About me: I'm 42 and added another gherkin to our pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our 9-year-old Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Random Tuesday Thoughts: Cockadoodle Do Me
Junior's preschool teacher never emailed me drop-off tips. Thanks, lady. But I was able to arm myself with the wise tips from the blogosphere instead. Since I'm writing this Tuesday morning before drop-off, I have no idea how it'll go, but I have the utmost faith in the "dump and run" maneuver.
That reminds me of "pump and dump." Crap. I hated the pump. Whoever organized this photo shoot and told the woman to look longingly at the pump is on crack.
This is more accurate.
Our copier repair man has a rooster named Dump. Ask me why I know that. Go on. Because he spent a good part of yesterday morning telling me how his rooster Dump had its way with all his chickens, and how he and his son watched.
Ah, barnyard porn.
If you like roosters but not in that way, you have to check out Julia's new book, Bingo's New Adventure. The book chronicles a day in the life of Bingo the cat. Junior loves it, especially the full color pictures (Julia's got some pretty awesome pictures on her blog, too). Bingo encounters another cat, some chickens and a big ole rooster. Junior has actually taken to running around the house yelling, "I'm Bingo! The Mighty Adventurer!" The book offers a great taste of the outdoors for kids.
Exactly one year ago today I was lamenting the fact that I've had an idea for a children's book for 10 years (I was also contemplating getting naked) and have yet to commit it to paper.
Now it's 11. Damn, that's depressing.
But I have a valid excuse for procrastinating, at least for the next month. There are two For Sale signs in my life. If Chuck and I play our cards right there may be three. Are the Mullets leaving Mulletville? Are they becoming Mulletville slumlords? Where will they put the roosters? Where?
Hell if I know.