Monday, June 27, 2011

P. Sherman, 42 Wallaby Way, Sydney

I sold those dishes! And no I didn't spend some of the money on fast food.  Please. (Jack in the Box.)

I'm also working on a truly hideous scarf that I kept trying to tell myself I liked because I'm gaudy, and then as I was knitting I came across a big patch of yarn that had maple syrup on it and realized I HATED THAT SCARF.  I tried to wash it off and then I put it in a bag so I wouldn't have to look at it anymore.  ANY.  MORE.

But really, I think I like it a lot because that thing is ugly.

Oh man, I was just reminded of the time when there were raccoons fighting outside of my bedroom in high school.  I woke up in a cold sweat and heard this horrible hissing and barking outside and was convinced there were rabid dogs near my window.  When I looked out I saw two raccoons hissing and snarling at each other and suddenly?  My image of cute little raccoons was ruined forever.

Those stupid raccoons were destructive.  And I just realized maybe I shouldn't tell the story I was actually going to tell.  No, I will.  The raccoons were a problem, getting under everyone's mobile homes and having babies under the floor and eating all of Cinnamon's food and washing their creepy human looking fingers in his water every night.  So my dad got a permit and a trap from Fish and Wildlife to catch them, and they said feel free to trap and kill them because they were a problem.

During that time I was on my way home from a choir trip and called to check in.  I don't remember how he got around to it, but my dad said he had killed a raccoon.  Even though we didn't own guns I think I asked if he shot it.  When he said no, I asked if he broke its neck.  "Broke its neck?  I'm not sticking my arm in there with a hissing raccoon.  I drowned it."


And my dad proceeded to say that he put cinder blocks together and stuck a tarp in it, essentially making an above ground pool, if you will.  He filled it with water and put the cage, raccoon included, into it.  Dad just emailed me.  I am supposed to call this the Pit of Death.


But isn't it saying something about how manly I think my dad is that I thought he broke a raccoon's neck?  I have this totally butch image of my dad.  In my head he is the epitome of manliness, riding a tyrannosaurus rex through the burning wasteland.  You know, punching sharks and stuff.  There are sharks on land in this terrifying future.

Really he just likes to play puzzles and doesn't actually enjoy being the designated raccoon killer of the family.

Um, anyway, Jesse and I went to the Oregon Coast Aquarium last weekend.  Sharkbait, hoo ha ha.

I sent my parents an email about the raccoon story to get their feedback.  While my dad wrote, "be sure to accurately describe the Pit of Death," my mother said, "I was not involved.  I thought the whole idea was madness."  Those two sentences regarding the same story describe my parents perfectly.

Thursday, June 9, 2011

They tryin' to catch me ridin' DIRTAY. And Cinnamon does not like getting on a bike.

I'd like you to meet....

Princess Peach.

Don't worry, Cinnamon gave me a nice scratch on my neck for these ones.

For those of you interested in how I earned the money to buy a bike (which none of you asked, but here I am still typing) here is a breakdown.  You may notice I did not make any money by way of illegal activity, because I hear that involves a lot of standing on street corners and it's been raining a lot.

I'm part of a few survey sites, and was very diligent in taking all of those stupid surveys.  Late into many a night* was spent marking the correct box.  Female, 18-24, White/Caucasian, REPEAT AD NAUSEUM.

*No later than 8:30 pm.  I got things to do, son.

Survey site #1: $30
Survey site #2: $25
Survey site #3: $50
Selling a video camera on Craigslist: $50
Wiper refund: $5
Mystery shopping (it's a mystery indeed!): $75
Interest in my fat bank account: $1.42
Pennies that were in a bank shaped like a crayon: $5.58
Jury duty: $15.80

Tidbit #1:  This is the crayon bank I was filling with pennies:

I am sure Jesse is ecstatic about me posting that picture.

I only got to about the C in crayon.  Tidbit #1.5, I had a spreadsheet that listed where all the money came from in my bike fund and was copying the information over here.  Instead of pennies, it said penis.  Awkward, frown-filled moment with myself, there.

Tidbit #2:  I ended up receiving TWO rebate checks for the wiper refund, but Jesse made me be a good person and I only cashed one.  I'm bitter and all, but I guess he's right that I don't feel guilt about cashing that extra five bucks.  (If they send more I'm not telling him.)

Tidbit #3:  If you want to know the survey sites I use, don't be afraid to ask!  Because for just six easy payments of -- wait, that's my Botox pitch.  I'm getting confused.

I bought that bike and knew that it would be a possibility that I would have to ride it home from the shop if it didn't fit into the ample backside of Evan, our VW Beetle.

If you've seen a VW Beetle you know that was a wonderful pipe dream, and that I would be riding it home from the bike shop.  Four and a half miles.  No big deal, right?

Well, sure, no big deal if you're used to riding a bike for 4 1/2 miles, of course.  Because my minor asthma was all YEAH LIKE THIS IS GOING TO HAPPEN and Jesse ended up riding it the last three miles home.

There's a pretty rough hill on the ride home (through a nearby trail) and Jesse had to endure stares from others as he rode a girl's bike and then quit halfway through to walk.  Have I mentioned how great he is?  He didn't bat an eye as I came to a stop by the car and he said, "Get on in, I'll ride it the rest of the way."

Tidbit #M: I finished those mittens I referenced in the last post, and here's a picture.  However, all the photos of these mittens about made me pee myself, so if you'd like to view all the shots, here's a link to the Picasa album.  Also, here's the link to all the bike photos if you like to really stalk people like I do.