They See Me Rollin/They Hatin

GHEY

This is the same cockloaf who brought you Britney giving birth. All I can say to recommend this is that it's gold. I think this man should have a cock and balls tattooed to his forehead and all his profits should be forwarded to ME.

Moar tomorrow with pics.

Posted by iasshole at 10:39 PM | Comments (1)

Dun Dun Dun DUNNN Jackass Club

Yesterday my present was a child who decided to, not once, but twice knock over the water in the new hen pen. This wouldn't be a huge deal when they were smaller and in a pen with a paper towel bottom, but now they frolick in the wood chippery. By sundown I realized they were in soggy town, and I thought that could only breed trouble. So last night they were incarcerated in their ten-gallon aquarium of babyhood, and I couldn't get Fat Guy In a Little Coat out of my head. Sure enough, by morning two had jailbroked.

ALSO. I now have one chicken whose comb is going all red. I've got rooster, which starts with an "r" which rhymes with "f" for FUCK I CAN'T KEEP THIS THING. Lucky for me I have a friend with a farm connection, so it's farewell, my cochin. I am afraid of going into the summer with only two hens, because lose one more and it's single psycho chicken syndrome. More chicks it is. How about I don't hit the ten percent sexing failure rate this time?

They are happy in their wardrobe box condo, with deluxe windows for peepery.

Last Monday I was walking around in Ballard and meeting a friend for breakfast when I walked by a giant condomomium with a fridge party outside. I was talking to a friend about our society and this urge we often have to steal anything that's not nailed down. Is that a by product of capitalism or is that just human nature? Anyway, I thought, OH YES, I could get one of those fridges into my trunk. I would like a freezer chest for real, though. I think being raised in the midwest made me think that was part of being an adult.

You get your meats and you put it in your ice box. NOM. Also popsicles.

Saturday night I was in the grocery store getting stuffs for brunch yesterday, and I saw this woman who looked young, decently dressed, and totally normal, except for the fact that she had a dog wearing clothes in the BABY seat of the shopping cart.

Why is thinking that your dog belongs in a grocery store baby seat not considered mental illness in this town? I was talking with my friend about this yesterday, and he mentioned the proliferation of "please don't bring your dog in here" or "service dogs only" signs on restaurants and cafes. It makes me CRAZY that people have to be told not to bring their pet into a restaurant. I am going to start asking about store's dog policies and see if I can encourage them to be clearer about it. You want dogs in your grocery store? Fine, I will shop elsewhere. QFC has taken a vocal no-dogs stance, and as much as I hate that place, at least they own up to it.

You want to have some company when you go out? Call a HUMAN, idiot. Blonde Maltese girl, I would much rather see you on your cel phone than having your stanky pantsless "life prosthesis" (as my friend says) rubbing its butthole all over the babyseat and shedding in the cart I may be using. UGH. I really hate the dog culture in this town. If you say something in a park about a leashless dog rampaging through the playground you get your head torn off. GROW UP and take some responsibility, and please don't assume that because your dog is "great with kids" I want your unknown beast near me.

Posted by iasshole at 7:42 AM | Comments (9)

My Foot On Board of Your Ass/Daily Affirmation

There is a "baby on board" sign in a car on my street. Are these vintage now? I don't know. Is it ironic at this point? Why does this make me want to hit your car? My sanity is worth more than your baby, sorry. I am a contributing member of society, and your baby just drools a lot. True story.

Went to Sonic Boom today and got the Mac Lethal, which I have been lusting after, and something I had never heard called Black Spade. Also I have the new Atmosphere coming to my house via Amazon with my chicken books for my chicken husbandry is rusty. Now I have something to rock out to while I am working on my next project. I have put pen to paper for the first time today and it is off and running. I am hoping to have something out by xmas. Yes, it will be that fast, because probably no one will want to buy it and I will release it myself. That's right. Wolfman's got nards. Also, the glass is half empty and someone spit in it.

I am feeling auspiciousalicious because last time I did a big writing project I had just started up my chicken hobby. And now I have a chick named "Calliope." Do you see where this is going? I hope it will not go where it went last time, actually, which is my drawer gathering dust for lo these last five years. I wrote three hours a day and it felt great. Someone brought me a desk this weekend with a place for an inkwell, so I am no longer crowded onto a cafe table we found on the side of the road. I Have a Drawer.

