. So there.
Mysterious creature updates to continue..................
Oh no. This thing is REAL. The only question we have to answer is what is the mysterious creature? I have four theories on the subject, all which have different supporting evidence. This is what we know in general so far:
1) The mysterious creature has moved to a new set of bushes closer to the boats.
2) Sometimes a strange rotting/ ripe trash smell accompanies the rustling the creature makes.
3) Even when you throw a multitude of things at the creature (shoes, rocks, sticks, Spaz's shoes) it never emerges or moves. So it has a lot of self control or it's just either dumb. Either one could work.
Theory 1: A mouse
There are several reasons I think it could be a mouse family, or even a bachelor mouse. One, the bushes are quite low to the ground and surrounded by tall brush that is about two feet tall. There's a large field behind my work building, so they could get plenty of food if they traveled across the parking lot to get to it.
Biggest supporting evidence: I once saw a brown blur near my foot that scampered into the grass and disappeared. It was about four or five inches long and about the size of a hot dog bun. It looked fuzzy and made little scurrying noises.
Theory 2: A snake
Now, I do not like snakes. These loathsome venomous creatures fall into my same mental category as alligators and sharks, who I would have no problem extinguishing from the planet. Food chain be damned--you can't tell me the world would not be better without nasty snakes and alligators who eat puppies. Anyway, the brush is tall enough for a snake and the bushes would be a perfect cool, dark spot.
On the side of our parking lot is lots of tall trees and bushes which could provide another hiding spot. The only problem is the snake would have to slither across a parking lot, open field, a parking lot and open sidewalk and through a bunch of machines. Would a snake really be hanging out with all those people and cars around? Regardless, I won't be sticking my hand in the brush or bush to investigate any time soon.
Theory 3: A family of birds
For some reason, these bushes attract birds more than an air-conditioned birdbath. The bushes are dense enough to hide nests, but loose enough for birds to crawl in and out of. The brush holds plenty of tasty bugs and the rain floods out several earthworms from the thin soil during the rain. However, my most compelling reason is the fact that a dove couple is very protective around the edge of the bushes. Perhaps the baby doves are simply rustling to tell me hello and show off their silky brown coats.
Theory 4: A puppy
Fine, don't even listen to me. Yes, I know it's not logical. Yes, I know I'm cracking up. You know, I had a good point but now I'm not going to tell you. So there.
Mysterious creature updates to continue..................
Friday, August 17, 2007
Work Conversations 2
The fun continues at The Pond at work..... For clarification purposes, my paranoid-about-people-knowing-her-nickname-online friend, "Spaz" often characterizes herself as a big fluffy cat. I, as a blond lunatic who characterizes herself as a blond duck, characterizes herself as a Chihuahua who wears a big pink bow, known as the pink Chihuahua in many conversations. Confused yet? You should be. Enjoy, Invisible Friends!
The Blonde Duck (9:30 a.m.) : The pink-bow Chihuahua growls.
Spaz (9:36 a.m.) : The fluffy cat sighs in French and lays her head on her paws. “Le sigh”.
The Blonde Duck (9:44 a.m.) : The pink-bowed Chihuahua looks longingly at the open door and plots her escape.
Spaz (9:46 a.m.) : The fluffy black cat turns over in her sleep, not knowing of her chihuahua friend’s plan.
The Blonde Duck (9:51 a.m.) : The pink-bowed Chihuahua wiggles in excitement. She begins to bounce up and down on her friend like a trampoline. Her plans of escape momentarily forgotten, she bellows, “I have an article you need to read!” (includes link to article in E-mail.)
Spaz (2:58 p.m.) : The pink chihuahua sniffed at the strange object that lay before her. “I don’t think I like this,” she thought to herself. She pushed the thing with her tiny pink nose and sniffed at it again as it made a horrible twang and screeching noise. She barked angrily as the sharp twang pierced through her ears and rattled the tiny bell on her collar.
“It’s a violin,” mewed the fluffy black cat as she turned about on her sill. “A violin?” asked the Chihuahua, “I don’t like violins.”
The Blonde Duck (3:05 p.m.) : “In fact,” the pink Chihuahua announced as she kicked away the offending musical instrument with her back feet, “I don’t like anything new or different. And I really don’t like new people.” She growled at the new dogs that sat in other other cages. The fluffy cat rolled her eyes and stretched lazily. “Try to talk to them. You might like them.” The pink Chihuahua sighed and drug herself over to the cage holding the prim greyhound. She would do anything for her feline friend. “Do you like pink?” she asked the greyhound hopefully, desperate for some kind of common thread. She really wanted to get along with people, deep in her tiny Chihuahua heart. She couldn’t help that most of the people she meant were rude idiots.
“No,” the greyhound sniffed. “I prefer Chardonnay and reading Tolstoy.” The pink Chihuahua growled and barked loudly. “Pretentious puppy!” she shouted angrily. She haughtily pranced back to her fluffy friend, who was basking in the sunlight delicately munching on some cheese. “I don’t like her,” she growled. “I noticed,” the fluffy cat said in an amused tone. The pink Chihuahua’s dislike only grew as several other dogs lumbered over to assist the greyhound with a problem in her cage. Her tiny ears slicked back and she barred her tiny sharp teeth. “I really don’t like her,” she growled to her friend. “ I noticed,” the fluffy cat replied.
Spaz (3:15 p.m.) :“Here,” the cat stretched out her paw with a chunk of cheese. The pink chihuahua rushed over to the morsel and sniffed it before quickly snatching it with her tiny teeth. “You shouldn’t tryyyyy so hard,” she purred as she stretched across her sill, “you should just relaaaaaaax and let things come naturally.” “What do you mean?” asked the chihuahua who’s mouth was now full of cheese and drool, “I AM relaxed!” “Of course you are,” yawned the cat, “of course you are.”
The Blonde Duck (3:27 p.m.) : As the fluffy cat began to doze on the sun-warmed windowsill, the pink Chihuahua decided that now would be the perfect time to try and bake a pie. She had always wanted to bake a pie, and why not now? Work was so trivial and dull. There were much more exciting things in life to be done! She began to investigate the refrigerator. She would open the door, select a Tupperware dish, run to the windowsill where she would deposit it in front of the sleeping fluffy cat. “Guard this,” she ordered bossily.
On and on, she ran from the refrigerator to the windowsill, selecting her key pie ingredients. When she dropped the final dish on the floor, she gasped in alarm. All the Tupperware had been opened and the contents had either obviously been nibbled on or were gone completely.
“What--?” she cried out. The fluffy cat merely licked her face and burped. Smiling sheepishly, she shrugged. “Yum?”
Spaz (3:33 p.m.) : “Will you bring out some milk next?” the cat asked. “All of your treats have left me quite thirsty."
The Blonde Duck (3:45 p.m.) : Grumbling, the pink Chihuahua pranced off to the fridge and brought back a bowl full of milk, leaving a white trail of droplets behind her. She placed it on ground with her teeth with a loud thump! Milk sloshed over the edge of the bowl and splashed onto the cat’s paws. When the pink Chihuahua saw the fluffy cat’s horrified expression as she desperately tried to clean her paws, she laughed. “ I never said I was graceful,” the pink Chihuahua grinned.
The Blonde Duck (9:30 a.m.) : The pink-bow Chihuahua growls.
Spaz (9:36 a.m.) : The fluffy cat sighs in French and lays her head on her paws. “Le sigh”.
The Blonde Duck (9:44 a.m.) : The pink-bowed Chihuahua looks longingly at the open door and plots her escape.
Spaz (9:46 a.m.) : The fluffy black cat turns over in her sleep, not knowing of her chihuahua friend’s plan.
The Blonde Duck (9:51 a.m.) : The pink-bowed Chihuahua wiggles in excitement. She begins to bounce up and down on her friend like a trampoline. Her plans of escape momentarily forgotten, she bellows, “I have an article you need to read!” (includes link to article in E-mail.)
Spaz (2:58 p.m.) : The pink chihuahua sniffed at the strange object that lay before her. “I don’t think I like this,” she thought to herself. She pushed the thing with her tiny pink nose and sniffed at it again as it made a horrible twang and screeching noise. She barked angrily as the sharp twang pierced through her ears and rattled the tiny bell on her collar.
“It’s a violin,” mewed the fluffy black cat as she turned about on her sill. “A violin?” asked the Chihuahua, “I don’t like violins.”
