Blllllllpppppppp.......Chicken.

Hi there.

How have you been?  Me?  Doing well, thanks for asking. 

I have some housekeeping to do.  Coffee Lovin' Mom, one of my new favorite reads, awarded me with the Beautiful Blogger Award.  Thanks CLM.  There is no pick-me-up like an award to boost you spirits and ego!

Also, the lovely S. from "You Wish Your Life Was More Like Mine" awarded me with this:

I feel the need to clarify that the Lovely S. is my firstborn, and therefore this might be one of those, "If I don't give this award to Chicken, she might not let me use her washer/dryer anymore.  God, it is SUCH a pain that she reads my blog".  But I don't think so.  S. likes me because she is not 16 now.  She also listed my cooking as one of her favorite things.  S. has a very long memory.  She is obviously reaching back to those days when I actually did cook.  These days it's more of a free for all and take out. 

Anyway, rules are rules and I would like to pass on the Beautiful Blogger award to Flabby Ninja.  I am also passing on the Super Commenter award to Joann at Laundry Hurts My Feelings, Mrs. P at Quilting in My Pajamas, Katie at Katies Dailies, Bossy Betty, Dee at a number of very secret places but she knows who she is:-), and Dalia the Stalker at Neurotic Girl's blog, as well as CB, who also knows who she is.  Some of the greatest commenters do not have blogs, they just share their love:-)

Housekeeping.  Check.

I feel the need to write more letters:

Dear DavidThorne:

I received your recent twitter posting with great delight.  A sitcom.  How great is that?  I've tried a number of avenues to determine whether this news is a hoax.  I'm happy to report that a number of internet sites do report that Renee Zelwegger does indeed favor a seaweed diet, and Gary Coleman did pass away (rest in peace), but that reporter was nowhere to be found.  While Keanu Reeves is hot and I can see why you would want him to portray you in the sitcom, I would rather see DavidThorne play David Thorne; or, as I mentioned in my response, Johnny Depp.  The squirrels I'm iffy about.  Pirates are quite dashing, though, and eye patches are trending now, as are fang marks.  Just a thought. I'd love to discuss the soundtrack when you have a free minute.  Also, could you take a minute to post on your blog.  Please?  The "Adelaide Community Server Sucks" excuse was eaten by a shark and is no longer available for your use.  I'm not an obsessed fan, I just like you very, very much.  Almost as much as you like squirrels.  I'm building a bridge for you DavidThorne.

Sincerely,

Chicken

Dear Ivory Soap:

Still waiting on your response but with every tick of the clock am thinking I may have to contact SafeGuard.  Or those folk at Lever.  They seem fun.

In cleanliness,

Chicken

Dear Jerk in the Car Behind Me This Afternoon:

I Know!  It is SO irritating when someone performs an act of everyday courtesy such as letting a fellow driver make a left turn , which requires all of us slowing down for 10 seconds while said driver enters the lane, and I realize that this may have screwed up your very important text message by requiring you to both, a.) look up AND b.) apply your brakes.  I'm very sorry. You were right to lay on the horn. 

Mea Culpa this.   

You suck,

Chicken

Dear Therapist:

Two weeks ago I drove by a nursery, felt compelled to stop, and bought $100 worth of plants, herbs, and potting soil, which are now sitting in my driveway.  Dying.  Didn't we discuss this last spring?  Shouldn't I be over this?  I'd like to request a refund for that session.  Or I could pay you for our next session in slightly alive plants.  Your call.

Not sane yet,

Chicken

Dear Ronald McDonald:

Does the Filet O' Fish contain crack?  Why come it is so addictive?

Love,

Chicken

Dear Sapphire Gin People:

Ditto.

Love,

Chicken

Dear IKEA:

You are such a progressive company that I am sure you can come up with a supply managment method that only allows for one mini-wrench to be delivered for every four table legs because, really, one mini-wrench for EACH table leg is overkill.  What are the chances of someone ordering a table top and just one leg to hold it up?  See what I'm saying?  We recently ordered 15 tables with the customary 4 legs per table and I now find myself with 59 extra mini-wrenches.  I feel obligated to start a social enterprise to make use of excess IKEA toolage.  I don't have time for this shit.  Get with the program IKEA. 

Wishing you common sense,

Chicken

Dear Blogger Community:

Would you like to purchase a necklace made out of left-over IKEA mini-wrenches?  Handy, right?

Going Green,

Chicken

There are more letters.  I can't remember them right now.  One was really, really funny, too.  See what happens when you don't write things down?  sigh. 

Chicken out

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