Conversation I had this week

"So, what did you say about the rapture at work?"

"Um, nothing."

"What, really? No one brought it up?"

"No, and I'm not going to. That would be a really quick way to get fired."

"Oh, come on. You could have just said, like, 'Hey, probably won't see you all Monday, eh?'"

"Right. Add in a 'I mean, I'll probably still be around. I'll hold the place down.' That is one valuable point I did not think to put on my resume. 'Definitely won't be called back in case of Rapture.'"

Goodbye. Wish me luck. I'm sooooo going to need it.

I kept wanting to write a post this week, about all kinds of things (for example: Have you noticed that people who drive with their arm out the window of the car, sort of gripping their entire car like it's their shaft, are always dickface drivers? I have.) but I'm leaving tomorrow morning for a huge conference. And not the fun kind, where you're an attendee and you can sneak off for booze. No, the kind that I'm helping run, where I work a kajillion hours and drive with coworkers in a rented car for 13 hours and where I'm not allowed to drink any alcohol the entire time I'm gone. The week leading up to the conference has basically been hell. And it was also finals week for Roomie.

So here is one photo from a post I don't have time to write, because I have to wake up in four hours:

Yeah. We had a car break down. So we got towed by a tractor.

Hugh Hefner of chickens

Since my neighbors cut down a lot of the shrubbery between our yards, I now have a view of their chicken coop. It's not very close by, and it's partially blocked by what I've been told is a "dog run," a fenced in area in our vast yard where, if we were "real" southerners, I suppose we'd lock up our dogs, instead of snuggle with them on the living room floor. Instead, we use the area to make compost, and use the fence to keep our dogs out of it.

Anyhoo, the chickens. I absolutely adore the rooster. Probably more because he lives on the opposite side of the house from my bedroom window, so I never hear him crowing in the morning until I'm already up. Because in case you'd never considered this, rooster crows are entirely dependent upon where you are when you hear them. Roosters crowing when you're making tea and eggs = awesome, but rooster crowing when you're in bed and trying to sleep = feathery hellspawn.

The best thing about the rooster is that he likes to hang out on top of the hen house. He stands up there, strutting, and quite often, there's a hen up there with him. Sometimes two. I like to think of the coop as some sort of bunny ranch. Hugh, the Rooster, decides who gets the top position and gets to come upstairs with him, based on whims. I haven't decided which hen to call Crystal. Wasn't there a Holly, too? Or am I confusing Hugh Hefner with Bob Barker ... ?

Anyway, I like thinking of the coop as a tiny redneck bunny ranch. Especially since I've heard the bunny ranch smells about as good as a chicken coop.