The Blonde Duck (3:05 p.m.) : “In fact,” the pink Chihuahua announced as she kicked away the offending musical instrument with her back feet, “I don’t like anything new or different. And I really don’t like new people.” She growled at the new dogs that sat in other other cages. The fluffy cat rolled her eyes and stretched lazily. “Try to talk to them. You might like them.” The pink Chihuahua sighed and drug herself over to the cage holding the prim greyhound. She would do anything for her feline friend. “Do you like pink?” she asked the greyhound hopefully, desperate for some kind of common thread. She really wanted to get along with people, deep in her tiny Chihuahua heart. She couldn’t help that most of the people she meant were rude idiots.
“No,” the greyhound sniffed. “I prefer Chardonnay and reading Tolstoy.” The pink Chihuahua growled and barked loudly. “Pretentious puppy!” she shouted angrily. She haughtily pranced back to her fluffy friend, who was basking in the sunlight delicately munching on some cheese. “I don’t like her,” she growled. “I noticed,” the fluffy cat said in an amused tone. The pink Chihuahua’s dislike only grew as several other dogs lumbered over to assist the greyhound with a problem in her cage. Her tiny ears slicked back and she barred her tiny sharp teeth. “I really don’t like her,” she growled to her friend. “ I noticed,” the fluffy cat replied.
Spaz (3:15 p.m.) :“Here,” the cat stretched out her paw with a chunk of cheese. The pink chihuahua rushed over to the morsel and sniffed it before quickly snatching it with her tiny teeth. “You shouldn’t tryyyyy so hard,” she purred as she stretched across her sill, “you should just relaaaaaaax and let things come naturally.” “What do you mean?” asked the chihuahua who’s mouth was now full of cheese and drool, “I AM relaxed!” “Of course you are,” yawned the cat, “of course you are.”
The Blonde Duck (3:27 p.m.) : As the fluffy cat began to doze on the sun-warmed windowsill, the pink Chihuahua decided that now would be the perfect time to try and bake a pie. She had always wanted to bake a pie, and why not now? Work was so trivial and dull. There were much more exciting things in life to be done! She began to investigate the refrigerator. She would open the door, select a Tupperware dish, run to the windowsill where she would deposit it in front of the sleeping fluffy cat. “Guard this,” she ordered bossily.
On and on, she ran from the refrigerator to the windowsill, selecting her key pie ingredients. When she dropped the final dish on the floor, she gasped in alarm. All the Tupperware had been opened and the contents had either obviously been nibbled on or were gone completely.
“What--?” she cried out. The fluffy cat merely licked her face and burped. Smiling sheepishly, she shrugged. “Yum?”
Spaz (3:33 p.m.) : “Will you bring out some milk next?” the cat asked. “All of your treats have left me quite thirsty."
The Blonde Duck (3:45 p.m.) : Grumbling, the pink Chihuahua pranced off to the fridge and brought back a bowl full of milk, leaving a white trail of droplets behind her. She placed it on ground with her teeth with a loud thump! Milk sloshed over the edge of the bowl and splashed onto the cat’s paws. When the pink Chihuahua saw the fluffy cat’s horrified expression as she desperately tried to clean her paws, she laughed. “ I never said I was graceful,” the pink Chihuahua grinned.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
E-mail Converation
My buddy at work who requests to remain nameless (referred to as Spaz below) and I spend most of our days at work peppering our droll days with e-mail conversations. As Spaz is a fan of her characterization at the Pond, she began to to refer to herself in third person as "the girl with black pigtails." What follows is an account of our joint tale in a e-mail medium.
Spaz: “I will,” said the girl with the black pig tails. “I will go on a walk with you!” 3:30
The Blonde Duck: Can you do 3:20? I have to do a phone call at 3:30.
Spaz: “I miss the quiet,” the girl with the black pigtails said as she shoved her earphones into her ears…and sighed.
The Blonde Duck: As the girl with black pigtails sighed and grumbled quietly, the spry girl with white blond ringlets climbed her desk like a monkey and began to jump up and down on top of her computer. “I hate it, I hate it, I hate it!” she screamed. When it lay in pieces around her, she smiled in satisfaction, delicately sat in her chair and began to eat a cookie.
Spaz: The girl with black pigtails’ sighs were interrupted when she heard the “oo-oo-oos” of a monkey in the building. Peering over her cube wall she discovered that it was not a monkey after all, but the last bits of sanity escaping from her friend as she destroyed her desk with pounding feet and slurred howls. They both smiled devilishly as the desk crumbled and the girl with black pigtails licked her teeth in amusement.
The Blonde Duck: As the blond girl filled up a old barrel she found from the warehouse with water from a leaky hose, the girl with the black pigtails tried to recollect when her last tetanus shot was.
Spaz: You know her so well!
Spaz: “I will,” said the girl with the black pig tails. “I will go on a walk with you!” 3:30
The Blonde Duck: Can you do 3:20? I have to do a phone call at 3:30.
Spaz: “I miss the quiet,” the girl with the black pigtails said as she shoved her earphones into her ears…and sighed.
The Blonde Duck: As the girl with black pigtails sighed and grumbled quietly, the spry girl with white blond ringlets climbed her desk like a monkey and began to jump up and down on top of her computer. “I hate it, I hate it, I hate it!” she screamed. When it lay in pieces around her, she smiled in satisfaction, delicately sat in her chair and began to eat a cookie.
Spaz: The girl with black pigtails’ sighs were interrupted when she heard the “oo-oo-oos” of a monkey in the building. Peering over her cube wall she discovered that it was not a monkey after all, but the last bits of sanity escaping from her friend as she destroyed her desk with pounding feet and slurred howls. They both smiled devilishly as the desk crumbled and the girl with black pigtails licked her teeth in amusement.
The Blonde Duck: As the blond girl filled up a old barrel she found from the warehouse with water from a leaky hose, the girl with the black pigtails tried to recollect when her last tetanus shot was.
Spaz: You know her so well!
Monday, August 13, 2007
Fuzzy Velcro Bunnies
By Sunday, the fuzzy velcro bunnies had taken over the house.
"What are you going to name all of them?" Ben asked, watching in amusement. I was too distracted by the tiny masses of wiggling fur to answer right away.
"This one is Fluffy, this one is Kitty, this one is Nutmeg," I said, pointing to the three bunnies attached to my back, wiggling their noses in excitement. "This one is Sweet pea," I indicated the one residing on my chest. "And this one is Tiffany." I pointed to the pure white rabbit residing on my shoulder. Tiffany gave a regal nod to Ben before thrusting her nose haughtily in the air.
"Why Tiffany?" Ben asked. "Because she thinks she's better than everyone else and climbed to the top," I answered with a wry grin. Laughing, he watched as I flounced around the house doing chores. As I bent to mop the floor, Sweet pea gracefully jumped onto my head, settling in amongst my hair as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Fluffy, Kitty and Nutmeg, however, had aligned themselves on my shoulders so I looked like a blond demented scarecrow.
"They just sit there?" Ben asked, flabbergasted. "They don't, you know, fall off?"
"Nope," I said, as the bunnies shook their heads. Fluffy sniffed loudly, as though she was too elegant of a bunny to fall to the ground.
As I put the mop up, the bunnies rearranged themselves on my back and shoulders. Nutmeg took his position in the middle of my back, having appointed himself my unofficial security guard.
"How do they stay on there?" Ben asked in awe as I reached behind my back to give them some carrots.
"Their paws and bellies are sticky, so they can stick to any kind of surface at any angle," I explained, holding my hand out flat as the tiny noses tickled my fingers. "Hey!" I cried, trying to turn around to look at my back. "Don't get orange stains on my shirt!" Tiffany stuck her nose in my ear and sneezed, obviously angry she didn't get her carrot first.
"All right, all right," I grumbled, wiping pathetically at my ear with my shoulder. "I'll get your damn carrot you high maintenance rabbit."
Sweetpea squeaked in protest as Ben lifted her paw and stroked her tiny foot. "Hey!" he cried in amazement. "Their paws aren't sticky...they're more like velcro."
"Their paws change according to what surface they're on," I explained, feeding a annoyed Sweetpea and Tiffany carrots. "For example, if you put Tiffany on the table, her paws would feel like rubber."
Tiffany grunted in protest as Ben lifted her off my shoulder and placed her on the table. After she got settled, he lifted up her paw. "It does feel like rubber!" he whispered in wonder, lifting Tiffany up and setting her on his shoulder. "This is so cool. I bet you're thrilled."
"I am," I said joyfully as I continued my rounds around the house, the four bunnies clinging to my every move. "After all, the only thing better than baby animals is baby animals you can take with you everywhere." The rabbits nodded in agreement and asked for another carrot. It was clear they had taken over my now orange-stained shirt as well.
"What are you going to name all of them?" Ben asked, watching in amusement. I was too distracted by the tiny masses of wiggling fur to answer right away.
