Bird Update

The month is almost over, so let's just go ahead and call it over for good because writing everyday is  stupid and I'm sorry I ever came up with this idea.

How about a bird update?

The birds are named Charlie and Marge, after my MIL and FIL. Anthony named them. He likes to tell everyone he would have  preferred being named Charlie.

The two birds may possibly mate! Isn't that fantastic? We can have little baby birds. But if they love and care about each other too much their bird babies will have defects. Yes, this is true. Wouldn't it be awful if the same applied to humans?

They haven't made much noise since that first day. They sing in the morning though and it sounds cute.

OMG, I can't believe I'm saying this, but I like the birds. It's kind of cute how they snuggle up with each other. My feelings must remain secret from my children. 

Anthony walks up and down our street with the birds on his shoulder. Our neighbors probably look and point out the window and say things like, "What is that weird Hacic boy up to now? They're such a curious family. And loud, too. Did you see the mom running over the garbage cans again and getting out and throwing them across the lawn like a lunatic. She seems a little off." 

We had to go to Trimble Park today just so Anthony could show the birds to his friends. He couldn't show them the birds at our home. He had to make plans to meet at the park and then show up with the birds in the van because it was going to blow everyone's mind to open that van door and come out with a birdcage. Fortunately the ten and under set is blown away by just about everything and there was excitement galore. Anthony's really in his wheelhouse with these kids. They find him fascinating and so knowledgeable. It's quite entertaining for me to see.

I'm tired and the bags under my eyes are growing by the second. Goodnight all.

I know why the caged bird doesn't sing - but it sure does squawk

It's hard for me to write on a Saturday but I will try.

My husband went out and bought Anthony two birds. And then I went ballistic. I mean I got out of the shower before I was even fully rinsed because I heard the commotion and someone yelling about birds and I thought to myself, this just can't be, my husband couldn't have possibly bought two birds, that's the most idiotic thing I've ever heard. So I started screaming from the shower, "did I hear someone say you bought birds? This better be a joke!!" But Greg yelled some nonsense about how he actually rescued them. From the pet shop? Yes, from the pet shop.

What ensued afterward was a ten minute yelling fest between me, Greg, the kids and the birds. These birds make noise. It's not enough that we have four loud and opinionated kids. Greg wasn't comfortable with that. He had to go out and get parakeets. And these dumb birds squawk. They don't know how to talk yet, so they make an irritating high pitched hissing sound. It's as enchanting as you would imagine.

I think it's mean to keep birds in cages. Nothing anyone tells me is going to make me think otherwise. Birds need to be free and flying around. But Anthony was crushed when I suggested these birds go back to the pet shop so here they are, in our house. Whatever. I've given up. If you see me wandering around 441 with my suitcase, just pick me up and deposit safely to my front yard.

I guess I can go look at the birds everyday and we can talk about how trapped we all feel, them in their tiny cage and me in my tiny house of chaos. I can teach them curse words. Between the birds doing all my cursing,  and my love of texting, I'll never again have to speak words. I will write blog posts and text people and have my birds curse for me. I suppose I can learn to live with that.

And for my dearest, be grateful I love the Avett Brothers as much as I do. They always come through with lyrics that make me love you, even when I can't stand you! :)
Always remember there was nothing worth sharing like the love that let us share our name.  
The Avett Brothers

Empty

I promise you that I've been trying to write everyday. During the one hour a day I allow myself to sit and write  nothing is coming to me. Sometimes when I'm not writing I think of things I could write about later when I have time, but that hasn't happened either. I won't be so bold and arrogant as to say I have writer's block because that implies I'm a writer, but I will say this; I can't think of anything to say and it's actually making me want to cry. No, it really is. It's maddening to go and do something and not be able to do it. I'm a total lame ass saying I would write everyday and then not coming through with the promise. That'll teach you to take me seriously! The Avett Brothers can sum it up for me perfectly... 

Shame, boatloads of shame

Day after day

More of the same

Blame, please lift it off

Please take it off

Please make it stop

Hopefully I'll make it through this pitiful little episode. Maybe I should just go and do something foolish and irresponsible and then I'll have something to write about. Yes, that seems like a wonderful solution. In the meantime, thanks, capicola farts,  for putting up with me and my empty promises.

