I'm just an animal looking for a home

Sunday

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Today is Monday. Yesterday, therefore, was Sunday. I am going to tell you about what I did on Sunday.

My Sunday began as so many of my days do, with me waking up. Although I was supposed to be at football practice at 1pm, it was at 1pm that I woke up. Since I was not sleeping at the football field, football practice proved impossible to attend (I originally typed “fleeping” instead of “sleeping”. I corrected it, but it is also true that I was not fleeping at the football field, assuming any reasonable meaning of the word “fleeping”.).

I got out of bed, fed the cats, and showered. I also got dressed. At 2pm a barbecue was to be held at the football field, after practice. I was to bring hot dogs and hot dog buns. Little did I know that HEB (my usual grocery store) was closed for Easter. Motherfucker. So I found a convenience store that (conveniently enough) sold both hot dogs and their corresponding buns. Having made my purchases, I departed for the field.

I arrived at the field only to find out that nobody other than Carrie had shown up for football practice. Even Hawi, captain of the football team, had decided to skip football practice. He figured that I would show up with the softball stuff, and we’d just practice softball instead of football. How foolish he was, to think that I could possibly get up so early.

At any rate, waiting for me at the field was Carrie, who had been waiting for over an hour. With her were Hawi and Brandy, who had not been waiting for very long. Hawi was supposed to have brought the hamburger meat, hamburger buns, and charcoal. He had not brought these items. We sent him away in search of them. Carrie had, as was her charge, brought veggie burgers and buns. Newton soon arrived with chips, salsa, and other related items. Hawi returned with his stuff and we were ready to barbecue!

Then we examined the barbecue grill. It (like the picnic table on which we had set up camp) had seen better days, and those better days were no more recent than the 1890’s. We scraped off as much of the accumulated crap as we could, but you can only be so effective using newspaper, sticks, and rocks. Also, a surprise was waiting for us within the barbecue grill — bones! We couldn’t identify what sort of bones, but one of them had been forced into a “Z” shape. That was more than a little disturbing. I threw the bones into a nearby trash can, while Newton made it clear that he couldn’t believe I was touching them with my bare hands. We completed our preparations by loading the grill with charcoal, dousing the entire structure in lighter fluid, and igniting the pyre. We let it burn for a long time, in the hopes that the flame would sterilize the surface. After about ten minutes of burning we were disappointed to see a spider walking around on the grill, seemingly unperturbed by the heat. We hoped that the spider had heat-resistant abilities that microorganisms would lack.

We threw softballs around for a while, sweated, played with a pretty dog wearing a blue bandana, and otherwise amused ourselves while we waited for the grill to do its thing. Eventually it was decided that the grill was as ready as it would ever be, and, besides, we were all becoming hungry. Soon thereafter we had 8 hot dogs and 4 veggie burgers, ready for consumption. Then we had 7 hot dogs and 4 veggie burgers, as Carrie dropped one on the ground. Brandy fed it to the dog, filling my head with thoughts of cannibalism.

The food was good, and (so far as we can tell) non-toxic. None of us died, and most of us think that Brandy probably always had that third arm, and we just hadn’t yet noticed it. We’re pretty sure that Carrie wasn’t always sixteen feet tall, but we can’t rule it out.

After eating we played more softball. Well, Brandy played until she hurt her wrist. Carrie stopped when she began feeling faint. Hawi, Newton, and I continued playing until it became too pathetic to continue. We retired to the picnic table, extremely hot and tired. It was proposed that we go to Barton Springs in order to go swimming. Carrie, Brandy, and I decided to go. Hawi and Newton, for reasons that are incomprehensible to me, declined.

Carrie and I went to her house to get towels. Brandy went home to her house to get a towel. We were to meet at Barton Springs. Carrie and I got there, and went inside. We never met up with Brandy. We thought she either decided not to go, or perhaps she was kidnapped by the Easter Bunny. Sunday was Easter, you see, and the incidence of Easter Bunny kidnappings rises dramatically on that special day.

Carrie decided she didn’t want to swim. I went swimming. At one point Carrie was crouched by the side of the pool, talking to me. We had been talking for a little while when a man swam up and said to me “Hey. You look and act a lot like someone I used to know when I lived in Clearlake. His name was Andy Zimmerman. Are you him, by any chance?” I said that I was not him, but that the name sounded familiar. I did allow that I had heard of Clearlake, though, and that I used to use the psuedonym Randy Swimmerman. Then he swam away. Shortly thereafter I pointed out to Carrie that some of the women were sunbathing topless (evidently the public decency laws were recently changed), and she spent much of the remaining time watching them.

Next she and I went to dinner at Vinnie’s. Their menu listed Jagermeister as an after dinner drink. Some of their other after dinner drinks were Rumple Minze and Goldschlager. Hmmm.

I concluded the evening by coming home and talking on ICQ for a while. My cats kept me company. They meowed sometimes.

Oh, as a postscript to this tale, I should mention that this morning I received e-mail from Brandy, explaining her absence. Here is an excerpt from that e-mail:

<<Did ya’ll stay at Barton Springs? I parked, walked through some B-Q’s and found my way to the front of the pool. I do not think I could have picked ya out of the crowd if you were inside, so I looked, stood around and left. It is a good thing that I did not stay, because our patio door malfunctioned and locked my husband out on the second floor patio. He blamed me and I believed him until we both got locked out on the patio. Why is there no one around when you are stranded on your patio? It is good thing the the patio below ours is high enough for me to put me feet on, while I lowered myself down. Luckily, they do not have vicious dog on their patio either. Next time, my husband’s going to climb.>>

And that was how I celebrated the glorious resurrection of Christ.

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Author: mitcharf

vegan, curmudgeon, animal lover, feminist, agnostic, cat whisperer, bookworm, hermit, Red Sox fan, Cthulhu enthusiast, softball player, man-about-town

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