I was home with my brother cooking dinner when I felt something tickling the side of my neck. Brushing at it, I saw I knocked a spindly something about the size of a penny to the floor. Naturally, I had to take a closer look.
Me: “There was something on my neck and I think HOLY SHIFEWAETASHDFCRAP THAT IS A SPIDER THERE WAS A SPIDER ON ME!”
Ian: “Well, it’s off you now.”
Me: *repeating myself because clearly he wasn’t fully comprehending the situation* “THERE WAS A SPIDER ON ME!”
Ian: “Yeah, I got that.”
Me: “Oh, I think some of its legs broke. I broke some of the spider’s legs. I’m so sorry, spider.”
Ian: “Did you kill it?”
Me: “No! No, I just broke some of its legs, and now it’s sorta dragging itself away by its non-broken ones. Oh, I’m a horrible person. I’m sorry, spider!”
Ian: “Well, just don’t step on Mr. Spider now, then.”
Me: “I think it died. I think I killed the spider.”
Ian: “No, you just broke some of its legs.”
Me: “And now it’s not moving. I’m a murderer.”
Ian: “Just leave it be.”
Captain Jack: “Meow.”
I walked around to the back door, where our cat, Captain Jack, was standing attentively. I opened the door, and he bounded forward into the backyard, stopping about halfway across the lawn to stare up at a squirrel, sitting on the fence.
Me: “NO! I won’t be responsible for another death! RUN AWAY, MR. SQUIRREL! RUN AWAY!”
I ran out into the backyard after the cat, as the very frightened squirrel hopped away along the fence.
Me: “CAPTAIN! NO!”
The cat then turned to glare at me, like, Thanks for scaring away my meal, bitch.
Ian: “What did you do?”
Me: “Jackie, get back here!”
Jack then turned and ran off to the side yard. I walked back to the house, where my brother was staring at me in amused disbelief.
Me: “He ran off. I think the squirrel’s safe, now, though.”
I turned back to the yard, rather concerned about the neighbors.
Me: *trying to clear the air between me and our probably-not-present neighbors* “I’M HAVING A BAD DAY!”
I then marched back inside, closing the door quickly behind me. Ian couldn’t stop laughing.
Me: “I think the neighbors think I’m crazy.”
My mom, who was away on a business trip, called later that day to let us know that Jack ended up on the neighborhood watch. Apparently, sometime after I had yelled at him and he slunk away to prowl the streets, one of our neighbors found him in her backyard being dive-bombed by birds. As he is a known hunter of both squirrels and birds (and the occasional snake), the birds decided they were fed up with his antics, and so have taken to dive-bombing him whenever he gets too close. You’d think this would deter him, but no. Our poor neighbor was highly concerned, so shooed the birds away, but Jack wouldn’t let her get close enough for her to take him indoors. The concerned woman then snapped a photo of him and uploaded the story to our neighborhood watch page.
My mom found the photo, and informed our neighbor that the cat was not a stray, and in fact our “generally friendly cat, who can sometimes be a little shit.” She then suggested that if the same situation ever arose again, she could just spritz him/the birds with the garden hose to subtly suggest he go home.
I told my parents they weren’t allowed to have any more children (or pets), because they already have a delinquent teenager, and it’s the cat. Heaven knows what would happen if we added another human into the mix.
I just hope I won’t receive any calls from the police regarding his whereabouts.
So I managed to anger a machine today. Or at the very least offend it. The phone rang this afternoon, and my brother (who was playing a video game right next to it) immediately grabbed it, sprinted over to me, threw it on the couch next to me, and sprinted back.
Me: “Thanks for not answering up the phone.”
Ian: *already back playing his game* “Sorry!”
Me: *finally picking up the phone * “Hello? …Hello? Hellooo-o?”
Automated Female Voice (who the caller ID dubbed simply “Allen”): “Hello!”
Her: “Okay. I’m with the Pro Life Committee, dedicated to protecting unborn fetuses. Would you consider yourself to be pro-life, pro-choice, or somewhere in the middle?”
Me: “Um, I guess… somewhere in the middle?”
