Tuesday, April 11, 2006

Are you Sarah Connor?

I love this place. I am in love with it. I LIKE like the winding highways and leaning barns and suede moccasins on everybody's feet. The clapboard churches, thumb latches, chicken coops, tapped maples, miniature tulips, glassy lakes, seasonal closings, muddy thaw, slate paths and gruff farmers? Swoon. I like this place for more than a friend. I'm going to get my best friend to talk to this place and find out what it thinks about me. I am going to write my name next to the name of this place in the third stall of the girl's bathroom on the 200 hall. NOT A PEEP Perhaps as a result of my rural lovedrunkenness, I fully consented to the purchase of six baby chicks this afternoon. The little birds are currently in a box in our garage under a nice, warm brooding light. We bought them at the local feed store, which I suspect is operated by Celtic witches. In addition to your normal feed/garden store items, you can also buy a broad selection of Irish folk music and books on nature religions, white witchery and Lephrochaun magyck. There are two cats (familiars?) that roam the store (shoplifting surveillance?), and I think I spotted a young Melissa Joan Hart dong her homework by the Wellies and steel-toed work shoes. She was wearing burgundy suede Merrills. But back to my family's apparent descent into madness. JC has wanted these birds, and has been so excited thinking about the coop he'll build, etc., that he has lost sleep. I am famously and loudly terrified of most birds, particularly the domesticated variety, which come chasing after humans for food. Birds, with their lizard feet and cold, one-eye-at-a-time gaze just give me the creeps. I just know that, when they cock their heads and look at me, they're plotting to flutter underfoot, trip me and peck off my face when I fall to the ground. Aren't they? But wait - maybe all that nervous fear is just some vestigial kneejerk, and if I were to inventory the things that still really scare me, maybe chickens wouldn't even register. That's just what I did. I ran a bare hand blindly under the sofa of my terrors, and I did not pull out any chickens. So we all piled in the van today, and went to the farm store and bought six pullets. Mine is named Sarah Connor - not just because Sarah Connor was a badass mom ("Fuck you chickens - peck on this!"), but because when I told JC that I wanted Araucana chickens, he said, "What? Sarah Connor? What the hell is a Sarah Connor chicken?" It's a chicken whose eggs save the world from cyborg domination. Also, they come out in pastel colors. We have four Araucanas and two Rhode Island Reds. No word yet on which of the Araucanas is Sarah Connor. Whichever chick lives to adulthood and looks like she has the hots for Michael Biehn - I guess that's Sarah Connor.

1 Comments:

Anonymous peripateticpolarbear said...

I was talking to Darcy who is friends with Melanie who takes Horseback with that girl Jessica who goes to piano lessons right after that place, and she said that she said that she said that the place likes you, too.

In more than a friends way.

6:31 PM  

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