What the Spongebob fuck is this?Continue reading “Because I asked.”
We have a cherry tree outside our place. Last year it was just a tree. No cherries. Naturally, I’ve been going around bragging about my new cherry tree even though I wouldn’t touch the cherries. The tree has some sort of infestation of the insect variety. A friend told me yesterday, “It’s a bad year for Gypsy Moths.”
I think she meant good: they’re clearly well-fed. Apparently, I have a friend who is an authority on Gypsy moths. Meanwhile, I can barely identify trees.
Unlike me, small critters are finding the cherries to be edible, so the tree has been attracting House Finches (I’m not good at identifying birds either: I had to google) and squirrels to ogle at. Squirrels are among the cutest animals to watch eat. This cherry tree may not provide me with fruit; instead, it provides me with entertainment.
I love our new cherry tree.
Oh, and I have a job.Continue reading “Ask me about my cherry tree.”
Yann and I took a trip out of town last Tuesday. On the ride back, I received this text message:
Fuck that. We hadn’t visited another country: we’d just returned from another planet.
I didn’t realize a part of BC’s restart plan involved being tired ALL THE FUCKING TIME. Only a fraction of the usual employees were recalled at my workplace, so Yann and I have both had to make ourselves totally available to work at any time.
This chaos has inadvertently led to the creation of our curio shelf:
I realized on my ride back home yesterday that I had forgotten something at work: my bag of dicks. Before the pandemic froze the world, a friend mailed me a rainbow of micro-penises to attach to valve caps so that I could make the cycling world a gayer place. (The same friend gifted me dog testicles stuffed in an olive jar years ago.) Since it was just me and Yann in the bike shop, I figured it’d be the perfect time to mix up a drop of epoxy to fuse the caps and dicks together.
But, the epoxy had been put away after the ski season ended, so I couldn’t get that done. I don’t know my co-workers well, so I’m not entirely comfortable with them finding out that I carry around a bag of dicks.
Whoever had gotten into the bike shop first this morning put aside the bulging bubble mailer. When Yann arrived a few hours later, there was no need for him to ask, “Excuse me, have you seen Laura’s bag of dicks?”
He had to deal with receiving a text from me that asked, “Don’t forget my bag of dicks!”
And, when he came home, he was able to gloriously proclaim, “I have your bag of dicks in my bag!”
I could have called them novelty valve cap covers, but where’s the fun in that?
As much as I appreciate Yann, he’s no Yan of Yan and Henck fame.