And This Bird You Cannot Change (or Shut Up)

Nick Carter is in rehab, and I’m jobless. Quit playing games with my heart, cruel world!

On this first day of unemployment, I awoke at 5 a.m. This is not because my body clock needs adjusting. Even back in the day when I received a paycheck (yesterday) I set my alarm for 6:18 a.m. 6:18 is a fine time to get out of bed -- slightly later than 6:15, much earlier than 6:30. The 5 a.m. alarm should only ring for emergency-room nurses and Richard Simmons. Next time I arise at 5, I better be saving lives or pumping weights in Spandex. (I realize that sentence is a bit off….I don’t intend to save lives in Spandex. Not if I can help it.)

My 5 a.m. wake-up came courtesy of Fergus the Rooster. I don’t live anywhere near a farm, but my (former) co-worker George does. George, whom we affectionately call “28 going on 85,” raises Fergus, along with Fergus’s harem of chickens, and several cows. He’s like Old MacDonald, only he’s not very old -- hence the nickname. He’s also married, and I wasn’t staying with George….I was keeping Mary company on a house-sitting job. An all-night “drinks and China Castle” fest to celebrate my joblessness sounded great yesterday, but Fergus’s multiple crows wrecked the afterparty.

Another stipulation to add in my browse for Mr. Right: he won’t own a rooster. (I’m sure there’s a dirty aside I could add here, but I’ll leave it to your imagination.)

Speaking of birds, why do I still get goosebumps every time I hear “Free Bird”? I’m not an 18-year-old boy with an E-Z electric guitar, nor am I a Colt 45-drinking 'Bama truck driver. But I like Skynard. It feels so wistful yet rebellious. “I’d like to stay here and be sensitive and watch Nick at Nite with you, but….naah, screw it.”

I must be traveling on now. In a few hours, I’ll pick Mom up from the Scranton airport. After we sell most of my worldly (Honesdale) possessions, we’ll take Andie Acura on that 600-mile stretch of I-84 leading to Tennessee. In between PA and TN, there’s a weekend trip to NYC, where I’m meeting Exploding Airplane Engine Chick. Between the two of us and Mom, we may be able to rid the Big Apple of minor evils, such as unsalted soft pretzels.

If I were a fan of “closure,” I would end the blog now. Goofus has laughed derisively at Gallant for the last time. The Bear Family has minded its final crosswalk. I’ve never been good at goodbyes, though. As “free birds” go, I suppose I’m more like Fergus -- I like to strut, but I find it hard to leave the farm. I’ll be back to share excitement from the Big Apple and our journey south.

In the meantime, I recommend the following sites, which I would link to my site if I knew how:

Friends’ Blogs

www.lizzeeeblog.blogspot.com - My TFA friend Lizzie is a former writing teacher, current paralegal who has the wit of Molly Ivins-meets-Candace Bushnell. Sex and politics and gooey muffins. Good stuff.

http://www.e-lah.blogspot.com/ - Brian is my former high-school English teacher, so you can blame him for my grammar mistakes. His baby puts the Gerber kid to shame. In 50 or so years, when I feel mature and mentally balanced enough to have children, I hope my kids are as adorable as Brian’s boy. At the very least, I hope my kids are allowed on the same playground.

Blog Obsessions:

www.melanieetcie.blogspot.com - Meet my French family! Bonjour! Bet you didn’t know I have a French family. Okay, I don’t. But I want my future family to look like this. I can’t read a word of this blog, but I like to think they live in a countryside cottage and eat brie all day. And the girls put on little plays and read Madeline to the baby. La vie en rose!

www.jasonmulgrew.com - This guy is People magazine’s “bachelor blogger,” featured in the “50 Hottest Bachelors” issue. He’s not hot, but he drinks too much and writes too much. I want to marry him. He’s not at all my type….he’s extremely sarcastic and gross and he probably smells. I’ve already tracked him down on Friendster.

http://postsecret.blogspot.com/ - Found this site in a New York Times Web feature. Apparently, you can write your darkest secret on a postcard, mail it to the site, and have it showcased online. The secrets range from snarky (“I gave my vegetarian sister a meal with beef”) to amusing (“I don’t care about recycling (but I pretend I do)”) to sad or disturbing (“I wished on a dandelion for my husband to die”). You won’t find any of my secrets on this blog. I like to expose my darkest tendencies gradually, in essay form. That’s why I have a blog.

And with that, adieu…to me and me and me. See you below the Mason-Dixon.