Huh

So yesterday my dogs were going NUTS. Due to the incessant klaxons and sirens and alarums emanating from a block away.

Me, I just shrugged and went about my business. Which was, primarily, shouting at the dogs to shut the fuck up before I clubbed them like baby seals. (I use language like that to charm the neighbours. Honestly.)

Found out today that there was a million dollar jewelry heist less than a mile from my home. By a gang of South American jewel thieves.

Huh. That's a new one for me.

The Horror, The Horror

Saturday, Scott and I went to the Farmer's Market in downtown Augusta. It was alright; we had a great breakfast, met some cool people, loaded up on some fresh produce, and even got some free peaches. All in all, a nice morning.

Until....

I can hardly even bear to say it. But, for you my loyal readers, I will try. (Deep breath....)

On our way back to the car, we kept seeing all these clowns. Like, literally, CLOWNS. Clowns on scooters, clowns making balloon animals, clowns just generally running amok, annoying the children and frightening the horses.

Naturally, I was repulsed by the painted freaks and just kept walking, like any sane human being in her right mind would do. Scott, however.....

How can you know someone for seven years, and not realize that they are either the spawn of the Devil or profoundly retarded? You'd think something like that would show, wouldn't you? I certainly did. But, sadly, no; with no warning --- no indication whatsoever --- my husband started veering in the direction of the CLOWNS.

Of course, I immediately shouted out, "No, for the love of all that is good, I will NOT cross this street. I WILL NOT GO NEAR THOSE CLOWNS!" I clutched at his sleeve, but with an crazed chuckle and a dazed expression he escaped me and plodded, inexorably, to that unholy place.

Dear readers, I followed him.

The man I promised to love, honor, and cherish had been dazzled by enormous shoes and white face paint, and I realized that now was not the time to forsake him, NOW was the time that he needed me most, and only a coward would run away.

I caught up to him just as he reached the pavement on the other side. We stood together, dumbfounded by the chaos of CLOWNS, mutely trying to take it all in.

"Look," said my beloved, "that one is giving away shoe shines, you should go get one."

(As I was wearing flip flops at the time, I suddenly realized WHY he had been so drawn to them; obviously he shares their inexplicable sense of "humor".)

I looked up, straight into the video camera.

"Well," I heard the operator snicker, "are these the next two contestants?" just as the events coordinator rushed up to us, murmuring, "If you could just move along now, they are judging the clown contest right where you're standing."

And as the footage plays on local newscasts around Augusta, I can only say:

Well, Scotty, this is another fine mess you've gotten us into.

I Have Finally Found Something to Love About Georgia

Mind you, I haven't been outside the Augusta city limits, yet, so I'm working on pretty limited information. But so far I have not been that impressed (see previous entry re: enormous insects, ramshackle house, temperatures unfit for tropical beasts, etc.)

But then, I went to BoJangles. Then, I tasted of the Tree of the Knowledge of Cinnamon and Icing. For lo, I had eaten a BoJangles cinnamon biscuit.

And it was good.

Actually, I think BoJangles is spelled more like "B*jangles" with a star or something where the "O" should be, but that makes it like I'm trying to curse and be coy at the same time, so, you know, fuck it.

But those cinnamon biscuits are pure heroin. And let me point out that you can buy two for one dollar! Of course, I can actually HEAR my pancreas secreting insulin when I'm eating them, but damn they are good.