Her: “Would you consider yourself to be pro-life, which is for protecting unborn fetuses, or pro-choice, which is in support of abortion?”
Me: “What? Didn’t I just answer this?”
Her: *Incredibly fake and high-pitched laugh*
Her: *Incredibly fake and high-pitched laugh*
Me: *Imitating her super-creepy laugh*
Her: “Sorry for calling. We’ll remove you from our list.”
Then she hung up.
Long story short, telemarketers amuse me greatly, but my liberal nature may mean I’ll be one of the first to die in the machine uprising.
Recently, I’ve run across the term chicken fries several times, and I’m at a loss as to what they mean. While I could’ve (read: should’ve) just googled it, I decided to consult my brother.
Me: *pointing at him dramatically* “RESIDENT MEAT-EATER! I have a question.”
Ian: “Um… okay.”
Me: “What are chicken fries?”
Ian: “Excuse me?”
Me: “I keep seeing things about chicken fries. Like, what are they? I have no idea what they could possibly be. I keep thinking maybe they’re chicken strips, but… thinner? Like chicken strips on a diet?”
Ian: “I have no idea what those are. They sell them at Burger King, but I’ve never had them. I never even want to try them.”
At this point, my dad wandered out of the office.
Me: “I don’t suppose you know what chicken fries are?”
Dad: “Chicken fries?”
Me: “Yeah! I keep seeing stuff about them; there’s an entire song devoted to them.” *singing* “Little bit of chicken fries.”
Dad: “A whole song about chicken fries?”
Me: “Well, not the whole song. It’s really all about the whole country lifestyle. But it’s called chicken fries. Or maybe chicken fried. But chicken fries would make more sense, don’t you think? Not to mention it’s grammatically correct. ”
Ian: “I think chicken fries are, like, fries that are coated in chicken.”
Me: “Why couldn’t you have just said that in the first place?”
Dad: “That’s… disgusting.”
I assumed he was talking about the fries.
I looked up chicken fries later; apparently they are just chicken strips cut like French fries. I couldn’t find anything on French fries stuffed inside chicken strips; I can only assume Burger King went along and deleted any information on them online to steal the idea for themselves. I looked up the song, too, and found that it was actually called “Chicken Fried”. Also, I’d been singing the song wrong, as the actual lyrics were “you know I like my chicken fried.”
This wasn’t a good week to be a chicken, in any case.
It never is.
We were lounging around our campsite in Bryce Canyon after breakfast. Dad was turned away from us, and seemingly talking to thin air.
Dad: “Hey there little buddy. Whatcha doing all the way out here? Wouldn’t you like to be back by the tree?”
He then proceeds to pinch a spot in the air, slowly dragging his hand towards a nearby tree.
Dad: “Yup. And, there you go—whoops!”
The spider began flying away in the wind, directly towards my face.
Me: *Diving out of the way* “NOPE!”
Dad: “He cut himself loose from his web! He wanted to ride the air currents, isn’t that neat?”
Mom: “I don’t think Cal agrees.”
Me: “It is raining spiders! THIS IS NOT AUSTRALIA!”
Me: *to the tune of It’s Raining Men* “It’s raining spiders! Hallelujah, it’s raining spiders!”
Ian: “Spider. It only rained one.”
Me: *to the same tune* “It’s raining spider! Hallelujah, it’s raining spider!”
Me: “See, it just doesn’t work.”
Ian just sighed and rolled his eyes.
Me: *softly* “Hallelujah!”
Ian: “You know, we have a good system going. Dad knows about science, Mom knows about math, I’m good at computers, and Cal knows everything else.”
Dad and I exchanged dubious glances.
Ian: “Yeah, like English, grammar, marine biology, orcas, gays, LGBT--”
Me: *under my breath* “Gay orcas.”
Ian: “Gay orcas.”
Me: “Gay orcas are my legacy.”
Ian: “And gay penguins, gay dolphins…”
Me: “Cal, what did you write your term paper on? Gay orcas.”
Ian: “And LGBT orcas…”
Me: “You do realize gay falls under LGBT, right?”
Ian: “Duh. And gay otters…”
I have no idea what I'm doing.