Needless to say, we needed to get a new battery. That’s kind of a drag because we’re only keeping this car for another two months and we don’t want to spend any money on it. But Frank (that’s the car) can be quite demanding. He keeps insisting that he won’t start without a new battery so off to Halfords we went to purchase one. Since the bolt that held the battery in was very rusty my husband decided to have the people at Halfords put the battery in for him.

While all of this was going on I went to the shops next door. When I came out I saw my husband standing in the parking lot with two 18-year-old girls. “When I asked them to put in the battery I didn’t realize the girls at the register would be doing it,” he whispered to me when I came outside. “I feel really guilty now.”

We stood around forever watching them struggle with the rusted bolt. Finally they went inside and get some guy who works in the audio department to help them get the bolt off. “I could’ve done this faster myself,” my husband whispered to me. With the bolt finally off, the tattooed guy from audio left and the girls quickly put in our new battery. When they were done with us, they moved on to replacing the headlight in the SUV parked next to us while the owner and his son stood by watching sheepishly.

It was great seeing this role reversal in the Halfords parking lot. It made me think that I should learn a bit more about fixing cars. Then I remembered that I’m not really that interested in learning to fix cars. I already have too many things to do. I’ll leave the car maintenance to the adolescent girls at Halfords.

Now I have a few questions: Why do spiders always seem to live in my house? Why do spiders have to look so scary? Why did that spider decide that my favorite cup (nevermind the chip, just because a cup is chipped doesn’t mean it doesn’t deserve love. I’m not perfect and I certainly don’t expect my tea cups to be) was a nice place to have a rest?

My husband let the spider out and I washed the cup and all was fine. The tea was relaxing or as relaxing as chamomile tea can be and life continued on.

That spider probably went home, sat down at his computer and typed out a blog entry on his blog spideryspider.com. I’m thinking it probably went something like this.

Hey…You’ll never believe the crazy messed up stuff that happened to me today. I was minding my own business, taking a nap in a teacup, when this insane human started screaming and taking pictures of me. What’s up with that? How am I supposed to get my z’s on with all that noise and that flash going off. Than another human dump me outside in the rain. It was cold out there, homes. I’m not even playing. So I have some questions for you. Why are humans always screaming? Why do they think they can just keep putting us out on the street in the cold? Why can’t they properly punctuate their sentences?

• Crowds scared me.
• The Ragged Ann and Andy movie scared me.
• ET scared me.
• The Electric Company television show scared me.
• Motorcycles scared me.
• Santa Claus
• Loud noises scared me.
• Balloons scared me.
• Hats were so so scary.

Children have a few techniques they use to deal with fear. Most cry and cling to their parents for safety. I did that, but I had another coping mechanism that worked really well for me. I’d bite. I was especially fond of biting my father when I was scared. This somehow brought me comfort and security. There’s nothing like sinking your teeth into warm living flesh to make you feel better. My behavior probably made my father afraid of these things too because he knew what was coming.

I’ve probably gotten this story wrong in some way. My mother will call me on Sunday, because she always calls on Sundays, to inform me that I bit her too. I’m sure I did, but she never really talks about it so I have no story. You see, and this is a lesson to all of you who have children, the loudest story accompanied by the most laughter is the one that gets remembered.

Note: I don’t bite when I’m scared anymore. You could watch a the Ragged Ann and Andy movie with me without any worries of me taking a hunk of flesh out of your arm. I promise.

For all of you who don’t think that Ragged Ann and Andy could possibly be frightening, I dare you to watch this clip. If it doesn’t give you nightmares it will at least make you bite someone. On You Tube the first comment under this video is “Ragged Ann scares me.” I rest my case.

During my most recent trip abroad, I was searching the interwebs clicking on some random websites about sciatica when my computer was suddenly overtaken by a virus. Not the sneezing, running nose kind of virus, but the freeze up your operating system and steal all your passwords kind of virus. Both kinds suck, but at the time I would’ve much rather had a cold then a computer that just wasn’t working.

Now getting this virus was completely my fault. An internet junkie like myself should never be clicking all around the web with no anti-virus software, but I like to live dangerously. Okay, it was less about living dangerously and more about being cheap and easily annoyed, but I’ve learned my lesson. Now that I’ve wiped my hard drive and reinstalled all my programs I’m going to buy some antivirus protection. (That sounds like it should be some kind of spray that I mist my computer with every now and again.) I’ll get right around to buying it next week or maybe the week after that. Until then I’ll consult the stars before clicking on a link to try to determine whether or not it has good karma. That sounds like a pretty good plan, doesn’t it?

The good thing about having to set up my entire computer again is that I have a nice clean desktop instead of the one million icons that usually fill the screen. How long will it take before I mess that up?

I kept looking behind us to make sure none of them were following us down the path. They weren’t, but I’m sure they were thinking about it. To make matters worse, when we got to the end of the path we found that someone had tied up their pit bull there while they popped into the store. Cows at one end and a pit pull at the other what is a pit bull and cow phobic person such as myself to do?

When we finally got home, I decided that the best way to deal with this problem was with education. So I did some research about how to deal with cows on public footpaths. I thought I would read some nice reassuring articles, but instead I found things like this and this.

Then I found this helpful video about how to walk through a field of cows safely.

You know what? I don’t feel any safer after watching that. I’ve actually decided that I’ll wait until the cows have been moved to another field before exploring that walk.

I’m glad that you were able to find a good home in the eves of my building just outside my bedroom window. It does look like a good spot there. The sun hits you just right on bright mornings and you get protection from the rain on those all too common wet English days. I’m happy for you.

