Updates #2
Yes, I know 1500 words is a lot to expend on any one topic, and I know that I have covered most of these topics in excruciating detail from every possible angle, but every one loves a little update don't they? Don't you love that part of the movie Miracle when they tell what all the hockey players are doing now?
A Disgusting Post About Dead Squirrels
On Friday afternoon (day 2 of squirrel episode #2), after I had completed all of my errands and picked up the kids and when I knew that I would be home for at least the next three hours, I placed my call to the MP desk again to find out what more I needed to do to bring about removal of the squirrel. “Hello,” I began in a most polite manner, “I called yesterday about a dead squirrel near my house…”
“Yes,” said the same dispatcher I spoke to the day before.
“Well, no one came out to get the squirrel, so I was just wondering….”
“WHAT? No one came out there? Don’t worry, I’ll send someone out right now.”
“Oh, okay, thanks a lot.”
So, it turns out I did not need to prepare myself for battle to get the squirrel removed, but I did have to call a second time. The seargeant that took the call made it pretty clear to me that dead squirrel removal was within their area of responsibility, so I felt better, thinking it was just an oversight and not a sign that the squirrel removers thought my request was stupid. At least I thought that until the squirrel remover arrived.
He pulled up in an unmarked pick up truck and began wandering around the front yard, apparently hoping he could spot the squirrel and take it without ever having to deal with me. I found my shoes and went outside to meet him, just as he was coming to the door.
“You called about a squirrel?” he asked in a rather condescending manner, as if he could barely stand speaking to me.
“Yes, it’s in the back, I’ll show you.”
We went to the back of the house, where another squirrel darted out and startled me, I’m sure removing whatever miniscule amount of respect I could have expected from this guy. I pointed out the squirrel and stepped back so he could go to work.
The first thing he did was squat down and poke the corpse with his bare hand.
“I don’t know if he electrocuted himself or what,” I said, attempting to make conversation.
“I don’t know either, but he is dead.” Apparently he had poked the squirrel on the off chance that it was Squirrel Van Winkle, just taking a little two-day siesta draped over my cable wires. Or maybe he thought that I was confused and it had only been there for two minutes rather than two days. Then, to my disgusted astonishment, he picked it up with two bare fingers and held it up, turning it this way and that, looking for evidence of I don’t know what. He stood up, and started walking back to his truck with the squirrel in hand.
“Thanks a lot,” I called after him.
“Yeah,” he said without even turning back in my direction. He tossed the remains in the back of his pickup and got in the front seat where he took off his hat and drove away. I guess he is so rugged that he doesn’t mind that he was spreading squirrel cooties all over himself and his hat and his truck. Whatever.
Thinking back, the guy did not have a uniform shirt on, just some sort of t-shirt that had some sort of hunting thing on it. I suppose that it is possible that he works for the hunting office on post, but given his manner, I suppose it is also possible that he is some random weirdo who listens to the police scanner in hopes of hearing a report of a still warm animal corpse (deer, possum, raccoon, skunk) that he can fry up with some onions. Although he could barely stand the fact that I was too girly to pick up a two-day old squirrel corpse, something tells me the little lady waiting at home to fry that thing up was not a roadkill retriever when he met her.
Won’t You Be My Neighbor and The Housing’s Mighty Fine
For about five hours today, the little girl who lived next door was in my house, playing with the girls, messing up basically every room, and eating lunch and several snacks. I like when another kid comes over to play, because although the house is usually a mess when she leaves, at least the kids leave me alone for a while. Plus, this little neighbor is the one with the trampoline that we use on a regular basis while she is holed up at after school care. I don’t mind entertaining her every now and then since she has been so generous with her trampoline. Once the girls had played with every toy on the inside, they went outside to throw and chase a Frisbee (I suppose one day it may morph into a game of catch, but none of them have the aim for such a sport right now). After about five minutes the girls came running inside to inform me that the Frisbee was on the roof.
We have a ranch house, so I thought I might be able to reach the Frisbee with a broom, but it was too far back on the roof. I went in and got the step stool to give it another try, but I still didn’t have any luck. As I was contemplating what to do next, a high school kid out riding his bike stopped and asked if we needed any help. He wasn’t much bigger than me, but I figured I should encourage his impulse to stop and help people. He climbed up on the stool and managed to reach the Frisbee with the broom, but since our roof is tar covered with pebbles (I have no idea why - none), he couldn’t get it to slide down the roof. Undaunted he climbed up onto our air-conditioning unit so he could get a little more leverage and managed to get the Frisbee down. The kids and I thanked him profusely, and he gave us a wave as he got back on his bike and rode off down the street. Thinking back on it now, I remember he was wearing a clean white (baseball) hat, like the good guys always do.