I am working on my self of steam so I can actually show my work to people now. Last summer was huge for me, because I wrote a screenplay and had my friends read it out loud at a barbecue, which almost killed me, but then didn't, and those people still call me. So it gets better. I still write for myself, but now I want other people to read it. Starting today I am going to stop pretending that when I hit "publish" my words just disappear. Out of denial; Baby Ideas on Board. Hello, hello, I see you thur.

Posted by iasshole at 11:01 AM | Comments (12)

Chookieland, Opening June 2008

Today we went to the plant sale that the Seattle Tilth puts on every year. Perps were all cloche this, cloche that, and I'm all F that N, frankly, because do you want wussy tomatoes? We saw a bunch of people we knew and I only got called an asshole once, which is pretty remarkable considering the way I was cutting in line.

The wee pullets have embiggened, so they have gotten sprung out of their ten-gallon aquarium into a wardrobe box. It's funny what you can raise chooks it. Yesterday I noticed they were panting under their heat lamp and couldn't really get away, so they needed more room. It's nice that they get hardier every day and don't start shivering if you have them out for five minutes.

Here is Veronica Peep, Private Investigator. Yes, I named her after Veronica Mars because she is blonde and scrappy. No, I cannot believe I admitted that either.

If you put the chickens on any surface, they will immediately start pecking up all the errant crumbs, which is nice because my house is usually fairly crumby. However, they may drop a bomb at any moment, so it's kind of a zero sum game. I forgot how well they can see little things. The other night I had one on my hand and she deliberately pecked at all my tiny little hand freckles. This is the life of an omnivore.

Looks like Veronica has gotten bigger in a week's time. Here she is wee-er:

Speaking of babydaddy here, I have to do something I really hesitate to do, because it's so rude and unnecessary, but I am going for gold. Companion is SO INTERESTED in my chickens. When I had chickens before I was married to some guy and he did not give a rip about me and my hobbies. I built the coop from scratch, of my own design, and I completely cared for the chickens by myself. This was pretty typical of most of my endeavors. The only one we ever really shared was Franny, and that was more of a tag-team effort at best.

HOWEVER, I know this is all apples to mothballs, but Companion actually picks the chickens up and talks to them. We sat down and designed the coop together and he insisted on naming one (Myrtle), since we are caring for them together. Even after our four years together, I am still amazed at his willingness to be a part of my life. You know, it's like I was single for years and years, through marriage and having a kid, and now I actually have a partner. It's funny how you can with someone and think you shouldn't be lonely, because you aren't alone.

Another reason I thought Companion might be chicken-blase is because he farmed and saw them as a teeming mass of rude livestock. Plus, they were Barred Rocks, which are basically dicks. But these are sweet little peepers and you can see that they have different personalities and ways of singing. I forgot that chicks will sing like songbirds when they are getting their feathers. It's nice in the kitchen and I will miss them when I have to boot them out.

In Strudel News

Three is more fun than two, except not at all.

She upended the chair she runs by, threw the mitten baskets and ran off to the back room. This is right after school. Poor Franny was ill that day and got so upset she cried a little.

And then she can be a lot of fun, like with our babysitter.

But later she threw down. Ah, well.

So now we have six tomato plants, lemon cucumbers, and too much dill. I will keep you posted on the challenges of keeping chickens out of the tomatoes.

Posted by iasshole at 11:03 AM | Comments (9)

Sexy Mama May #1: What Does It Mean to Be a Sex-Positive Mom?

As an aside: the best sex store that ever was, Babeland, has asked me along with a few other bloggers to write for their Sexy Mama May for Mother's Day. They will have theme weeks this month about what it means to be a sex-pos mom, and I will write on their topics. I am also able to do a giveaway sometime this month of a cool swag pack, and I am trying to decide how to do it. Stay tuned!

Hooray, Mother's Day is coming! That one token day where I get to sit around and pretend that my feral dwarf overlords appreciate me because they throw a couple of frozen waffles at me before going back to destroying the house.

