The Horror of Disconnection

It was a dark and stormy night…is how this tale of horror should begin, but it was actually a bright and lovely morning.

I awoke without Wifi.

Nothing on my phone would load which wasn’t startling given its antiquity. (It’s paid off dammit.) However my computer with whom I had planned to spend some morning coffee time would only say that its broadband link had been garbled and funkled; I should check to see that the wire whooozits were tight.

The stomach tightening realization that I would have to DEAL WITH SOMETHING before peacefully going about my day sank in. I unplugged, re-plugged in, and held buttons down to restart all the blinking things that seemed relevant before dialing the dreaded 1-800 number for customer service.  A robotic Ken doll interpreted my graveling morning voice to determine that I had a “connection problem” then made fake automated typing noises to somehow reassure me of his competence. He let me know that my whooozits provider was funkled across a broad area, but was on the case and that I should not try to contact any humans as they were not privy to more details.

Did the gods of the internet not know that I had things to do today! There were cat pictures I needed to view on Instagram. What if someone’s status on Facebook had been updated overnight? How was I supposed to play Words With Friends while pooping? Should I just go back to reading a book on the toilet? Auughhhh! What. About. My. Pokemon. Game?

Incredibly annoying all around! Almost as annoying as my daily activities being dictated by some invisible doohickey that I don’t really understand. I just know it makes my trivial stuff work, but that somehow I was doing okay without its existence like twenty years ago.

However the part when humanity truly suffered was when I had to wait until everything re-connected to post this adorable photo.

This is pre-vacuuming today. The carpet is a slightly different color now. 

Deep Thoughts, not even remotely handy

*I’ve been keeping this list on my phone. Why? Why not? It amuses me.

I put my seatbelt on, lock the door, and get everything situated before opening the garage door. You never know when you might have to back over a zombie hoard of your neighbors.

I have multiple colors of Fiestaware. Colors that are the same cannot touch in the cabinet and it is ill advised to eat from dishes of the same color. I don’t know why. I don’t even let the cats use the same colors.

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I think fitness apps should have an option for when everything you ate comes flying out your butt an hour later for no apparent reason. That’s got to cut the carbs in half, right?

I don’t understand WHY my body doesn’t digest certain foods. Mushrooms for example. How hard can they be to digest? “Mush” is in the name.

I use the cats as an excuse not to vacuum. If everyone is adorably sleeping, I don’t want to disturb them.
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Watching Deadpool makes me happy. Could be the musical selections. Could be all the sass and swearing.

Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale is probably one of my favorite books. (No, I haven’t watched the t.v. show. I read books, bitches!) It was shockingly easy in that book to turn women into class-less members of society who basically get raped by old white men in leadership positions. I watch our current government and presume that they are just a chapter away from what reading this as a how-to manual.

Life Lesson: if you put Icy Hot on your knees because they are suddenly old as fuck, and THEN pull on your pj bottoms, there is great potential to get Icy Hot on your crotchular area. Icy Hot does not belong there. You’re welcome.

I miss my garden spider.

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Crockpots are terrifying to me. Why would I leave a hot cooking thing on while I wander off for 7-8 hours? What would the cats do? Only recently have I started to use a crockpot (all recipes from Damn Delicious) but we are strictly on a 3-4 hour while I’m at home relationship. Unfortunately I suspect my 19.99 Target bargain is on its way out. The tiny light won’t turn on and my potatoes didn’t really cook. People are like”Meh, buy an instapot!” Me: “Those fuckers explode.”

Yea, I’m just a grocery trip away from buying ONE of these masks.

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Unicorns vs. Sharks

The Target $1 bin never fails to amuse me. I know Birdie is grateful I shop there.

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Tragic Unicorn is her look.

A herd of unicorns stampeding through my kitchen was just what the end to an exhausting day called for.

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You can almost hear their tiny hooves.

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However every story needs a little drama so I threw a shark into the herd.

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Cue the music from Jaws as he scans the depths for treats!

duunnn dunnn… duuuunnnn duun…

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duuunnnnnnnn dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dun dunnnnnnnnnnn dunnnn

No! Birdie, look out there’s a shark!!!!

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Shark: “Nope. I’m not messing with her. Movin’ on!”

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Guess who got knocked up!

Me?

Oh, fuck no! I haven’t been on a date since 2006. My situation is basically the condemned Haunted Cavern Ride complete with echoes and cobwebs which in this case works because …..