"This one is Fluffy, this one is Kitty, this one is Nutmeg," I said, pointing to the three bunnies attached to my back, wiggling their noses in excitement. "This one is Sweet pea," I indicated the one residing on my chest. "And this one is Tiffany." I pointed to the pure white rabbit residing on my shoulder. Tiffany gave a regal nod to Ben before thrusting her nose haughtily in the air.
"Why Tiffany?" Ben asked. "Because she thinks she's better than everyone else and climbed to the top," I answered with a wry grin. Laughing, he watched as I flounced around the house doing chores. As I bent to mop the floor, Sweet pea gracefully jumped onto my head, settling in amongst my hair as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Fluffy, Kitty and Nutmeg, however, had aligned themselves on my shoulders so I looked like a blond demented scarecrow.
"They just sit there?" Ben asked, flabbergasted. "They don't, you know, fall off?"
"Nope," I said, as the bunnies shook their heads. Fluffy sniffed loudly, as though she was too elegant of a bunny to fall to the ground.
As I put the mop up, the bunnies rearranged themselves on my back and shoulders. Nutmeg took his position in the middle of my back, having appointed himself my unofficial security guard.
"How do they stay on there?" Ben asked in awe as I reached behind my back to give them some carrots.
"Their paws and bellies are sticky, so they can stick to any kind of surface at any angle," I explained, holding my hand out flat as the tiny noses tickled my fingers. "Hey!" I cried, trying to turn around to look at my back. "Don't get orange stains on my shirt!" Tiffany stuck her nose in my ear and sneezed, obviously angry she didn't get her carrot first.
"All right, all right," I grumbled, wiping pathetically at my ear with my shoulder. "I'll get your damn carrot you high maintenance rabbit."
Sweetpea squeaked in protest as Ben lifted her paw and stroked her tiny foot. "Hey!" he cried in amazement. "Their paws aren't sticky...they're more like velcro."
"Their paws change according to what surface they're on," I explained, feeding a annoyed Sweetpea and Tiffany carrots. "For example, if you put Tiffany on the table, her paws would feel like rubber."
Tiffany grunted in protest as Ben lifted her off my shoulder and placed her on the table. After she got settled, he lifted up her paw. "It does feel like rubber!" he whispered in wonder, lifting Tiffany up and setting her on his shoulder. "This is so cool. I bet you're thrilled."
"I am," I said joyfully as I continued my rounds around the house, the four bunnies clinging to my every move. "After all, the only thing better than baby animals is baby animals you can take with you everywhere." The rabbits nodded in agreement and asked for another carrot. It was clear they had taken over my now orange-stained shirt as well.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Lunch time
A small blond girl with white wispy ringlets and a girl with thick black pigtails and red apple cheeks sat at the table in the lunch room. They pulled out their paper sacks and carefully laid out their feasts: 2 sandwiches, an apple for the blond and a peach for the dark haired girl and two cookies.
"What's your sandwich?" the dark haired girl asked the other girl.
"Turkey, ham, cheese and mayonnaise," the blond girl answered, spewing crumbs as she beamed. "I love mayonnaise."
The dark haired girl delicately took a bite of her sandwich and wrinkled her nose. "I hate mayonnaise. I like Tabasco sauce."
"What's that?" the blond girl tore off another bite of sandwich and looked up expectantly, waiting for answer.
"It's like spicy ketchup," the dark hair girl said, sprinkling the Tabasco over her sandwich. "Want some?"
The blond girl pulled her sandwich away and shook her head. "What's your sandwich?"
"Turkey, cheese and avocado." The blond girl nodded, wondering what an avocado was. It sounded exotic. She didn't like things that were exotic.
They ate, enjoying each other's company in the comfortable silence. The blond girl wolfed down her sandwich and bit into her apple ferociously. The dark hair girl delicately finished half of her sandwich, saving the other half for later. She then took small bites of her peach, gently sucking out the juice so it didn't dribble down her chin.
"You know what?" the blond girl said, tiny flecks of apple spewing from her smiling mouth.
"What?" The dark haired girl smiled. She wasn't disgusted by her friend's crude table manners, she was amused.
"You're my bestest friend," the blond girl said, quickly patting the other girls hand before jerking it away again. She turned bright red as she looked down at the table, concentrating on clutching her apple.
The dark hair girl smiled and patted the blond girls arm in a comforting gesture. "You're my bestest friend," she said, her dark eyes shining. "Well at school anyway. I have a bestest friend at home too. But you're my bestest school friend."
The blond girl's dark blue eyes sparkled in happiness. She'd never had a bestest friend before, even if it was a bestest school friend. She looked outside at the bright sunshine, and decided her cookie could wait.
"Do you wanna play hide and seek before we eat our cookies?"
"Sure," the girl said, carefully putting her wrapped cookie in her bag. The blond girl shoved her bag into her backpack and flew outside. "Meet you there!"
For an hour, they laughed and talked as they basted in the hot sunshine. When the sweat began to run down their backs and pool on their scalp, they knew it was time to go. Climbing in the car, they drove back to work. In silence, they parked and walked into the building slowly, dreading the moment they reached the door. For once they reached the door, the joy would be gone. At least, until lunch time came again.
"What's your sandwich?" the dark haired girl asked the other girl.
"Turkey, ham, cheese and mayonnaise," the blond girl answered, spewing crumbs as she beamed. "I love mayonnaise."
The dark haired girl delicately took a bite of her sandwich and wrinkled her nose. "I hate mayonnaise. I like Tabasco sauce."
"What's that?" the blond girl tore off another bite of sandwich and looked up expectantly, waiting for answer.
"It's like spicy ketchup," the dark hair girl said, sprinkling the Tabasco over her sandwich. "Want some?"
The blond girl pulled her sandwich away and shook her head. "What's your sandwich?"
"Turkey, cheese and avocado." The blond girl nodded, wondering what an avocado was. It sounded exotic. She didn't like things that were exotic.
They ate, enjoying each other's company in the comfortable silence. The blond girl wolfed down her sandwich and bit into her apple ferociously. The dark hair girl delicately finished half of her sandwich, saving the other half for later. She then took small bites of her peach, gently sucking out the juice so it didn't dribble down her chin.
"You know what?" the blond girl said, tiny flecks of apple spewing from her smiling mouth.
"What?" The dark haired girl smiled. She wasn't disgusted by her friend's crude table manners, she was amused.
"You're my bestest friend," the blond girl said, quickly patting the other girls hand before jerking it away again. She turned bright red as she looked down at the table, concentrating on clutching her apple.
The dark hair girl smiled and patted the blond girls arm in a comforting gesture. "You're my bestest friend," she said, her dark eyes shining. "Well at school anyway. I have a bestest friend at home too. But you're my bestest school friend."
The blond girl's dark blue eyes sparkled in happiness. She'd never had a bestest friend before, even if it was a bestest school friend. She looked outside at the bright sunshine, and decided her cookie could wait.
"Do you wanna play hide and seek before we eat our cookies?"
"Sure," the girl said, carefully putting her wrapped cookie in her bag. The blond girl shoved her bag into her backpack and flew outside. "Meet you there!"
For an hour, they laughed and talked as they basted in the hot sunshine. When the sweat began to run down their backs and pool on their scalp, they knew it was time to go. Climbing in the car, they drove back to work. In silence, they parked and walked into the building slowly, dreading the moment they reached the door. For once they reached the door, the joy would be gone. At least, until lunch time came again.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
A mysterious being
There is a boat repair place behind the building where I work. On my daily walks, I pass the parking lot full of boats, weeds and various stray dogs. Normally, my walks are pretty dull and consist of important activities such as daydreaming, cloud gazing and searching for my ever elusive butterflies. However, lately I've had a much more important task at hand: The Quest to find the Mysterious Beast.
The Mysterious Beast lives in the overgrown sunflowers and weeds that clutter the far left corner of the boat lot behind the tall chain link fence. Among abandoned trailers and sheds stuffed with rusty parts and old buckets, a group of sunflowers and tall green weeds entwined with a large green bush have staked out their claim.
Normally, the bush is still when I walk past it. However, every day for the past week the bush had shuddered and shaken the moment I pass.
Thinking it must be a stray kitten or dog, I threw a few rocks into the bush. Nothing. The bush remained still. It was only when I began to walk past that it would shake violently again, as if a creature was escaping.
For the last three days, I've repeated this process with no avail. No matter how many rocks I throw or crackers I leave outside the fence, the Mysterious Beast will not emerge. Shouting doesn't startle it, sticks can't find it and the barbed wire strung across the fence prevents me from climbing over and telling the Mysterious Beast exactly what I think of it's rude manners. If you're going to shake and shiver at me, at least have the cajones to show yourself.
