Don't touch that.

I have to post this before I can finish my Christmas shopping. I've been given a deadline, by the husband who has suddenly become interested in my blog in a confrontational way.
I've been called out on my dead squirrel post and my defenses are up because I have yet to fully develop my thick writer's skin. I'm still under the false assumption that everyone loves my writing and agrees with everything I have to say. It's a nice little wall I've built around myself, although I welcome a brick being kicked out now and then. I can probably take it.
Back to the opposition and the negative review of not just the husbands but others, who shall remain nameless but you will be able to tell who they are because they will most likely not be able to contain their comments on FaceBook. As I sit typing I can see the spot where the dead squirrel is haphazardly covered with leaves on third base, most assuredly decaying in the unseasonably warm temperatures. I imagine, and I have a healthy imagination, it's covered in creepy, crawling creatures that feed on the dead. You can almost see a wave of germs seeping into the air and slowly spreading into the neighborhood. It lays there decomposing waiting for little Bobby and his friends to find it, poke it with a stick and start charging the neighborhood kids a dollar to see the dead thing on third base. If it was still on the street where roadkill belongs, it would be squished beyond recognition and it's remains would have been consumed by the vultures in the sky. That's how nature works with wild animals. I want to be clear, wild animals.
It is a mothers nightmare to think of her child poking dead things with a stick and dear God what if they touch it? Since they learned to reach out with the right and the left, we've told our kids,
"Don't touch that."
The fate of the world rests upon us moms teaching our offspring to leave dead animals untouched. They have dead germs. The kind of germs that spread out of control from little Bobby, the host, to all his little friends and then to their customers who paid a dollar to see the dead thing. These children take the dead germs home to their families and before you know it we have the Zombie Apocalypse, which I have been telling you for years is inevitable. I just didn't think it was going start across the street.
I hope this clears up any confusion on my roadkill theory.

From the Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dude files, #4815162342

You wouldn't think that a couple of Chinese dry cleaning immigrants would be able to afford a half a year vacation. Apparently mine can. Once again I stopped for my 4 shirt and the strangers were there. This is a little unsettling for me. Here are my reasons:

1. These younger Dry Cleaning "fill-ins" seem to have a firmer grasp of the English language. The failure to communicate was the reason The Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dude and Her became regular blog fodder. I miss them.

B. When or if they come back, will I have to retrain them on how to say and spell my name? It took about a year last time. I'm getting all misty just thinking of the old days when I tried to explain "Seese with an S" to them. The thought of starting that all over again, well it's exhausting.

So at my last visit I inquired again and the strangers told me,

"Uncle and Auntie decided to stay for Chinese New Year."

"When the hell is that?" I said with my inside my head voice, my outside my head voice said,

"Oh." Then I scrunged up my entire face and asked,

"When is that, exactly?" I thought everyone had the same New Year, I mean I get calendars with my Chinese take out and they coincide with my calendars at home.

"At the end of January." She informed me.

All right then, another month and a half with the strangers. One day in February I will walk into The Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dudes and he will be back there with the ominous shirt presses and she will be telling me 'have nice day'. All will be right with the world. I just hope I can contain my excitement when they get back, I miss them and their ongoing contribution to my blog.

This is a WTF situation

I hate to call it writers block, being at a loss for words, because it's my own fault. I'm easily distracted, there's bright and shiny lights outside now. All I needed to do though, was look past the pretty colors right out my front window to see the next post that had to be written.

The family and I looked out there this afternoon, scrunched our eyebrows together in udder disbelief, looked at one another and collectively said,

"Do you see what I'm seeing there?"

We all agreed it was something we never expected to see and that I should blog about.

"But where do I start?" I asked.

"A picture?" Boy #3 suggested.

"NO." The husband adamantly objected. I was already on my way to my camera, but stopped. I'll try to paint you a picture with my words.

The dog brought it to our attention with a low guttural growl, she was perched on top of the couch looking out the window with great interest. Boy #3 took a look.

"Huh."

Boy #2 took a look.

"Did that guy just hit that squirrel?"

"Yep." Boy #3 replied.

"What's he doing with it?

"Huh?" The husband took a look.

We have a "common area" across the street, one of several in the development and this guy picked up the squirrel he hit with his car and carried it over there.

"What the fff."

"Language!"

"Mom, this is a WTF situation. You have to say it here."

"Not necessarily, let's see what he does next."

"What the "freak"? He's burying it with leaves? Does he think no one can see him? It's daylight, it's 3:00 pm on the main road and there are people driving by and dogs barking. Who is this guy?"

"I should have my camera right now and film, not taking pictures, this is YouTube gold. It would have gone viral."

"NO." He's no fun, the husband.

The guy kept grabbing hand fulls of leaves and dropping them on the dead squirrel that he so lovingly dropped under a tree, where children play. Actually I think that tree was third base when my kids played over there.

"He's burying it on third base." Boy #2 said to Boy #3.

Yeah, it was third base when the boys used to play there.

Okay so the guy has his car parked on the side of the road causing traffic to slow, the neighborhood dogs and ours are barking, it's daylight and this guy decides that after he leaf buries the dead squirrel he needs to squat down to a puddle of muddy water and wash his hands.

"See this is why I carry the little bottle of cucumber/melon anti-bacterial hand sanitizer gel in my purse that you guys say stinks. I'll bet he wishes he had some of that now. You know to remove the smell of death from his hands."

It isn't like no one has never seen a dead squirrel in the road, it's a common occurrence. I guess this guy was trying to do the right thing? No? Or he's just bat crap crazy. Nevertheless I need to thank him for bringing kookamonga right outside my front window, I barely had to move to write this post.

Guest Blogger?

Farvel Cargo is looking for Guest Bloggers. I am having a hard time keeping up with my 2 blogs Farvel Cargo and View of Sue plus blogging for Skirt magazine. Along with trying to write a book and short stories seeking publishing. GAH!
So specifically I would like to open my blog up to new bloggers. If perhaps you've thought of starting a blog and are hesitant you can post here. Or if you just have a humorous story you would like to share.
All I ask:
- The post needs to be humorous, because this is a humor blog.
- You need to be on FaceBook, because once submitted on my blog it is immediately posted on my Wall via Network blogs.
- Once the post is on my Wall, "share it". Yes, all your friends will see it and I will get traffic to my blog.

Private message me on FaceBook or leave a comment here on this post if you are interested. This could be fun!