I’m Going Nutty
“What if squirrels are just dragons without wings.” I was asked this by a grown adult; I haven’t been able to ignore it since that day. Whenever I see a squirrel I have to watch them just in case they spray a molten blast of fire. Now, I don’t actually watch them for that reason, but I do watch them… a lot. I know their hiding places. I can identify them by appearance. I know their family’s hereditary traits (bleach white tails that eventually turn gray which is unique to family that has their nest above my garage).
My bedroom is the basement, and where a normal person would have put their bedroom, I have placed my office (I am asleep, why would a sleeping person care about the view). My office looks out on my backyard. From my vantage point I can see wildlife, my garden, and depending on the season, wonderful old trees or a parking lot. But the thing that I really care about year round is the squirrels. The birds are pretty dope too but the tiny dragons have stolen my heart with their backwards claws, flicky tails, and scurrying through the treetops.
I’ve imagined them fighting the birds for supremacy of the yard. Sparkles, my lovely cat, begs me to let her out so she can “play” with them, but we don’t need the final boss to show up in this RPG. In general, my imagination runs wild as I sit on a call and the squirrels come to visit. It’s gotten to the point where I know different squirrels and their story (or the story I applied to them). [Click “Read More” to navigate these nuts]
Read MoreBeefcake Bernie
Bernard isn’t dead, to my knowledge, because I don’t think many things could take down that monster of a groundhog. I’ve obviously used the term Beefcake Bernie in a variety of posts for 2020, but that’s kind of because, he was the bane of my existence in 2019. A monster unleashed on my garden, forged in the fires of Mordor, and trained by George Foreman. Bernie was a true nemesis and pushed me to my breaking point.
But since this year is a garbage fire, I figured I would share a heart warming story of how I didn’t murder the fucker but eventually triumphed. Obviously, if I wanted to, I could have killed Bernie; to do so, I would have needed the Infinity Gauntlet, all the Infinity Stones, and the will to wipe out half of you, but eventually I would have gotten him. Now, since I don’t want to kill 50% of the people on the planet, I went a different route – trapping and relocating.
Before we get into the End Game, I want to give you a little taste of Bernie’s appetite. Beefcake started his life out as a tiny little groundhog. My backyard is fully enclosed, no gate, nothing, just a tall wooden fence, and in that fence there are some gaps that I’ve never seen anything slipped through. My friend however, in 2019, was out back reading and noticed that a baby groundhog is the perfect size to get into the garden.
They’re adorable.
But they’re assholes. Beefcake Bernie made his debut as a cute little nugget who came upon the Garden of Eden by chance. I had 60 plants, all heirlooms, and he loved them.
At first, I wasn’t worried. He eventually would grow to big to fit through the fence. My only hope was that this growth spurt would happen when he was on the other side of the fence. I lost a couple of peppers, a whole tomato plant that Bernie knocked over trying to get to a fruit, but then his reign of terror ended. With relative peace in my homestead, I went back to tending to my young plants. [For more on Bernard, click “Read More”]
Read MoreWonderful Colors
People love talking about growth: cities, facial hair, finger nails, waist lines, love, and all sorts of shit. For some reason, we have innate appreciation for humans who consistently evolve through life. Folks talk less about the more depressing topic of devolution or stagnation of human curiosity. It’s always about: “try something new” or “get a new hobby” or “try that thing you’ve always wanted to try”.
Luckily for you folks, it is 2020 and I can’t write a post shitting on the human condition because no one needs that (including me). However, I am going to talk about gardening (I was doing it before 2020, and by doing it, I mean failing at it). Previously, I talked about the fact that every 2020 crap cloud has a slightly bronze lining and we need to grab onto those slightly good things and embrace them. For me, one of those was gardening (I’ve been baking my own bread since 2012).
In my return post, Been a Minute, I talked heavily about my gardening and how working from home had given me the ability to monitor the garden more than if I had been in the office: catching two groundhogs (relocated humanely to a local forest) and plugging their hole permanently.
I rather not dive into the battle of “Beefcake Bernie and the Tomato Plants of 2019” but dig into the garden and why I wanted one: I like to eat, I want to eat unique things that cannot be found in a store, heirlooms taste better but are expensive at the farmers market, I have land to support my own garden, and I prefer eating food than looking at flowers (also I save money). That’s the basics and my initial reasoning for jumping into a garden.
Yet, that’s not all that happened, it strengthened a friendship. It made me appreciate and enrich the love I have for two humans and their little one. It blows my mind thinking back on it, but we all love the same thing: food… why did it take this long to fortify this friendship.
To take a quick aside, since this post won’t be about friendships but about me, I have relied on these two so much that it is important to give them a call out. I wouldn’t have the garden I have without their innate knowledge, their experience, and, most importantly, their willingness to share that experience and wisdom with me. Without them, I never would have vined my tomato plants when they outgrew their cages, I wouldn’t have pruned my suckers, and I wouldn’t have achieved the harvest I am still eating today. So, from the bottom of my heart: I love you Randy and Kristine, thank you so much.
Now back to me, but remember as you read this, that I didn’t achieve this by myself. It took a village (of two and their little one). [click “Read More” to be philosophized]
Read MoreFun Names for Stuff
Bean bag, nut sack, huevos, cajaones, family jewels, balls, nuts… even testicles is fun. Yet, when I was talking to my nurse practitioner about my testis (not for fun but for medical reasons – even I have a line), she called the ovaries: things.
