Conversations With Todd – Episode 2 all started yesterday morning when I sent Todd, who has been dealing with an onslaught of negative shit lately, his horoscope.  You can read it here:
The following is the IM transcript from Facebook. 

Todd:  thanks honey, I guess I’m not really a bull s*** magnet.  nah
but anyone can step in bullshit
it’s like a wad of gum you didn’t see in the parking lot when you step out of your car
should you be punished for being unaware?
I don’t think so
all you need is a stick or something to scrape that shit off your shoe and keep walking
just remember – you can’t live in this world without shit
everybody does it, everyone has stepped in it at least once, and – in my particular case – has had it splattered on their face
Todd:  Thanks, beautifully stated.
Me:  and then, of course, is the bird bombing … I wonder what percentage of people have been bombed by birds??
I tried googling it and when I started typing “what percentage” it auto-generated “of men are gay” which I find fascinating, since that must mean a lot of people are googling that.
And then when I added “…of people,”  it auto-generated “have herpes”… so again, I wonder if this is a hot topic around the world
Is this a concern for people at large?
Todd:  hmm, funny?
Me:  But a few people claimed they are pooped on every day
and then they clarified that they own birds
WHICH is another reason I just don’t get why anyone would want to own a bird, since they poop so indiscriminately all the time. I mean, that seems like a serious karma issue… at least for the bird… like, don’t shit on the hand that feeds you??
And don’t you dare tell me you can train a bird to poop in a specific location, like cats in a litterbox
I’m still recovering from the news that P has litter trained her dogs
That is just f-n nasty. Imagine what that must smell like.
Then again, maybe you really don’t want to.

REALLY long, would-be-awkward-if-he-weren’t-my-husband lull in the conversation.
But don’t worry honey, we can undo whatever they have done. All it takes is a little time, an eviction, a complete renovation, and some fresh Kilz.

A lot more time goes by, whereby I begin to wonder if I’ve somehow upset him by reminding him of the mess his other tenants are proliferating next door.
Me again:  Well, I’m taking a poll.
Todd:  But, disgusting as it may be, I heard it was good luck if a bird poops on your head?
It is definately not good luck if you step in poop
People who own birds could stick their head in a bird cage every morning.
Me:  Yes, bird poop is reputed to be good luck should it land on you. However, that might also imply that people who own birds are purposely manipulating their own luck. Which can’t be good. Someday that bird will die, and it will be time to cash in all the bad luck they’ve been avoiding.
Where there are birds, there will always be shit. BTW…My poll has taken off! (No pun intended).

Miscellaneous $hit:

My poll produced many victims of bird bombings.  I was impressed with the pure skill and precision with which the birds executed some of the attacks.  From military-style open sunroof bombings to nailing a moving target (a child’s arm hanging out of a moving car), to the more mundane beach bombings and even two separate unsolicited Disney attacks (and one was in a wheelchair) – which – I think – is appalling considering the supernatural power Disney commands.  Disney can do anything.  I mean, if they can make the trash cans empty from underground, surely they can eliminate the presence of birds.

17 people were hit, and 4 were hit at least twice.  5 escaped the horror, but 2 knew someone who didn’t.  1 was hit in the face (unequivocally the worst) and, actually, my daughter was also hit in the face when she was in the backyard around the age of 3.  However, the air raid award goes to Liz, who was bombed by a goose at the tender age of 7.  A goose.  If you have never seen goose shit before, you haven’t lived.  It is the biggest, nastiest, greenest pile of poo you will ever see outside of a zoo. Unless, of course, you worked at Omnicare in King of Prussia, where geese regularly used the top of our building as a rest stop.

I suffered a pigeon strike in Washington Square Park in 1990 where I was studying on an exceptionally beautiful spring day.  Which, incidentally, reminds me that someone pointed out how funny it is that everyone remembers exactly where it happened.  And when.

The face splattering I referenced in the above exchange with Todd did not, in fact, originate from a bird.  It was my then-infant son, whose diaper I was changing and absentmindedly leaned down to be eye level with the trap door that suddenly exploded in my face.  I was coated in that thick yellow breastmilk poo from forehead to chest, and could not even open my eyes. True story.  Learn from this, people!  Never.  Ever.  Get that close to your baby’s bum.  Unless it’s covered.  Or you’re wearing goggles and a raincoat.

Todd misspelled “definitely.”  He says he was tired, and ordinarily doesn’t.  I – with a BA in English – admit to having misspelled this word for over half my life… it’s like this terrible habit that took me years to break, and one I must consciously avoid every single time I use the word, like chewing nails.  Which I don’t do.  Chew nails, that is.  But I still chew my cuticles – an equally, though far more unsightly, habit from childhood., formerly Rob Brezney’s Real Astrology – which used to appear weekly in the City Paper, is still awesome and entertaining.  I am not getting paid to say this.  It’s a little unconventional forecast that is a unique departure from “you’re going to have a shitty day.”

And, coincidentally, my horoscope told me to be a bird for the following week… which is to say, not to shit on people (though I have to admit were I an actual bird, that could be fun for a day) but to be a bird, which is “more intensely alive than any other living creature,” according to Norman J. Berrill (a zoologist). “Birds have hotter blood, brighter colors, stronger emotions.  They live in a world that is always present, mostly full of joy.”  I’d say this is me, to a “t.”  (You’ll find the full horoscope under Gemini.)

My prolific thought for the day, which I hope to impart to my grandchildren someday:
No one is immune to shit.  We all do it, we all have it, we do our best not to step in it and, unfortunately, many of us have had to clean somebody else’s shit up.  Just wipe it off and keep rolling. 

(I hope Nana would sanction this.)

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