Birdwalk

If I had a million dollars

I'd be rich.

Here's what I'd do if I had enough money so I never had to work again (unless I wanted to.)

Buy modest yet charming house on very large tract of land not too far from civilization
Build luxurious barn and well-fenced paddock areas
Buy an ATV (for gettin' around the property)

• Buy two horses and a goat. The horses should be even-tempered and be pals with each other. The goat's job is to hang out with the horses and maybe give milk so I can make cheese (I don't know much about goats)
• Hire someone kind who knows how to take care of horses to show me the ropes
• Buy a shotgun (cause you can't have a farm w/out a shotgun) and learn how to use it
• Buy a flock of chickens (for eggs)
• Buy a bunch of guinea hens (to eat ticks and for entertainment value)
• Get an alpaca. Name him Al. Maybe get another one too and name her Alice. Shear once a year for fleece. Make sweaters from fleece and sell at outrageous prices to city folk
• Buy saddle and tack for the horses
• Get up early every day, feed chickens and guinea hens, goats, horses, and the alpacas
• After everyone's fed and stalls are mucked out, tack up one horse and go for a ride around the property.
• Groom and otherwise maintain horses.Turn them out to enjoy the day if it's winter, or keep them inside in the cool barn if its summer (then they go out at night)
• Spend rest of day doing various and sundry farm-related duties, unless it's my day to work with the Seeing Eye dogs in which case I'll head off to work.
• Ride other horse in evening.
• Put everyone to bed for the night and turn in. Defend property with shotgun if need be.

You'll notice that I haven't mentioned my husband or the dog. They both get to stay -- my husband will continue to work his job as usual, and my dog would stay close to the house in a nice, fenced-in yard because he eats horse poop and would terrorize the chickens. I would get several more dogs, but I don't think Mickey would like being part of a pack. If Mickey weren't around, I'd get two Irish wolfhounds.

Pushing the envelope

All right. That's it. If you have the right to drag your kid into the office because he doesn't have school and you don't feel like paying for/arranging for childcare, then I have the right to bring my dog into the office with me. I think that's fair.

Plus, if you're going to bring your little angel to work, could you please, um, actually WORK instead of parking your fat ass in the kitchen directly across my office and cooking his breakfast in the office toaster oven? And, if you must cook the kid's breakfast in the toaster oven, could you please watch it carefully to be sure you don't BURN IT, which would fill my office with noxious fumes for the rest of the day?

And finally, if you're going to turn our office into your personal day care center, could you please not flaunt the rest of the rules of the office (as ridiculous as they may be) by wearing jeans? We'd all like to wear jeans, too, but we don't because senior management frowns on it.

People watching at the Starbucks

I have always said that each Starbucks has its own personality. For example, the one in the middle of the town where I live is populated by homeless folks and one not-homeless person who I am so fascinated by I can't take my eyes off him -- he sets himself up at a table against a wall with his laptop, piles of paper that I'm sure are part of some sort of filing system, and a little battery powered fan that he strategically places so that it blows toward him. The staff tells me that he's there first thing in the morning and he stays all day.The one in the next town over, however, is Scary Mommy Central. I cannot tell you how frightening I find this place. It is swarming with Scary Mommies, and I mean SWARMING. They are all size twos, beautifully coiffed and turned out in $120 jeans -- I mean I don't have a kid and I have no chance of ever looking this nice no matter how much time I had to get ready -- and carrying children outfitted head to toe in expensive stuff they'll outgrow in a matter of minutes and hoisting Burberry diaper bags. If you listen in to their conversations it gets even worse -- talking about dance classes and play dates and preschools and other stuff I couldn't begin to care about. Some even have nannies with them. It's utterly frightening. Clearly, too, if they're hanging out at Starbucks at 9:30 am on a Thursday, they have no jobs to go to.And oh! The strollers! These things are bigger than my car, and they're everywhere!Who are these women, and what were they before they became Scary Mommies? Did they ever have jobs? Goals? Personalities? How does one turn into a person like that? Do they ever wonder how they turned into such Stepford Moms? How do their husbands feel about them? Are they pro-this, or do they wonder where the real woman they married went to? Or maybe they married them on purpose because they were this way?Anyway, while I was there just trying desperately to get my latte and get the hell outta there before I caught whatever disease they had, I noticed that there was this kid there in a stroller brandishing a spatula. Like, the kind with the little leather loop at the end, the kind you use to flip burgers on the grill. Apparently he really, really likes this spatula and won't leave the house without it. You know, cause you never know when you might need a spatula.