Sunday, December 14, 2008

In Which I Am Forced Out Of Self-Imposed Blog Exile, OR, In Which I Show My Butt To Someone I Just Met

My life, of recent, has been miserable. I don't say that to garner sympathy, but to perhaps explain why I dropped off the face of the earth for several weeks, with no warning, and during NaBloPoMo, no less. I just didn't have it in me, you know? Don't get worried--I'm not depressed. I'm just miserable. There's a difference. The best thing that has happened is that my mom is finally recovered from her four hospitalizations and two surgeries, and has started her cancer-fighting drug regimen. YAY. I'll post more about that later.

Overall, I am just bone-weary. Emotionally exhausted. You know...miserable. I wasn't sure I'd ever journal again, because it was shockingly easy to abandon this effort. I mean, I just...quit. And I couldn't summon the energy to pick it up again. My internet presence has been limited to sporadic notes on Facebook and reading the forum posts at Backyard Chickens. But then two things happened this weekend, that, in a real, visceral way, forced me to write again. I think you'll understand.

One day, I noticed a post on BYC from someone whose posts I often read and enjoyed, looking for some young chickens to replace some that she'd lost. Then I noticed that the poster lived very near here. And being as I actually had a few Orpingtons to spare, I offered to sell her a nice trio (meaning two pullets and a cockerel), cheap. She took me up on the offer, I selected the birds for her, caught them and put them in a hutch for safekeeping, and we made arrangements for her to pick up the chickens the next morning.

So. This lovely young lady--we'll call her 'K.' to protect her privacy, as she has now been traumatized quite enough--was coming by this morning on her way to church to pick up the chickens. I knew what time she was coming, and she was right on time. Yet, I still overslept, and had only just hauled my carcass out of bed moments before my guest pulled into the driveway.

The night before, Alex and I had had a bit of a "rooster rodeo," in which some roosters that we'd moved to a new pen did not return home after free-ranging, and had to be rounded up one by one, after dark. I may have fallen down a time or two, I don't really remember. ANYWAY, after the roundup, I'd come in, slipped my jeans off, and laid them across a chair when I'd changed into my pajamas before dropping into bed last night.

So this morning, when K. pulled into the driveway, I was still in my "jammies", or pajama pants and a thermal underwear shirt. I thought, "Oh, I can't be such a slob as to go meet this nice lady for the first time in my pajama pants--I look bad enough with bed-head and no makeup..." and I very quickly shucked the pajama pants and slipped on the jeans I'd been wearing during the previous night's rooster roundup.

Without bothering to stop long enough to put on my underwear. I mean, I was only going to be out there a few minutes, right?

I'm sure you see where this is going.

So, I meet K. (who, by the way? ADORABLE!), chat a little, show her her birds in the hutch, then ask if she'd like to look around the place a little. I leaned in the front door and informed Alex that we were going around the back, and when I stepped back outside, this sweet lady who, I will remind you, I had just met for the first time, informed me that, um... the entire center seam of the seat of my jeans was ripped out.

I cannot even describe what I felt when I reached back there...well, emotionally, anyway, though it was in the neighborhood of "unbelieveably mortified." I COULD, however, describe what I felt tangibly, when I reached back there, but I'll spare you all. Traumatizing one innocent for life pretty much fulfills my quota for the day.

So, to sum up, K. is a delightful, sweet, and lovely person, who, to her immense credit, is capable of giving the appearance of being completely nonplussed by being on the receiving end of a Full Butt-Monty from someone she just met for the first time. If she ever invites you to play poker, I'd suggest you refuse, because the woman has an amazing poker-face.

As for me?

O HAI. NICE TO MEET U. MY BUTT-CRACK, LET ME SHOW YOU IT!

The following is a dramatic re-enactment, to tide you over until the Lifetime movie, "NOT WITHOUT MY UNDERPANTS" is released. The part of myself is played by the turkey in the center, and the part of K. is played by the small hen in the lower-right corner of the frame.

turkey bloomers

If you've recovered from laughing your head off at my expense (and I hope to goodness that at least a few of you were drinking some sort of beverage, which you consequently snorted through your nose), you may be thinking, "But Belinda, you said that TWO things happened this weekend which inspired--nay, 'forced'--you to write again, and you've only told us about one." To you, I say, WOW, you're really paying attention!

The other thing is that an Iraqi reporter CHUCKED HIS SHOES AT PRESIDENT BUSH DURING A PRESS CONFERENCE. Here's the video. I fully admit that my first reaction was to laugh my head off. OK, so I admit that I'm still laughing. Dude THREW HIS SHOES. At. The. President. You have to kind of love that on some level, right? And according to Iraqi sources, this was more of a deep, heartfelt insult than it was an actual assault attempt, the message being that the person on the receiving end of the shoe-chucking is considered to be of less worth than the dust from the shoe-chucker's feet, or something along those lines.

I will also admit, and not proudly, that, given the chance to chuck a shoe at G.W. Bush, with assurances that I would not be whisked away by Dick Cheney and extraordinarily renditioned to Gitmo, I would absolutely jump at the chance. As a matter of fact, I submit that this is a golden opportunity to recoup some of that bailout money. Picture it: Giant bake sale, kissing booths (though given the current politicians serving in Washington, that one might be tough to man), a dunking booth with Karl Rove, and a "quail shoot" (no live ammo, just paintballs--settle down) with Dick Cheney...all leading up to the main, high-dollar event: The George W. Bush Bon Voyage Shoe-Chuck. People would line up for MILES.

But back to serious discussion, here...what was up, during this incident, with the Secret Service detail? Did you notice that, at no time during the shoe-chucking did a single agent tackle Bush to the ground, or hustle him to safety? I mean, I thought that was pretty much SOP in situations like this--take the President out of the line of fire. But not only did W. have to duck, all on his own, he had to do it twice, because the shoe-chucker got off a second shot. Do you get the enormity of that? The guy threw BOTH his shoes, one at a time. While yelling insults, even. And without Bush's ducking, BOTH projectiles would've hit home!

All of this leaves me wondering...I know that the outgoing president is immensely unpopular, definitely so with yours truly, but has the situation gotten so bad that not only will no one "take a bullet" for the guy, they won't even take a size 10 loafer?

Look, guys...I've been worried about my mom, worried about my husband, still adjusting to Bella's grade-skipping, and wondering if the stress of dealing with one spouse's mental illness can actually crumble a marriage beyond repair, even if both parties are really trying hard to keep it together. So you'll pardon me if I take my entertainment where I find it, right?

And if I accidentally moon you?