Manic Monday

I've seen a lot of people that have themes to their blogs, or daily themes that they then rotate through. One common one is Friday Favorites, which I appreciate -- things you're grateful for that week, etc. I like it when other people are appreciative. I forget to do it myself. On Fridays I'm most grateful that the week is over, and that theme would just get old after...once.

I have wacky friend who lives in an alternate universe. If one can be said to live in an alternate universe while still residing in this one, that is. On any given Monday this friend calls me during her hour-long commute to the office. I can almost always expect this phrase to come out of her mouth: "So, I've been thinking..." And when I hear that, I know it's going to be one of her ideas that in her alternate universe works perfectly, but in the reality of this one, there may be some kinks to be worked out. It's almost always laughable, while just unique enough to be near genius. In fact, they probably really ARE genius, but since her ideas almost always involve ME doing the majority of the work, that's when they start tipping the scales on the side of "Genius but ... no" side of things.

Today's Manic Monday near-genius idea is that I raise chickens. Of course, I'll get paid in eggs, after I build the coop, feed and water the chickens and collect the eggs. The trade-off is completely in her favor -- she would do it except for the teensy tiny fact that she lives in the hills where coyotes and other chicken-eating critters live, so it's quite unreasonable for her to assume the responsibility of keeping the chickens safe because after all, she doesn't want to give the coyotes any more good reason to come prowling around her property.

Well, okay. When you put it that way....still no.

She's nothing if not persistent, though. She let me know she's scheduled a delivery of 50 chicks for Wednesday and would I be home. Oh, and by the way, they're young so will need to be near a light source for some time. She wasn't amused when I pointed out that my nearest and easiest heat source is my oven and that young chickens are probably quite tender.

She thought that was mean.

The next step of her sales pitch, since my getting up early to take care of the chickens wasn't a convincing enough argument for me, then turned into, "Think of the eggs you'll have during the earthquake!" I pointed out that earthquakes shake and break things, and that eggs would not be safe. Then she said, "How about during the end of the world after a holocaust? Think of the eggs you'll have cooking over a campfire while everyone else is looting!"

"Nuclear mutant eggs?"

She didn't see anything wrong with that scenario.

Needless to say, the only chicken I see in my near future is the one on the dinner table next Sunday.