MFA Mama

poultry, they're assholes!

*   As I've previously mentioned, we have an escape-artist duck. One of the females (presumably the one that's been laying, as we haven't gotten ANY duck eggs since she started escaping!) gets out EVERY SINGLE MORNING. We put her in at night, and in the morning we find her outside the pen quacking and hungry. Probably she's got a secret nest somewhere, but we have no interest in baby ducks and MUCH INTEREST in further delicious duck-egg cakes, so this is pretty obnoxious on her part. Last night we locked all of the ducks into the original MFA Coop, which is a cedar and hardware-cloth enclave that we THOUGHT was unescapable. Apparently not, though, because Houducki pried the sliding door to the nesting-box part the chickens lay in open, hopped up into that, and then made her way into "Genpop" from whence she escaped (somedamnhow; we don't know how she does it and she's the only one, and yes, we DO know that it's the SAME one, because I clipped her head feathers for easy identification). Do you know that it takes at least two people (if they're both adults, and three or more if you're using children as chasers) to catch one escaped duck? Hotter dragged me from my deathbed this morning to help corral our wee quacking convict. "I'd butcher her, but look how cute, with the one crap-flap slapping," I said, holding Houducki up for his inspection as she did her trademark one-foot-waggle. "Plus she's the one who lays. I want more duck-egg cakes!" Hotter said, grudgingly stroking her little cropped head. Then we tossed her back into the pen like that would accomplish anything. I dunno. We've clipped her wings, plugged all visible holes...my next brilliant idea is to saw a length of broom-handle to "lock" the sliding nestbox door. Stay tuned!

*   I still haven't seen the male turkey (a.k.a. "Loud and Crazy;" he's named after Hotter's brother) puff up and strut, but Hotter has, and he's also seen Paul the Rooster and Loud and Crazy facing off! And Paul won, despite being on the smaller side even for a chicken! GO PAUL! Hotter said it wasn't actual fighting so much as aggressive posturing and chest-bucking, but I would have liked to see that. Apparently Loud and Crazy went running like a little punk-ass bitch. Haha!

*   The four Wyandottes, a.k.a. "the Chic-tacs," appear to be bantams. I say this because they're...not growing. They make up for their tiny stature in pure viciousness, however. NOBODY fucks with the Wyandottes. Not the turkeys, not the Jersey Giants, not Paul, and not even Hotter since one flew up and clawed his leg (drawing BLOOD!). They move around in a black-and-white miniflock like ninjas, flapping and hopping animatedly and exuding a palpable menace. Seriously, they're bad news! Yesterday I clipped their wings so they couldn't pull anymore Matrix-moves on Hotter, and the snarling sounds of fury they produced as I captured them (with great difficulty) and snipped their flight feathers were...well, they were quite something. When it became apparent that they were bantams, I had high hopes of using one or more of them as broody-hens, but...I dunno. They don't seem very maternal. More like they'd eat their young...AND YOURS, TOO!

*   Poultry, they're assholes! And their assholery is contagious! Hotter said that either Snooki or JWoww seemed like she wanted to lay, and was trying to get into Genpop and use their nesting boxes (Cell Block C also has a nesting box, but it's not as cushy). I suggested that he add more straw to Cell Block C's nesting box and he said he was going to, and also that he was trying to figure out a way to raise it up "so it'd be more like a tree." I said wild chickens were ground-nesters, he said there WERE no wild chickens, and it was ON! Google tells me that there ARE SO wild chickens--see? The Red Junglefowl, a.k.a. Gallus gallus. TOTALLY different from the domestic chicken (Gallus gallus domesticus). I read all of that out loud to Hotter, smugly. "OMG I'm gonna punch you!" he exclaimed. Some people just HATE TO BE WRONG! Also, I want a Red Junglefowl or three. 

