Maybe I’m a Poltergeist!

So, we all know about the door. And there was the period of time earlier today when all the shit to the right there just vanished (when I republished, it came back).

But get this, kids, I just blew every lightbulb in the downstairs except two. Went to the bathroom, flipped the switch–lightbulb blew. Went to the kitchen to do some dishes, flipped the switch–lightbulb blew. Turned on the light in the dining room/laundry room/narrow spot between here and the kitchen, and one bulb blew. Walked back under it and all of the rest of them blew.

I’m afraid to go upstairs, because we don’t have any more lightbulbs after I replace all the ones down here.

Am I magic? Did I bring home something disgruntled from Puerto Rico? Do I have superpowers? I wonder if I can ask my neighbors to let me in their house to see if I have the same effect on their lightbulbs.

In Which I Confess My True Feelings for the Legal Eagle

Back when we were in college, I admit, I had a little crush on the Legal Eagle. Not as big as the crush I had on his brother, but they’re a charming lot–the Eagles. Dangerously over-armed, all married to women with the same first name, prone to drunken inappropriateness, but charming nevertheless. And smart.

How could I resist?

It’s funny because I knew both the Legal Eagle and the Shill in college, but they didn’t really meet until our libertarian friend decided to run off to Asia, which was after I was already in grad school.

I missed that meeting, though I hear that it happened while one of our friends was peeing himself while passed out drunk, so I’m always a little sorry I missed that party.

That’s how it is with the Shill, though. She’s always almost doing things.

She’s almost going to show up for class on the day you have a joint report to give. She’s almost going to meet her future husband, but she’s shut herself up in another room with a boy who’s got no future with her and doesn’t know it yet. And so on.

If she ever does anything, it always seems somewhat inadvertent. She sold me my first car, the beloved Cavalier, which I ran into the ground, literally. I bought it right after college and it died parked right out front here. Anyway, she sold me her car as some kind of afterthought before she ran away to New York City. Later, she was inadvertently dating our libertarian friend without knowing it.

And now that I think about it, I’m not sure she even ever lived in the same city as the Legal Eagle before they got married. That was just a minor detail, not something to stand in the way of her doing what she wanted.

And now?

Now she’s pregnant. I hear it happened inadvertently, which is exactly what I’d expect. I’m predicting that the baby will not be born at the hospital. I imagine she’ll be at work, she’ll go into labor, and she’ll call the Legal Eagle and tell him to meet her at the hospital.

Then, she’ll decide she needs to call her mom or go for ice cream or, maybe, call Dr. Schultz and finally give her half of the presentation, and before you know it, it’ll be some paramedic or taxi driver delivering the baby on the side of the road.

Whatever happens, it’s going to be hilarious and I cannot wait to hear about it over beers.

Congratulations are in Order

The Super Genius is getting married. This is so awesome I cannot even tell you. And she quotes Zora Neale Hurston as she explains why–“Love makes your soul crawl out from its hiding place.”*

Congratulations, old friend. I can’t wait to dance at your wedding.

*Good god damn. Does Hurston kick ass or what? As does the Super Genius.

Muddy Paws

Mrs. Wigglebottom and I just got home from the dog park. We went out to the Warner Park one, because it was raining and no one was there.

At first, she didn’t do anything differently than she usually does when we’re out on walks; she stayed just a leash length away from me. But when I went to throw her poop away, she realized that we weren’t hooked together and so she began to slowly gallop over the field.

I threw some balls for her, which was hilarious. She’d get really excited to watch them arch in the air and then–plunk–they’d hit her right in the head and she’d wag her tail and stand over them and look at me with this huge grin.

Who knows what the fuck is up with that, but it was funny. I already knew she was never going to be a dog that played fetch, because she never lets things go. But it was hilarious to see that she’s also lousy at catch. She was enthusiastic about it, but lousy at it.

I wish I felt better about having her around other dogs–I’m just so afraid that if anything goes wrong, she’ll automatically be the guilty party, just by virtue of how she looks that I’m afraid to be there when other people are there–because I think she’d really like it.

But it tickles me to see her making happy circles in the mud and waiting for me to toss tennis balls so that she can watch as they hit the ground around her.

The Orange Cat is Evil and Other Observations

Well, maybe it’s both cats that are evil. The tiny cat was standing right by my head just staring at me this morning. I couldn’t sleep with her looking at me so intently. It unsettles me.

The Butcher also could not sleep. The orange cat had discovered that the animals were out of water and, in order to rectify the situation, dumped the Butcher’s water onto the Butcher and all over his bed.

The Butcher is now trying to sleep on the couch. I’m watching music videos.

I’m wondering if The Pussycat Dolls aren’t this generation’s Spice Girls.

Ha, Buddy Guy just said “I thought we were singing wrong lyrics until I heard some of those hip hop guys.”

Ooo. And John Mellencamp is on tour.

The dog and I are going to take the Butcher to work and then we’ll try to get up to something. I don’t know what, but something.

Hurray for vacation!