* * *
Maybe we should call it “Lucky Acres” instead of “Crooked Acres”. (Nance, when I saw these four-leaf clovers, I felt very joyful indeed. Heh!)
* * *
It occurs to me that I didn’t mention that the pond – the one in the back yard we’re paying someone to fill in – isn’t a naturally-occurring pond. It was a man-made pond, and the only thing filling it up is rainwater (there’s no spring), which is why it gets so low all the time. I don’t know if the previous owners did any kind of research as to where the best place on the land would be to dig a pond, or if they were like “Oh, it’s always kind of wet here. This is a good spot!” (that’s probably what we would have done!) or what, but like I mentioned, it’s taking up prime real estate and doesn’t stay full enough to keep fish, so we’re fillin’ it in.
* * *
Monday I packed up the pantry, since Fred and the spud aren’t using anything in there anyway (I left oatmeal for Fred and cans of ravioli for the spud so they wouldn’t starve to death). I came across a bottle of Kraft Light Done Right Bleu Cheese dressing, and paused.
“This dressing looks odd,” I said to myself. “I wonder if it’s out of date?”
The best-by date? September 2005.
GAH.
(Needless to say, that bottle didn’t make it to Crooked Acres.)
* * *
When the phone/ internet guy was setting up the (surprisingly enough) phone and internet at Crooked Acres, I asked him if he would switch out the phone jack plates throughout the house. Fred and I bought the replacement plates at Lowe’s Monday night, so all the guy needed to do is switch out the old ones for the new. Fred was able to figure out (and teach me) how to switch out outlets and switches, but the phone jack plates were a tad too complicated for us.
When I said “Could you switch out the existing phone jack plates for these,” the guy – who’d been making noises like he was done and ready to go – looked at me and then looked at the new jack plates. Then he had to call his office.
“Yeah, the customer on (our road) wants to switch out her phone jack plates,” he said.
“Switch them out?”
“Yeah, for new ones,” the guy said.
“What kind of plates?”
“The phone jack wall plates. Is there a charge for that?”
“She wants new wall plates?”
“No, she has them, she just needs the old ones switched out for the new ones.”
“I’ll have to call you back on that.”
Seriously, no one’s ever asked the guy to switch out ugly yellow phone jack wall plates for pretty bright white ones? I had no idea it was going to be such an issue!
(In the end, there was no charge, and it only took him about fifteen minutes to do, since there are only six phone jacks in the entire house.)
* * *
Yesterday morning, I’d just gotten to the Madison house and was about to walk out the door to head for Target, when the phone rang. It was the woman who runs the cat shelter I volunteer for, asking if I could possibly cover for the regular Wednesday morning person who cleans & scoops at the pet store. I was glad to do it, and even more glad that I’d been just about to head that way, anyway. I got to spend some time with the kitties, and barely even had to go out of my way to do so.
I love it when things work out like that.
* * *
Keeping an eye on the squirrel…
…who’s clearly not worried about the Sugs at ALL.
* * *
Last Friday when I was mowing the back lawn, I was very concerned about the extension cord running across the lawn between the shed and the chicken coop. Fred told me he thought it was low enough that it wouldn’t be a problem, so I went over it, and found that he was right. I kept mowing the lawn, and had stopped worrying about the extension cord when I went over it, heard a loud clunk, and saw pieces of the extension cord fly across the lawn.
I waved my arms at Fred, who was inside sitting at my computer (he’s turning into a Snood addict, too), then went over and picked up the end of the extension cord to show him what I’d done.
“DON’T TOUCH THAT!” he bellowed, and I dropped it and backed away.
“Why?” I asked.
He got a you’re-a-dumbass look on his face, then thought for a moment and looked sheepish.
“Oh. It’s not plugged in, is it?”
“No.”
“What is this, the third or fourth extension cord you’ve killed?”
“Shut UP.”
(The extension cord was there because until last weekend it was still getting pretty cold at night, and the chicks needed a light to keep them warm. We’d plug it in at night, then unplug it in the morning. So I was never in danger of getting electrocuted.)
* * *
Since I’ve been living in Crooked Acres, I’ve slept with my cell phone beside me at night (though I don’t need to do that anymore, since we’ve got real phones hooked up now!). Sometimes late at night the spud will text message me with a question or to tell me something, and I can just roll over, read her message, and text her back.
Saturday night, my cell phone beeped to let me know I had a text message. I rolled over, looked at who the message was from, and didn’t recognize the number.
The text message: Hey.
I responded: ?
They said: Your pictures will look good no matter what.
Honestly, I thought maybe a reader had found my cell phone number and knew that flattery is the key to my heart.
I said: Who is this?
They said: Spencer I sent you the wrong thing.
I figured they realized they’d been texting a wrong number, and rolled over and went back to sleep.
Ten minutes later, my cell phone beeped again.
They said: Hey.
I responded: ?
They said: Talk to me.
I said: Dude, you’re texting a wrong number.
They said: Who are you
I said: Robyn Anderson
(What I wanted to say: YOUR MOTHER. Now go to bed!)
And I didn’t hear back from them again.
I should totally send them a bill for the 10 cents per text message I’m going to be charged on the next cell phone bill. Though I guess I should have told them first thing they had the wrong number.
* * *
“Daddy’s home! DADDY’S HOME!” (Mister Boogers does not hate the Daddy.)
* * *
Previously
2006: So, in essence, the fucking DVR TATTLED on me.
2005: E’gar goes into the shop.
2004: I must be mumbling or something today. Everyone I’ve spoken to has looked at me like I’m speaking French and they can’t understand what the hell I’m saying.
2003: No entry.
2002: Blah blah blah.
2001: No entry.
2000: “Um… you mean, she lies on your butt to muffle your farts?” he ventured.]]>