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With My Life, Being a Writer is the ONLY Possible Career Path

Nothing is ever, EVER a normal fucking exchange in my life. People used to think I was making things up (the time I went to a buffet and the only other people there were a clown convention in their civvies, who proceeded to do tricks. Later, the waitress, Ebony, sang "I Believe the Children Are Our Future" as loud as humanly possible and people cried; or the time at a FUNERAL luncheon that a man recited "I Believe the Children Are Our Future" to me with special emphasis on the parts he deemed most touching) but I think they're starting to finally realize I'm not.

Today we drove out into the "country" east of our city to pick up a sink we found on craigslist. My husband waited until we were halfway there to inform me that the people had an aviary on their house with 12 birds. Now. I love birds. But these nutsos had 12 enormous birds, 5 dogs, 5 cats, 3 tree-frogs, and two aquariums that I didn't get to peek into. They had holy decorations everywhere. The house was remarkably clean, considering. They also had several thousand knick-knacks and wind chimes hanging throughout the house. Oh, and the one parrot can take apart its cage. It often does this, and then goes and lets all the OTHER parrots out. Just the big ones. You know, his homies.

Suffice to say, they loved me. I'm invited back any old time to visit (I cannot WAIT to take my 7 yr.-old niece out to this shit-show. Her face will be priceless) and am also invited out on their boat on the river this summer. If I like boats. And they're going to keep their eyes open for a nice Mary statue for my new house.


This is going to be the best thing to write about ever. Too bad it'll seem too OTT.

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