get the next dozen
GLUTTONOUS NATURE
Besides firepit (see last entry) and patio furniture, other features of our laughably small urban backyard include a lot of flowering plants, which sort of sprang up out of nowhere once the weather turned warm (thank you, previous owners!); the tiny beginnings of three wasps’ nests, which freaked me the fuck out and resulted in a lot of poisonous chemicals being sprayed everywhere (and probably drifting down upon and contaminating those very flowering plants); and a lovely copper pole-mounted birdfeeder that is going to catapult me into bankruptcy. Did you know how much birds can eat? I fill the birdfeeder EVERY DAY. The next person who uses the phrase “eats like a bird” to mean anything other than “eats like a ‘roided-out linebacker at a Vegas buffet” is going to get scolded by me. I fully expect to walk outside one day and see an exploded bird, just some feathers and guts and about eight pounds of undigested seed.
We witness bird-feeding action all the time, and have never seen squirrels on the feeder, so it really is just birds. Except for the time when I thought, “oh, I can store the bucket of birdseed in the basement stairwell, like so” and did not put a brick on top or anything—and the next day the lid was off and seed scattered about and several nearly-spherical squirrels ran up the basement stairs laughing at me. HA HA BITCH. WE GOTS LITTLE PAWS THAT ARE ALMOST LIKE HANDS.
CURIOUS ONLOOKERS
I did some grocery shopping near work and went back to the office to shove my provisions into the fridge, and this woman in the office elevator said, “I was looking in your bag at the streetlight…all healthy food! Good job!”
What the hell, random stranger? Do not be snooping at my groceries, judging my purchases, and then REVEALING YOUR SHAME to me. I don’t need a pat on the back for my raspberries and brown rice, and I don’t need your (probably) silent disapproval on the days when that grocery bag contains Miller High Life and a tube of Pringles.
TORTURED TEETH
Well tortured gums, to be exact. I had more tissue grafts done a few days ago, and man has the novelty worn off. The periodontist played extremely annoying music the entire time I was getting my palate sliced open and the tissue stitched onto my gums. Because that wasn’t annoying enough, apparently. I also needed to be annoyed by Bob Seeger. And then I had to be annoyed by The Eagles. “Take It Easy,” no less! No, YOU take it easy, cocksucker. I am not taking it so easy over here.
For the latter half of my ordeal the music switched to some Baroque business, but it was all cheesy and poorly executed, like Hooked on Classics without the disco beat. Right at the very end the music machine started playing the Bach B-Minor Mass, which was just ULTRA-VIOLENT UNFAIR as it is one of my favorites. I should not have to listen to lovely Johann Sebastian while my red red kroovy flows over my zoobies. Luckily everything was done by then, and I left with my prescriptions and evil-tasting medicinal rinse.
So sick of soft mushy foods. When this is over I am eating nothing but sharp, pointy, fibrous, tiny, dangerous things. Like Bugles, mixed nuts, and raw carrots. And maybe I’ll try some of that birdseed.
—mimi smartypants steals from sparrows.