Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Chicken Revelation: Girls Do It, Women Do it, Why oh Why Don’t Squirrels…..?

Hi World:

The other morning I was sitting in my backyard with my feet up and a fresh hot cup of black coffee on hand. It was sunny and hot. I had my eyes closed and my face tilted toward the sun. I resembled, a little bit, our lizard, the Wizard. Except I was much happier than Wizard because I was outside on a sunny day lounging in the sun, not in a crappy, smelly cage with pieces of cricket carcasses all around me.

Then again, maybe the Wizard is quite happy. I do not know. I’m not a Wizard Whisperer.

Anyway….I was lounging happily, tossing bits of muffin to a friendly little squirrel, and I was thinking about God’s infinite wisdom. The way we are all put together, woman, man, beast, plant. We all have our systems, and those systems are so nuanced and intricate, yet hardy, and given proper sustenance, we all thrive; children grow, tomatoes grow, kittens grow, tadpoles grow, and caterpillars become butterflies in their amazing transformation.

Thinking about the butterflies got me thinking about pregnancy and the whole female reproduction system. We female mammals can grow babies in our bellies and then give birth to them in a method that would seemingly be impossible but is somehow possible and beautiful. Us women are built for that, whether human, cats, dogs, or whales. God is so benevolent. In so many ways, I thought, I’m just like that squirrel over there. Assuming that squirrel is a girl squirrel.

And that is when the discrepancy suddenly hit me…

That squirrel has never had a period!

Why are we human females the only species of females that have monthly periods? Why do we have the singular honor each month of bloating, bleeding, cramping, and being so full of bitterness and bile that we can’t even stand our selves!

Why are we the only ones that will unfailingly find ourselves somewhere without a bathroom or a tampon when we most need one.

Why are we the only ones that A) have spouses and B) want to kill them once each month over a three day stretch?

Why aren’t WE allowed to eat our young and get away with it on those days when we’ve quite simply had enough? Rats can do it. But do rats have to cart around an extra 30% of their body weight every 28 days? Noooo.

Do you see dogs and cats getting bloated and bitchy and experiencing embarrassing accidents?

Can you imagine how many tampons a nurse whale would require a day? And what size they’d have to be? If whales needed tampons, we probably could have plugged that oil leak in no time!

Can you imagine what might happen if a grizzly or an elephant had PMS?

I had been looking at that girl squirrel thinking, “You know, Girl Squirrel, you and I are all part of the same sisterhood, aren’t we? We’re all the same on the inside."

But we’re not, as it turns out. So I said, "The sisterhood is over, Squirrel. Get off my land and you can leave that muffin RIGHT there, bitch."

Let the PMS begin.

Chicken out

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

Chicken Theory #23: Flies are the Evil Emissaries of Satan.

Hi World:

I hate black flies.

It is not very PC these days to express your dislike of any species publicly. I am sure that somewhere, right now, a loosely assembled, disorganized group of knuckle-headed drunk dingbats is planning a mass annihilation of flies. When eventually they are caught in their attempt to totally disrupt the already fragile eco-system with their diabolical plan, they will undoubtedly hold up this blog posting as the executive summary of their manifesto and point their grubby little fingers at me. Also, right now, a peyote tripping hippie in New Mexico is starting a “Rights for Flies” web campaign. I’ll get hate mail from people who will liken me to Tony Hayward, Leona Helmsley, and whoever invented BPAs.

But I don’t care.

I hate the little fuckers.

I hate flies because they are in my house and they will not leave. If a wasp gets stuck in your house, it will immediately start banging its pointy little head against the nearest window glass. When you crack open the window, it will sense the draft and fly outside. A black fly might alight on the window glass, just to tease you, but the minute you open the window (or reach for a fly swatter) it will dive bomb your head and then fly into your fridge. It will land on your uncovered butter dish, march around a bit, start shaking its butt at you, and chant na na na na nah na.

Flies are not merely pesky. Flies are assholes.

I also hate them for their indiscriminate dining practices. Flies love any kind of dung and they also love anything you have just baked and left cooling on the counter. This means that after enjoying a morning repast of raccoon shit, flies will fly their crappy tiny feet over to your house and traipse all over your blueberry muffins. I’m sure that I do not need to remind you that flies have very poor personal hygiene. The only way a fly will get wet is while dive bombing an unflushed toilet.

Or your glass of Chardonnay.

Probably both, but we know damn well which it will do first.

Cheers.

