Chicken Biters

That's right. Chickens are biters. At least my chickens are. This morning when I fed my chickens one walked right up and instead of looking at me sideways or saying hello it just bit my hand.

I feel like maybe I've been a bad parent. I'm really the only one around to teach these chickens how things work and biting the hand that feeds you is just not something to teach your chickens. Did I somehow teach them that? The only real problem here is that if I try to teach them a life lesson and not feed them they won't learn, they'll just die. Or "croak" as my grandma says. Maybe she meant to say "crow"? I'm not sure but I have no roosters so there is no crowing, except from Kent my roommate. He's a cock. He crows. Not really but he is sick with what he calls a stomach flu. I think he needs to man up and just admit that he has the bird flu. That or maybe AIDS. Monkey handler. I think we should put him out with the chickens and other barnyard animals. Kent will be quarantined to the coop. Don't worry Kent, I'll feed you every morning and if you're smart you'll keep an eye on the chickens when they are by the water dish so they don't poop in it because those chickens have no problem dropping deuces in the very water they drink. I really do need to get back to basics with those chickens, they have clearly been raised wrong.

Dry Cleaning

What is the definition of crazy? If crazy is driving half way across town to drop off your dry cleaning when there are probably a dozen closer cleaners then go ahead and put my name up on the crazy board. If the boards listing those individuals who are inneficient and wasters of gas/time are close by and it's not too much trouble, then go ahead and chalk my name on those boards as well. As I was saying, I drive a good distance for good dry cleaning. I'm not sure why, maybe it's just my cross to bear but I have gone through all of my adult, dry cleaning applicable life without even once being pleased with the results of laundered clothing. Until now. I'm not quite sure what the difference is, all the normal factors are in place: Located in a strip mall, check, asian owned, check, mexican operated, check. Everything checks out just the same as any other cleaners I've been to but this one is different. For once I don't have double creased pants. If I wanted double creases I'd do it myself. I'm pretty sure I could even double crease my pants while blindfolded. Many thanks to my new exlusive dry cleaner. I don't care if I move to Thatcher, I'm bringing my dress pants to him. Now that's brand loyalty.

Wilderness Survival

I'm pretty sure I've enjoyed camping for as long as I've been able to breathe. That's right, immediately after leaving the womb I grabbed a leatherman, cut the umbilical cord and promptly pitched a tent. I mean set up a tent. This weekend I rounded up my favorite red headed camping co-pilot and headed down a pavement road to a dirt road to a camp site underneath some power lines. I'm not really sure where we were but I'm pretty sure that everyone else was there too. I don't love busy camping areas. I prefer to be in complete solitude. Lessons learned while camping, if they look fake, they are. If you're with a marathon runner, don't ask him about it. If you're not invited, don't show up. Right before dinner. With nothing to offer other than a push up bra. Ok so maybe that would be adequate but lose 40lbs first. Don't drink and fish. If you drink and fish, don't fall in the lake. If you do drink, fish, and fall in the lake, take in a few lungs full of water and check out. If you plan on camping in a tent, it will rain. Water is bad for dutch ovens. Very very bad. It's hard to wash your hands after using the bathroom. If you're a girl it's hard to use the bathroom period. If you're a girl on your period, don't go camping. Period.

I'm going, going back, back to Cali, Cali

Ok so I'm not really going back to Cali, but I did go back last weekend and now I've returned. I wonder if I could go 24 hours expressing myself just by using lyrics from Notorious B.I.G's hip-hop tick-tock? That's worth a try some day when I'm feeling especially gangster. And especially annoying. I don't know what it is but something about getting in the truck and driving west till I hit the coast just does it for me. Not so much the scenery in between, heaven knows Blythe is no diamond in the rough, but once you get past the windmill farm in Quartsite things really start to look up. One more comment or should I say question, what in the world is the allure of Palm Springs? From the freeway it looks like a big trailer park in the middle of the desert. A really crappy part of the desert. A big trailer park with low end trailers and sick palm trees. Something tells me they have a petting zoo there. And a flee market. And an abortion clinic. One day my curiosity will get the best of me and I'll check it out. Something tells me I'm going to be disappointed. Or just not surprised at the lameness. Anyways at some point I arrived at my destination with a little help from my GPS and a little more help from my 44 oz Big Gulp of Mt. Dew. Thankfully my prostate is in good working order (I guess) so I didn't have to stop for a million pee breaks like my dear father. Heaven help me when that day comes. Anyways, getting sidetracked with the problems of a 50 year old man was not really my purpose of this post so lets get on with it. Cali was great. Beautiful weather, good friends, good music, good beach, and good food. I plan most of my trips around where I'm going to eat. One of the biggest disappointments of the trip was when we cruised up to the local T.K. Burger in Huntington 2 minutes too late. Granted I wasn't even slightly hungry but I hate having traditions interrupted. Blast. Luckily my friend Becca had two spec-freaking-tacular Mexican food places to take me to which blew my boots off. I dare say the carne asada was better than anything I've found even in Arizona. And probably even better than anything I've found in Mexico. Sorry Mexico, sometimes it seems like we do everything better in America, even Mexican. Lo siento. So, even though I got pink eye, which I'm pretty sure I haven't gotten since I was three weeks past my second birthday, the trip was a great success. Special thanks to Becca and Ra Ra. No thanks to Lisa who could possibly be the most obnoxiously annoying person I've ever met. No really, I think I will bill her for the years of schooling that she may have cost me. I'm pretty sure my IQ suffered and it's a miracle I can go for more than three words without saying "like". I'm pretty sure she beat that word into my head. I'm not a fan of the valley girl. Go back to the valley. Just not this valley. Thank you.

Rough em Up, Cuff em Up

So yesterday I went on a ride-a-long with a friend from the local police department. That's right, I'm thinking about joining the league of bad A's. Pigs, Porks, Bacon, the fuzz. Just seems like a club I'd like to be a part of. Why not? I enjoy driving around like a meth crazed teen as much as the next guy and for once I'd be justified. First call of the day, some little burrito shop for a breakfast burrito. Classic. Second call, a tripped residential alarm in a nice neighborhood but shady part of town. My buddy tells me to stay close and keep my eyes open. We approach an open door that goes into what seems like might be a garage. That's when I notice a huge doggy bowl. Forget about a lurking mexican, I'm now worried about a dog. Freak, dogs have teeth, mexicans do too I suppose but when's the last time you knocked the teeth out of a dog? My point exactly. Anyways, false alarm on both counts, no mexican, and no dog. That pretty much set the stage for the rest of the day. Unfortunantely police work seems to entail a lot of following up on cold leads and looking for things/people who are no longer there. Dang them. Luckily police work also seems to involve a lot of BS'ing with the other officers and harrasing the homeless. The homeless are creepy, but sign me up for the BS'ing. When it comes to BS, I give myself an A+

My Job

I've recently decided that I'm really not a fan. Nope, not a fan at all. Last week while attending a meeting about how our discontinuance of overtime availability is going to "save our clients money" I began to think to myself, I don't give a flying flip about saving anyone money. I want to make money, and I don't really care who pays me just so long as I get paid. I swear every time I turn around my employer is talking about how cuts in my ability to make money are going to save our clients money. How so? Are we going to start sending shareholders checks with a little note that says "congratulations here's the money that we saved you." ?? I was born at night, but not last night.