I don’t mind the way you greet the sun with a song each morning. I don’t mind the chirp chirp of your chicks when they are hungry. These sounds remind me that it is spring even on the chilliest days.

I do have one complaint though. What is it you feel compelled to do every morning at about seven? It involves a lot of very loud scratching around. Are you building an addition to your nest–a second floor perhaps? Maybe you’re disciplining the young ones or possibly hanging some pictures. Whatever it is could you please wait just a bit later to do it? You see, we keep late nights in this house and we don’t usually get out of bed until nine.

Ms. Bird, I keep opening the window wide in the morning to scare you away so I can get some quiet and a bit more sleep. Don’t take it personally. If I could speak bird I’d explain. We could sit and have a conversation.

I’m pretty sure you’re stealing my wifi and just about everyone with an internet connection reads this blog, so I’m asking you to please keep it down between the hours of seven and nine. That’s just two little hours. I’m sure whatever you’re building out there can wait.

Thanks,
Lovelyn

I couldn’t help but laugh when he told me. You see, honestly, just before he left the house I noticed that his hair was looking something like this…

…but he was running late. I meant to tell him, but in the mad rush of helping him carry his equipment to the car I forgot. Yes, I could’ve called him on his cell, but I didn’t. He plays the bass. Whose going to look at him during the performance…other bass players? Other bass players aren’t going to notice his hair. Heck, they probably all have the exact same hairdo.

So he was introduced to lots of people with his crazy hairdo. He hung out. He ate some food. Then he noticed it and I think he ended up wearing a wool hat during the performance. Every time I think about it I start laughing. Even now while writing this post, I’m laughing.

Why does every site I sign up for want me to sign up through my Facebook account? I don’t want to share every single thing I do online with everyone I’m friends with on Facebook. If I want to listen to New Edition on Spotify I don’t want everyone to know. I don’t want to log into Facebook and see written on my wall that I listened to Mr. Telephone Man three time.

If I read an article about the worst Oscar dresses this year, I don’t want everyone I’ve ever spoken to in my entire life to know. I want to privately scoff at Gwyneth Paltrow’s caped dress as I sit on my sofa wearing a lovely green and blue cape of my own.

The other day I was on Rotten Tomatoes watching the trailer to 21 Jump Street when I noticed that Rotten Tomatoes was signed into my Facebook account somehow. Yes I was a 21 Jump Street fan in my younger days, but maybe I want to secretly jump down on Jump Street.

It’s bad enough that I can’t figure out how to unlink my Pintrest account from my Facebook account. I don’t want any other accounts linked to it too.

NOTE: The 21 Jump Street trailer looked terrible. 21 Jump Street is nothing without Hoffs, Hanson, Penhall, Ioki and Captain Fuller. Why would you remake a television classic like Jump Street? I just don’t understand.

Yes those are cows in the distance. They’re in the distance because that was as close as I was willing to get. My husband kept insisting that it was fine to walk across that field like the public footpath sign directed, but I swear I saw some bulls in the mix. Bulls are dangerous. I’ve seen the way they charge people on TV. My camera bag is red. That’s like wearing a great big target on my back. Hey, Mr. Bull standing on that hill over there, come stab me in the back with your bull horns and fling me like a rag doll into the air. No thank you.

“But we just pasted a woman who obviously came from this direction,” my husband said.

Some people are willing to flirt with danger. I’m not. I like to keep danger hidden deep inside the junk drawer in my kitchen where it will cut my fingers when I reach in it without looking.

So we turned around and decided to follow the signs for another public footpath. Once on that path we encountered this:

That still makes me feel a bit uneasy, but I was able to deal with it. Mostly sheep just stare at you and if you walk in their direction they get out of the way. I’ve never heard of anyone getting killed by a sheep. But wait, there was that movie I saw not too long ago…

I thought he’s obviously curious about his new neighbors. So I decided to introduce myself.  I walked over to this door and knocked. He didn’t answer. So I knocked again…still no answer. Figuring that he was embarrassed and we could deal with introductions later, I went back inside to continue with my very important interweb surfing.

The next day when my husband and I were going out that very same neighbor was in the parking area. We said hello and he introduced himself. “My name is Mr. Harmond,” he said outstretching his hand to shake. Mr. Harmond, seriously? He is probably only 5 years older than my husband. “I stopped by the other day to introduce myself, but my telephone was ringing,” he continued. I wanted to laugh out loud and say, “That’s not what happened.” I was on my best behavior as usually and kept my mouth shut.

Here is what we learned about Mr. Harmond during our brief chat:

• He talks to you with his eyes closed.
• He had had just about enough of the previous resident of our flat, Scott.
• Scott stole a laundry basket from the laundry room and Mr. Harmond wants it back

We share a laundry shed with Mr. Harmond at the back of the property. There was a pile of stuff on our washing machine when we moved in. We assumed it belonged to Mr. Harmond or the landlord. However it must’ve belonged to Scott because after we talked to Mr. Harmond that day we found all of that junk thrown into our trash can. That’s annoying because in our area they emphasize that all rubbish must be in a bag or they will not collect your trash. My husband was working at the time so I had to dig through the trash can to get the garbage out and put it in a bag.

I would like to add to my list of things learned about Mr. Harmond that he is passive aggressive. Actually I don’t know if that qualifies as passive aggressive or if it’s just plain annoying.

*The names in this post were changed to protect the not so innocent.