Friday, June 08, 2007

I'm here..

...I've just been
Painting the front porch
taking cuttings of my Camperdown Elm
lifting plants
dividing plants
potting up
building a new bed for wetland plants in the back yard
trimming and shaping the staghorn willow
" " the alaskan willow

handpicking SLUGS out of my strawberries EW EW EW EW EW and giving them flying lessons...and oddly enough, no matter how hard or how far you throw a slug to get it started, they never seem to catch on to the whole 'flying' thing.

weed whacking (whack! whack!)
visiting home improvement centers
pricing deck rail
drawing up plans for a pergola
visiting nurseries and pricing trumpet vine and wisteria

so, yeah. My time is now my own and look how I spend it...lying around, smoking crack, watching Jerry's pathetic.

Monday, June 04, 2007

Green Winged Leech of Madness Bringing Active!

I got utterly trashed on illicit weapons-grade vicodin and beer the other day and it did me a world of good. I had a great time all afternoon long, and then went to have a fantastic nights' sleep. I woke without a hangover and I feel like a million bucks. Yes, kids, drugs are fun! Do some today!

This may come as good news to some of sure came as a complete suprise to me.
Middle age has given me back the exact same libido I had during puberty.
Oh yeah.
Yes, as my former fecundity sinks slowly into the west and I bid farewell to the HMS Menopause, I turn to face my husband of twenty years, and find him VERY GOOD INDEED.
As in 'call first; don't just drop by'.

Being ecumenical, I also find I have a renewed appreciation for such things as the truly spectacular rack on the little meadow blossom who works at the Pay-N-Run.
Just sayin'.

This, then, is middle age, ladies and gentlemen. It's like thirteen, only with more money, a somewhat greater understanding of how society operates* and a drivers' license.

It ain't bad.

The following is probably karma back at me for not buying locally, and so I humbly apologize to the universe and promise forevermore to let not my home improvement dollars wander any further than the Lynden Do-It Center (and not just because the name makes me snicker like a tard).

So we go in to town and hit Home Depot to buy some paint. Now Home Depot is kind of the B-list chain hardware outlet, so they dont' get the pick of the litter employee-wise. The hippobottomous behind the paint counter was a new low...flumping, sighing, rolling her eyes heavenward, sweating grapefruit and flicking attitude like a twelve year old girl. 'What? Huh? Duh?" she sneered at a customer who was insulting her by attempting to buy paint. She emphasized this by waving her hands about vaguely in midair to signify her complete inability to understand what poor Paint Customer was driving at as he meekly repeated 'I want a gallon of white paint, please...?" (or possibly she was shooing flies attracted by her shitty customer service skills.) Meanwhile her manager wrung his hands and paced and pretended to consult catalogues, wandered around like a lost puppy, followed a customer halfway down the aisle, and then turned away to follow another customer halfway down another aisle...fuck, it was painful.
We walked.
And the lame wad followed me! Shouting "Miss? Miss? Miss? Miss?"
I turned and looked at him, whereupon he turned to my HUSBAND (oh, he was racking up the points, I tell ya) and asked "Miss, is something wrong?"


Well, yes, quite a bit was wrong by that point.

A few days ago my Yummy Biker arrived home from work and announced 'I have a present for you!'
"OO! Whadja get me? Whadja get me?" I was bouncing around the kitchen like a small exciteable dog. "What is it? What is it?"
He pulled a huge, heavy rusted bolt from his lunchbox...a bolt that had been some time immersed in seawater, bizarre and corroded, complete with hexnut still attached to one end. He held it out proudly.
"Look!" he said. "It's a severed robot penis!"

*In my case this also includes the same utter disregard for the rules of society as I had when I was 13, but a greater knowlege of flammable materials.

Butch as fuck!

Stained the front porch? Yeah.
Scraped, prepped and painted same? Yup.
Tore off back deck railing? Uh huh.
Busted same down, loaded into truck? Oh yeah.

More man than you'll ever be, more woman than you'll ever get!

A few nights ago as I was closing up shop I found a sphinx moth fluttering in the front window. Unlike the last time this happened I did not freak and flap like a nut; I simply opened the window a little wider and let it find it's way out.
A sphinx moth mimics a hummingbird-their general appearance, flight and habits. They come out in the evening and drink from the flowers, looking rather like the ghosts of hummingbirds, pale and slow, drifting along as the dew falls.
They make a helicopery noise in flight, a basso flaptering hum. A hummingbird makes an electrical zzzzzmmm, interspersed with manic chittering, and is all color and dash.

I have had hummingbirds land on me while I was working in the garden, and it's wonderful and a little alarming. They have no fear whatsoever, and so much to say! One hung upside down from the brim of my hat and stuck his tongue out at me. Others perched on my head or arms and looked around calmly, or read me the riot act.
I have had a sphinx moth brush my arm in passing...and I screamed.
They're....soft. And cold. And...mothy.
So much for Butch Muk.