Yesterday, while I was at home for lunch, and Pudge and I were in the backyard, I took the opportunity to meander to the front corner of the yard (on the side of the new neighbors) to check the progress of my hardy hibiscus (they're budding--yay!). There is a smallish, annoyingly positioned tree in that corner of the yard, which stands over the hibiscus, and I noticed a dead, twiggy little branch hanging in it. I assumed it was a remnant of my recent, fairly drastic pruning, and reached up to pull it down. I started to toss it away and then thought...there's something weird-looking about it. I took a closer look. That's just a dead leaf there on the end, isn't it? Or is it...OH MY GOD, THERE'S A DESSICATED FROG IMPALED ON THE END OF THE STICK. Yep, someone shoved a stick right down that frog's throat. Then tossed it into a tree.
For the sake of neighborly relations, I'm going to assume it wasn't anyone who actually LIVES there (I'm looking at you, slacker friends), and I'm further going to assume that the frog was already dead when the stick was stuck, because otherwise....who DOES something like that? Who makes frog popsicles and tosses them into their neighbor's tree? Shudder.
Let's change the subject before I get too freaked out.
I have several opportunities for socialization this weekend, if I can force myself to actually, you know, be social. My guitar player's wife suggested that, since we recently relearned all those songs, we should have a pickin' party at their house tomorrow night, so there's that. On the plus side, since nobody's paying us, we can drink all we want and not worry about the effect on our music. On the minus side, this is that particular group of friends where I am currently the only single person, and that's going to be a little depressing. But I'm sure I'll go, and I'll drink, and I'll sing, and I'll deal.
(Okay, just in case you're wondering, my recent silence on the topic of New Guy should not be taken to mean that I'm "getting over him," or that I miss him one iota less than I did a month ago. I'm not, and I don't. We talk a couple of times a week, not particularly thrilling conversations, since there are generally children fighting for his attention and/or lost toy crises to solve while we're talking, but we talk. I'm hoping to go visit him once he actually gets his own place (he's still living out of a suitcase while visiting family and friends), but nothing is set. Yes, it's depressing. Moving on.)
Sunday afternoon is my church's annual picnic and music-fest, but I don't know how much of that I can take. It's outdoors, you see, and the outdoors is hot, miserably hot. Not even the lure of vestry members in a dunk tank can counteract much of that for me. Though maybe if the junior warden were to get in the dunk tank, shirtless...heh.
Sunday evening is our monthly women's "stitch and bitch without the stitch" potluck, carefully timed to coincide with what I'm told is a decently spectacular fireworks display at the church next door. But in order to get to the food and the margaritas and the explosions and the singing of patriotic songs (in drunken multi-part harmony, I'm sure), I will have to drive wayyy to the other side of town, and having just driven wayyyyyyy to the other side of town for the pickin' party the night before, well....we'll see.
It all really depends on the state of my dog's digestive system. Pudge is a little...sensitive, you see. He doesn't like thunderstorms, fireworks or workmen outside, and recently we've been deluged with all these things. It's been a little upsetting to him, if you get my drift. He wants me close by, and when I'm not able to be close by, I occasionally must pay upon my arrival home. Pay how? By cleaning up diarrhea, that's how. I love my dog!!! Poor, overly sensitive, clingy thing that he is. (And please do not, as my bass player recently did, suggest that I just leave him outside by himself while I'm gone. That would NOT be a good thing. Pudge is not an outdoor dog, and that would simply compound the problem. And really...he's very good at holding it. VERY good. He's only had a couple of accidents, and is it his fault if I'm not home to hear the "please let me out right now" bark?) We just have to make it through the the Fourth of July weekend. And the rainy season. And the "but we're just trying to improve your neighborhood" sewer line and road repairs. (Which may give ME diarrhea before it's all over.)
Sometimes my life is crap. Crap, and dried frogsicles. Sigh.
But at least it's the weekend! Have a good one!