I hate the noise flies make. That incessant buzzing drives me insane. Flies have a sixth sense for two things….Saturdays and sleep deprivation. They live solely for annoying the sleep-deprived on Saturday mornings. They will start their assault at day break. Just when you are settling happily into that dream about winning the lottery, stopping the oil spill, becoming a national hero, getting love-mail from DavidThorne, and suddenly developing a charming French accent, they will rev up their engines and all you will hear for the next three hours is BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ.

Then, when you think your head might pop off and all your life force will come spouting out of your neck like Old Faithful, the buzzing will suddenly stop.

And that’s the worst.

Because you know one thing:

At anytime, without warning, it will start again.

But what you don’t know…

What you cannot stop thinking about…

What really may finally drive you over the edge is…….

WHERE IN THE DAMN HELL IS THAT FUCKITY LITTLE FUCKER RIGHT NOW. ARGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHH. ARGGGGHHHHHHH. ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

Flies suck.

Chicken out


Monday, July 12, 2010

So Then Chicken Says "Let's Do This Thing!"

Hi World,

My name is Chicken.  I'm a book junkie.

It started out innocently.  About 3 weeks ago I picked up some books at the library.  I read them.  I didn't blog.  I didn't read your blogs.  I finished all my books and I thought, "I should work on my blog".  But then I started to feel itchy and broke out in a sweat.  I couldn't focus.  I told myself I had to go to the bank knowing full well the bank is next to the library. I told myself I was just going to drop in. See what's new.  I absolutely would not borrow any books because I really needed to do some laundry and blog. I don't need to read book after book.  I can quit any time.

Sadly, I couldn't seem to control myself and I came back with another stash.  I read them.

Friends stopped by over the holiday weekend.  I sat calmly, sorta, okay not really, but then I developed an eye tic.  I turned to my sister-in-law.  Blink. Blink. Blink.

"Pssst.  Did you bring any, you know, stuff?"
"What?"
"You know...books???" (spoken in loud whisper and with furitive looks around the table).
"What?"
"Books (clenched teeth). Do. You. Have. Any. Books."
"Well, I have a couple historical romances in the car....?"
(Chicken relaxes a little) "Oh, well, if you're not reading them, I'll take them off your hands.  It's been so long since I've relaxed with a really good trashy novel, you know?"

Sadly, I manipulated all visitors (enablers) in this manner.  I became good at it.    I kept reading.  Eventually, after a couple weeks, I started actively avoiding the computer.  "Just one more chapter and I swear I'll stop", I said to myself.  But I was out of control.

It is not that I didn't have ideas.  With all that reading, you can't help but have the occasional brainstorm.  But then I'd just keep reading and somehow I'd never write down the idea, and two days later I'd give the computer an apathetic glance and say, "I just don't feel the same way about you anymore".  I might have said the same thing to BigB when he suggested I put down the book and cook dinner.

Last week my older son went away for a week, which gave me even more downtime.  It wasn't pretty, World.  I spent the weekend on the couch with the second Stieg Larsson installment.  Every once in a while I'd look over to check that littleb was still in the house.  Poor littleb.  He'd look up hopefully and say, "Want to take a walk, Mom?" and I'd say, "You know who would love to take a walk?  Daddy.  Go ask Daddy to take you for a walk.  Or you could go by yourself.  Yeah....you're what, almost 4?  You're big!  Just stay on the sidewalk, ok, littleb, and don't talk to strangers.  Unless they have Stephen King's latest because I'd really like to, ah, take a look at that.  I don't HAVE to....it's not like that....no....it's just sometimes Mommies like to, um, relax a little bit and books help them...."

But then yesterday, as littleb sat staring at Max & Ruby reruns, drool trickling down the corner of his mouth, I realized we were in serious doo-doo.  Sins of the mothers and all that. 

I told myself no more.  NO MORE!

I'm determined to find my way back to you, World.  I'm a little shaky, but I know I can beat this thing.  I know I can do it. I'm just going to do it.  (cue Rocky music)

Even though someone left a copy of "Julie and Julia" on my doorstep last night.

I swear, I just found it there.  I've been wanting to read it for awhile...

So, anyway, I'll see you tomorrow, World.  I'm just going to stay up a little while longer and, um, wash these dishes, maybe do a load of laundry.  Turn in early. (big yawn).

Carry on, World.  In case I didn't mention it my PC needs some, ah, maintenance.  I might be gone a couple days.  But I'll be back.  With recipes!!!

Chicken out