So Much for Being Nice
Since it aired, I have discovered that the most upsetting part of the Grey’s Anatomy finale was not that it was horrible and ridiculous and ludicrous and insulting to a degree that it took points off of my IQ. The most upsetting part was that when I did a Google search of other blogs so that I could read some other peoples’ trashing of the episode, all I could find were rave reviews from people who loved it. Everyone had a tale of the tears in their eyes when the heart guy kicked the bucket and how beautiful everyone looked in their prom dresses. Ew. I guess that is further proof that I will never be a TV programming executive.
Stumped
Somehow I have failed to finish in the money in the great spring cleanup contest on post. The first and third place yards are cattycorner to each other right when you enter our housing area. I have seen these people at work on their yards constantly, and both yards look very nice. However, both of them have riding mowers that can also suck up leaves, so I think they are somehow overly qualified for the yard competition. If prizes were awarded based upon impact per dollar spent, I think my three bags of mulch, 8 petunias, 3 grass plants, and I would be sitting pretty.
However, the third place yard was always the first place yard, until the people in the new first place yard moved in and spent even more time edging and planting and pruning. I happened to be walking by for the first face off after the signs had been awarded (and maybe it’s just me, but the first place sign seemed to be angled for maximum impact when the third place people came out of their front door). “Congratulations,” the winner called to the third placer just a little too sweetly. “Congratulations to you, too,” the third placer called back just a little too generously. Oh the intrigue, something tells me the winners may have riding mower donuts on their lawn in the morning.
Flockin’ Robins
My parents’ new house is a wonderland of nice TVs and couches, two of the HPs favorite inanimate objects. If there were a few additional refrigerators, I imagine he might chain himself to the banister and go AWOL in July. However, as I was sitting with my dad enjoying the new porch, I noticed a little something perched on the roof above my parents’ bedroom. Soon I was being treated to a nonstop “Coo Coo Coo,” from the HP’s nemesis, the mourning dove.
“That thing sits up there all day,” my dad said, “I think you’d better tell Rob to bring his weapon with him.”
A Disgusting Post About Dead Squirrels
On Friday afternoon (day 2 of squirrel episode #2), after I had completed all of my errands and picked up the kids and when I knew that I would be home for at least the next three hours, I placed my call to the MP desk again to find out what more I needed to do to bring about removal of the squirrel. “Hello,” I began in a most polite manner, “I called yesterday about a dead squirrel near my house…”
“Yes,” said the same dispatcher I spoke to the day before.
“Well, no one came out to get the squirrel, so I was just wondering….”
“WHAT? No one came out there? Don’t worry, I’ll send someone out right now.”
“Oh, okay, thanks a lot.”
So, it turns out I did not need to prepare myself for battle to get the squirrel removed, but I did have to call a second time. The seargeant that took the call made it pretty clear to me that dead squirrel removal was within their area of responsibility, so I felt better, thinking it was just an oversight and not a sign that the squirrel removers thought my request was stupid. At least I thought that until the squirrel remover arrived.
He pulled up in an unmarked pick up truck and began wandering around the front yard, apparently hoping he could spot the squirrel and take it without ever having to deal with me. I found my shoes and went outside to meet him, just as he was coming to the door.
“You called about a squirrel?” he asked in a rather condescending manner, as if he could barely stand speaking to me.
“Yes, it’s in the back, I’ll show you.”
We went to the back of the house, where another squirrel darted out and startled me, I’m sure removing whatever miniscule amount of respect I could have expected from this guy. I pointed out the squirrel and stepped back so he could go to work.
The first thing he did was squat down and poke the corpse with his bare hand.
“I don’t know if he electrocuted himself or what,” I said, attempting to make conversation.
“I don’t know either, but he is dead.” Apparently he had poked the squirrel on the off chance that it was Squirrel Van Winkle, just taking a little two-day siesta draped over my cable wires. Or maybe he thought that I was confused and it had only been there for two minutes rather than two days. Then, to my disgusted astonishment, he picked it up with two bare fingers and held it up, turning it this way and that, looking for evidence of I don’t know what. He stood up, and started walking back to his truck with the squirrel in hand.
