I am quite possibly on the verge of a great scientific discovery, one that proves that the Archaeopteryx, the original dinosaur bird that lived during the Jurassic period, still exists today. Because how else can I describe the sheer size of the bird crap splatter on my windshield last night – a crusted pile resistant to multiple window cleaner sprayings and repeated beatings with the wipers? The splatter was directly in my line of vision, so whenever I averted my eyes for a second and returned to look out my window, I gave an involuntary body twitch because ohmigod – something flying at my face! – oh wait, it’s just that pile of prehistoric crap again. Until it finally disintegrates, I will be waiting for a Cro-Magnon to invent a crude chisel to chip it off.
I need to put a new category on this site titled: “Weird Stuff I Found in our Yard” because in addition to the sea shells and the harmonica, last week I found a half-opened – but uneaten – Twinkie. Which pissed me off, not because someone had tossed it in the middle of our yard, and in fact, may have been in our yard, but because one end of the wrapper was open, meaning I couldn’t eat it. Jerks.
There are a lot of dogs in our neighborhood. There’s the giant malamute Quiqley, who howls at Shorty while his owner yells even louder at him to shut up; there’s the white poodle Bentley, who acts like a big toughie even though I’ve used cotton balls larger than him; there’s the overweight Snowball, who is HUGE, friendly and never on his leash; and then there’s the two dogs a few blocks down. One’s some sort of large mutt, and the other is a Doberman. They live in a yard with no fence. I mean, I assume and pray there’s an invisible fence, because they have those collars and always stop short at the same spot, but whenever we walk down that darkened street (we have, like, NO street lights in our neighborhood) and I see those two huge dogs sprinting toward us, it freaks me out. What freaks me out even more is when I don’t see them running toward us and instead, see their beady eyes as they stealthily follow us along the invisible fence line, hunting us. And yet all it takes is for some unseen person in the house to clap twice – clapclap – and the dogs obediently trot back inside. I’m assuming three claps means “tear intruders to shreds.”
So…the Twins. I’m finally ready to talk about it. It was a great game, even if the outcome was less than desirable. And if anyone had to score the winning run, I’m glad it was the class-act Thome instead of A.J. “the giant tool” Pierzynski. And even though the play at the plate showed great defense by A.J., I bristled when instead of showing the umpire that he held onto the ball, A.J. ran over to Cuddy and triumphantly thrust the ball toward him. I told Jason, “I would’ve punched him right in the face.” And Jason said, “I know you would’ve.”
There are a few younger couples in our neighborhood that we desperately want to befriend. One couple likes camping, and from our street view of their TV, they also like Family Guy, which means we should be best friends. The other couple (which we’ve nicknamed the Heffernans after King of Queens) likes grilling and the Vikings. Last weekend, they happened to be outside while we walked by with Shorty. We introduced ourselves while their dog yapped at us and we had a very nice conversation, which culminated in some helpful info on dog training, the neighborhood and the crappy housing market. After we headed home, we realized we had already forgotten the woman’s name, although I remembered the dog’s. Be our friends, neighbors whose names I’ve already forgotten! Wait, the husband’s name was Chris! And her name was Caroline!
I think.
Or maybe it was Jillian.
Anyway, call us!