*   I'm sick and slightly delirious and if it wasn't Sunday I'd go to the doctor. It's THAT BAD. How are all of YOU?

burning up on re-entry: unemployment, day one

   I woke up for the second or third time this morning to screaming, shrieking, HORRIBLE SOUNDS, and staggered out into the hallway, colliding with Hotter. "WHAT THE HELL?!?" I barked, all raspy. He pointed mutely into the littles' room. I opened the door to find Little Child mid-hissy.
   "WHAT IS WRONG?"
   "Big Child said he would start the movie without me when I went to ask Hotter if breakfast was ready! HE SAID HE WOULD START WITHOUT ME!" He pointed his face at the ceiling and wailed, fat tears rolling down his baby-fat cheeks.
   "BIG CHILD!" Big Child, lying on a heap of boy-detritus on the floor, twisted around to look at me over his shoulder. Suddenly he has a four-inch 'fro.
   "Yeah Mommy?"
   "DON'T START THE MOVIE WITHOUT HIM!"
   "I didn't!"
   "Don't SAY you're going to start it without him, either, just to upset him. I know how you roll!" 
   "Okaaaay."
   "Better, Little Child?" 
   Little Child nodded. 
   I limped into the kitchen (remember that splinter-thing? I still have it. Yes, it's TOTALLY ridiculous and if I were rich I'd go to a doctor of some sort, but oh well) and looked at Hotter, who started laughing, presumably at the look on my face. "He does that a lot," he offered.
   "I WAS EXPECTING TO SEE HIS ARM LYING ON THE DAMN FLOOR!" We both laughed, and I stepped into his arms. "My throat hurts," I said into his shoulder, "I feel like I'm getting sick."
   "Not surprising, the boys all have colds."
   "WHAT!?! How did I not know that?"
   "You haven't been home."

   Welcome back? 

goodbye and good riddance

   This morning I wrapped up my very last shift at Soulless Corporate Megalith.

   Thank goodness.

   I'm going to miss the paycheck, but I won't miss the moral queasiness, the heinous accidents, the threats of cutting from shady co-workers.

   For those of you who were wondering, yes, I did get the chance to forgive Scarface out loud. She was nonplussed, and insisted that she was not EITHER full of hate! But she left me alone after that.

   Toward the end of the shift, we were all working frantically on The Steel Structure (yes, the one that fell on the man). Management had determined that it was four inches (yes, you read that right) off of "print" and that we needed to move it again. The Supervisor Who Enjoys My Arse said no way, no how was he asking anyone to push the thing by hand, and so we dismantled it, piece by piece, in sections, moving the parts of each one the four inches over before reassembling it. That wasn't going fast enough, though, and so Management called on all of us to go and find as many of the very pieces of equipment they had stated were not rated for indoor use in blaming the injured man for his own misfortune as possible, to use indoors to move the thing.

   As we were slipping the equipment into place, someone mentioned that it was seven o'clock. "Y'all stay," said The Big Boss. Then, realizing that as of seven we could leave if we so chose, rephrased it as a request. "If you can? Please? Maybe we can all pitch in, and you can earn some overtime?" I looked up at the towering Steel Structure, and at the equipment that was (still) not rated for indoor use, and decided the money wasn't worth the risk.

   On my way out the automatic doors, I heard a crash and a scream behind me. 

   I didn't look back.

forgiveness

   I went to work last night, and didn't get stabbed.

   It was still a shitty evening. Scarface was thoroughly unpleasant at every possible opportunity, making ugly comments every chance she got and spending much of the shift standing around doing nothing but watch me. It started to unhinge me a little. I was so angry! WHY? I haven't done anything to this woman! Why should I stew in this fury, and be afraid to go into the cameras' blind spots? Why, I kept asking myself, is she doing this? WHY ME?

   On the way home it came to me, something I've been told on numerous occasions but never fully believed (because I'm so good at blaming myself): some people are just deeply unhappy with their lives, and looking for a target. I know, some of you are probably all "no shit, Sherlock!" but it took an encounter with someone like Scarface who doesn't even arguably have a reason to hate my guts, someone with whom I have NO history of ANY kind to cloud things, to help me recognize and accept this. The only way Scarface "wins" is if she makes me miserable, and that's exactly what all of the anger has been doing. I finally believe, in my gut (and thanks in part to the people who remind me from time to time), that I don't deserve what she and others like her are dishing out, that the people I care about think highly of me, and that I am good worker.

