I May Have to Learn New Skills

The lawn hasn’t been mowed for two, going on three, weeks. On the one hand, fortunately, we have no grass left in the yard… okay, very little grass left in the yard… so it doesn’t look that bad because the weeds can only grow so tall.

But the Butcher has late nights all this week.

And it’s going to rain this weekend.

So, it might be me mowing tomorrow night. I have never mowed using a riding lawn mower. In fact, if you remember, I just learned how to turn the thing on last fall. And I drove it approximately twice.

And I will have to call my dad and refresh on how to start it.

Oh, and the other stupid thing I did? I talked the Butcher out of hiring someone, because I thought, with an acre it’d have to be a million dollars to get it mowed, by promising I would rake.


Today I learned that people hire baby planners, like wedding planners, but for your pregnancy. I’m having a hard time understanding this, but that could just be because my family’s idea of getting ready for a baby is going to the doctor, moving all smoking outside, and making sure the 100-year-old crib all babies on my mom’s side of the family are required to sleep in in order to prove their worthiness won’t crack under their weight.

But I do wonder if I couldn’t benefit from a lawn planner, someone to say “if the Butcher wants to spend his money, shut the fuck up.”

Man, but my lawn planner would always be nagging me about weeding.

That part would suck.

Unless my lawn planner would help me weed…

And my neighbor is having a baby! Without the benefit of a baby planner! We could both pitch in and hire a lawn baby planner.

I wonder if it’s justifiable to leave work early to go home and mow your lawn…

I’m a little loopy from tiredness. Work has been wild. Interesting and challenging and fun, but wow, all week I’ve been just busy as hell. I felt Thursday evening tired halfway through this morning.

I may need a job planner, too.

And a sleep planner…

And a let-the-dog-out planner…

Basically, someone else to run my life while I get all the glory. Not that there’s a lot of glory from living my life, yet, but it could come.

Wade in the Water

I tried my hardest to download the maps featured on this post, so that I could print them out and wrap myself in them and make small gurgling noises of pleasure all afternoon, but my computer kept crashing from the effort.

I understand why we don’t let the river reinvent itself constantly any more, but I admit to feeling like we’re interrupting a vital process.

Look at all those places the river used to be.

And man, it’s hard to believe they ever used to do amazing, beautiful work like that at Fisk.

I Didn’t Answer the Big Question

But no, I did not tell my dad about the Devil’s Threesome. I have left it like the sperm squeezing chapter towards the end of Moby Dick. If he comes to me complaining about hot devil sex, that’s how I’ll know he read the book.

Ha ha ha ha ha.

You know, the more I think about it, the more I’m certain that Melville is the Graceland of American literature. Sure, everyone should read Moby Dick once, but you have to look twice at those people who come back repeatedly to cry at the end, you know?

Oh, that’s right, Melville scholars! I said it. What are you going to do? Beat me with your vast collection of intricately carved whale baculum… baculi? bacula? I guess it doesn’t matter what the plural for baculum is because it’s not like you can carry more than one at a time and, motherfuckers, it’s not like I’m not going to see you and your four buddies coming a long way off.

Ha, coming.

Lord almighty, is it too early for penis jokes?

No, no, it’s never too early for penis jokes.