Full Moon Shenanigans

The Full Moon Energy post was missing the very best part of my week! I cannot believe I already forgot about Betty.

Had an adventure this morning

It was scary

And sad


                                                            Shug still alive?

Yes, lucky for her

As I was leaving for work this morning,

among a series of unfortunate events,

a bird flew in the front door.

And disappeared inside the house.

                                                            So, where is the fella now

Her name is Betty and she is

very smart

Shuggie of course was losing her

fucking mind downstairs behind

the door.

                                                            That sounds intense.

                                                            Does Betty live with us now

I heard her chirping,

though I don’t know how

given the commotion in the


Betty was hiding at the front

window behind the succulents

                                                            Are you telling me

                                                            Betty is dogfood

No, Betty did not die a slow painful death the way the others have. And by others, I mean the other critters who’ve made the colossal mistake of coming into Shuggie territory. Speaking of – isn’t it funny how Todd’s first thought was that Shuggie was the culprit behind my “adventure” that morning?

When I told him yesterday that I’d take her to Easter dinner with me – she’ll have the steak – he said, without missing a beat, that she “identifies as [my] husband and we’ve been together so long that [I] can speak for her.” And then he added how easy it would be for us to make the dogs’ treats. They’d be made up of socks and underwear. He’s not wrong.

Shuggie likes fabric. She has already mutilated two dog beds and countless pairs of socks, underwear, and two pairs of Todd’s sweatpants. She annihilated two pairs of my anti-muffin-top underwear last week and she is treading the thin ice. The dog whisperer would say at the very least that the chomping issue is our fault for leaving it where she can get to it. I’D say that I take every precaution to keep it out of reach and I’m not saying it’s anyone’s fault but I can’t control my husband leaving the laundry room door open.

Bee likes paper, cardboard, tissues, and paper towels. Somebody likes toilet paper too, as evidenced by the terrorized roll of TP in the hall bathroom, but I don’t know who that is. The nanny cam I used to use to check in on them went to Sil’s house during her renovations and I haven’t seen it since. Anyway, Bee came in one day and I saw something on her and I grabbed something to wipe it away and it turned out to be a PAPER TOWEL HANGING OUT OF HER ASS. I mean. I had to pull that sucker out in slow mo and it was NAS-TY.

This is my life, folks, and I love it. Because what the hell else would I write about? I’m not allowed to write about the 40-minute phone call I had where a man rambled incoherently about his life and tribulations. I’m not allowed to write about the burning smell that permeated the office building for hours before we were evacuated and we still don’t know what we were all breathing in that resulted in headaches and dizziness, or the pervasive smell of shit coming from the bathroom that we’ve been repeatedly warned about but no one is taking seriously. I’m probably not even allowed to mention how sad it is to watch parents sitting in the waiting room with their noses in their phones while their children sit across  from them staring at the wall. But that stuff isn’t funny and so we’ll no focus on that.

Poopourri! Now that is funny. My mom packed Poopourri for our last vacation to Cape May and all I can say is yes, it works, but it also smells a lot like lemon shit. We’ve had bottles of Poopourri at the office but there are still some folks who either don’t know what it is or just don’t GAF.

A week ago an F1 tornado landed a few miles from our house but I’m convinced it was trying to form in my neighborhood because our recycling bin, which is on the right side of the house behind a fence, bounced off the pickup truck leaving a nice dent above the wheel well, traveled straight down the driveway past our two cars without hitting them, then circled left and then right and then left again, its contents dribbling out along the way, and landed in my neighbor’s yard to the left of us. It was impressive, and all caught on Ring. At one point the pine tree got involved, dropping a large bough across the driveway but it was too slow for the recycling bin. A house up the street is having some work done and there’s a port-a-potty out front that was knocked over.

I was tagged in a thread yesterday where some BatShit Crazy Woman was hollerin about the mutilation of children (trans surgery) and how the government is profiting from it all. It all started with my friend’s post: “Marked safe from being offended by a beer can” that not surprisingly went sideways like the port-a-potty up the street. These days I try to avoid jumping into the fray, choosing the laughing emoji instead on the ranters’ comments. Not entirely hands off, but less poking the bear, if you will. I was tagged because BSCW took aim at prestigious hospitals she said are routinely performing these surgeries on children. I cannot comment because we are forbidden to speak in any way that appears to represent the org and I value my job so there’s that.

So, this crazy-azz bitch is spewing conspiracy theories and calling the other commenters  “doll,” “hun,” and “lady” in the most condescending tone she can muster from her computer screen all while not naming her sources. Those of us who questioned her were accused of “condoning the mutilation of children” and when I called her out on her approach she called me some of my favorite things.

I’ll be hereafter known as “haha would you prefer I call you what you really are – a dumb cunt? A less than smart dolt who lives in an echo chamber? An evil witch who hysterically defends the harming of children?”

Oh HUN, the last time someone called me a cunt they almost lost an elbow. “HAHA.”

I have to say that I haven’t been a dumb cunt since my X first called me one about two years into our marriage, so it was refreshing to hear it again. I wished her well.

Anyhoo, Shuggie. Shuggie has added a new skill to her bag of tricks. She can now open the sliding glass doors and let herself out. This has created a new urgency to secure the doors when we are leaving the house or going to bed at night. So far she hasn’t figured out the lock part, but it’s only a matter of time – or motivation. And then there’s the lazy Susan in the kitchen where all the human treats live and I cannot believe she hasn’t tried yet.

How do women named Susan feel about having a cabinet named after them? Do Susans feel offended by this? Do Susans call it a lazy Susan? Why is it “lazy”? I have so many questions.

And yet. What happened to Betty, you ask? Or have you, too, forgotten about her – lost in the elaborations of my consciousness? Someone literally shared a screenshot of someone saying, “no I will not elaborate is such a fun line, but unfortunately I have adhd and am incapable of shutting up. Yes I will elaborate,” and someone commented “yes I will elaborate and that is a threat,” another said “I will elaborate but it won’t make anything clearer,” and the last person said “yes I will elaborate but I’ll forget my original point after 30 seconds” and I feel this so much. It’s probably why exactly no one ever asks me to elaborate on anything.

Betty hangs out in the pine/evergreen tree that is next to our front door. The storm door closes slowly, though only on days when you need it to close quickly (like that day) and otherwise slams against your body when you need a little extra time. It’s the way my life works. On a scale of 1 to 5 on the panic scale, I was still a “2” while I ran around the house shutting interior doors and propping open the front door and the slider and calculating the value of calling my neighbor for assistance and oh-my-God-the-new-couches. I heard distant chirping and the dogs joined the chorus from behind the basement door, and all I’m thinking is I’m going to be VERY LATE to work today.

But Betty is a smart bird who did her best not to panic and so I did too. I managed to pull the screen at the bay windows and crank open the window, all the while cooing softly to her like the sweetest of God’s creatures and she hopped. And then she hopped again. You got this Betty… and one more hop and she flew. And I cranked that window shut so fast until I remembered the front door is still open and no, she wouldn’t be so dumb to repeat this experience so soon? She didn’t. But she still hangs out in the tree and hopefully has learned a valuable lesson.

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