Remember this pic? The one where I told Chicken Lady that the brown one on the right looked far more rooster-like than the other supposedly same age, same breed bird on the left?
She assured me they were both hens. I was skeptical.
The other day, only four of the five chickens were in the chicken run area. Where was the fifth? Wait! It’s in the roost! Hang on. That’s the one that looks like a rooster. Is it possible it’s just hanging out up there, needing a break from all those females? (My husband with three daughters could relate.)
All you with gentle sensibilities, please forgive me, but from the rest of you can I get a “Hell, yeah!”?
Seriously, as much as Jiu Jitsu is fun, it is also flippin’ difficult. I enjoy everything except the frustration of not remembering the various steps involved in each move.
Today we learned the elbow sweep. I think. Even the name I’m not sure on. But I’ve found that saying the steps out loud as I perform them helps. Instructor, witnessing my success, said the words in this post title, adding, “That’s one of the two hardest moves to learn. The other is [insert several words that were nonsense to me], but you haven’t learned that yet. [Enter mental sigh of relief that I wasn’t supposed to have understood whatever the heck he just said.]
“Wow, thanks,” I responded, and tried not to beam too brightly.
This was Day 5. I don’t normally go on Saturdays, so it was mostly a new cast of characters, and more of them. Most notably, two older gentlemen. One with experience, one fairly new. This one I will call “The Commentator.” When Instructor demonstrated something, it would frequently elicit an “Oooh,” “Ohhh,” and even, you guessed it, “Ahhh,” from The Commentator.
After one of these, Enthusiastic Teen next to me snickered.
He was also enthusiastic in trying to help me out by adding his own instructions in stage whispers while Instructor did his thing. Was it irritating? Oh, yeah, you betcha. “Let me listen, punk!” [More internal monologue.]
Remember these bad boys (or should I call them good girls?) that I swapped in for my diamond studs, thinking they’d be “safer” for my first Jiu Jitsu class?
They were not.
In the first class, the backs did indeed get shoved against my head–not really a big deal. Second class, same thing, which elicited a weak “Ow,” from me. Still not a deal breaker.
But in the third class, during a guillotine head lock, I said, “Stop!”
[Brief sidebar: You don’t say “stop” in Jiu Jitsu. You tap, usually your partner, or, as I found out when putting my instructor in a choke hold, you can also tap yourself. “It’s a good thing I heard you,” I said after releasing him. Fortunately, slapping a rash guard is loud. Since I wear a gi, I’ll be sure to always tap my partner before I pass out, to be safe.]
Now let me back up.
On my second class, there were three male students, as in the first, but three entirely new men. One guy announced that he had just turned twenty-eight, was boisterous and talking jovially and familiarly with the other men. He readily introduced himself and shook my hand, which struck me as weird, since this seemed to be a strictly fist bump establishment. This guy was so 2019!
The second guy was maybe thirty and paid me no attention.
I kept a sharp eye on the door for Surfer Dude, but no luck. Instead I was partnered with the third man, “Lopez.” Saying he was merely twice my size would be flattering to him. I may have gulped a little when Lopez faced me.
Forest green plastic covered the small room’s floor and halfway up the walls. I lay on my back. On me sat a small man wearing a full body mauve rash guard.
“Isn’t this precisely the sort of situation I’m trying to avoid?” I thought to myself.
The door opened behind me. “Oh, good, I’m saved!” I thought, only to see a rotund middle-aged man enter, paying me no attention as he walked on by.
“My situation has not improved,” I thought. Nor was it likely to get any better when a third man entered, built the same as the first, who also ignored me.
Soon the two of them were on the floor nearby, grappling with one another, as the man on top of me gave me instructions on how to remove him.
I relayed to Hubby a conversation with a friend about how I wasn’t particularly interested in living to a ripe old age. She responded snippily, “Then I hope you die young.”
Hubby lovingly responded: “Too late for that.”
