Birdwalk

Stupid things I did last week

You ever have one of these weeks? This past week I did the following:

1. Stopped up the sink at work. I was making microwave oatmeal and it boiled over and instead of dumping it in the garbage can, I got disgusted and dumped the whole, half-cooked mess right down the sink, creating a spectacular clog. And no, I did not admit what I did (I pretended some other idiot did it, I merely discovered it) but at least I let someone know who could call building services and get a plumber in there to fix it. Meanwhile, the guilt and shame were more than I could take and I was forced to flee the office until it was fixed.
2. Stepped in dog poop. Given the amount of time I spend around my own dog and the dogs of others this in itself is not surprising. However, I'm usually pretty good at avoiding it. This time, though, I stepped on it at the kennel and didn't realize it until I got into my car to go to work and turned the heat on inside the car. It warmed up the poop and hoo-wee I knew right away what I had done. I stopped the car, used one of the trusty Wet Ones I keep in the glove compartment to clean it off my shoe, and bing bang boom, drove away with a sense of accomplishment. But minutes later I'm still smelling it...wondering did I get it in the car somehow? On the carpet? On the gas/brake pedal? Or is it just in my imagination? I keep checking the bottom of my boot....the pedal...the carpet...nothing! What the F? Finally I get to work and notice, with horror, in the elevator on my way up to the office, that the poop had actually smooshed itself up onto the side of my boot when I stepped on it, so cleaning off the bottom of my foot only did half the job...there was a big blob of POOP on the side of my foot, clinging tenaciously and stinkily, and I think it was smirking at me. I scooted directly into my office and attacked it with a handful of Lysol Disinfecting Wipes (yes I have them in my office, doesn't everyone?) and that was the end of that ordeal...until....
3. I poured half a cup of coffee into my new purse. While bending over to clean off the poop I somehow managed to pour half of my travel mug full of coffee directly into my purse, thorougly soaking all the contents including my Coach wallet. I cannot stand the smell of stale coffee and I think the wallet and the purse are pretty much ruined.

However, it seems that after these unfortunate events my luck has turned, so I decided to buy a whole mess of Mega Millions lottery tickets on Thursday. I'll let you know if I win.

Thoughts About My Own Death (or, Songs Not To Play At My Wake)

I recently attended a somewhat offbeat memorial service (or was it a funeral? The body was, indeed, in the room which may actually qualify it as a funeral) which led me to contemplate my own inevitable-but-I-hope-far-far-in-the-future funeral, much in the same way that I used to contemplate my own wedding while attending the weddings of others.

Notes To Self Regarding My Own Funeral:

No crying. I know I'm being rather presumptuous in assuming that anyone would want to cry in the first place, but just in case anyone is moved to sob histrionically at the idea of my passing, please restrain yourself. I am in a wonderful place, where nobody is mean or hurtful, where the weather is always perfect, where you can eat as much as you want and never gain weight, with my dogs by my side. I am happy, so don't cry for me. If you're crying because you will miss me, you'll see me soon enough and I'll share a calorie-free pizza with you. If you're crying because you didn't do or say something to me that you should have before I died, don't stand around feeling sorry for yourself, learn from this and go out and tell the people you love how you feel.
Have fun. I can't think of anything I'd like better than for folks to get together and have fun at my wake/funeral/whatever. Let's face it: too many of us only see each other at weddings and funerals anyway, so why not have a good time?
Eat something. Anyone who knows me knows that I love to eat, and even people who do not know me but have seen the size of my butt could probably guess that I love to eat. And what's a gathering without some good food and drink? Instead of spending lots of money on some fancy schmancy coffin or whatever, cremate me and use the money to cater a fabulous party in my honor. Spare no expense.
Play good music for Pete's sake. No tearjerker music! I haven't given a lot of thought to it but off the top of my head I think I would like it if You Can't Always Get What You Want (Stones) could be played, as well as a beautiful song by Lyle Lovett called You Were Always There. Maybe a little classic rock of the '80's variety would be good because after all that's who I am, I've come to accept that. Maybe In A New York Minute by Don Henley. Maybe a little Springsteen. Maybe a little Elton. American Pie by Don McLean would be nice. Maybe a little Neil Diamond. Play songs that people know the words to and can sing along if they want. I'm dead. You're not. Have some fun.
Have someone good write my obituary. And be a little creative. Lie if you have to. Be funny.

The Other White Meat

The other day I was on my way to the cleaners and I happened to wander right into the midst of a bunch of trick-or-treaters. One kid was dressed as a chicken. He was this little guy, about six years old, wearing a red "comb" on his head and a big puffy chicken body covered with real feathers, and orange tights with foam chicken feet covering his little sneakers...he just waddled down the street as if he dressed like this every day...I thought I would die of cuteness. Here's my pathetic graphic representation of the costume.