Sssssh. Don't Wake Them....

Psssst.  Over here.  sssssshhhh   It's just me, Chicken.

hi.  hee hee.

I'm up late. 
Sssshhhhhhh. Don't laugh.  You'll wake them all up.  They'll make me cook breakfast.

I'm up late because I went out with a few local Chickadees tonight and there was wine.  We solved all the world's problems.  You're welcome.

And then someone said, I forget who, "Do you believe in 2012?". 

And I snorted wine.  But then someone else said, "Yes, I do believe in 2012", and I said, "What???"

That's just a movie right?  The Chick who began the conversation said something about weather patterns, Mayans, the bible, and coincidence.....

Whoooooa

I quit smoking for no good reason except to live an extra 20 years and you're telling me I have a year and a half? 

Not acceptable, Universe.  I'm feeling very uncomfortable with this revelation (get it?). 

I know nothing about this 2012 theory.  I know nothing because I've chosen to ignore all media hype related to the subject.  The world is scary enough as it is.  Picturing it as a fiery ball is not going to help me sleep at night.  And now people I know and love, people whose opinions I take seriously because they are smart, are telling me they think there is something to this theory, are telling me, yeah, I think maybe that's true?  Look.  I like a good government conspiracy theory as much as the next guy.  Bring on the aliens, the Russians, and the scary genetics.  I'll entertain all comers.  But 2012?  Seriously?

Okay, if 2012 is a possibility then Chickens everywhere need a plan.

Here's my plan:

• Move to Vermont (Vermont is way too wholesome to be obliterated. Canada, too)
• Build Ark.
• Watch Waterworld
• Immediately resume all bad habits
• Pay minimum on credit card (until Jan 2012 then stop paying altogether)
• Store water and canned goods
• Lose 20 pounds (every other special occasion requires weight loss; I'm sure this on is no different)
• Take wilderness survival course
• Read Celestine Prophecy
• Take a lot of showers (before indoor plumbing becomes a sweet memory)
• Store wine and hershey bars in cool, dark very secret place
• Secure secret place with eyeball recognition security mode in case key gets lost in apocalypse chaos
• Don't forget to store corkscrew and wineglasses in very secret place (can you imagine?)
• Buy gas mask
• Attend internet addiction camp
• Destroy journal
• Start fake journal in order to punk future civilizations
• Find time warp.  Go back to 1970.  

I think I've covered everything.  What will you guys do in 2012?  Let me know if I've missed anything.  I guess it is obvious I'm assuming that when the world ends, I will continue to live on in Vermont in my very secret place and not be incinerated in a fiery hell with the majority of the world population.  You are welcome to join me.  Send me a scan of your eyeball and I'll have it programmed.  This invitation is BYOB.

Chicken out

Hallelujah Chicken Walking

Good morning, World

I'm celebrating because I am awake and the morning is in me.  (That is sort of a Thoreau quote with a chicken twist, but let's give credit where credit is due). 

Anyway, yes, I am awake and I awoke without the aid of an alarm clock, feeling fully rested.

I don't know about you guys, but that doesn't often happen to me.  Usually I wake up 3 minutes before the alarm feeling like I need another two hours.  I only wake up then because my internal organs prefer to have me reach groggily around the night stand area in order to disengage the alarm clock rather than jolt my entire nervous system and possibly set off events that may well lead to a premature heart attack.  They give me three minutes in which to accomplish this task.  Once that is done, we usually all settle right back down into a deep sleep again.

I am not a morning person but I want desperately to be one.  Yes, I want to get up, drink a pot of tea, run five miles and bake banana bread before the sun even shows itself.  It will not ever happen and one of the great things about getting old is that you come to accept certain things about your personality, such as when you are a morning person or a night person.  I am a night person, obviously.

Except I'm not.  At least not lately.

Lately, I have been falling asleep at the same time as littleb.  I don't intend to.  I take him upstairs, we read our usual 1100 inane stories about silly dogs, oddly dressed hippos, and snarky sneetches, and then I tuck him in and I sit beside him for a little while. 

And then I fall asleep. 

Eventually, an hour or two later, I wake up with cramped, tingling limbs, and drag myself off to bed after, of course, setting the alarm for the next morning.  And every single night I say to myself, because I am a not very bright optimist, I guess, "Oh well, tomorrow I'll wake up really early and I'll blog before I go to work".

Except I never do because, read above.

And I've been a little worried about this because, if I recall, as you grow older you tend to require less sleep, not more.  I've been waiting for the day that I wake up early feeling well rested and ready for the day.  It has not happened.  Am I anemic?  Did I get bitten by a deer tick?  Depressed?  Something worse?  Yikes.

And then today I woke up.  I'm awake now.  Let's celebrate. 

Chicken out

And just in case you were interested-

To him whose elastic and vigorous thought keeps pace with the sun, the day is always at morning. It matters not what the clock says, or the attitudes and labors of men. Morning is when I am awake and there is a dawn in me...To be awake is to be alive. I have never met a man who was quite awake. How could I have looked him in the face?...We must learn to reawaken and keep ourselves awake, not by mechanical aids, but by an infinite expectation of the dawn, which does not forsake us in our soundest sleep. I know of no more encouraging fact than the unquestionable ability of man to elevate his life by a conscious endeavour.
Henry David Thoreau

Have You Heard From Chicken?....