BERNADETTE GOT PREGNANT!

(Yea, I’m in a weird relationship with my garden spider.)

That saucy minx had a tryst! I bet it was when she moved house. Way to get some, Bernie!

The egg sac appeared today (articles say there might be 3-4 of them) and Bernadette is a hot mess. Her web is tore up from the floor up, and only partially constructed. Also -WARNING TEENAGE GIRLS– her abdomen is all deflated and wrinkly. That body-ody-ody is not what it used to be.

Those curves are no longer kickin’.

In other news, I’m putting my house on the market because that sac could hatch up to a 1000 baby spiders come spring.

Little Adventures: Goat yoga…I am soooo trendy

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Goat yogi says, “Namaste right here.”

I’ve always said no to goat yoga to the point that my friends can quote my standard reasons back to me. I grew up with goats. They are adorable. I love squishing floppy ears and running a hand over the textures of curved horns.

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Topless goat viewing. It was the 70’s, man.

However goats all come with hard pointy hooves, a love of jumping on things including people in downward dog, and a propensity for mosh pit style head butting. Additionally, the world is a goat’s bathroom. There’s no early warning system. That goaty butt hole just flowers open and you can get anything from bunny turds to diarrhea.

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She’s a lady so she’s squatting to pee. Slight early warning.

So I took no small amount of grief when I signed up for a session at Harrison Farms. My excuse is that it was an un-medicated decision. I’d just come from hot yoga, I didn’t feel great, and signed up for not only goat yoga but also cave yoga- more on that later. I realized later in the day that I forgot to take my pills the night before. Oops. Goat yoga.

Harrison Farm is a working farm with a spreading front yard for yogis to set up mats in the grass. We had a picturesque fall morning for our session. Bright blue skies, and cool air heading towards a warmer afternoon. When I signed in there were already more chickens circulating than I have ever seen in one place. They were wandering under the trees with a handful of ducks, and there was a pile up two chickens or so deep under a row of bushes. Toonces the International Cat was also working the sign in table and made himself available for scritches.

The chickens strolled around the yoga mats as people set up. We got to witness an epic game of keep away when a fat caterpillar dropped from a tree into the midst of the flock.

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The caterpillar was just an extra treat. The chickens knew the drill. Workers set up three shallow food bins which immediately filled with cackling chickens.

September20183Then came the parade of goats. Ears flopping, a line of gamboling goats followed another worker out into the barnyard, heading for snacks.

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PARADE OF GOATS!

But nothing was as precious as the two bottle babies who came out next.

The farm uses wine bottles with a nipple to bottle feed the babies. My teetotaler grandparents stuck with the old glass Pepsi bottles.

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With goats among us, Dana the yoga instructor walked us through some basic goat yoga know-how as well as introducing the goats by name. Workers were observing and available if we needed help, or a “body spill” clean up. I’m using that euphemism the next time I pee my pants while sneezing. Goats or chickens might choose to curl up on your mat. Goats dig behind the horn head scritches.

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Dana correctly suggested that part of the goat yoga challenge was trying to remain in the moment, sinking into a pose and observing your breath while wandering WHAT ARE THE GOATS DOING?! With this in mind, she occasionally directed us to “goat observing pose” which meant sitting back on our heels to look around. “Dolphin pose” was also amended to “Goat pose” because goats do a bent front leg bow to nurse, and sometimes still to eat from the ground as adults. Nobody has ever seen a dolphin do that.

At the end of the session, everyone was encouraged to hang out as long as they wanted and interact with the animals. Different workers would be giving small tours at different points at the farm.

This is the best sequence ever of someone wallering a baby goat. Go, Adventure Buddy!

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In addition to the goats, there were alpacas who are used to produce yarn at the farm. The two in the foreground were pregnant and were available to nibble fig newtons from visitors’ hands.

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There were also 10-day old lambs who needed hugging. My lamb still had its umbilical cord. It also may have gotten a slight “body spill” on me, but I clean up okay.

Every photos looks like I want to put its head in my mouth, or am trying to whisper it into joining my cult. It was sooooooo soft.

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I ended my visit by purchasing fresh eggs. I was amazed by the variations in shapes and colors. It would be pretty cool if grocery store eggs were like that.

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Overall, I was extremely happy with my morning. I got to hang out with a friend, got a decent workout, and I got to interact with animals outside the feline persuasion. I’d absolutely do it again.

FYI: Goats also make good reindeer for Christmas cards.

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