chicken

Welllllll I am a complete chicken.  Theoretically, of course.  I woke up this morning to someone knocking at the door (at 6:30 – Phil had left for a meeting) and found that the water purifier had been set up to fill my coffee maker….and been left on…………..

The sound I heard was the tile falling and smacking on the laundry machine downstairs.

sigh.

Then, I go outside to let the chickens out.  I open their little door, they all start filing out, happy clucking, you know.  Then I go around to the big door, get the scoop of scratch, walk among the birdies to disperse it, chatting hello to Coco and Peaches and the Ugly Sisters, back to put the scoop away, and I hear my kitty meowing.  I turn and call her.  Turn back around and what do I see?  Mr. Darcy, the rooster, puffed up like a gila monster, in attack mode.  Crap!  I know he is fifty times smaller than me but crap!  He scares me!  So I lunge, making the scariest chirp I can and he comes at me!  Finally, I yelp for my dog Jack who comes to my rescue.  Mr. Darcy doesn’t like Jack.

That’s why I say I am a chicken.  No pun intended. I need coffee.

crap-a-what?

Phil and I came up with a new word. I thought he said it and he didn’t really say it, I just thought I heard him say it. He was talking about a book that espouses a lot of stuff that seems to be, uh, not true. So he said this about it – or I thought he did, and we decided it was a pretty funny word.

“crapaganda”

oh, the joy of long car rides.

Random Facts

Sunia asked me to tell 8 random things about me. So, I’ll start with a biggie. One of my biggest struggles/fears is that people are rolling their eyes at me. Like I”ll be going on about something I really love or is really important to me, and they yawn. Someone important in my life used to do that, and it wasn’t until I was older that I realized that he didn’t really care about anything I was saying. He used to sigh deeply when I would talk. So I quit talking. Now I have to purposely remind myself that it’s ok to talk and be myself and if people are rolling their eyes, that’s their problem and not mine.

I love books, especially fiction, although I read more non fiction I think. I love stories because they define our lives and give us something to hold onto. Like on bad days I remember Eowyn slaying the fell beast and I can say, “oh, yeah, that’s what’s happening.” But I hold my tongue a lot because I’m afraid someone is rolling their eyes

I make lists so I won’t get overwhelmed but sometimes I get so overwhelmed by my lists that I – uh – get overwhelmed Then it’s time to throw out the lists and watch Doctor Who with my kids.

I really like Baratz and Baretta on youtube. They’re funny. 

I’ve always considered dredlocks, even when I was a kid.

I love to start quilts, but I have about 4 unfinished ones lying around.

Coffee makes me happy. Actually, I should say, organic, fair trade espresso from Alakef ground fine in a burr grinder and pressed into espresso with purified boiling water and non homogenized 1/2 and 1/2 makes me happy. Or something like that. Folgers makes me crabby. Coffee from a coffee house where I’ve just paid $3 for a really bad cup makes me really really crabby.

I love to play cards with my kids, quote movies, sing songs, and make faces so they laugh. Then my husband rolls his eyes.

Stuff I do because I’m a moron, too

I’m killing time. Sooooo tired from hanging out with firestarters last night but too early to go to bed, so I’m doing random things like google my own name and following the links. I got to my blog from my book’s website. So then I followed those back awhile. Came across this:

“I realized I spent much of my time reacting. If somebody offended me, I was quick to react rather than consider what reacting was going to cost me, and whether the price was too much to pay to get revenge.  I’ve found if a guy can control his emotions, he is going to go a great deal further in life. Sometimes that means walking away. And so even in casual conversation with friends, I started being more calculative about what I said and did, being careful not to offend, and if offended, working to bring peace into the situation. The trick is to stick with the plan. If the plan is to finish school and become a doctor, or work hard and move up the company ladder, then throwing somebody through a window would be a departure from the plan.”

Donald Miller wrote that. I love Donald Miller. Hear that, Google? Will he find this when he’s bored some night and randomly googling his own name?

This is entitled, “on a roll, or, things I do because I’m a moron, too,” after a very funny person we know. Be sure to check out the “moron” series, because that is what this particular blog is named after.

Ok, all that to say, after my last blog, I was in the post office the other day and got totally offended by a new guy who asked to see my ID.  I had to run to the car to get it because I’m in the post office every day and they know me by name so I never need it and I had sixty packages balanced like the Cat in the Hat and I didn’t bother grabbing it. So the new guy flips my card over, and can’t see my signature.

“It’s old, we’re getting a new one next month.”  Lame. Like why don’t I put “IDENTITY THEFT IN PROGRESS” on my forehead?

He asks to see my id, as he should have. This is where it gets ugly, moron-ish, embarrasing.  I grumbled and stalked out.

yes, after the whole humbling espresso machine thing.

So I get my ID, come back in, and he starts to apologize. Normally, this would melt me and I would start apologizing, but the Wicked Witch of the West was behind him telling him he had no reason to apologize, that I was the moron, that it was standard procedure and I should get a life.

(She wasn’t really the wicked witch of the west, she was really a normally very nice postal lady who was probably having a bad day.)

So, by this time, everyone in the lines are watching me make a complete idiot of myself, wondering who this chick is who can’t control her temper. This is what I should have done. I should have stopped for a second, looked the guy in the eye, and said, “You’re right. It’s no problem for you to ask for my ID, in fact, I’m glad you do. You’re new, and I’m the one that’s not being very gracious here. I’m sorry.”

I’ve been known to be that gracious, on occasion. Usually when no one is looking.

So, instead, I didn’t look him in the eye, I didn’t really apologize, and I mumbled something about having a bad day, which wasn’t really true, I just said it because I was so flustered by the green lady behind him that my pride was pricked.  And I left.

Poor guy.

And, once again, I had to repent. To God, yes, done that. Now I get to go back in and say sorry to the New Guy and the Green Lady.  Yay.

Are you getting this that this stuff isn’t worth it? I sure hope so, because I don’t plan on writing too many more of these !