Good morning, World:

You may have noticed I have not posted much lately.  Actually, you may not have.  I may totally overestimate your dependence on me to get through your days.

Well, truth told, I have not felt much like blogging.  I'm busy.  I'm having an internet love affair with this man's blog:

Thank you, GG, for the recommendation. You guys.  If you haven't visited David the Aussie's internet playground already, I promise it is worth the visit.  In fact, I think everyone should go visit David Thorne's blog and leave the following DavidThorne styled comment: 

Dear David.  I enjoyed your blog so much I think I should compensate you for the pleasure.  Since I don't have any money here is a drawing of a _______ that I made for you.  I value this drawing at $_____.  Thanks for a great time.  (fill in the blanks). 

No?  You don't want to do that?  Okay, whatever.  Just an idea.  Don't have a heart attack.  Although I have not posted, I have managed to keep up with and comment on many other bloggers' posts.  In fact, some of my comments are mini posts, themselves, except they are on other people's blogs.  I'm claiming Intellectual Property rights to all my comments and I'm posting some of them here.

What?  Yes, as a matter of fact, Chicken IS too lazy and uninspired to come up with a new post. 

On Quilting in My Pajamas Blog regarding her slack Thursday dinner of Kentucky-Fried Chicken...

The Chicken's Consigliere said...

Mrs. P. Murderer.....Murdererrrrrrrr!!!!!!! I'm having an Australian for breakfast, how do you like that? I think I'm going to have David Thorne. I just found out about David Thorne and I love him. I'll bet he tastes delicious.

May 14, 2010 9:20 AM
 
Mrs. P says David Thorne is most likely stringy and tough just like me and also that some of that chicken may have been rabbit (which makes sense because Aussie Kentucky Fried Chicken is most likely NOT fried in Kentucky, but somewhere in Australia where it is well documented that if it is not poisonous they will kill it and fry it or puree it and spread it on toast)
 
Here is another later comment from QIMP's blog that I left in response to a photo of her grandchild and a post about the ethnic dinner she had made with a friend:

The Chicken's Consigliere said...
Little P, you are a cutie and when you are PM (Prime Minister) of Australia, I wonder if you wouldn't mind giving me dual citizenship so that I might come to stay for an extended period and possibly get eaten by a shark, bitten by a snake, terrorized by giant spiders, or even chased by a dingo. It would all be worth it to sit in the kitchen with your Bella while she cooks up something delicious that is not a potato cake because while they do sound delicious in theory (they have the word CAKE in the title) they do indeed taste like mushy potato. Also, maybe you could introduce me to David Thorne as he is my new secret crush.
May 14, 2010 8:13 PM
 
QIMP did not respond to this comment as I think she is sick of me talking about David Thorne.  I figured she knew him.  They live in the same country.
 
This comment is based on Brilliant Sulk's brilliant post about peculiar cats:

Posted May 13, 2010 at 4:33 pm
#You know, I was just discussing this with a good friend today. Well, actually, not exactly. We were talking about whether corvettes are an appropriate accessory for anyone over 45 and we decided no, corvettes (purple sparkly ones especially) are not acceptable accessory items. I’m sure this also applies to cats. So really, whether Truffle is peculiar or not would depend on how old she is, and not in cat years, but in human years. I love Truffle. I even love Kiwi. And even if they are peculiar, you are super cool.

My lovely offspring, S, recently started her own blog.  One of her posts about google searches elicited quite a lot of attention and the following exchange took place in her comment section:

Hey S, it's me. Chicken. Sadly, I'm the one who launched the leprechaun search. Probably because of some stupid question your brother asked, though. Aw, who am I kidding. We both know that is SO not true. I love the last line. I'm stealing that line.
May 11, 2010 5:26 PM


The Girl Who Loves to Whine said...
Hey Chicken, it's me S. Somehow when I saw the line about leprechauns I just knew it had to be someone from my family that launched that search. I'm betting it was another family member that launched the zombie searches too...
May 11, 2010 5:49 PM
 
May 11, 2010 10:44 PM

The Chicken's Consigliere said...
S, Chicken here. Zombies just showed up in season two of Trueblood. I would be remiss in not finding out all I can, but it could also be The Blogess, who has a zombie fixation, or Hyperboleandahalf who also has a zombie thing. BTW, you should go to my blog to see what your "Why Can't I own a Canadian" search has wrought in terms of comments. Pretty funny. Turns out EVERYONE wants a Canadian.


May 12, 2010 12:21 PM
The Girl Who Loves to Whine said...
Dear Chicken, Of course they do. Even Canadians want to own Canadians because Canadians are awesome. I wish I could get away with saying things like "Eh?" and "aboot"... Thanks for clarifying the zombie thing for me too. I was beginning to get worried.. You know, stockpiling weapons in my room and wearing gigantic titanium helmets and such.
-S

Then Jonathan had this to say:

Jonathon Moxon said...

