So here are a couple of tips I’ve picked up over the past two days. Hopefully they will help you in your quest to become, every day and in every way, a better you.

1. Avoid the DMV if you have a warrant out for your arrest.
   I had to renew my license this morning (thanks, Idaho, for not sending out renewal notices. Yeah, that policy won’t cause more people to drive around with expired licenses). While paying for my license, several police officers rushed in and grabbed a woman who was taking a test. Hmm . . . so all of the employees are wearing shirts emblazoned with “Kootenai County Sheriff’s Department” and you’ve just given the woman at the counter your license information, yet you’re still surprised when the police show up to arrest you for a Failure To Appear. It’s a puzzler how they figured out where you were, isn’t it?
2. Maybe wait a few months if you were thinking of outing yourself as a Furrie.
   Thanks to a penchant for partying like a panda, this guy is probably not going to reflect well on your newfound hobby. At least he wasn’t banging white bitches screwing the pooch (yes, I updated that after realizing it was malamutes, not samoyeds. You’d think that at least some of the 13 years I spent working in a veterinary hospital would have stuck with me). Um, ick? Yeah, still not a positive furry role model. Whatever happened to a good old-fashioned yiffpile?

Bear with me, as I feel a mental wandering coming on. I promise to avoid discussing the merits (or lack thereof) of the spray and pray, or which photo here makes the best appetite suppressant. Hell, I’ll probably even skip the merits of brain lesions . . .

So, let’s focus on the important stuff, shall we? Birds. It’s hard letting go, but I am trying. I’ve let him loose, he’s come back, and I sent him back into the world yet again. Sure, I have to step out onto the deck every few hours for a feeding, but el birdo is doing quite well outside. Okay, I haven’t a clue how well he’s doing, but he hasn’t been eaten by a cat, so that’s pretty good in my book. Yes, my book is short, and mainly full of pictures.

This:

Has become this:

He still stops by several times a day for some cat food, a mealworm and some seed. Someday he (she?) will realize that I am not a bird, though, and I will finally be free. Sniff!

So, what am I doing now? Working. And listening to Beige Curtains, by Riki Lindhome. And thanking hulu for getting rid of their rtmpe-only streams. Thank you, hulu. Now I can watch an endless stream of crap again. My life is full.

Tomorrow I have to battle the dmv. Apparently, Idaho doesn’t believe in notifying people when their licenses expire. I discovered this while attempting to get past TSA on Friday. They prefer you to have a valid license or some form of current id when you board a plane. Rather an uptight bunch, really. Does having an expired license make you more likely to commit acts of terrorism? Or was it just my muttering of “By Allah’s will, it won’t be a problem much longer” when they pointed out the expired license?

And finally, because I seem to lack a point, here is my explanation of why we have so many Mary Kay Letourneau wannabes these days: Three O’Clock High. More evidence of how us eighties teens fucked up the world. Somehow I missed this movie when it first came out. I think I was doing something stupid like jumping out of airplanes and training to kill Ivan. Poor Ivan, just a faded memory now that we are supposed to hate Muslims rather than Russians. Le sigh . . .

So the bird is back. He’s promised to give freedom another shot once I get back from the funeral, but in the meantime, he wants more mealworms, cat food and other goodies that come to him with no effort other than screaming on his part. Le sigh . . .

I’ll put up his latest picture once I find my usb reader. It’s somewhere here under the 8 inches of books, papers and assorted crap on my desk.

Somewhere between the 14th and the 16th shot of espresso yesterday I realized that I may have been overdoing it. As a consequence, today is a bit rough. It is hell growing old. Fortunately, I am nowhere near as miserable as Jennie, who claims she feels as if live rats are chewing on her intestines. Yum.

Today is a day to grow up. I’ve released the winged vermin that is my sparrow (member of the weaver finch family, actually, but let’s just ignore that for now, shall we?) and he/she/it happily joined a group of other sparrows (yes, once again, weaver finches, not sparrows). I’m going to spend some time this afternoon cleaning my office, as the various bird droppings on the windowsill, book shelf, desk and cabinets do not improve the feng shui. I should have taken some final pictures before letting the little bugger go.