While I search for ways to find the Beast, I've been trying to figure out what it could possibly be. Is it a mother cat hiding her kittens? Is it a confused squirrel who thinks the bush is a tree? Is it a toad or frog seeking refuge from the sun and boat lot workers with large trucks?
Perhaps it's something really mystical, like a fairy or gnome. No matter what it is, I won't rest until I flush out the Mysterious Beast. It's only a matter of time.
The Mysterious Beast lives in the overgrown sunflowers and weeds that clutter the far left corner of the boat lot behind the tall chain link fence. Among abandoned trailers and sheds stuffed with rusty parts and old buckets, a group of sunflowers and tall green weeds entwined with a large green bush have staked out their claim.
Normally, the bush is still when I walk past it. However, every day for the past week the bush had shuddered and shaken the moment I pass.
Thinking it must be a stray kitten or dog, I threw a few rocks into the bush. Nothing. The bush remained still. It was only when I began to walk past that it would shake violently again, as if a creature was escaping.
For the last three days, I've repeated this process with no avail. No matter how many rocks I throw or crackers I leave outside the fence, the Mysterious Beast will not emerge. Shouting doesn't startle it, sticks can't find it and the barbed wire strung across the fence prevents me from climbing over and telling the Mysterious Beast exactly what I think of it's rude manners. If you're going to shake and shiver at me, at least have the cajones to show yourself.
While I search for ways to find the Beast, I've been trying to figure out what it could possibly be. Is it a mother cat hiding her kittens? Is it a confused squirrel who thinks the bush is a tree? Is it a toad or frog seeking refuge from the sun and boat lot workers with large trucks?
Perhaps it's something really mystical, like a fairy or gnome. No matter what it is, I won't rest until I flush out the Mysterious Beast. It's only a matter of time.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Bellydancing Queen
Bellydancing +Greek food= 1 Happy Blonde Duck!
Last Friday, Ben took me to a restaurant he'd gone to with his co-workers called It's Greek to Me. Not a connoisseur of Greek food, I was expecting essentially a hamburger with cucumber laced mayonnaise in a fat tortilla. What I got however was the experience of a lifetime.
"Come on," the Invisible Friends cry impatiently. "Quit all this foreshadowing dramatic crap and get on with the tale!"
If you say so.
Stepping into the restaurant, a menu with tiny stick on plastic letters and ancient posters advertising gyros from the 1980s lined the wallpapered covered walls. Small tables were scattered throughout the room and covered with plastic tablecloths and folded up paper towels for napkins. The restaurant was straight out of "My Big Fat Greek Wedding." I liked the place already.
A tall thin man with a heavy accent instructed us to sit down as his wife bustled around the kitchen, cooking. We were handed a menu featuring a photo of him and his wife and given drinks.
When I opened the menu and saw spinach pies for appetizers, I almost died in happiness. I hadn't had a spinach pie since my mother and I frequented Olga's at the mall in the fourth grade. After 13 years of longing for the tasty combination of spinach, cheese and flaky pastry, I was long overdue for a spinach pie. So of course, I ordered one and a gyro.
The spinach pie was flaky, tasty and perfect. It was over too soon, and even tearing through the gyro like a deranged hyena left me longing for more. As I contemplated the repercussions of ordering another spinach pie, a tall blond woman dressed in a long blue velvet cloak and carrying a golden sword walked through the door.
"Oh my God," Ben groused under his breath. "It's one of those Harry Potter freaks!"
"No," I argued, my eyes shining in excitement. "It's a bellydancer!"
The woman sat down at a table across the restaurant and thumbed through a book of CDs. Pushing play, she shed her cloak and began to wriggle and writhe across the room in a beaded bustier and long skirt. Even in her early 50s, she had the grace and agility that some of us never achieve.
I watched her in rapt attention as Ben stared at her openly. "You're not going to go up there and dance with her, are you?" he asked in terror. I could see him imagining my overexcited hips knocking plates off tables and forever banning us from the delicious restaurant.
I put his worries at ease by smiling and saying, "If she asks me to, sure!" His eyes bugged out in fear. The woman began to ask women around the restaurant to dance, starting with an older woman and then pulling a young pregnant woman and me up to the open floor. I was so excited to dance I knocked my umbrella and purse, sending them flying across the floor and Ben jumping to retrieve them. It was worth it. I got to dance.
The woman showed me how to slither and wiggle across the floor seductively, her hips moving like liquid waves. Ignoring everyone around us, I concentrated on copying her moves perfectly. When the song was over and all the diners (all 7 of them) applauded, she gave me and the pregnant woman a brochure and recommended we take a beginning class.
Floating home, I immediately turned the TV to the exercise channel and began to perfect my bellydancing moves, much to Ben's amusement.
"So you really like bellydancing?"
"I love it!" I said, my eyes shining as I plastered the brochure to his face. "Look! I could take lessons and quit my job and become a professional bellydancer!"
Ben looked over the brochure and grinned at me. "Do you want to take lessons for your birthday?"
I wiggled in pure excitement and joy. Not only do I have a new food obsession, but I'm going to be a professional bellydancer (after zero lessons too)! Watch for me to wiggle your way! I'll be the goofy looking blond in the pink sparkles.
Last Friday, Ben took me to a restaurant he'd gone to with his co-workers called It's Greek to Me. Not a connoisseur of Greek food, I was expecting essentially a hamburger with cucumber laced mayonnaise in a fat tortilla. What I got however was the experience of a lifetime.
"Come on," the Invisible Friends cry impatiently. "Quit all this foreshadowing dramatic crap and get on with the tale!"
If you say so.
Stepping into the restaurant, a menu with tiny stick on plastic letters and ancient posters advertising gyros from the 1980s lined the wallpapered covered walls. Small tables were scattered throughout the room and covered with plastic tablecloths and folded up paper towels for napkins. The restaurant was straight out of "My Big Fat Greek Wedding." I liked the place already.
A tall thin man with a heavy accent instructed us to sit down as his wife bustled around the kitchen, cooking. We were handed a menu featuring a photo of him and his wife and given drinks.
When I opened the menu and saw spinach pies for appetizers, I almost died in happiness. I hadn't had a spinach pie since my mother and I frequented Olga's at the mall in the fourth grade. After 13 years of longing for the tasty combination of spinach, cheese and flaky pastry, I was long overdue for a spinach pie. So of course, I ordered one and a gyro.
The spinach pie was flaky, tasty and perfect. It was over too soon, and even tearing through the gyro like a deranged hyena left me longing for more. As I contemplated the repercussions of ordering another spinach pie, a tall blond woman dressed in a long blue velvet cloak and carrying a golden sword walked through the door.
"Oh my God," Ben groused under his breath. "It's one of those Harry Potter freaks!"
"No," I argued, my eyes shining in excitement. "It's a bellydancer!"
The woman sat down at a table across the restaurant and thumbed through a book of CDs. Pushing play, she shed her cloak and began to wriggle and writhe across the room in a beaded bustier and long skirt. Even in her early 50s, she had the grace and agility that some of us never achieve.
I watched her in rapt attention as Ben stared at her openly. "You're not going to go up there and dance with her, are you?" he asked in terror. I could see him imagining my overexcited hips knocking plates off tables and forever banning us from the delicious restaurant.
I put his worries at ease by smiling and saying, "If she asks me to, sure!" His eyes bugged out in fear. The woman began to ask women around the restaurant to dance, starting with an older woman and then pulling a young pregnant woman and me up to the open floor. I was so excited to dance I knocked my umbrella and purse, sending them flying across the floor and Ben jumping to retrieve them. It was worth it. I got to dance.
The woman showed me how to slither and wiggle across the floor seductively, her hips moving like liquid waves. Ignoring everyone around us, I concentrated on copying her moves perfectly. When the song was over and all the diners (all 7 of them) applauded, she gave me and the pregnant woman a brochure and recommended we take a beginning class.
Floating home, I immediately turned the TV to the exercise channel and began to perfect my bellydancing moves, much to Ben's amusement.
"So you really like bellydancing?"
"I love it!" I said, my eyes shining as I plastered the brochure to his face. "Look! I could take lessons and quit my job and become a professional bellydancer!"
Ben looked over the brochure and grinned at me. "Do you want to take lessons for your birthday?"
I wiggled in pure excitement and joy. Not only do I have a new food obsession, but I'm going to be a professional bellydancer (after zero lessons too)! Watch for me to wiggle your way! I'll be the goofy looking blond in the pink sparkles.