Here are some boring thoughts I can bore you with so I can fulfill my one a day post obligation

You know what's fun to do? Next time you get one of those credit card offers in the mail, open it up and read it to your spouse like you're reading a love letter. It's entertaining. You don't even need to change the words because if done right it really will sound like someone sent you a love letter. Here, go ahead and try it with a letter I just received yesterday.

Dear Annmarie Hacic, Where did you go Annmarie? We miss you and to prove it we're going to lower your interest rate, but first you have to come back. Don't let this opportunity slip through your fingers. Do you want to live the life you've been dreaming about? All you have to do to start making that happen is call 1-800-888-8888 and someone will be ready to assist you in getting back the life you deserve to be living. 

I think we can all agree that the level of sincerity in this letter is hard to beat. I got this very letter yesterday and read it to Greg as though I was reading a letter from a long lost love and sure enough, it was amusing. How do I know? Because I saw Greg crack a grin. In real people terms, that counts as twenty minutes of on your knees belly laughter. On top of the grin he told me to stop it. See, he was worried he was going to start laughing really hard and then I would have proof that he finds me funny. Just try it though because it really is fun.

Only one person picked up on a glaring mistake I made a few posts back. I wrote "illicit" when I meant "elicit." I'm assuming the anonymous commenter who picked up on it was my father. Just watch. He'll leave another comment here referring to himself in the third person in which he will address whether or not he was the one to notice the mistake. I'm actually glad he pointed it out. I need to go back and edit the post, but I didn't really want to do that because then his comment won't make any sense. After I was made aware of what I did I wondered if I was going to become one of those people who starts writing half when I really mean have. Like, "I half to go to the store." 

I sent the children on a bike ride for forty minutes. Sometimes people ask if I feel like my kids are missing anything by not being in school and usually the only thing I can come up with is gym class. Not the actual physical activity, because they get plenty of that, but what they are missing is the mean gym teacher who yells at them and acts like an idiot and tells them they'll get fat and flabby arms if they don't move. Jane had a teacher do that to her in the third grade, so I went down to the school and told the PE teacher she would have to apologize to my daughter. And then I told the gym teacher that someday we would all be sitting around our Thanksgiving table telling tales of long ago and my daughter would say, "hey, remember that really mean gym teacher who told me I was going to get fat and flabby arms and mommy went in to the school and made her apologize to me?" I probably didn't need to say that to the teacher, but sometimes people need to think about what they've done and that's where I come in and help. So anyway, I decided to become the mean gym teacher and made my kids do some sit ups and push ups and go ride their bikes. Also, I would like to point out that I move constantly and I still have fat and flabby arms so the gym teacher was completely incorrect in her assessment of what creates fat and flabby arms. 

That's all I've got for today. 

ugh!

I missed two days of posting, but I have a good excuse. I was tired. After staying up for much of the night on Friday walking in the Relay for Life and eating ridiculous amounts of junk food while doing it, I crashed and slept all day on Saturday. I felt like I had a hangover minus all the humiliating tales that go along with that. As for yesterday, it was Sunday, otherwise known as The Lord's Day to the most holy among us, and as I'm sure you have surmised by all of my writings, I am most holy, so I simply couldn't post as it would have felt wrong to put forth any kind of effort on anything that wasn't related to lounging around my house with bible in hand.

Writing everyday is killing me. I have a shortage of time and things to say. This is currently the only thing on my mind...


I'm trying convince my husband that texting should replace all other forms of communication between us. Here's a list proving why it's good.

I can't yell in a text ( although I can still yell while I am texting, he just can't hear it)
I can't eye roll in a text ( see above)
I can't interrupt in a text ( see above)
I can't act disinterested in what he is saying in a text ( see above)
I can't talk for too long in a text - this is completely true. I can't. Texting is difficult and exhausting work.

Although it took me awhile to catch onto to the whole computer craze, I fell in love when I discovered emailing could eliminate all need for face to face communication with just about everyone. But it does take a certain amount of time and requires some level of skill with grammar, unless I am emailing my sister, in which case I never bother with periods or capitalization, but she's the only person I try and pull this off with.

