Court, Costco, Predators, Nonprofit Scams, & Cicada Onomatopoeias

Monday at 8:45 a.m. I will be appearing in small claims court against NorthWORST Airlines and their hotshot corporate attorney. I am thinking of wearing the Almay hazel eyes intense i-color trio and my six-year-old black suit. But then again, it is from Ann Taylor and I wouldn't want to appear uppity. Maybe I'll opt for one of my banana-stained tank tops and a pair of shorts. Or better yet, one of Husband's Wife Beater undershirts. I hate those damn things but they might look cuter on me than him. It's all for that little guy above.

On Tuesday we will be joining Costco. In general I am against the entire idea of wholesale, but Costco pays their employees 42% more than Sam's Club, and they have great deals on tires. Plus, you can't beat their prices on the other necessary items in my life ... diapers, wipes, Absorbine, Jr., Bondini, foaming wasp and hornet spray, etc.

And here's an update on predators in our vicinity ...

I have failed to mention this previously, but soon after our recovery from the tumble down the the ridge, I hiked it again to see if I could figure out how I tripped. It was during this hike that I came across one of the most heartstopping things I've ever seen: Someone had taken a Sharpie and written, "GROUND HORNETS" on a rock. They even included arrows. There were actually two signs, one above and one below a hole in the ground. That is simply a RECIPE for a Kimpossible swan dive off the edge of the trail with a Prize Baby on her back. No wonder I tripped.

More recently, I hiked it yet again, and noticed that now the HORNETS sign is crossed out and next to it is a note from a ranger (not Husband, mind you) that reads, "Try harmless digger bees."

Is it just me, or is that just a smidgen over the top? I mean, do we really need to show up people who hike with Sharpies and choose to write on rocks in a natural area?

AND, as if Harmless Digger Bees (which in my mind translates to KILLER WASPS) weren't enough, Husband came home last night and announced that a bobcat was indeed spotted just a few feet away from our house and that he thinks the footstep-like noises we've been hearing on our roof may be linked to this recent sighting. Then he mentioned that this house used to have an in-ground swimming pool beside which this predatory animal enjoyed spending lazy summer afternoons. The pool is now gone, but the cat is not.

Last night while I was happily teaching the vocabulary of underwear, Husband was napping on the floor outside The Goose's bedroom, trying to see if he could catch a glimpse of this feline baby snatcher. I'm sure it will be one of the highlights of his life if he does see it, but what he doesn't know is that I've got the .22 cocked and loaded in case I see it first. I don't care if it's the only bobcat in the state of Tennessee, if it's been prowling around on my roof sniffing out Prize Babies then it better be prepared to meet its maker. I don't give a shit if it's endangered or beautiful or harmless. It has no business on my roof.

This is the point in my students' essays where I write "TRANSITION???" out in the margin.

Besides spending all of our money on eye makeup, I have recently become the victim of a non-profit organizational scam. It's the one where they send you cute address labels and simply ask for $6. And because you're not sure if glossy adhesive is recyclable, and because you can't possibly bring yourself to use them without giving the March of Dimes six measly bucks, you send in a little cash. And then you get a personalized notepad and a request for $10. So, using the same principle mentioned above, you send in a ten spot and lo and behold the Nature Conservancy sends you set of address labels with the Karner Blue Butterfly on them. And because you once taught a fourth grade science lesson on this endangered species, you feel nostalgic, and you send out more money. And then you receive a Gardner's Tote Bag with the same butterfly embroidered on it and a subscription to a tree hugger magazine with lots of pictures of the Wild West, which makes Husband nostalgic (as if National Geographic weren't bad enough), and then he starts dreaming about quitting his fantastic job here in the park with the predators and the missing owl and the BRs to move back out west where neither of you have jobs but it sure is breathtakingly beautiful with no humidity.

Transition???

And finally, I have to ask, why is there no onomatopoeia for the sound that cicadas make? One of the hotties has gotten me thinking about soundwords with her recent line, "Blog is an onomatopoeia for barf." I am the queen of onomatopoeias and I can't figure out how to even make the cicada sound, much less a word that represents it. As a child, I used to instinctively make up words for sounds. For example ...

• An '88 Oldsmobile: tronnitee-shudden-wudden-wudden-wudden
• A toilet flushing: flon-shou-wow-wow-wow ... tut-tut-tut-tut.
• A trans-am: wohmmmmmm-wohmmmm (this led to the term, wom-wom wheels)

While I was in Mississippi, I found my 3rd grade diary and these words were listed, along with a note that said, "My best friend is Emily Rives. She weighs 80 pounds and we are only in the third grade." Even though I was weird, at least I was loving.

Conclusion?

Buh-dee-buh-dee-buh-dee ... That's all folks!