“Thanks a lot,” I called after him.
“Yeah,” he said without even turning back in my direction. He tossed the remains in the back of his pickup and got in the front seat where he took off his hat and drove away. I guess he is so rugged that he doesn’t mind that he was spreading squirrel cooties all over himself and his hat and his truck. Whatever.
Thinking back, the guy did not have a uniform shirt on, just some sort of t-shirt that had some sort of hunting thing on it. I suppose that it is possible that he works for the hunting office on post, but given his manner, I suppose it is also possible that he is some random weirdo who listens to the police scanner in hopes of hearing a report of a still warm animal corpse (deer, possum, raccoon, skunk) that he can fry up with some onions. Although he could barely stand the fact that I was too girly to pick up a two-day old squirrel corpse, something tells me the little lady waiting at home to fry that thing up was not a roadkill retriever when he met her.
Won’t You Be My Neighbor and The Housing’s Mighty Fine
For about five hours today, the little girl who lived next door was in my house, playing with the girls, messing up basically every room, and eating lunch and several snacks. I like when another kid comes over to play, because although the house is usually a mess when she leaves, at least the kids leave me alone for a while. Plus, this little neighbor is the one with the trampoline that we use on a regular basis while she is holed up at after school care. I don’t mind entertaining her every now and then since she has been so generous with her trampoline. Once the girls had played with every toy on the inside, they went outside to throw and chase a Frisbee (I suppose one day it may morph into a game of catch, but none of them have the aim for such a sport right now). After about five minutes the girls came running inside to inform me that the Frisbee was on the roof.
We have a ranch house, so I thought I might be able to reach the Frisbee with a broom, but it was too far back on the roof. I went in and got the step stool to give it another try, but I still didn’t have any luck. As I was contemplating what to do next, a high school kid out riding his bike stopped and asked if we needed any help. He wasn’t much bigger than me, but I figured I should encourage his impulse to stop and help people. He climbed up on the stool and managed to reach the Frisbee with the broom, but since our roof is tar covered with pebbles (I have no idea why - none), he couldn’t get it to slide down the roof. Undaunted he climbed up onto our air-conditioning unit so he could get a little more leverage and managed to get the Frisbee down. The kids and I thanked him profusely, and he gave us a wave as he got back on his bike and rode off down the street. Thinking back on it now, I remember he was wearing a clean white (baseball) hat, like the good guys always do.
So Much for Being Nice
Since it aired, I have discovered that the most upsetting part of the Grey’s Anatomy finale was not that it was horrible and ridiculous and ludicrous and insulting to a degree that it took points off of my IQ. The most upsetting part was that when I did a Google search of other blogs so that I could read some other peoples’ trashing of the episode, all I could find were rave reviews from people who loved it. Everyone had a tale of the tears in their eyes when the heart guy kicked the bucket and how beautiful everyone looked in their prom dresses. Ew. I guess that is further proof that I will never be a TV programming executive.
Stumped
Somehow I have failed to finish in the money in the great spring cleanup contest on post. The first and third place yards are cattycorner to each other right when you enter our housing area. I have seen these people at work on their yards constantly, and both yards look very nice. However, both of them have riding mowers that can also suck up leaves, so I think they are somehow overly qualified for the yard competition. If prizes were awarded based upon impact per dollar spent, I think my three bags of mulch, 8 petunias, 3 grass plants, and I would be sitting pretty.
However, the third place yard was always the first place yard, until the people in the new first place yard moved in and spent even more time edging and planting and pruning. I happened to be walking by for the first face off after the signs had been awarded (and maybe it’s just me, but the first place sign seemed to be angled for maximum impact when the third place people came out of their front door). “Congratulations,” the winner called to the third placer just a little too sweetly. “Congratulations to you, too,” the third placer called back just a little too generously. Oh the intrigue, something tells me the winners may have riding mower donuts on their lawn in the morning.
Flockin’ Robins
My parents’ new house is a wonderland of nice TVs and couches, two of the HPs favorite inanimate objects. If there were a few additional refrigerators, I imagine he might chain himself to the banister and go AWOL in July. However, as I was sitting with my dad enjoying the new porch, I noticed a little something perched on the roof above my parents’ bedroom. Soon I was being treated to a nonstop “Coo Coo Coo,” from the HP’s nemesis, the mourning dove.
“That thing sits up there all day,” my dad said, “I think you’d better tell Rob to bring his weapon with him.”
posted by Shannon at 10:06 PM
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