~~~
I was listening with earbuds to one of my new favorite songs, “Trees” by Twenty One Pilots. (Linked to save you the trouble, M.) The last few seconds pretty much enrapture me. I was thus fully engaged when Hubby came over and said something I didn’t hear. I held up a “just a moment” finger, not wanting to interrupt those last few glorious seconds.
Then I felt like a jerk, so I pulled out an earbud to listen to him. “So we only got one egg today? Bummer,” and he walked away.
We knew it was coming. It was only a matter of time, but since there are now eight little chickens in the coop, isolating the rascals, I mean, roosters, is tough. I heard two different weak crowing attempts, as they’re just stretching their wings, so to speak. But also literally. I saw feathers unfurled on two birds right after the crowing. Next problem: we have three brown and three white, so unless I’m an ornithologist armed with tags, how will I know which birds these were when I’m ready to get rid of them?
But first, I need to back up.
We took the last of the big roosters back to the Chicken Lady. Since it was full-grown, I was hoping for two small birds in exchange, but she only gave us one.
That’s the title of the post by Wynne Leon in which she bares her arm with my face on it!
Isn’t she brave? Sleeveless shirt and all! She even wore me to Starbucks! Since my friend who made these tattoos wore hers with me to Starbucks, that felt like a special kind of solidarity.
BTW, when the barista asked for my name, I told her “Birthday Girl.” She sort of smirked/snorted. Smorted? But she went along with it.
Several days after my birthday celebration, I got an email titled, “Sending D to college with a little bit of Betsy on him.”
This is what I get for not keeping up with Swinged Cat‘s posts. Turns out, I read several days later, my birthday coincided with the 30th anniversary of the release of Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” When the band came the first time and played that song, Neighbor and I spontaneously combusted in unison even though no one else was dancing. I told her this time we needed to up our game by dancing on a table. Even *I* thought that was crazy, but she was up for it!
This might be one of those situations were my neighbor is secretly a spy or a superhero, like I won’t know until I accidentally see her take off her mask when she thinks no one is watching after she’s just saved someone from a mugging.
Anyway, back to the song, it wasn’t played. 😦 After she left, another friend asked me to request “500 Miles.” So, between songs, I walked up to the singer and said, “I’ve been requested to ask if you’d play ‘500 Miles.'” They made that the very next song. Apparently I had some pull. Why, oh why, did I not just ASK them to play “Smells Like Teen Spirit”? Again, IF I had read M’s post, I would’ve asked them to play it in honor of the anniversary. Missed opportunity! Next time, I suppose, unless, now having read this, Hubby says to me, “Uh, no, honey. No dancing on tables.” Drat!
Remember the Betsy tattoos? Here’s a slideshow of my neighbor applying one to Hubby’s fun-loving Colombian coworker.
Previously, I posted about The Band that came in December. I’d been trying to get them back ever since. Finally, amazingly, I managed to book them for my birthday!
When we arrived late, I was relieved the band hadn’t started yet. The guitarist, my point of contact, told me on arrival that when he had asked his bandmates if they should start on time, the bassist said, “But Betsy isn’t here yet.” First of all, honored, secondly, the bassist knew and remembered who I was?!
The music was terrific, as, of course, I knew it would be. Remembering that I love Pearl Jam, they played three PJ songs for me. Literally. After one, someone in the band said into the mic, “That was for Betsy.” Then, at the first set break, I pulled out what I’d been saving since April! Behold:
I may have pulled off an excellent prank. But I’ll likely never know.
Neighbor asked what I wanted to do for my birthday. I suggested we get coffee and do our usual shopping trips. She responded “YES! and YES!” That alone wins her the title of my favorite person ever. Actually, just asking what I wanted to do on my birthday was enough. But it got even better.
We first arranged to go to brunch with another friend. Neighbor picked me up, which is sort of funny, since we’re two houses apart, but then I saw the side of her car.
