SJ's Adventures in Animal Husbandry

So I was in 4H as a child, as I've previously discussed. You'd think that would have prepared me for my afternoon adventures pimping out rabbits.

It didn't.

What's that, you ask? You want me to elaborate on pimping out rabbits?

You asked for it.

J and I stopped by to visit my parents, like we try to do every weekend. Only this time, on our way out to the little barn in back, dad asked us to "breed the bunnies."

me: "Wait, what?"
dad: "You were a 4H-er."

I was. But for the record, my trophies were in Wood Working and Flower Arranging.

Ergo, comedy ensues.

We figured really, how hard can it be? Put the male bunny into the female bunny's hutch, and let them have at it. We figured that can't be hard. So we take the black (male) bunny, and put it into the hutch of the white with black female lop bunny. My goal here was to try and get a black lop bunny out of the deal. I realize there's a science here, but, I was kind of more relying on the fact that there are only two colors at work here, and one black bunny plus one black and white bunny equals at least one black bunny.

J holds up on the hutch as I grab the black bunny and put him into the hutch of the shy black and white bunny. I felt badly. I mean. I should have at least given her some flowers? Maybe turn on some music? Within 10 seconds, the black bunny was. Um. "Finished."

"Do you think they want to cuddle?" J asked.
The black bunny stomped his haunches. I scolded him. "That is *not* how you win her love and affection."

All in all, the first one went off without a hitch. I wasn't sure, however, if I should have put a curtain up so the other female couldn't see what was going on.

As it turns out, I probably should have.

Next we tried to mate the male grey bunny with the other lop - a pretty white with brown and grey spots. Let me just stipulate that my father swears that the lops were both female.

So imagine my surprise when I put the grey male in and the lop mounts him immediately. He didn't so much as put up a fight! We were floored. Not as floored, however, as when the male then mounted the female's head.

"They're doing it wrong!"
"What do we do?"
"Get him! I feel like I'm watching Oz!"

We let them go. um. after each other a few more times. And then the two of them laid down in the corner.

"OH MY GOD! They're cuddling!"
"He's gay."
"He's NOT GAY! He's sensitive."

Finally, without a small degree of scurrying, I managed to grab the grey one and put him back in his hutch.

And then we had to explain this to my parents. Which, honestly, can be a little awkward. Go ahead. I dare you. Try to explain the concept of the male mounting the female's head to your mother.

"I know what it's called when *humans* do it... but..."

All in all, I'm not sure I'm cut out to run a bunny brothel. I think maybe next time, I'll leave it to the experts.

He's Just Not That Into You

In honor of this movie coming out today (and yes, I will be going to see it opening weekend because a) I love me a good chick flick and b) I may be able to relate to some of these characters), I thought I'd come up with my own list of Ways to Tell if he's just not that into you.

I'd like to point out that hindsight is 20/20, and had I actually been able to have an out of body experience in my past dating life, it would have been a little easier on me because I could have given myself tips. Or I never would have dated anyone, and would be alone living with several rabbits (because I'm not much of a cat person) and maybe would have learned to knit.

So, here are my tips based on real life events that I've dealt with at some point in my dating history for evaluating just how into you he really is. If at all. In my estimation. Which could be way off. And in fact, probably is.

1) You meet him for a blind/internet/random date. Thankfully, I've met most of my ex boyfriends in person and didn't really deal with the uncomfortable blind datey-ness. But I dealt with it enough to know that if he is avoiding eye contact, checking out the waitress or any other female in the room and constantly looking at his phone, he's probably not into you.

2) You have a date. He calls with a lame excuse and asks to cancel. And doesn't call back. Probably not into you.

3) He is a famous movie star who starred as Mr. Darcy in the BBC verion of Pride and Prejudice. You are a schoolmarmish yet attractive bookworm from Connecticut who's idea of a good time is playing Boggle in a coffee shop or scrabble over a bottle of wine. He's probably not into you.

4) You have a total connection. You like him. He likes you. You're certain of it. You click. You have a great makeout session. He calls you one month later to tell you sorry. He's been busy with work. Chances are? He's not into you. Maybe you are not the fantastic makeout queen you think you are. But then you make out with someone else, and realize, no. You are. He's just not that into you.