So, what do you think of killing your pets to make toys and fashion accessories, erm, art? Huh. I guess I should have added that the pets link IS NSFW!!! (as mentioned now by several people who had to hastily clear their browser caches) Sorry about that.

There’s nothing like a long weekend to recharge the batteries. We commemorated or miseralated or whatever it is you’re supposed to do by having one of my aunts die on Friday, the girl-child’s pet fish die on Saturday, and the attempted committing of sister crazypants on Monday (a 72 hour observation would be great!). Sunday was for rest. Today it’s back to work.

I fly to San Jose Friday, attend the funeral Saturday and will be back Sunday afternoon to deal with whatever insanity is planned for next weekend. I’m sure it will be a delight. I look forward to an uneventful June. Please?

Ugh. I have joined the world of lolcats. Poor Frank was just trying to cool off his hindquarters in the dog bowl when Ariel chased him off. Just in case you want to violate my pets with your captions, I’ve made the image a cheezburger link.

If I start twattering, just f*@%*ing kill me.

The new chick is cute, but constantly yaps. I thought my time with noisy birds was over. Apparently not. She/he/it also takes up too much valuable desk space. I could have more burnt-out light bulbs or another three paper piles where I now have to keep a bird tank and light.

We originally tried just putting the little bugger in a nest, but it wasn’t happy and kept climbing out. Once I added the monkey and the little blanket, it settled right down. Now it gets pissed if you take its monkey away. I have to feed it from between the monkey’s appendages or it just sits there, mouth closed. Maybe if momma-bird hadn’t been so cheap, this baby wouldn’t have thrown itself from its original nest.

So, does anyone know what type of fledgling this is? Besides noisy and somewhat lacking in feathers?

Update 5/21: As the chick fledges, it is looking more and more like an English House Sparrow. I’d say great, at least it’s not another damned Starling, but the House Sparrow is just as bad an invader as the Starling, killing native birds and taking over prime nesting areas. Just once, I’d like one of the birds I raise to be something that’s actually worth setting free. Well, maybe he’ll want to stick around and spend his days in my office, crapping on my shoulder and staring at the great scary world outside my window.

Got hayfever, or maybe a touch of MS? The good news is we’ve found the cure. the bad news is it sucks. So, we need a bit of muck to keep us from getting polio, and a few worms to keep us from getting allergies. Will leeches cure my thyroid annoyance?

It is great news like this that has me convinced I have to continue to get off my lazy ass occasionally and help Jennie with the garden and livestock. Considering our climate, it isn’t realistic to think that we would be able to grow and raise all of our own food, but we can at least greatly reduce the amount we get from unknown sources. Paying to be poisoned is not my idea of fun.

Our local farmers’ markets should be starting up soon, which will be nice. Fresh lamb, and all those veggies we forgot to plant, or just cannot get to grow — yum! Some year soon we will have our own stall at the market, selling lamb, chicken, eggs and knapweed (our most successful crop ever!). The kids could start a side business, selling the rotten eggs to their friends.

My stomach thanks this one for being born early this morning.

Cimarron's First Lamb

We’re still waiting on a name for the last one, so obviously this one is also nameless for now. Good news on the name front, though: Jennie’s decided that the Scottish Gaelic translation of Baa Ram Ewe was too long, so now we’re Gaoth Allamaugh Farms or Gaoth Maugh Farms, depending on whether we want to be Windy Wild Field Farms or just Windy Field Farms. I was shooting for Desolate Hellhole Farms, but Jennie’s opposed to that one for some reason. And for anyone who wants to be able to pronounce it, those woud be either Gway Allaway or Gway Way Farms, in good ol’ murican. The latter sounds like I’ve got a speech impediment.

Okay, just checked, and considering that Gaoth also means flatulency, we’re going to hold off on the farm naming as well. Who the hell wants to spend time at Flatulent Field Farms?