There has been widespread panic in Pascagoula and Moss Point for the last few days. Our local cable company, CableOne, has been in a dispute with their NBC feed, WPMI. Unbeknownst to us, this dispute has been going on since their contract to renew ran out in December-they got an extension (heh-I said extension) to negotiate which was set to run out January 31st at midnight. Not a real problem, unless you want to watch the FARKING SUPERBOWL. Of course, by the time the news-NOT by the damn TV station in question or the asswipes at the cable company-hit our local news station, plans had already been made for parties and meals all centered around said holy event, which suddenly may not be available for our viewing pleasure. Guess who got all bowed up over this, so that when the IB called the cable company he could barely hear for her ranting and raving and they'd better fucking this and that-ing? *raises hand* Oh, yes, that would be me.
It's all good now, though. The dispute has not been resolved, but the extension has been extended *pauses for effect* *laughs hysterically* *has coughing fit whilst laughing and husband mistakes this for choking and tries to Heimlich me* um? Oh. *giggles* Until February 4th, after which point they can take channel 15 and shove it up their ever lovin' *looks around and whispers* asses.
SO. The party is ON. Shingle Mill. Tomorrow. 5:17pm or whatever mucked up weirdassed time they've decided on for this year. Covered dish. So far, the menu will include collard greens, dirty rice, gumbo (for us, at least), mystery casserole, chicken wings, cornbread, assorted dips and chips and crackers and cheeses and tater salads and all kinds of fixin's, so ya'll come now, hear?
Enough of that. Now we come to confession time. I don't even know where to begin.
Those of you who have been with me for awhile know that I have three parrots-Nemo, my African Gray (shout out to the Fatherland), Ahab, my maroon bellied conure, and Moby, my autistic dipshit of a green cheeked conure. None of these birds are sexually dimorphic, which means that you can't tell by looking at them what sex they are-if you want to know, you must have them either surgically sexed or DNA sexed, both of which methods involve at least some measure of pain for the bird. As we were unwilling to put our birds through that, we have spent the last twelve years with three males as far as we were concerned.
Well, tis spring here in the South (most of the time, anyway) and the ducks are ducking and the bunnies are bunnying, and around here, the birds have been nothing short of squirrelly. Nemo has been overly friendly, 'good morninging' me twenty to thirty times a day in varying degrees of annoyingness. The little birds have been all chirpy and cuddly and have been shredding up paper like they have nervous conditions. Well, guess what? Right after I hit publish yesterday and went into the kitchen to start my roux for the gumbo, I looked over at the little bird cage and thought "I don't recall giving them a whole grape?" I hollered at the IB and asked him why he'd give them a whole one when I had already cut a couple of them up in their fruit and veggie cup, but then I looked closer and realized that little fooker wasn't green, it was WHITE. With a smear of blood on it. AHAB HAD A GRANDEGG! I guess now I have to call him...er...her...Ahabella?
Now, the birds are of two different species and as responsible pet owners we could not allow this little freak of nature to develop, so I immediately asked the IB to take it outside and bury it (although it was so cute I wanted to wash it off and suck on it for awhile first) (I know. I'm weird. ^shrug^ Why else do you come here?), which he did post haste. Now I am consumed with guilt, for I? Conspired to murder my own grandbird. I am a certified birdie abortionist by association. I am going to rot in hell! (The IB can wrestle with his own conscience.)
Pray for me ya'll. Pray for me hard. Not only do I have to worry about my eternal soul, but I also have an unprecedented amount of money (for me) riding on the Superduperbowl. What's funny though, is that as many sheets as we are on, not one single bet we made has anything to do with who wins the game (although I'm sure that will be rectified by the end of the day today). They are all based on final scores. With a little help from all your positive vibes, I may actually be able to at least win back SOME of what we bet. Party on!