   I don't let anger out easily, because rigid self-control is my own peculiar form of rebellion against the people who raised me (thanks to the efforts over multiple years of a Harvard-trained therapist I can usually RECOGNIZE anger now, but that's about all), and I don't truly hate anyone enough to damage my own life by unleashing on them in grand style (I have, in the past, and I can honestly say that I regret it, if only because I don't like the person that even righteous anger turns me into). And punching pillows and such just feels silly. Maybe, though, rather than casting it out amid loudness and commotion, it's better to just set anger outside like a bin of recycling, knowing that it's served all the purpose it's ever going to in my life.

   Tonight, the first time Scarface tries to start with me, rather than continuing to ignore her (which isn't working) or saying anything ugly back, I'm going to smile. And tell her I'm sorry she has so much hate in her heart, but it's okay, I forgive her, and better me than someone who has to be in her life for longer than one more day, because I'm not going to let the ugliness change me. She's probably going to think I'm crazy, and maybe I am, but if she keeps it up after that it says more about her than it does about me. Worst-case scenario, she goes ballistic on me, which she might do anyway, and at least there'd be witnesses who would have to say I wasn't asking for it or anything.

   And while I'm at it, since I know she's reading, Stalky? I forgive you. Thank you for reminding me what a useless and toxic and UGLY thing anger is, and helping me arrive at the point of realizing that one of the most satisfying feelings in life is to lay it down and walk away. I hope you have a good time at BlogHer, if you really do end up going, and if you spend your entire time there talking smack about me, then that's okay. The people who matter to me aren't going to think any less of me because of you, and the quality of my work means you can't really threaten my livelihood. So, you know, go on ahead if it makes you feel better, and spares your husband and children and the other people who have to deal with you on a regular basis even a little from the rough side of your tongue: I wish you peace, and physical healing, and mental stability. If not for your own sake, then for theirs. If you want to continue doing what you do that's not about me, and now I can finally see that it never was.

undecided

*   I still don't know for sure if I'm going to work tonight. I should totes be sleeping. That doesn't bode well.

*   I'm still interested to hear what y'all have to say, but Becca's comment is...surprisingly sensible! To me, maybe not to you. Why didn't I think of that? Oh, right, because I'm a deeply broken person who was conditioned by her family of origin and first spouse to think that screaming for help is totally useless! Gotcha. All sarcasm aside, it honestly HAD NOT CROSSED MY MIND that I could scream if Scarface came at me and thereby avoid getting stabbed. The only options I was coming up with were things like a) quit my job, b) pack a shiv in my lunchbox or c) get distracted wondering whether that People Of Soulless Corporate Megalith website would get hold of the security footage of me getting stabbed to death and whether anybody I know would recognize me if they did (because I would certainly be recognizable--part of what I've been helping to do in the course of renovating this particular SCM store is installing new cameras that can READ THE DATE ON A PENNY ON THE FLOOR OF THE STORE) and forget about the whole ugly business for a few minutes altogether.

*   We have a Houdini Duck on our hands. Hotter is so pissed at this one duck that he has declared that she will be DINNER, GOD DAMMIT! if she gets out one more time.

*   I suppose I could butcher her, freeze her, and make a Turducken at Thanksgiving...we DO have all of the ingredients in the backyard. Hmm...

*   I don't know how I'd never looked at I Asshole's blog before today, but this made me pee a little bit laughing. Especially since we have four Easter Eggers named Honeybadger, The One With The Blackest Head, and The Other Two Easter Eggers. Also she has a chicken named Snooki too!!! It was supposed to be a Jersey Giant, but turned out to be an Australorp, whereas our Snooki remains a Jersey Giant. We have two of each of those breeds and I learned through IA's blog that you can tell them apart by the color of the soles of their feets. That would have been useful information before we put them into separate pens!

*   Hotter commented AGAIN! And again! It's all in the comments section of this post, but...the hell, Hotter? You spend YEARS not commenting on my blog before this one or this one, YEARS and now you're Chatty Cathy? At least he can't embarrass me without getting his own damn blog, seeing as how I moderate comments...don't get your hopes up or anything; he got a Twitter account months and months ago and never tweeted a thing. 

scarface

   So remember the co-worker who I mentioned hating? Well, it's totally mutual, because last night at work she threatened to cut me. And since we have no history and you couldn't pay me enough to take her job or her man (who also works at Soulless Corporate Megalith), it appears that we are dealing with a case of The Crazy.