Now, this kicked off a weird philosophical inquiry for myself. I assume the average person wouldn’t have tossed into a sea of doubt because ovaries are indeed: things. But, it bothers me on a weird level.
For one, testicles and ovaries start as the same thing and during the formation of a human being they transform. Now, I am not a medical professional, but I did take a health class in Junior High. Also, I have the internet, and in my search for validation, I realized I missed one of my favorite terms: gonads. Also, I did confirm the above statement – all of our gonads start off as the same thing and then morph into other our bits.
So, why all the talk about our happy bits? Simple, during my time with the medical professional I could rattle off multiple names for the testis but nothing fun for ovaries. Ovaries are the female version of balls, but I have no fun names to call them. So I set on a quest to understand why this is the case; I didn’t try very hard in my adventure.
Many folks pointed out that they aren’t an external form of genitalia so they don’t get the screen time of say: breasts. Which makes sense to me but still bothers me. Of all the genitals testis have countless names, we even can leverage slang from foreign languages (there are two at the top of this post), and a huge tell is that our cute names aren’t demeaning (breasts aren’t bags).
So, why don’t we have fun names for ovaries? And if we do and I am just missing them, fire a tweet at me. If you also can’t think of some, let’s start a thing; I’ll go first egg holsters.
Theodore is back in the saddle and asking the simple questions.
Read MoreFuck, I ate Another
I don’t want you inside me; you are the incarnation of sadness. A simple bite of your flame broiled patty answer’s the question of Satan’s existence with a resounding: yes. With each chew, it becomes clear that they’ve perfected torture. This abomination came from Hell’s Kitchen… not the good one.
Like a shame filled conquest, I leave your drive-through and other options reveal themselves; the grass beside the porta-potty that has a hole in the reservoir probably has more flavor. But I can’t seem to ignore that sweet 2 for 6. It pains me. I know your not a deal because you won’t fill my sad void but enlarge it. Once done, my abyss will have grown deeper, wider, and darker.
Yet, I put you inside me regularly. Why? Simple, marketing.
Read MoreBeen a Minute… or a Year
2020 Blarg, am I right? Totes, this year is Garbage Town, USA… but, I would be lying if I dumped everything into the proverbial trash fire that has been this year and pretend like there haven’t been peaks (and a lot of valleys).
In general, we are all strapped to a table, our junk hanging out, a madman is sitting at a tennis ball launcher full of a million lemons, and our genitals are the target. Are we all making lemonade out of the constant bombardment on our bits? Obviously not, people are struggling and to sit here and say: “But on the good side” is not helpful.
Yet, I never take my own advice. Since, I am on my own site writing a blog post for the first time in over a year; I would say I’ve ended up in a place that may be trending toward stability (not healthy necessarily, just stable). Yes, I am breaking my rules; one of which is to never drink while writing (hello Mister Manhattan). But, extraordinary conditions lead to fantastically delicious cocktails.
Now, I believe we must find the good in all situations; even if you are knee deep in a tonne of shit, you should be able to find joy in the fact that the visible specks of corn are reminiscent of the stars – what a fun coincidence. While the world burns down around us, we must take time to understand the sudden shift in society and how it positively impacts us (there are negatives, but don’t focus on those). And as for positives, don’t try to do a big bang, relish in the simple joys: a walk with a loved one, conversation, or the ability to take on that project you always postponed. Find the good in those moments, you’re allowed to be sad and slightly happy.
Now we’ve reached the point where I tell you how productive I’ve been, which would be a lie. Just doing basic things I love is nearly impossible – I haven’t written fiction all year. Like most of us, I picked up a gardening habit (I already was a baker far before the pandemic), and I suffer extreme swings where motivating myself is about as useful as trying to fuck a rock (depending on the rock, sometimes you can break through).
Yet, when my first tomato turned red, I was ecstatic. I watched it from my window and I checked daily for any problem. I would be on a work call, and I would have to go out and see how it was doing. Legit, I talked to a tomato. If I had been in the office, I never would have seen that a groundhog was in my yard. In the previous year, I was unable to stand watch over my garden because I was in the office, and no matter what I did, a groundhog ravaged all my veggies (I got nothing out of 40 plants). So, when I was stuck at home and able to focus on my plants, that single tomato was the proof that my trapping (groundhogs were safely relocated to a local forest), defense construction (try and move 80 pounds of rock you fucking oversized rodent), and constant care was worth it. 2020 gave my my first major production of vegetables, and for that, I am grateful.
In the end, 2020 is a year of evaluation and understanding. I started off by dropping 10 pounds and quickly gained it back by Sad Dashing, instead of cooking you order takeout and just drink on the couch because you’re fucking sad, and now I am back in a productivity cycle. This year is a cycle of nightmares and nightmarish dreams. But, we don’t need to add to each-other’s diarrhea laden swamp. So don’t crap on people or around them, praise the little steps and make sure to check in and make sure they okay (none of us are okay).
For me, I need to focus on myself, and in order to make the nightmare slightly better, I am going to update my website, add more blog posts, and in general start writing more. It’s the best I can do, and since I used this standing desk I built as an excuse to not write until I got made it, I no longer can justify not writing.
Cheers, don’t be too hard on yourself, it sucks out there but humanity always ends up moving forward. At least you don’t have to worry about dying because the King is a dick… well… not yet at least.
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