Saturday, August 04, 2007
Itty and Bitty
The rain began to pelt the grass softly as two tiny toads, no bigger than a thimble, squirmed in the grass.
"Mommmmm!" one whined. "We're not going to go far!"
"We're just going to go to the fence," the second toad whined.
Buttercup the toad, Queen of the Flowerbed, pursed her lips and thought for what seemed like an eternity.
"Ok, but just the fence," she cautioned. "If it starts raining very hard, come straight back. And remember, don't eat the black spiders with the red hourglasses or big brown ones. Those are bad. Stick to gnats and flies."
"We know, Mom," the tiny toads groaned impatiently, bouncing up and down in the damp soil as the rain fell around them. With a great nod, the two toads bounced out of the garden into the vast world of the Front Yard.
"I'm going to the bush," the first toad, Itty, announced. "I found some delicious gnats over there last time." He licked his lips as he spoke.
"Forget food," the second toad, Bitty, said scornfully. "I'm seeing how fast I can get to the fence. I made it in two minutes last time. I want to beat it."
"Suit yourself," Itty said. The two toads hopped in separate directions on their individual quests. As Itty climbed onto the pebbles surrounding the bush, he heard a great rumbling noise.
"That thunder is getting really loud," he said to himself as his tongue lashed against the green leaves, capturing tiny gnats and retracting quickly into his mouth. As he happily lapped up the gnats, he heard a great booming noise behind him. He turned to see a giant nose breathing heavily next to him.
"AHH!" Itty screamed. "It's the Toad King!" He began to hop away as quickly as his tiny feet could. He wasn't sure what the Toad King did, but he was pretty sure he didn't want to know.
"Awwwwww," the voice cooed. "Look, it's a little frog!"
"Let me see!" a shrill voice cried. "Aww, they're sooo CUTEEEE!"
Itty clapped his webbed fingers over his ears. "That is an obnoxious voice!" he cursed to himself.
"Tell me about it," a deep voice said dryly. Itty looked up to see a lizard clinging to the wall.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
"Henry the lizard," the lizard replied. "Those are the Giants. They don't do anything. They just bob and weave and shout a lot."
"Oh," Itty said, secretly disappointed it wasn't the Toad King. He waited until the Giants were gone, then hopped quickly back to the garden.
Meanwhile, Bitty was hopping as fast as he could to the fence. Unfortunately, the rain had made the grass so slick he spent more time sliding to the ground than he did hopping. Still, he hopped on, determined to beat his time of two minutes.
Suddenly, Bitty saw a gigantic flesh colored hand sliding toward him in the grass.
"The Toad King!" he cried in terror, quickly hopping to the ground and hiding in the grass. He wasn't entirely sure what the Toad King did, but he didn't want to know. The hand brushed over the grass a few times until it revealed Bitty's spot. Bitty stayed frozen to the ground for a split second, than hopped out of the grass and sprung under a collection of weeds next to the brick of the house.
"See?" a loud voice boomed. "There's the other frog!"
"He's so CUTTTTEEEEE!!" an excruciatingly piercing voice squealed. Bitty covered his ears with his webbed fingers. "That's obnoxious," he scowled.
"Tell me about it," a dry voice said from the brick wall. Bitty turned to see a lizard slowly crawling across the wall.
"Who are you?" he asked suspiciously. The lizard rolled his eyes and sighed. "Henry the lizard. I just told you this. Those are Giants. I'm Henry. You're a frog."
"Toad," Bitty corrected. Secretly, he was disappointed it wasn't the Toad King.
"Whatever," Henry said. Bitty waited until the Giants walked away, then hopped quickly back to the garden where he found Itty and Buttercup waiting for him. He told them of his adventure, and found that Itty had seen the Giants too.
"There's only one thing I don't understand," Bitty said, as he dined on gnats.
"What?" Itty said, munching on a cricket shin.
"Who's Henry the Lizard? And why don't the Giants think he's cute?"
Thursday, August 02, 2007
A dog's day
A large yellow dog and a large black dog lay outside the office door in the shade next to a punch bowl full of water.
"Hot today," the first dog remarked.
"Yup," the second dog replied.
"Too bad the rain stopped," the first dog continued.
"Nope," the second dog said, shaking his head as drool dropped from his tongue to the ground. It evaporated almost immediately. "Too many mosquitoes."
"True," the first dog conceded. "But it was cooler."
"True," the second dog agreed.
After a moment of silence, the first dog rolled over and lied his head next the bowl. "So what are you doing today?"
"Chasing squirrels," the black dog said, yawning. "Slim pickings today. Not many trees round here without fences."
"I hear ya," the first dog said sympathetically. "I'm supposed to be looking for rabbits, and I tell ya, there just ain't much moving from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. ya know? Except the damn bugs."
"I know," the second dog said, shaking his head. "It's a shame."
Another minute or so later, the first dog looked up into the sky. "Anything else you got to do today?"
"Nope," the second dog said sleepily, his eyes shutting. "Too damn hot to get any work done. Feels like we're laying on the surface of Mercury."
"Yup," the first dog said. He looked at a rock and started to get up, than sat back down. The second dog looked at him. "Thought it was a rabbit," he explained.
The second dog nodded.
After another few minutes, the dog stretched and stood up. "Wanna go get something to eat? Thinkin' of that rabbit made me hungry."
"Sure," the second dog said, shaking himself awake. "Maybe we'll find some mud or water to roll in and cool down."
They trotted down the street, the sun beating down on them.
"It's hot," the first dog said, his tongue dripping.
"Yup," said the second dog, panting heavily.
"You still hungry?" the first dog asked.
"Nope," said the second dog. "Too hot."
"Wanna go back?" asked the first dog.
"Yup," said the second dog. They trotted back to the doorway and laid under the shade.
"It's a dog's day," the first dog said.
"Yup," the second dog said.
"Hot today," the first dog remarked.
"Yup," the second dog replied.
"Too bad the rain stopped," the first dog continued.
"Nope," the second dog said, shaking his head as drool dropped from his tongue to the ground. It evaporated almost immediately. "Too many mosquitoes."
"True," the first dog conceded. "But it was cooler."
"True," the second dog agreed.
After a moment of silence, the first dog rolled over and lied his head next the bowl. "So what are you doing today?"
"Chasing squirrels," the black dog said, yawning. "Slim pickings today. Not many trees round here without fences."
"I hear ya," the first dog said sympathetically. "I'm supposed to be looking for rabbits, and I tell ya, there just ain't much moving from 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. ya know? Except the damn bugs."
"I know," the second dog said, shaking his head. "It's a shame."
Another minute or so later, the first dog looked up into the sky. "Anything else you got to do today?"
"Nope," the second dog said sleepily, his eyes shutting. "Too damn hot to get any work done. Feels like we're laying on the surface of Mercury."
"Yup," the first dog said. He looked at a rock and started to get up, than sat back down. The second dog looked at him. "Thought it was a rabbit," he explained.
The second dog nodded.
After another few minutes, the dog stretched and stood up. "Wanna go get something to eat? Thinkin' of that rabbit made me hungry."
"Sure," the second dog said, shaking himself awake. "Maybe we'll find some mud or water to roll in and cool down."
They trotted down the street, the sun beating down on them.
"It's hot," the first dog said, his tongue dripping.
"Yup," said the second dog, panting heavily.
"You still hungry?" the first dog asked.
"Nope," said the second dog. "Too hot."
"Wanna go back?" asked the first dog.
"Yup," said the second dog. They trotted back to the doorway and laid under the shade.
"It's a dog's day," the first dog said.
"Yup," the second dog said.
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Twirl
As I scampered across the soft grass, butterflies burst from the flowers around me while gnats and flies swirled about in a panic. My skirt swished and fluttered in soft ripples as my legs propelled me across the lawn.
"Come on!" I yelled, as he shook his head and smiled. "You go ahead."
Running into the warm summer evening, I ignored my itching feet and focused on the crunchy grass beneath them that tickled my toes and warmed my heart. My hands brushed against the trees as I ran through the field around the pond's edge.
"There!" I yelled, pointing. The ducks quacked in protest, nonetheless waddling forward to see what I was pointing at.
"What?" he squinted his eyes, unable to see in the deepening dusk.
"Wait for it," I whispered, sticking my tongue between my teeth in a mischievous grin. Suddenly, tiny bursts of golden light began a symphony in the air around us. Swirling through the air, the lightening bugs gently circled around our area. One duck quacked crankily when one flew by his head, another tried to eat him.
"This is it?" he asked, clearly trying not to smile. "This was the marvelous occasion? The most spectacular thing of all time? The end all and be all of amazement?"