   The Crazy is just about my very least-favorite thing to deal with in life.

   So yes, I told Management there was a problem, and they have said that they will Handle It, but I dunno how much stock to put in that given that she works for their company and I don't. I mean, if they'll employ people with rebel flags tattooed across the backs of their necks, probably The Crazy isn't a major issue in an employee from where they stand. Plus honestly? If these people were good problem-solvers they wouldn't be working at SCM.

   I never thought I'd be so grateful to have about ten different cameras on me at all times while on the job (normally they annoy me, because how the hell is one supposed to correct a wedgie and then look Security in the eye ever again?) (one goes into either the bathroom or the fitting room, in case you ever run into that little dilemma--you're welcome). That said, lack of concern for Repercussions, Comma, Future is kind of a signature trait amongst The Crazy, so I don't know how reassured I should actually be by those cameras and am questioning the wisdom of going back to work tonight.

   On one hand, I hate this job on a good day, there's less than a full week of work left, and I kind of like that out of Scarface and me, only one of us is currently sporting a slashmark across our entire face. On the other hand, I'd lose hours, all hands are needed on-deck and therefore my bailing would probably piss Soulless Corporate Megalith off enough that they'd complain to Temp Agency #1, and I would be ineligible for unemployment benefits if I voluntarily quit (I hope not to need those, because I hope to move on to another project before they would even kick in, but you never know, especially in this economy).

   Hotter thinks I ought to try and out-crazy Scarface by nutting up at work tonight complete with visible tics and threatening to cut her right back and leave an X on her face. I think Hotter gives horrible advice. What do YOU think I should do?

the one where I'm out-gardened by a bunch of gallinaceous fowl

   So the garden this year is kind of "meh." It's doing OKAY. The corn is a total write-off, and I'm starting to think that corn just doesn't grow well in our soil. The beans are producing, but not much. We've had a lot of fabulous salads, and gotten tomatoes (from the plants I grew from seed and the ones from The Botanical Garden) in dribs and drabs...this is partly the fault of my work-schedule and partly the fault of the weather and partly just that we're still working out the kinks in growing things here (I grew up in the area, but my ancestral home had completely different soil).

   We've also gotten a handful of tomatoes from the ones the chickens "planted" (we used to have their enclosure up by the house, but moved it to the very back of the property when Paul arrived so that his crowing would be minimally obnoxious to the neighbors--at some point the original MFA Flock had some tomato scraps to eat and pooped a bunch of seeds out, and we quit mowing in that spot after I recognized the plants). The plants have always looked better than the lovingly caged, watered, and weeded ones I cultivated, but the yield was about the same and I was starting to think Casa MFA was just built on cursed ground...until today. I was parting the very long grass around the "wild tomatoes" to pick the last few cherry tomatoes on a cluster (that's what most of the "wild" ones are, although there's at least one that's growing HUUUUUGE tomatoes; none of those have ripened yet but they are much larger than my fists) when it occurred to me that maybe there were more of them hidden from view. So I started parting the grass here and there and...HOLY MOSES!

   I brought in about three pounds of cherry tomatoes, and that's not counting the split ones (which I threw to the poultry)!

   So I've been outgardened by a bunch of gallinaceous fowl with brains the size of lentils, and next year instead of starting seeds indoors, nurturing them with great care, transplanting them outside, staking and fertilizing the plants, watering daily, etc. I might just take a dump in the yard.

 

Belgians in the Congo

Hotter: I had a dream? That my left hand was really badly injured. And they had to amputate it.
MFA Mama: Huh. That's odd.
Hotter: And in my dream? I was totally cracking jokes to the doctors about how it would be easier to fist you now!* And you threatened to leave me at the hospital all alone! 
MFA Mama: I really would, if that happened and you said that.
Hotter: Did I ever tell you my Biology teacher had a stump?** Except his had like, a pinky-finger on top of it. It was pretty crazy! 
MFA Mama: Poor guy. Maybe he was a thalidomide baby.
Hotter: A what?
MFA Mama: You know, thalidomide?
Hotter: What the hell is thalidomide?
MFA Mama: A tranquilizer? That they used in the 1950s? To treat morning sickness? It resulted in a lot of babies being born with missing or deformed limbs.
Hotter: How was I supposed to know that? I wasn't born in the fifties! I don't have a stump!
MFA Mama: OH MY GOD. Seriously?
Hotter: Seriously what? Why would I know about that?
MFA Mama: IT'S COMMON KNOWLEDGE.
Hotter: Is not!
MFA Mama: IS TOO! It's even in that song We Didn't Start The Fire! 
Hotter: By Billy Joel?
MFA Mama: YES! 
Hotter: I hate Billy Joel.
MFA Mama: ...
Hotter: No, wait, actually I hate Billy Joel EXCEPT for that song. But the only words in it that I can understand are "Belgians in the Congo." 
MFA Mama: Why do I even talk to you? 

