Category Archives: weirdo

That creepy, eery feeling

Ever feel like you’re being watched?

This morning I was reading with my back to the window and suddenly felt the urge to turn around, like some foreign energy was boring into the back of my head. Was I being watched?
band-tailed pigeonsYup. I had a whole judging panel flight of those giant, band-tailed pigeons looking down at me (this shot was taken while I sat, lazy wildlife photographer strikes again.
band-tailed pigeons
Waiting. Coo‘ing. Waiting…

Is it just me and my propensity for drama but does this remind you of anything?The Birds movieYeah, creepy. It was just like Hitchcock’s The Birds. And I live near a school.

But at least with these guys, I had a sneaking suspicion why they lurked.
bird feederAt least, I hope it’s the seeds they want…

If you don’t see any more blog posts from me, well, it was a pretty decent run. You were mostly awesome although would it kill you to comment from time to time? Thanks for the memories. Becca, be a good dog. Hubs, turns out you can have the whole garage after all. Kid, there’s M&M’s hidden in the soup pot. I love you, Mom.

Baby born on Washington State Ferry

This island was abuzz last week when a woman had a baby on board a Washington State Ferry, Bainbridge Island to Seattle (a 35 min. trip).

You might think this happens all the time, thousands of people, daily commuters, pregnant women living on an island…
But you would be wrong.

I was living on this island when I was pregnant, and what was the major worry of all us moms in the birthing class? What about the ferry???

Our instructor said calm down you crazy hormonal bitches, women don’t give birth where they don’t want to. Knowing next to nothing about it, we all breathed a sigh of relief. Okaaaaaaay, if you say so.

(And that’s the line to remember, all you currently pregnant women living on Bainbridge Island…)

In typical island fashion, when the labor kicked in full force and they needed medical assistance on board, they had to turn people away. There was so many offers of help. A retired midwife and OB/GYN nurse helped, or mostly cheered and supported in the first aid room, I’m told.

And also in typical island fashion, a friend of mine knows the mom. She told me her friend just felt really light contractions and was only going to Swedish Hospital just in case. The baby wasn’t due for 3 more weeks, and their first child took 12 hours of labor.

But WHAM, strong contractions hit once the boat was under way, and by the time the vessel was docking, Baby Lucy was debuting.

Really? Babies can be born in under an hour?

Mine was two weeks late, failed to respond to three kinds of inducing, and ultimately required a c-section. It was not a cake walk or a boat ride.

By all accounts, Lucy’s mom handled her unexpected birth story bravely and awesomely and went home the next day with her new, healthy daughter and her totally rockin’ birth story.

Maybe Lucy will be a sailor.

And maybe the general rule of thumb should be that babies are born where babies want to be born, yes? On land or by sea

A big congratulations to Lucy and her family! May all your future ferry rides be peaceful, calm and uneventful.

A Grate Zucchini

[I know this post doesn’t replace a recap of the island’s Great Zucchini Race, but they didn’t have one this year! It’s okay, we’ve started a grief support group.]

I have a quiz for you today!

See this zucchini? (Next time I’ll consider cleaning up for you before I take a photo, but you needed something for scale, right…?)

A friend grew it and needed to get rid of it before it ate their house offered it to me.

So, I figured I’d evict the hobbit that lived inside grate it up, freeze it and use it for baking muffins or bread or something with several cups of sugar in it…
Yes, I grated it by hand, the old-fashioned way with bloodied knuckles and nicked fingernails. It didn’t help that the skin of that beast was tough as leather. My peeler ran away screaming at the sight of it, and the grater constantly begged me to stop (in a “Don’t. Stop.” way, not a “Don’t Stop” way, so I think it meant it).
But I grated the whole thing while listening to the entire audiobook of War and Peace several podcats and felt proud of my sore pitching arm. . . right up until the Hubs came home and said —

How come you didn’t use the electric grater?

After I stabbed him, I measured out the zucchini and bagged it up just like the Hubs’ body.

My question for you is: how many cups of grated zucchini did I end up with?

The Fake Weight

Not to brag much but the other day I got on the scale and realized I had gotten down to my fake weight without leaning on the wall.

“Fake weight” — the number we put on official documents like our driver’s license applications and other “public” forms. Every woman I’ve mentioned this to knew exactly what I was talking about.

Men, however, had no clue. They apparently don’t have a fake weight! They’ll deny it but they have a fake height or fake length they tell themselves…

But, honestly, I’m here to tell you that it’s a little disconcerting if you ever see your fake weight on a real scale. I mean, with attainment of the fake weight all should be perfect in the your world, right? The fake and the real have merged and anything is possible!

We should at least expect a rousing parade or curly confetti to miraculously fall from the sky or Ed McMahon with a big check.

But no. I got none of that.

Given my up’s and down’s with life weight, I’ll likely bounce back up and the fake weight will once again become fake if these Girl Scout cookies have anything to say about it.

Or maybe it won’t, in which case I’ll be required to come up with a new fake weight. Where do our fake weights come from? Old insurance charts? Some online weight calculator? An asshole ex-boyfriend? A number from your past? The Miss Universe pageant?

The fake weight must be lower than your actual weight, but not so far removed as to cause snickering at the DMV or when your driver’s license is broadcast on a local news show after you run off with the soccer coach go missing.

I will confess that once I touched on my fake weight, it somehow managed to lose its power. It is just an artificial, externally-imposed number. Health, strength, energy, focus, these internal traits are the things that should have meaning and magic for us all through life, right?

All of which I promise to ponder deeply as I Google weight charts and calculators to generate my new fake weight.

Not My Idea, and yet Somehow Still Entertaining

Here’s usually what happens when someone suggests a blog idea for me:

Them: Oh my God, this is so hilarious! You should totally put this on your blog!

Me: silently smiles & nods

Me to myself: Yeah, that is now a thing that will never be on my blog.

Well, there’s always an exception to prove the rule and here it is. I present Mishka, the talking dog. Please enjoy.

Not to toot my own horn too much more than usual, but I happen to do an excellent impersonation (imdogation?) of Mishka talking. But this galaxy doesn’t need that video floating around for infinity scaring the little alien babies…

Kid, you’re welcome.