Hi. Canadian here. Looking to be owned.
May 14, 2010 12:36 AM

S auctioned him off to the highest bidder and I think Vapid Blonde may now have Jonathan ensconced in her garden  spouting water.  Sorry CB. I did not find out about the auction until it was too late to bid.

Recently S posted again about the big nameless retail store where she works and the various "challenged but special" people who shop and work there.

May 16, 7:50 AM

The Chicken's Consigliere said...
Hey S. You should check out Miss Morgan's blog. She has a fool proof plan to get rid of stupid people everywhere, not just North America. Actually, it wasn't quite foolproof. I had to help her out a bit with that part. That's what Chickens are for, though. Here's the link. This should cut down on the number of encounters you suffer through at BNRS:


May 16, 2010 7:56 AM
The Chicken's Consigliere said...
S. Hey S. It's me, Chicken. I googled Jagaloon. I'm surprised you did not think of it. Your friend in Electronics was well and truly dissed and must not have given very good directions. "A jagaloon is slang for an idiot, a loser, someone who does something stupid all the time". Wikipedia says it is so.

And also today, coincidentally, Miss Morgan at Comedy or Tragedy, also posted about stupid people and natural selection and suggested that perhaps letting loose a few saber tooth tigers amongst the masses might be helpful:

The Chicken's Consigliere said...
Miss SC may not be overly bright, but it is entirely possible that she runs very fast and that is what is wrong with your theory. If you wish to rid the world of the stupid in addition to the unathletic (not to mention the unlucky, which I'm thinking would be just one of the categories I would fall under), you will also have to come up with some kind of natural selection IQ test. Perhaps a bucket of fish suspended over a really deep hole or something. That will most likely get rid of the stupid, nonathletic, unlucky people who like fish. The people who don't like fish. Well. I guess they are in luck. Unless they run into one of those tigers. Be careful hanging the fish.
May 16, 2010 5:13 AM

In response to Sassy Curmudgeon's post about judges and teachers...something...I don't really remember.  I think I might have gone off on my own tangent.

The Chicken's Consigliere said...
I have a hard time calling my kids' teachers by their first names and yet I don't feel like I should have to call them by their last names, either. I have a very elaborate process: Get their emails, address them by last name in email and sign it with my first name. If they respond with my first name, great, if they call me by my last name I say, please, call me Chicken (cause I don't wear pants, see?). Sometimes they bite sometimes they don't, then I have to try the in person version, but usually it is because they are calling me because 'someone' was screwing around in school and then it gets awkward to call them by their first name because they might think you are being condescending, right? Sigh. It's not easy balancing this whole teacher/parent relationship thing. I like the kid in the Superman pajamas.
6:56 AM
 
My favorite blogger conversations are usually with Neurotic Girl and her stalker, Dalia.  This comment was regarding a post on Grandpa's crazy theories.

The Chicken's Consigliere said...
Dalia's right. Look at eggs. They're good, they're bad, they're good...they have an identity crisis and a complete breakdown...I digress. Re: Grandpa. Sometimes those crazy theories hold water. Here's one told to me by an elderly Irish lady recently that I laughed at: I wear heels a lot at work and I get severe foot cramps sometimes at night when I go to bed. She told me to put a bar of soap between the sheets. I laughed. On what premise, I asked. I don't know she said. Just works. Know what? It did. So I'm trying that elastic trick. Also, I could swear I read somewhere that sunburn will cause hair on the back later in life.

In response to Joann's post about her husband and his many childhood homes:

The Chicken's Consigliere said...
What a great story. I would totally invite your husband and all of you in for a tour and BigB would be all like, "What the HELL are you doing", and I would be like, "B, can't you SEE that case of wine back there. Gonna get me some." I still do not know what you are talking about with the email thing cause seriously, i'm defective that way,
May 12, 2010 6:44 PM
 
In response to Vapid Blonde's post on going to the doctor entitled "Monday is a Stupid Little Whore" which may be the best post title in the history of the internet:

Chicken Says: May 12th, 2010 at 6:00 am
That is a GREAT post name. Genius, really. I know, it does not really seem fair or reasonable that when you go to a salon or spa and you are all relaxed already they offer you a glass of wine, but when you go somewhere that has you all nerved up like, say, the doctor to find out about your biopsy, or court, or your divorce lawyer, they don’t start things out right away with a bottle of wine. A glass of wine? yeah, that’s like a band-aid on a chain saw injury.

So see World? I have not been slacking off but instead have been very busy reading blogs.

Also, littleb got a new pet.  A fish.  A beta to be exact, which he promptly named Goldy.  How boring is that ?  Why can't I ever name the pets?  I would have gone with something noble and dashing such as Leopold or Spartacus, or maybe DavidThorne.  Goldy...Poor fish.  You can see his embarrassment written all over his little orange face.  I don't predict a long life.  And not because littleb has already tried to gift him with a matchbox car so that he can "ride around in his bowl".  But partly because of that, yes.

Have a beautiful day, World:

Chicken out