Okay, I kid. I like Mother's Day. And the house-destroyers are the reason I can celebrate it, right? For the past few years, Franny has been giving some thought to how she got here, starting with the appearance of her sister as a lump on my body. As I explained pregnancy and conception to her, with the aid of a great book called "What's the Big Secret?" I could see her look of quiet horror as she put two and two together and realized that yes, I, her mother, had to have sex to conceive both her and her sister.

Things are getting easier with her now though. She asks questions about sex and love a little hesitantly, but frankly, about things she doesn't understand. The other day she confessed that she dreamt she kissed a boy. It sounded very sweet and chaste, much like my first erotic dream about Michael J. Fox. It was fun for me to see her all thrilled and yet kind of freaked out about it all.

"Well, that's totally normal," I said. "Everyone has dreams like that." I told her I dreamt about holding hands with Michael J. Fox, because we saw Back to the Future recently and she knows who he is.

"He was considered one of the cutest boys in America when I was your age," I said, waving my cane of old cronedom around.

"No WAI," was her stunned reply.

WAI.

We are all going through a huge EW phase over here regarding kissing in pictures or TV. But then she backtracks and says it's okay if some people kiss, like me and her sister's dad. Well, I am pleased to have a special dispensation from my little Prude Pope.

She really had a lightbulb moment the other day, when she was watching over my shoulder as I was playing The Sims 2, infamous for its censor-blurred sex with little pixel people. I haven't gamed in months because of life, flu, and auction, but I decided to pick it up as I am in extra-lazy mode now as I recover. I created a new little household of two roomies and they happened to hit it off and were smooching in their little pixel living room.

"Mom?" she said.

"Yep."

Stage whisper: "Do you think those Sims are going to HAVE SEX?"

"Oh, probably," I replied.

"Oh GROSS."

"Sex isn't gross," I said.

"Hmm, okay. I guess it doesn't have to be. I guess...I am here because of sex."

DING DING DING! They're so cute when they come out of denial. These are the moments that kind of help mitigate the three a.m. vomming and sister-smacking.

Posted by iasshole at 12:37 PM | Comments (4)

Now Fifteen Percent Less Bitter, I Tells You

Strudel and Mali boogie down to duck town. I say I am doing things like readings to "get myself out there" but it is actually to hang out with the cool people.

I probably embarrassed the hell out of Squid because I told her that my visit there in January was really helpful. I saw a loving, kind family in action, which was exactly what I needed right then after a rough fall and wrestling with the flu earlier that month. I came home and felt calmer and less yelly and better about my monkeys in general.

I haven't told you the BIG news because I have been processing things all slowly as usual. It's like you can see the hourglass over my head. Anyway, QUELLE SURPRISE, Seattle Federline is not moving away, so he gets to remain Seattle Federline. YAYS! My kid came home and told me, and then started crying. I am guessing she has no concept how pissed she is at him.

I am too, really, though I feel that impotent, kind of apathetic rage like you do for things in the universe that are totally out of your control. At least after six-plus months of threatening to move, he had the presence of mind to tell her he was staying for her. She was bummed, though, because she wanted to spend more time over here.

I have my suspicions, though, as I always do. I am hearing rumors now of him working at home and being given a company car. No one would give his useless job-hopping ass a company car...except his father. I think there's been monetary intervention, again, because a few months ago he had to move because they couldn't buy a house in Seattle, and now that is exactly what they are doing, buying a house here. And I KNOW what state his credit's in.

Oh, you should have seen the look on his face when we were in mediation and he was realizing that there was no way we could be fifty-fifty and then I said the words "child support." OHHH that was almost worth the $600. I sat down and though about it today, and his "almost move" cost us about $1000. I have learned. Next time something like this comes up, I am not budging. He can deal with it all.

Posted by iasshole at 8:31 AM | Comments (6)

Sunday Sonata

SOOOO the reading went really well, and it was completely awesome to have fronds there. Other than that, I feel like I've slept all weekend. NPR stuck a mic up in Franny's grill, so I hope they use her soundbite. The interviewer was nice--she said that Franny was very articulate compared to a lot of kids, which was good to hear, since I spend half of her waking hours going Please Express Your Feelings to the Best of Your Ability. (Show your work in the space below.)