 

*   For the record? NO. Not ever. Just...no. Not that there's anything wrong with that if it floats YOUR boat, but...no.
**   Yes, actually he HAD told me that. Hotter often forgets whether or not he's told me things because he has brain damage. Or at least that's his excuse.***
***  He DOES actually have brain damage.****
**** BRAIN DAMAGE LIKE A FOX!!! No, really, he does have brain damage. I just think he hides behind it. When I call him on it he goes all QUIT MOCKING MY WHEELCHAIR, YO! Our neighbors across the street are a former teacher and her husband, who had a major stroke and is severely disabled as a result. She and I like to joke about how some days our husbands have more brain damage than usual. I <3 my neighborhood!

today...

...at work I learned to drive a forklift.
"It's just like driving a go-kart,"
said The Supervisor Who Enjoys My Arse.
And it was, I guess, although
I don't recall the last go-kart I drove
being capable of making zero-radius turns
or lifting a minivan (hypothetically, of course). 

updates, various

*   I was supposed to work at Weekend Warrior Job today and then Soulless Corporate Megalith tonight, and wasn't really looking forward to the sleep deprivation that would entail, but we do need the money and I haven't seen my WWJ co-workers (who I genuinely like) in a while...I called to verify my hours before leaving, though, and they'd decided not to open both concession stands after all so they didn't need me (apparently they had texted me to that effect, but my phone is still disconnected due to finances). Booooo. On the plus side, I wasn't really looking forward to a solid twenty-four hours without sleep, so there's that I guess.

*   Little Child has been an eating fool lately; yesterday we only gave him formula once! I never get tired of watching that kid eat. Today he discovered Rainier cherries. It was adorable!

*   I wasn't entirely pleased with the way Hotter's birthday cake turned out. It was a chocolate cake recipe I hadn't tried before (but it received rave reviews online) and a caramel frosting recipe that I HAD tried before and loved, but I think I got the proportions wrong (it calls for "one bag of dark brown sugar" and I think they meant a one-pound bag, in retrospect...). It was still delicious, but mehhh. Considering how much I spend on ingredients for a homebaked cake it should have been better than that!

*   The turkeys are really not very friendly. Slow-moving and easy to catch, yes. Friendly? No. None of them are MEAN or anything (at least not yet...) but...well. The chickens, while not as friendly as, say, a cat or dog, come running when you go out there to see if you've brought food with you, and while they don't exactly LIKE to be picked up, if you tuck one under your arm it will settle down and let you pet it (they'll even close their eyes and make little happy sounds if you stroke their throats juuuust right). The turkeys? Don't care if you have food or not; they don't want anything to do with you. And if you pick a turkey up, you have to hold it AWAY from your body or it'll claw you to bits. They don't stop struggling for a SECOND unless you cover their heads, in which case they'll go still but stay tensed up and ready to escape the moment they can see again.

*   Ducks are nasty creatures. NASTY! I knew from reading about them that male ducks were rapists, but nothing I'd read ever said anything about group sex or female ducks helping male ducks rape other females! Also our drake tends to drag his tallwhacker in the dirt, which...well, ducks are NASTY CREATURES.

*   Hotter pointed this out to me a couple of days ago, and I'm still stuck on the "having sex with a pitbull" part. Not that child molestation isn't terrible. But...HOW DO TWO PEOPLE SIMULTANEOUSLY ENGAGE IN SEX ACTS WITH A PITBULL? I can't imagine the dog being cool with it, and someone would have had to have the head end, so...yeah. 

*   How are all of YOU?