Grinning at him, I fed the ducks some bread as I shook my head. "Not even close. Wait a minute."
He looked around worriedly. "It's getting dark, and the turtles have gone. We'll have to go home soon."
Ignoring him, I climbed on a large reddish brown rock and kicked off my shoes. And waited.
"Girl, we should go home," he said, absently swatting at the ducks who nibbled his fingers and loudly protested for more bread.
"Almost," I said, my toes tingling in anticipation. The ducks grew louder, pushing against his legs and pulling at his shorts with their curious beaks.
"Girl, I think we should"--
"Now!" I cried, and began to twirl. Pirouetting on the walk, a swirl of light burst around me as the tiny lightning bugs twirled in their own orbits. Spiraling from my head to my toes, my skirt burst into a small star burst as it spun around me, gently folding and swaying with my every move. As the stars emerged and the lightening bugs tightened their glorious dance, I twirled from the last burst of dusk to the falling of night.
Slowly, the lightening bugs dissipated like tiny stars over the water, fading into the night. Sliding my feet into my shoes, I took his hand and smiled at his hanging jaw.
"And that"-- I said decisively, "That is how you twirl."
"Come on!" I yelled, as he shook his head and smiled. "You go ahead."
Running into the warm summer evening, I ignored my itching feet and focused on the crunchy grass beneath them that tickled my toes and warmed my heart. My hands brushed against the trees as I ran through the field around the pond's edge.
"There!" I yelled, pointing. The ducks quacked in protest, nonetheless waddling forward to see what I was pointing at.
"What?" he squinted his eyes, unable to see in the deepening dusk.
"Wait for it," I whispered, sticking my tongue between my teeth in a mischievous grin. Suddenly, tiny bursts of golden light began a symphony in the air around us. Swirling through the air, the lightening bugs gently circled around our area. One duck quacked crankily when one flew by his head, another tried to eat him.
"This is it?" he asked, clearly trying not to smile. "This was the marvelous occasion? The most spectacular thing of all time? The end all and be all of amazement?"
Grinning at him, I fed the ducks some bread as I shook my head. "Not even close. Wait a minute."
He looked around worriedly. "It's getting dark, and the turtles have gone. We'll have to go home soon."
Ignoring him, I climbed on a large reddish brown rock and kicked off my shoes. And waited.
"Girl, we should go home," he said, absently swatting at the ducks who nibbled his fingers and loudly protested for more bread.
"Almost," I said, my toes tingling in anticipation. The ducks grew louder, pushing against his legs and pulling at his shorts with their curious beaks.
"Girl, I think we should"--
"Now!" I cried, and began to twirl. Pirouetting on the walk, a swirl of light burst around me as the tiny lightning bugs twirled in their own orbits. Spiraling from my head to my toes, my skirt burst into a small star burst as it spun around me, gently folding and swaying with my every move. As the stars emerged and the lightening bugs tightened their glorious dance, I twirled from the last burst of dusk to the falling of night.
Slowly, the lightening bugs dissipated like tiny stars over the water, fading into the night. Sliding my feet into my shoes, I took his hand and smiled at his hanging jaw.
"And that"-- I said decisively, "That is how you twirl."
Monday, July 30, 2007
The Sociology of Shopping
This weekend, I went shopping with my friend Candace at the mall. Sounds fairly mundane, right? Certainly, we weren't looking for anything exciting. She was looking for work pants, and I was on a mission to impose my fashionable style (or lack thereof) onto her by dressing her like a giant doll. It was the only way I could subdue the shopping adrenaline that was racing through my veins, particularly when I walked through the summer sale sections of stores (must buy sundress....must buy shirt....must buy sundress...must buy shirt).
After trying on a pink satin halter party dress at Dillard's for giggles, I was twirling around the dressing room waiting on Candace to finish trying on clothes. As I twirled and picked my nose hairs in the mirror, two little girls entered, about eight years old. One sat on the floor and blocked my twirling path while the other entered the dressing room. I continued to examine my nose hairs.
A few moments later, the second little girl pranced out of the dressing room in a halter top and short skirt. The first little girl cried, "Oh, that is so cute!" Alarmed, my head swiveled to look at her.
"I know," the second little girl cooed. "I really like this color on me. I think it brings out my skin tone. Plus, I think it gives me a lot of flair."
"Totally!" the first girl affirmed. The second little girl disappeared back into the dressing room to try on another outfit that I prayed was more age appropriate. I stared at the first little girl as she filed her nails and perfected her Paris-Hilton-bored look. When I was eight, I wore big t-shirts with funky graphics covered in rhinestones and matching shorts or skirts. I didn't wear halter top and pleated plaid school girl skirts that barely covered my butt. The only plaid skirt I had went mid-thigh and looked more like a kilt than something for a bar.
That wasn't even the most alarming part of the scene. The most terrifying part was in how the girls spoke to each other. Their voices sounded eerily adult and practiced, obviously expertly socialized in the ways of shopping. They already knew how to identify their correct colors and individual style, as well as provide affirmation no matter what clothing was put on. Just as I collected my jaw off the floor, the second girl came out again wearing a trendy top.
"So what do you think?" she asked coyly, posing with her hands on her hips.
"I'm not sure," the first girl frowned. "That might be last season."
"Do you think it's me?" the second little girl asked. "Like, do you think I can do this look?"
"I think you can do the look," the first little girl confirmed. "I just think this shirt's a little...old."
"Yea, like it's all the way up to the neckline," the second little girl agreed. "That's so third grade."
"Totally," the first girl agreed. "We're like fourth graders now."
I wanted to bang my head against the wall! These girls had mastered the art of not only affirmation, but style domination and the constant need to be accepted and beautiful! They were going to be mini-Paris Hiltons and Britney Spears before we knew it! Eight year old girls should be playing with dolls, not discussing the finer points of fashion and trying to wear sexy clothing. Fuming, I was glad when Candace exited and we could leave the dressing room.
It took all my willpower not to rush in there and drag them off to summer camp when I heard the second little girl ask, "Do I look fat in this?"
After trying on a pink satin halter party dress at Dillard's for giggles, I was twirling around the dressing room waiting on Candace to finish trying on clothes. As I twirled and picked my nose hairs in the mirror, two little girls entered, about eight years old. One sat on the floor and blocked my twirling path while the other entered the dressing room. I continued to examine my nose hairs.
A few moments later, the second little girl pranced out of the dressing room in a halter top and short skirt. The first little girl cried, "Oh, that is so cute!" Alarmed, my head swiveled to look at her.
"I know," the second little girl cooed. "I really like this color on me. I think it brings out my skin tone. Plus, I think it gives me a lot of flair."
"Totally!" the first girl affirmed. The second little girl disappeared back into the dressing room to try on another outfit that I prayed was more age appropriate. I stared at the first little girl as she filed her nails and perfected her Paris-Hilton-bored look. When I was eight, I wore big t-shirts with funky graphics covered in rhinestones and matching shorts or skirts. I didn't wear halter top and pleated plaid school girl skirts that barely covered my butt. The only plaid skirt I had went mid-thigh and looked more like a kilt than something for a bar.
That wasn't even the most alarming part of the scene. The most terrifying part was in how the girls spoke to each other. Their voices sounded eerily adult and practiced, obviously expertly socialized in the ways of shopping. They already knew how to identify their correct colors and individual style, as well as provide affirmation no matter what clothing was put on. Just as I collected my jaw off the floor, the second girl came out again wearing a trendy top.
"So what do you think?" she asked coyly, posing with her hands on her hips.
"I'm not sure," the first girl frowned. "That might be last season."
"Do you think it's me?" the second little girl asked. "Like, do you think I can do this look?"
"I think you can do the look," the first little girl confirmed. "I just think this shirt's a little...old."
"Yea, like it's all the way up to the neckline," the second little girl agreed. "That's so third grade."
"Totally," the first girl agreed. "We're like fourth graders now."
I wanted to bang my head against the wall! These girls had mastered the art of not only affirmation, but style domination and the constant need to be accepted and beautiful! They were going to be mini-Paris Hiltons and Britney Spears before we knew it! Eight year old girls should be playing with dolls, not discussing the finer points of fashion and trying to wear sexy clothing. Fuming, I was glad when Candace exited and we could leave the dressing room.
It took all my willpower not to rush in there and drag them off to summer camp when I heard the second little girl ask, "Do I look fat in this?"
Friday, July 27, 2007
Sunshine Delirium
For the first time in what seemed like months, the rain not only stopped but the sun broke through the clouds and shone brightly to the marshy ground below. The flowers stopped cowering, the birds scoured the earth for worms and the butterflies were out in full. However, something still didn't feel right as I walked. Even as the sun warmed my back, something in my soul felt cold.