Since the book is about hard/awkward times in school, the reporter asked Franny about that, and she said she was dealing with a bully right now. I knew that she was dealing with a really unpleasant child daily, but I was surprised to hear the classification in her own head was set to "bully." I am trying to give her some tactics to deal with this bully, and Franny said she is backing off. I am probably a little too proactive about telling her exactly what to do, since my mom gave me all that "sticks and stones" and "school doesn't last forever" (yes it does) crap when I had problems with other kids. I suggested that Franny should call the bully out in a loud voice on exactly whatever it is she's doing, and use social pressure/shaming to let the bully know that Franny is not an easy target. The kids are all socialized to be quiet and nice, especially the girls, of course, but silence is not your friend, here. Franny reported that when she said, loudly, "You are not supposed to be doing that, and that is not nice," three or four other kids turned around and stared at the offender and she slunk away. This is the same child who has been saying things like "Give me that pencil, or I won't be your friend" since they were two. Franny admitted she is relieved the kid is moving into a different class next year.

So I saw coolio San Fransisco friends, and now they are leaving again. Sad panda. Today Companion and I talked about chicken run plans. I have ideas, and he has actual expertise on carpentry and crap, so I hope that when this is done it doesn't look like the shady part of Hooverville or something. The chicks bock, sleep, poop. I am to bring them into Strudel's class on Monday. The little monkeys will love that.

Posted by iasshole at 10:57 AM | Comments (7)

Confucius Say, "Woman Who Lies Down In Spanx, Wakes Up Feeling Like Sausage."

HEY. I lived through my auction. Those twelve hour days sucked, and dreaming about the inventory BLEW. A SERVER yelled at one of the moms because we had a snowboard there with cartoon titties on it, which I approved. It was BADASS, and we sold the hell out of it. But now it's over.

Today, I go to my reward. I am going to go pick up some little beepers so I can renew my happy days of yore when I was a chicken rancher. Did this really happen FIVE YEARS AGO? Holy fucking crumpets. Three beepers. Oh the chickenmanity. Pics to follow.

I have been gardening, laundering, and putting my house back together. I started seedlings on my windowsill. I have almost been forgiven for sneezing at the auction and winning a $850 vacation. WHOOPS. My ultimate bads. Anyone want to come? The house sleeps 16. Eh hee hee hee.

And today I write about offal and dick-waving at Blogher, and o hai, there are still tickets left to the reading I am participating in tonight. Tickets are five or twelve bone, and I am going first. Come and see my goiter in person!!! If you buy a book I'll let you touch it.

P.S. Someone broke the glass at my fave rave Lighthouse this morning. Go buy extra coffee so they won't take a bad hit from that!

ETA 11:01 a.m.: Beepers secured! They are dozing under their heat light. Hard to believe that in a few weeks only one will fit into the aquarium, and snugly at that. I got a Barred Cochin, which is one of those Frenchie furry-legged varieties, an American mutty Araucana ("Easter Egg Hen"), and a Buff Orpington. I have never had a Cochin before, but they are supposed to be mellow to the point of being "cuddly" and are supposed to be good layers. Some of my favorite birds before was my buffy named "Marzipan" and an Easter Egg chicken named "Penny." RIP homies, RIP.

Chicken pics below the fold, and some other stuff that I decided to throw in. It's like you ordered a hamburger and I say, "Oh, here, bottle of mango chutney Free With Purchase."

Continue reading "Confucius Say, "Woman Who Lies Down In Spanx, Wakes Up Feeling Like Sausage.""

Posted by iasshole at 7:46 AM | Comments (9)

Please Come to Mah Show

NPR will be there and crap. And we love that nippers. I will read for you! Others with talents and hilarity will read for you. Later, there will be kid-ditching and boozing.

You can buy tickets now!

Posted by iasshole at 7:59 AM | Comments (13)

Friday Fricassee

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I popped into work this morning and the admin was still drunk and my boss was AWOL. Good times. So I did not get my edits, but I got a chance to write my blogher article on grammar poleezes. I typoed in the first sentence, so I hope someone will get a kick out of that. But I don't have to tell you that. You saw what I did thur. Also, I accidentally misspelled fascists in the title, but I fixed it. Stay classy, me. FINGER GUNS.

Also last week I wrote a smarmy article about corporate greeneryization, which no one commented on. Probably I misspelled something in that entry, too.

Lately I have been a half-awake homophone abuser, you know?

Posted by iasshole at 11:33 AM | Comments (4)