Saturday, April 14, 2012

I Don't Need An Alarm Clock

It wasn't even 6 o'clock when she woke me up to let her out.  Six o'clock.  On Saturday.  Yes, I have to work today, but seriously, a person could sleep in.  A person could be more awake when she posts.  This person, I mean, not any random person cruising by.  Me.  Not-awake me, who has let the dog out, taken my vitamins, gone potty and dressed myself--in the correct order, I might add--even though it's not fully light yet.  I DO NOT get up when it's dark outside, at least not willingly much less cheerfully.  Ask Durwood.  Yet here I sit in the "sun" room with a whining dog at my feet (no, I'm not going for a walk yet, maybe not ever today, I think I'm getting a shin splint) clicking away on the keys talking to you.  I know there's a "you" out there, I feel you out there, I hear your breathing.  Can you hear me?  (creepy, eh?)  Oh, air quotes!  Two university students came into the dive shop yesterday and I stood up asking, "can I help you?" and she said, "we're here to sign up..." and he finished, "for our (air quote) certification dives (air quote)."  I immediately said, "don't air quotes that, it's a real thing, not some joke you can just pass off with air quotes."  I was smiling at the time and I "air quoted" a bunch of random things at him to show him how stupid and demeaning air quotes can be--in a friendly, joking manner, of course.  And when I was fitting him in his wetsuit, I let him know that he could buy jeans that actually covered his underpants and rode on his hips instead of his ass and half-hard on.  In a nice way, of course.  (and I didn't say hard-on out loud, I used my inside voice [oop, I almost air quoted])  I swear that's how they keep their pants up; that's why they've got their hands in their pockets, you know, to keep things at parade-rest (so to speak) so their pants stay up.  I'm sure of it.  I've fed Penny too.  I gave her a handful of wilted lettuce from the fridge, sliced up an overripe banana, and a few grapes which seems excessive, I agree, but there's a payoff.  Look!  I won!  Victory is mine!  *hops in a circle, fists on high*  I put bedding and an old golf ball in her nest box and, voila!, I got an egg.  A real, unpecked, freckledy egg. The first one since I moved in on Tuesday.  Guess things hadn't gotten too far out of hand but I'm going to leave that golf ball in there and put another Slogger of bedding in before I leave for work.  It's cheap insurance.  What's a Slogger?  It's a plastic, Croc-like garden clog that DIL1 and I each have a pair of that lives on their back step.  We use them as yard shoes.  I used them yesterday to carry nest-bedding out to the coop since there isn't a scoop or bucket in the bedding can.  (What?  It worked.  It is now an official Unit of Measure.)  I can't believe how crafty I am; Porter has been whining to go walking, I don't want to so my shin splint gets a day off, so I spread peanut butter in one of her bones and brought it outside so she can work on it.  Did I mention that I moved the writing out to the patio so she'll be outside and not eat DIL1's Slogger?  Or mine?  I did.  I am a genius.  Certifiable.  In the category "People are Odd," a guy called yesterday asking about getting certified and also about a wetsuit he can use for diving and windsurfing.  We talked about dive class (I think he'll sign up online.) and that there really isn't a wetsuit combo that'd work for both activities up here where the water stays cold.  He said he'd stop in before closing (7 PM) to look at suits.  I said okay, and we hung up.  He called around 5:30 to say he was running late and wouldn't make it, like we had an appointment.  That was nice, but I work in a store.  Do you call other stores to check their hours and then call to tell them if you can't make it there?  No, you don't.  I don't anyway.  He must think he was my only customer, in truth he would have been but... well, I just thought it was odd.  Don't you?

April 13--Franck-Francois-Genes Chauvassaignes, Seated Nude in Studio.

neither masculine
nor feminine
definitely one
but which
masculine jaw
feminine hands
slim hips
could be either
thick ankles
dirty dirty feet
Not worth the trouble
since no one's still alive
who cares
                  --bam  (I keep forgetting to sign them.  Remind me, will you?)

She/he was a singularly disappointing nude with a dissatisfied look on his/her face.  And those filthy feet really turned me off.  Couldn't she/he at least washed his/her feet before the shutter snapped?  Didn't they have soap in the 1850s?  I'm sure they did.  Grandma would have told me if they didn't.  Hell, she made her own soap; I'm sure someone in France in the 1850s knew how to do that.  It wasn't invented in America in the 1950s.  Well that's when I saw her do it so that's my frame of reference.  Au revoir, mes amis.

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