flightless hag

A chronicle of the adventures of birdwoman: a lonely, talentless freak who wanders the internet in search of entertainment.

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Location: Philly

I'm a 40-something married white female, survivor of weight watchers, avid reader of pulp. Dogs (not cats), extreme right (handed, not politics), ENTJ, alto, wanna-be knitter.

September 20, 2009

Welcome Back, Kotter!

Well, it's back to school time at the Aviary. Hence the less than no posting schedule. But things ah-re the way things ah-re, to paraphrase a favorite movie.

School is much the same - room, classes, even some of the same kids. This year, there is a new development - a few of us are at war with the cleaning crew. They are stealing our doorstops.

I ask you, what is the world coming to, when someone would steal your doorstop? So, on the surprise trip up to my mom's this weekend (where I found out about my SISTER - my PURRFECT big SISTER - getting REPRIMANDED by a campground supervisor for making too much noise late at night! Ha ha ha ha!! Never knew mom was such a tattletale, did ya?), my brother came to the rescue and made me like 8 new doorstops. I have already decorated my first in hopes that this time, they won't scribble out my name and pretend theirs was there first:

(the other edge says "don't steal this")
What're the odds I'll still have this at the end of the week?


In other news, my family's descent into irredeemable redneckdom has continued. It started with us encouraging our kids to play outside, unsupervised, and they came up with a war game. Americans versus Indians. They lured other boys in... boys whose mothers don't "believe in war or its violence." WHATever.

Our shame spiral continued when Timmy kicked the hornets' nest, and John showed up to save him clad only in shorts (he had just spilled spaghetti sauce on his shirt, but hell, it looked like he likes to walk around shirtless. I told him to look on the bright side, at least he wasn't wearing a wife beater!)

But the last straw for our neighbors has come. My husband has indulged his secret childhood wish and bought himself a beebee gun. Yes, John has been firing the gun in the backyard, which is, of course, a magnet for every daggone boy in the 'hood. They all come - and after checking with dads and making them don safety glasses, he lets them shoot off the gun - under complete supervision.

This is a bb gun. Not a real gun. Just to make sure you're not confused.

So, anyhow, he's out in the backyard, shooting off guns, drinking Pabst which is surrounded by his new beer-cozy (thanks a lot, uncle tom), and spouting off a random "yee haw" or "get-r-dunn".

I would hang my head in shame, except I think that I am the more red-necky of the two of us. And I actually enjoy horrifying our "guns are EEEVil" neighbors. What? I never claimed to be a nice hag. Just a flightless one.


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