Then texting came along and as with anything new in which I'm not familiar with or good at, I found it foolish and said only the ignorant and young would use it. That was until last summer when I got a better phone with a good keypad and discovered that texting is far superior to emailing and most definately better than talking to people in person. It's short and sweet and with cutesy symbols like :) or the more sly ;) you always seem excited about life! And for the time pressed person like me who spends her days researching important topics ranging from, "how to double brew your coffee"  to "does drinking white tea eliminate wrinkles," I need a way to communicate with people that involves not really communicating with people. Texting is it for me.

The only thing quicker and easier and possibly ready to replace texting is grunting. There really are only a few sounds we need to make to let people no how we're feeling. "UGH!" Or "eh." Or "yay!"  You have disgust, indifference and excitement right there. If there are more human emotions than those I certainly don't know of any. With any luck, all of my attempts at not talking to people will soon result in my inability to form a coherent sentence and grunting will become my only way of communicating, which really should make my husband and kids happy and that really is my only goal in life.

Happy grunting capicola farts!

So...

"Blessed is the man, who having nothing to say, abstains from giving wordy evidence of the fact."
George Eliot

Determination

Right after Greg and I got married I found myself unemployed and feeling distressed over the situation. Truth be told,  the distress started on our honeymoon. As Greg lay on the sandy beaches of Hilton Head trying to enjoy our honeymoon,  I lay on the sandy beaches and worried endlessly about what I was going to do for work when we returned to Rochester. At that time my excessive worry caused me to suffer such  severe stomach aches that the need to remain always close to a bathroom was of utmost importance. It was a fun week at the beach.

I made it through the honeymoon (and isn't that a sentimental way to refer to what should have been a carefree time) and immediately upon returning home began looking for jobs. Most of the time I would show up to interviews and realize one minute into it that I had no idea what the helk the potential employer was talking about, but I would nod and smile and hope for the best.  Many of the  jobs required a background in sales, something I'm not quite cut out for. My sales pitch is something along the lines of, "hey, I wouldn't buy it either." It seems honest and refreshing, but has yet to catch on. 

I'm getting ahead of myself. Before I could go on all those interviews I first had to go to an employment agency. Back in the early 90's it seemed the only way to get a job was to have someone else get it for you. Maybe this is still the way people do it. I'm a dinosaur and admit to having no idea how one would go about getting a job today (unless it involves becoming an adult newspaper carrier). At the end of my meeting with the agency, the woman asked if I had an interview suit ready because she was sure she was going to be able to get me in to see some people quickly. I did what I always do when I'm nervous and afraid to tell the truth. I lied. Not only did I lie but I described the suit for her. I can't explain it. I guess I was just hoping to see what she thought of the pretend suit. 

When I returned home Greg was waiting for me so he could head over to school. We had one car so we were constantly arranging our schedules accordingly. And of course, as soon as he left in the car, the phone rang and the woman from the agency shared with me the wonderful news that I had a job interview that very afternoon. Good thing I had that suit all ready!

This was before cell phones, which meant I had no way to let Greg know I needed the car back so I could go shopping. Panic set in. Oh, but then it hit me; I had a bike and a bike is just as good as a car. Crisis averted!I wrote a note for Greg, just in case he came home, and then I left. And two minutes into my bike trip it started raining out. It started raining hard and I started crying and cursing my stupidity and the fact that I hadn't just dropped Greg off at school that day, and why, oh why, had I lied, and what would the sales people at the store say when I strolled in sopping wet to buy a suit? It was a long, wet, self loathing filled bike ride.

But I made it to the mall and found a suit rather quickly and I still remember what it looked like. It was this sort of beigy tweed thing and the skirt came to my knees and  fit perfect. Clothes always seemed to fit well back in the easy breezy days of non-stop bathroom runs. Oh those were the days. When the saleswoman was ringing me up I told her I had to ride my bike back home in the pouring rain, so could she please make sure to wrap that suit up well, as I had an interview soon and I thought it would be better if the suit wasn't covered in mud. She was definitely cut out for sales because she acted like my predicament was something she encountered ten times a day.

As I was riding my bike back home in the pouring ran, congratulating myself on my luck at having found a real suit that was a pretty close match to my pretend suit, Greg pulled up in our car. He was laughing at me, but in a good way, in a  way that says, you know, I'm really glad I married you because if you're willing to do this for a job you probably won't get, I can only imagine what you'll do for things you really care about. He didn't say all that stuff, but he did let me know how impressed he was with my determination, which made  not getting that job a little easier to swallow.