Annoying F’ing Robin

The robin that repeatedly knocks himself silly on our window. ON PURPOSE.

The robin that repeatedly knocks himself silly on our window. ON PURPOSE.

We have a new friend. His name is Annoying F’ing Robin. Each morning and evening (at the crack of dawn and prior to sunset), Annoying F’ing Robin struts up to the basement window well and stares deeply into his own eyes through the reflection of the window. He then proceeds to either peck the SHIT out of the window or fly into it over and over, and OVER again.

When Jack first alerted me of the bird’s presence, I momentarily worried his paranoia had escalated. After a discussion about mental illness and sleep deprivation, even Jack could not confirm the bird existed. This comes from the guy who made me second guess myself on our mother-f’ing HONEYMOON after I was absolutely certain someone had stolen my earrings from our room. He then forced me to report the stolen property to the front desk who assured me they would be tearing our room a new a-hole to look for $18 fake diamond earrings whose disappearance was faked by yours truly -because I want the poor housekeeping staff to get their asses fired. Shut up.

The bird is real, but Jack deserved to second guess himself for the earring incident.

Maybe the bird is bad ass and wants to prove his strength to all the women. Or maybe Annoying F’ing Robin lost his sanity in a window accident and has never recovered. He needs to stop replaying that fateful day in his mind (and in real life) before Jack gets a cat to remedy the problem. And we all know if Jack gets a cat – Jack spends the weekend in the dog house. And if Jack does what he REALLY wants to do with the bird, our neighborhood will be up in arms (or without them) because most people just don’t identify with rednecks.

So my friend, Robin:
Stop being you.

Stop fighting your reflection – you will not win.

And most importantly, stop shitting in my flower beds.

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Crazy Garden Lady

I can’t believe this is happening to me.

As a background, I grew up on a farm and all I knew was homegrown vegetables and my mom’s various gardens and flower beds which, over the years grew in size and quantity. Even now when their kids are grown up, you can venture out to the farm on any given summer day and you will find my mom tending to her vast garden. She still plants the same amount as when all of us were living there. Often I hear her say she could “feed an army” with all that she grows. In fact, she could and even after giving away the goods from half her garden, she still has two deep freezes, two fridges, a water well and a cold room full of vegetables! I have made a silent vow to never follow in her footsteps because I remember being worked to the bone; planting, picking, tailing, cutting, stringing beans, shelling peas, hilling potatoes, cross pollinating tomatoes; and the list goes on.

It’s a regular occurrence for me to call or text my lovely sister to ask advice. The other day, I called her at work because I was in Walmart and wanted to know where I could find “those little round dirt things you plant seeds in.” She knew exactly what I was talking about because we are sisters and all the misunderstandings when we were young have turned us into perfectly in sync, mind reading adults.

Obviously I am an amateur to the outside world because the Customer Service Rep looked at me blankly and then said,“Oh, you mean peat pallets? They are just over here.”

(Yes, peat pallets! Love those things!)

“I’m sorry, we must be out.”

“OUT?” (Instant hulk-like, little kid temper tantrum rage).

I grabbed my composure and moved on to another store. Luckily, they had the round dirt things and not just ordinary ones. The round things were surrounded by a glorious mini greenhouse! Genius; who comes up with these things?! I promptly bought the greenhouse along with seeds for two types of tomatoes and a variety of petunias.

I tackled the job of sowing my seeds yesterday. I had 24 round dirt things which seemed like not enough. I got my phone out to ask for more advice.

“How many tomato plants do you usually plant?”

“Four, and one cherry tomato. I get quite a few tomatoes off them.”

“Oh. I was thinking more like 12”.

“That would be a lot. You would be like Mom then.”

Noooo! I don’t want to be Crazy Garden Lady! It’s better than cats but all the neighbor kids will still point and laugh. This brings me back to my original point: I can’t believe this is happening to me. I thought about it for a moment and decided being Crazy Garden Lady might be the end of the world and 12 tomato plants was way too much. . . 

I have started 12 tomato plants. Like mother, like daughter.

Down Pout

I like the indoors. It’s warm, safe, and familiar. Outside sucks; it’s not for everyone. Luckily, Fiancé-To-Be is an avid outdoorsman and jack of most trades and until the other day, has been available for all our maintenance needs. We had a heck of a winter with foot after foot of snow between October and March. I am ready for climate change but somehow I don’t think I alone could release enough aerosol hairspray into the atmosphere to make a difference (environmentalists take note, this is a joke). This past week, it finally warmed up and the shoddy workmanship the previous owner called “downspouts” became useless. By the looks of the front step and the landscaping around the house, it is evident this man came directly from the Canada’s Worst Handyman winner’s circle still wielding his Screw-Hammer.

It all started in the kitchen, which, in my house, is not unusual. Unless you’re filling up a bathtub or washing machine, the sound of running water is never a comforting one. It could mean your kitchen sink is leaking down the basement wall which will lead you to have to tear out drywall and insulation and start over. Then, you see mold and frost behind the insulation so you continue your examination and determine it essential to rip out all the insulation in the rim joists in the thick of winter. This story deserves its own post, so I’ll stop there. To summarize thus far: outside sucks, homeownership sucks, and water sucks.

I could hear something odd occurring through the closet in the kitchen and I knew it had to be either the downspouts or aliens so I actually went outside to investigate. A 300gpm waterfall was pouring out right beside the house so of course, I panicked. I picked up the ice pick and frantically chipped away the ice to free the downspout from it’s wintery prison.

(As an aside, I didn’t play baseball in school for a reason. My hand eye coordination has always been a little “off”).

The downspout started spraying water out the top like an arterial bleed out of a slasher movie. I assume them to be equally horrifying. I had two options: call Jack of Most Trades or “fix” it myself. Anyone who grew up watching the Red Green Show knows duct tape is the ultimate fix for absolutely everything.

After I called Tony and told him I was headed inside for the duct tape, he arrived in the yard in record time. He took one look at my hack-job-duct tape- surgery, called me cute, and had me hand him tools while I pouted.