5) You throw up on him. He asks you to marry him. Ding Ding! He *is* into you.

Really, what it comes down to is that there is no accounting for chemistry. I cannot explain it, having dated a swath of either side of the dating spectrum.

It's not about looks (although, it's oddly true that only one of my past love interests has had perfect vision -- I seem to dig guys with four eyes), or height, or intelligence -- although I have my preferences. There's just something that clicks with a person -- even with friends.

Some people you like, some people you don't. And if you try (AHEM, my dearest friend whom I affectionally call 'pea') to understand why, you'll drive yourself crazy.

I say this, of course, immediately after having 231 conversations with various friends about all of these situations. Except maybe number 3. I realize that if Colin Firth ever met me, he'd totally fall in love with me. I've already warned J that he'd better stop discussing our marital issues with random waitresses.

And really. Knowing that he's just not into me? Just not enough.

I can't believe I don't get invited to more parties!

Just another Tuesday night with the Pretend Husband...

More love letters from SJ

I know, right? How freaking lazy can I be? I post like once a week, make a mad dash for your blogs, comment and then abandon the blogosphere? In truth, I have not. I'm a little busy lately with stuff, including a number of freelance consulting projects.... and that's the last work word I vow to use in this post.

Instead, I give you:

Dear Mother Nature,

Seriously? What? Have you had a really bad period for the past 3 months and we all should suffer? How else can you explain the Minnesota weather in Connecticut? I understand that it's winter and I live in New England. But cool it with the commuting-time piss poor weather. I drive a Volkswagen, Mom. I don't have the fortitude to crush large snow banks in it.

Thanks!

Love,
sj

***
Dear Manufacturers of my awesome rubber boots,

You, sirs and madams, deserve heaps of praise. I can't believe that I can wear rubber boots with cute little cherries on them in New York and no one points and laughs. It's awesome. You're awesome. You and your pretty patterned boots are all super.

Granted, when I was on the Metro North train from Darien to GCT, I was getting some funny looks from the super trendy girl in the 4 inch stiletto boots. And I was alarmed that she may have snapped my picture to show up on Don't Spotting and therefore stalked that site everyday for fear of public derision. But no. As it turns out, my boots *were* super-cute and totally appropriate for the weather.

So thanks!

Hugs and kisses,
Warmfooted SJ

***
Dear KAT,

It was awesome to hang with you guys on Friday night. I laughed so hard, as I always do when I'm with you -- it was truly good times. And do you like how I pretended I couldn't possibly eat that entire chocolate chip cookie sandwich and then wolfed the entire thing down? Yeah. That was convincing. I thought so too.

You are super fantastic friends and I'm so glad I share a blog with you. I'm glad for other things too -- like how we can go outlet mall shopping together, or go to the casino together and play penny slots while the boys play poker... like maybe next Sunday? What are your thoughts?

Sincerely,
SJ

If anyone from Child Protective Services is reading this, I swear it's not indicative of my ability to care for children...

I made chocolate chip cookies the other night and, of course, one of my favorite parts of the process is where I get to snack on the raw dough. As I did, I started thinking about other types of baked goods that are delicious even in raw form and thought about how fun it would be to let my kids lick the spoon while we baked together.

But then I remembered a blog I read where the writer posted a photo of her kid licking the batter off a spoon and people fah-reaked the heck out. OMG! Salmonella! Your child is going to die!

C'mon, really? Is this something we should be worrying ourselves silly about? You, how many times did you end up in the hospital near death as a child because your mom let you lick the spoon that may or may not had some raw egg residue on it? Oh, that many? Really? Wow.

OK, you're not a good example. Let's take me, for example. It never happened to me. I ate all sorts of things as a kid and did all sorts of things and got (mildly) injured in all sorts of manners (we joke that my parents could only afford to send two of their three kids to college, so it was survival of the fittest to see who survived childhood and got to go). And, eh. 

Let the kids have a little batter, I say. It's not like any of us know anyone who died from it. Oh wait, you do? Three people? Remind me never to use you as an example again.