28 May 2013

Bunnies: A Neighborhood Story.

Written by sally @ 12:42 pm — Section: sally

The folks who lived across the street from me had bunnies — two very adorable floppy white bunnies who never stayed in their bunny house but would instead hop around in the yard and look disconcerting, like two random pillows. Not wrong enough for alarm, but wrong enough for a “…are those bunnies?”

So one of the bunnies ran off/got eaten by something, and then there was only the one, whose name was Stella. Then the people sold their house, and they left Stella at the old house for a few days while they were fixing her new bunny house at the new place. The new people were hanging out in the yard the night they closed on it, and Spike and I were walking by so we stopped to chat.

Lady: So…the bunny? Is it…ok? Just hopping around the carport and all?
Me: Oh yeah! Stella’s fine.
Lady: Well, that makes me feel a little better, but it’s still stressing me out. I don’t want to be responsible for the bunny.

DEAR READER: THIS WAS FORESHADOWING.

The next day I was opening the front blinds and saw two random dogs hanging out in the driveway across the street. No collars. Then I noticed something in the yard 6 feet away. Something white. Fluffy. Motionless. A bunny, or a plastic bag, perhaps escaped from a Katy Perry simile? I texted my next-door neighbors: “There is something kind of deadbunnylike in the yard. I’m scared. Go look at it.”

No reply.

“Y’all. Seriously, check out the deadbunnything.”

“Maybe it’s a bag.”

“Prob not a bag. Still lying there.”

“Ok, I went outside and it’s definitely the bunny.”

Then I started thinking about the new people who would be coming over to their new house in the morning, ready for their new adventure, and while they probably aren’t weirdos who see the world as a place ripe with symbol like I am, it would be gross as the least to find a dead bunny in your yard. So I resorted to an actual phone call to the neighbors next door, since they hadn’t responded to my 87 deadbunnyalert texts.

Neighbor: Hello?
Me: STELLA IS DEAD IN THE YARD!
Neighbor: …
Me: The bunny. Across the street. You know, Stella? Hop hop? It’s dead in the yard.
Neighbor: Why would you call and tell me such a thing?
Me: Because you’re from the country!

So it turns out that she is very sensitive, despite growing up on a farm, and so her partner was designated dead thing scooper upper. I provided a box, along with the kind of moral support one can offer from inside the house at the window. She had kind of a time getting the back legs in.

[Sidenote: years ago, Mrs. Floon called me in a panic because the dog she was dogsitting brought in a dead rat. A really big one. At first I couldn’t hear her and told her my phone was fucked up. Then I realized I was holding the receiver upside down. My solution was that I would not be able to pick the thing up, but that I COULD provide a box to place over it.]

So the bunny was put in her box, and lo, the box was duct taped closed for easy pickup by the old neighbors, and the sensitive farm neighbor was still mad so I gave her some powdered donuts as an apology. (Spike, by the way, was oblivious to all of this, except he DID notice that his favorite Sitting Box was missing.) Then a few weeks later one of the neighbors asked if I had a box about yea big and I asked if there was another dead bunny, and then one of them said, “I forgot about the bunny. I have to go have diarrhea now.”

Fin

18 May 2013

This is Your Brain on Xanax.

Written by sally @ 10:01 am — Section: sally

A journal entry from September 16, 2003:

I got an email from Reagan tonight and I can’t sleep although I’ve taken a Xanax. Now I’m sleepy and at the same time my mind is racing. Reagan mentioned college. I was laying here and I thought, was there such a thing as college? Is it possible that I even existed in that world? And I thought, I am so lucky to’ve met one friend in college — I should be thankful — I should fall to my knees — and this will be in the kitchen, and I will fall upon spilled sugar and random dirt and perhaps a grain of rice, and these items will dig into my skin as I give thanks, and when I stand I will have the memory of that moment preserved in the grooves dug out of my skin.

I should think about him more often. It might help me stop being such a complete bitch all the fucking time.

17 May 2013

Terrible Tattoos, I Love George Saunders, Murder Logs.

Written by sally @ 4:43 pm — Section: sally

1. “America’s Worst Tattoos.” I underestimated how entertaining this show would be. The commercials didn’t indicate that the people themselves are crying at night because their tattoos are so bad. I might’ve watched four episodes last night and cackled through them all. Here are some of the tattoos that were featured and/or covered up:

— pink baby devil holding a candle that looks like a weiner
— two forties being poured into someone’s buttcrack
— Japanese fighting tampons

One of my favorite features of the whole thing is that about 75% of the time, the new tattoo is just as stupid as the original; it’s just done really well. For example: a guy angry at his last two girlfriends got them as skeletons tattooed on his leg along with their various vices (booze, pills). Rule 1: do not put the enemy’s likeness on your person. His current girlfriend, with whom he has a child, was not a fan. So instead, he opted for a dad and kid elephant pair. The dad elephant has a mustache and the kid elephant is holding a rubber duckie. It is infinitely better, but still: mustache elephant. On your laig.

2. Tenth of December by George Saunders is one of the only things I can think of that lives up to the hype. It’s one of the funniest/darkest/saddest/best things I have ever read.

3. The Pink/Nate Ruess song “Just Give Me a Reason” is on a constant loop in my head. So then I started humming it at home. Then Spike asked what it was, so I sang it, and now HE sings it, and I have to say, hearing your little boy go “You’ve been talking in your sleep / oh oh / Things you never say to me / oh oh” while he’s sitting on the toilet is rad.

4. I have this hackberry tree in my backyard that got tired of standing up all the time and decided to lay down. It eased over a bit and is leaning on some phone and power lines. Luckily, it is good friends with an oak in my neighbor’s yard and the oak is holding it up. It a mess, y’all. It a big mess. Also there is a tree that dumps giant murder logs into the yard when the wind blows — giant, 10 feet long limbs that leave gouges in the ground. It’s going, too. As is all of my money. While it’s kind of hurting my feelings that I have to pay a bunch of money and will not get anything in return — no new transmission or trip to Paris. I have done my fretting and grieving and on Tuesday, there will be two less trees trying to kill me.

5. Someone buy me this.