"It was not your fault, you know," the all knowing voice whispered as the tiny feet pranced across my ear. "Wallowing will get you no where."
"I could have saved him," I said hollowly, thinking of the tiny bat lying broken and shivering on the sidewalk. "If they hadn't made me put him back outside, I could have helped him."
"He was dying," the butterfly said in a matter-of-fact tone. "He was ill, and dying. Nothing could have saved him. At least he was cared for and warm in his last moments."
"That seems so cruel," I said, shaking my head at the injustice of it all. "It shouldn't have to be that way. He should have been saved."
"Nature isn't always nice," the butterfly said wisely, tiptoeing across the back of my neck and clinging to my ponytail. "Nor our humans. You also saw proof of that this week."
"But why?" I whined defensively, wishing I could shake the metal fence I walked by. Perhaps shaking it would shake free this sense of injustice and anger.
"People are born either good or bad," the butterfly said wisely. "For the most part, they will stay either good or bad. However, free will damages many of the good and turns them into bad. They are seduced by power or greed, or trapped by insecurity and fear. Being human, they act out in ways which spread the cruelty to others, continuing the cycle."
"I just don't understand how people can be so cruel," I whispered, letting the butterfly dip it's tiny foot in the tear running down my cheek."I don't understand how people do these horrible things to each other. I mean, what possesses someone to be cruel to another person?"
"People are much like animals in that they do what is taught and instinctual," the tiny creature whispered. "If someone is mean to them, they will be mean to others. It takes a strong person to resist the pull of anger, cruelty and power. That's why the good things in life are so important."
"It just seems sometimes that you spend your whole life fighting," I said tiredly. "For once, I'd just like to get something done without fighting."
"To not fight is to not live," the butterfly paused on my hand. "You must fight for what you love and care for, what you want. It is part of nature."
"That doesn't mean it's fair," I scowled, thinking of the tiny sick bat.
"Not immediately," the butterfly agreed. "But those who are cruel to others will receive the same treatment in return. Karma is alive and well."
"It just seems very frustrating and exhausting," I said, letting the sun warm my back.
"You can get as frustrated as you want," the butterfly said. "The important thing is to dwell on the good in life. Think of the happiness you have with Ben, with your friends, your passion for writing. Think of all the dogs you want to help, all the people you aid. You write stories for fundraisers for horrible diseases, about teenage girls with cancer and about companies working on cures for cancer. While you may just be typing words on paper, you're giving someone a fighting chance. You're educating the public about the good in the world. And when people see good, they want to do good."
"That's the thing," the butterfly continued, pausing on my outstretched fingertip. "To be depressed and sad is to give into evil. By focusing on happiness and positivity, we can defeat it. Life is what you make of it, so you might as well make it a happy one."
The butterfly gently flew and landed on my nose. As faint as an eyelash falling, the butterfly gently kissed my nose.
"Kind souls will always be surrounded by good," the butterfly said so softly my ears strained to here. "You just may have to learn to ignore the shadows around it. Everyone told you to ignore the bat--and you still fought to save it. He knows that. And trust me, he appreciates it. Don't worry--your time of thanks will come."
With that, the butterfly flew away into the lush green field, disappearing. As I walked back to the office, I felt my face grow warm as the sun beat down on my black t-shirt. This time, however, my soul was not just warm. It was glowing.
"It was not your fault, you know," the all knowing voice whispered as the tiny feet pranced across my ear. "Wallowing will get you no where."
"I could have saved him," I said hollowly, thinking of the tiny bat lying broken and shivering on the sidewalk. "If they hadn't made me put him back outside, I could have helped him."
"He was dying," the butterfly said in a matter-of-fact tone. "He was ill, and dying. Nothing could have saved him. At least he was cared for and warm in his last moments."
"That seems so cruel," I said, shaking my head at the injustice of it all. "It shouldn't have to be that way. He should have been saved."
"Nature isn't always nice," the butterfly said wisely, tiptoeing across the back of my neck and clinging to my ponytail. "Nor our humans. You also saw proof of that this week."
"But why?" I whined defensively, wishing I could shake the metal fence I walked by. Perhaps shaking it would shake free this sense of injustice and anger.
"People are born either good or bad," the butterfly said wisely. "For the most part, they will stay either good or bad. However, free will damages many of the good and turns them into bad. They are seduced by power or greed, or trapped by insecurity and fear. Being human, they act out in ways which spread the cruelty to others, continuing the cycle."
"I just don't understand how people can be so cruel," I whispered, letting the butterfly dip it's tiny foot in the tear running down my cheek."I don't understand how people do these horrible things to each other. I mean, what possesses someone to be cruel to another person?"
"People are much like animals in that they do what is taught and instinctual," the tiny creature whispered. "If someone is mean to them, they will be mean to others. It takes a strong person to resist the pull of anger, cruelty and power. That's why the good things in life are so important."
"It just seems sometimes that you spend your whole life fighting," I said tiredly. "For once, I'd just like to get something done without fighting."
"To not fight is to not live," the butterfly paused on my hand. "You must fight for what you love and care for, what you want. It is part of nature."
"That doesn't mean it's fair," I scowled, thinking of the tiny sick bat.
"Not immediately," the butterfly agreed. "But those who are cruel to others will receive the same treatment in return. Karma is alive and well."
"It just seems very frustrating and exhausting," I said, letting the sun warm my back.
"You can get as frustrated as you want," the butterfly said. "The important thing is to dwell on the good in life. Think of the happiness you have with Ben, with your friends, your passion for writing. Think of all the dogs you want to help, all the people you aid. You write stories for fundraisers for horrible diseases, about teenage girls with cancer and about companies working on cures for cancer. While you may just be typing words on paper, you're giving someone a fighting chance. You're educating the public about the good in the world. And when people see good, they want to do good."
"That's the thing," the butterfly continued, pausing on my outstretched fingertip. "To be depressed and sad is to give into evil. By focusing on happiness and positivity, we can defeat it. Life is what you make of it, so you might as well make it a happy one."
The butterfly gently flew and landed on my nose. As faint as an eyelash falling, the butterfly gently kissed my nose.
"Kind souls will always be surrounded by good," the butterfly said so softly my ears strained to here. "You just may have to learn to ignore the shadows around it. Everyone told you to ignore the bat--and you still fought to save it. He knows that. And trust me, he appreciates it. Don't worry--your time of thanks will come."
With that, the butterfly flew away into the lush green field, disappearing. As I walked back to the office, I felt my face grow warm as the sun beat down on my black t-shirt. This time, however, my soul was not just warm. It was glowing.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Dear Mr. Cloudman
Mr. White Cloudman
Senior Vice President of Rainy Day Inc.
Somewhere up there
The Sky, Cloud 89768
Dear Mr. White Cloudman,
I admire your tenacity of watering my garden during this wet summer. Not only have you let me go without watering my yard for two months, but the flowers we planting are bursting in joy and health! I want to thank you for your diligent work and attention to the landscaping of the entire Pond.
However, I would like to request a change in schedules. Currently, you seem to have an erratic rain schedule. Sometimes it rains at 2 p.m., sometimes at 10 a.m. and sometimes at 3 a.m. in the morning. While I enjoy the blackouts the rain causes me at work (though I don't enjoy the false hope I might get to go home before the lights flick back on 3 minutes later), I don't enjoy your afternoon rainstorms. Your afternoon rainstorms are interfering with one of my daily walks during the day.
Now, I would not mind compromising and agreeing to a light sprinkle at 3 p.m. The problem is, you see, is that it POURS at 3 p.m. like an ocean has opened in the sky and is falling to the ground below. While I enjoy twirling and prancing in light rain, heavy rain does not make for an enjoyable walking experience. For one thing, I get wet. I don't like getting wet. Another issue is that my hair frizzes out and ramps up my already anxious and high strung personality.
The biggest issue, however, besides the risk of being struck by lighting or being splashed by a car, is that my shoes get wet. Now, I'm sure up there in Cloud that your shoes are always slightly damp with condensation so it's not a big deal to you. However, when you live in the Pond, which is hot and dry, and then work at a old factory that's surrounded by concrete and essentially a giant ceramic oven, I'm used to dry shoes.
Walking in wet, squishy shoes that make noises and stay damp for hours is not amusing. Therefore, I have a proposition. How about you continue all your pleasant rain during the hours of 5 p.m. to 5 a.m.? That way, I don't have to water the yard and it doesn't rain during my walking time. I can have the benefits of a pleasant sunny day with the joy of green grass and lush landscaping.
Please let me know if that's possible for you. I am agreeable to negotiation.
Sincerely,
The Blonde Duck
Senior Vice President of Rainy Day Inc.
Somewhere up there
The Sky, Cloud 89768
Dear Mr. White Cloudman,
I admire your tenacity of watering my garden during this wet summer. Not only have you let me go without watering my yard for two months, but the flowers we planting are bursting in joy and health! I want to thank you for your diligent work and attention to the landscaping of the entire Pond.
However, I would like to request a change in schedules. Currently, you seem to have an erratic rain schedule. Sometimes it rains at 2 p.m., sometimes at 10 a.m. and sometimes at 3 a.m. in the morning. While I enjoy the blackouts the rain causes me at work (though I don't enjoy the false hope I might get to go home before the lights flick back on 3 minutes later), I don't enjoy your afternoon rainstorms. Your afternoon rainstorms are interfering with one of my daily walks during the day.
Now, I would not mind compromising and agreeing to a light sprinkle at 3 p.m. The problem is, you see, is that it POURS at 3 p.m. like an ocean has opened in the sky and is falling to the ground below. While I enjoy twirling and prancing in light rain, heavy rain does not make for an enjoyable walking experience. For one thing, I get wet. I don't like getting wet. Another issue is that my hair frizzes out and ramps up my already anxious and high strung personality.
The biggest issue, however, besides the risk of being struck by lighting or being splashed by a car, is that my shoes get wet. Now, I'm sure up there in Cloud that your shoes are always slightly damp with condensation so it's not a big deal to you. However, when you live in the Pond, which is hot and dry, and then work at a old factory that's surrounded by concrete and essentially a giant ceramic oven, I'm used to dry shoes.
Walking in wet, squishy shoes that make noises and stay damp for hours is not amusing. Therefore, I have a proposition. How about you continue all your pleasant rain during the hours of 5 p.m. to 5 a.m.? That way, I don't have to water the yard and it doesn't rain during my walking time. I can have the benefits of a pleasant sunny day with the joy of green grass and lush landscaping.
Please let me know if that's possible for you. I am agreeable to negotiation.
Sincerely,
The Blonde Duck
Sunday, July 22, 2007
The Duck-a-tron
I saw Transformers yesterday with my Mom and sister for a belated birthday celebration for my Mom. Going into the movie, I figured it'd be mildly amusing. After all, I am a My Little Ponies enthusiast. Why would I like robots? After all, I didn't like I, Robot and spent weeks fearing Steve Jobs or Bill Gates were going to create a robot for every home that would take over just like the ones in the movie and turn us into mindless drones, taking down society and ruling in a technological dictatorship.
I never said I wasn't imaginative.
Anyway, I loved the Transformers movies, particularly the Bumblebee transformer. He was so cute and devoted to the boy. While I still don't like the idea of robots taking over the Earth, I decided I needed my own Transformer: the Duck-a-tron.
The Duck-a-tron would be a giant (you guessed it) Duck robot. When not a robot, he would be an aquatic car--one of those cars that is also a boat. He would be painted a bright yellow with an orange face, and have webbed metal feet. When he quacked, the sound waves from his quack would shake the earth around him. If he ever got mad at another Transformer, he could kick them with his giant webbed feet or fly away.
If I had a Duck-a-tron, life would be glorious. I wouldn't have to sit through an hour and a half of traffic just to get home from work. My Duck-a-tron could take me home in ten short steps.
If I had a Duck-a-tron, he could fly Ben and I to my in-laws house and anywhere in the world we wanted to go. Cruise? What cruise? We'll just cruise in the Duck-a-tron.
If I had a Duck-a-tron, he could go on walks with me around the neighborhood or while I was jogging. Seriously, who's going to mess with me with several hundred feet of robot?
If I had a Duck-a-tron, I could go waterskiing behind him on the lake.
If I had a Duck-a-tron, I could go to the pond within the Pond and have him communicate with the ducks there. It would be hilarious.
And finally, if I had a Duck-a-tron, maybe he could build a pond for the ducks living in my bathtub.
I really want a Duck-a-tron.
I never said I wasn't imaginative.
Anyway, I loved the Transformers movies, particularly the Bumblebee transformer. He was so cute and devoted to the boy. While I still don't like the idea of robots taking over the Earth, I decided I needed my own Transformer: the Duck-a-tron.
The Duck-a-tron would be a giant (you guessed it) Duck robot. When not a robot, he would be an aquatic car--one of those cars that is also a boat. He would be painted a bright yellow with an orange face, and have webbed metal feet. When he quacked, the sound waves from his quack would shake the earth around him. If he ever got mad at another Transformer, he could kick them with his giant webbed feet or fly away.
If I had a Duck-a-tron, life would be glorious. I wouldn't have to sit through an hour and a half of traffic just to get home from work. My Duck-a-tron could take me home in ten short steps.
If I had a Duck-a-tron, he could fly Ben and I to my in-laws house and anywhere in the world we wanted to go. Cruise? What cruise? We'll just cruise in the Duck-a-tron.
If I had a Duck-a-tron, he could go on walks with me around the neighborhood or while I was jogging. Seriously, who's going to mess with me with several hundred feet of robot?
If I had a Duck-a-tron, I could go waterskiing behind him on the lake.
If I had a Duck-a-tron, I could go to the pond within the Pond and have him communicate with the ducks there. It would be hilarious.
And finally, if I had a Duck-a-tron, maybe he could build a pond for the ducks living in my bathtub.
I really want a Duck-a-tron.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Friends
Whenever I spot two animals, I often say they are friends. If we see two puppies while driving down the road, I exclaim, "Look, they're friends!" Solo dogs get the sad remark of "Oh, they don't have a friend." This has been my sole argument behind why I need two puppies instead of one.
Today on my walk, I saw two butterflies.
"You're friends!" I cried. "How sweet."
"Yes," one said as they brushed by my cheek. "Why does this surprise you so?"
"Well, because you don't normally see two butterflies flying together as you two are," I said.
"We disagree," said the other butterfly. "Two is the best number there is. Three leads to competition and unfairness, four is two many and five is the perfect amount for bands or superhero groups."
"Or sheep," the other one added.
"I suppose that's true," I said. "But normally when you see two, they are a couple."
"Why does that matter?" one butterfly asked as he settled on my shoulder. "Can a couple not be friends?"
"Yes they can," I said, "But then they're not just friends, they're a couple."
"But couples are the best of friends," the other butterfly volunteered as she perched on my hair. "They know everything about each other in ways that normal friends couldn't dream. They are the most intimate of friends. Couples can't survive if they're not friends."
"True," I said. "Very true indeed."
"Why is it so important to you we are friends?" the first butterfly asked. "Why is that better to you?"
"It just seems like you're happier than a butterfly on it's own," I said.
"Not necessarily," the second butterfly fluttered next to my ear. "Perhaps the first likes being alone. Maybe they get happiness from that. Happiness is different for different people."
"Well, you've got a point there," I said. "But you two seem happy."
"We are," the first butterfly whispered.
"We're friends," said the second butterfly, smiling. I smiled back as they fluttered through the lush green grass.
"Friends," I repeated softly to myself. "They're friends."
Today on my walk, I saw two butterflies.
"You're friends!" I cried. "How sweet."
"Yes," one said as they brushed by my cheek. "Why does this surprise you so?"
"Well, because you don't normally see two butterflies flying together as you two are," I said.
"We disagree," said the other butterfly. "Two is the best number there is. Three leads to competition and unfairness, four is two many and five is the perfect amount for bands or superhero groups."
"Or sheep," the other one added.
"I suppose that's true," I said. "But normally when you see two, they are a couple."
"Why does that matter?" one butterfly asked as he settled on my shoulder. "Can a couple not be friends?"
"Yes they can," I said, "But then they're not just friends, they're a couple."
"But couples are the best of friends," the other butterfly volunteered as she perched on my hair. "They know everything about each other in ways that normal friends couldn't dream. They are the most intimate of friends. Couples can't survive if they're not friends."
"True," I said. "Very true indeed."
"Why is it so important to you we are friends?" the first butterfly asked. "Why is that better to you?"
"It just seems like you're happier than a butterfly on it's own," I said.
"Not necessarily," the second butterfly fluttered next to my ear. "Perhaps the first likes being alone. Maybe they get happiness from that. Happiness is different for different people."
"Well, you've got a point there," I said. "But you two seem happy."
"We are," the first butterfly whispered.
"We're friends," said the second butterfly, smiling. I smiled back as they fluttered through the lush green grass.
"Friends," I repeated softly to myself. "They're friends."
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