Fragon Slayer

Well, well, well, if it isn't me? I don't blog all week, except Fridays it seems. That will change this week, as I return to my regularly scheduled programming.

Friday Fragments are an illusion, wrapped in a mystery, doused with a splash of guile and buttered with condescension. They are a weekly delicatessen of odd ball observations by a miscreant 41-year-old who can't mate socks because he's colorblind. But don't hold that against him. You can blame it on Mrs. 4444 at Half Past Kissin' Time. Well, the Fragment part, not his colorblindness.

FF We keep hens. 16 of them, in fact, and all spring and summer they have free-ranged around our property, hunting and pecking everything in sight. They have even ranged all over our neighbor's yard, and he doesn't care. They do eat ticks, don't ya know? Two weeks ago a wiry, scruffy man who looked like someone had pissed in his mouth, knocked on my door. Asked if we had chickens. I said yes, of course. "Well, they're shittin all over my porch." I asked where he lived. It happens that he owns an apartment building two houses down from us. "I think you should have to come down and clean it up." I told him I would come down and take a look. I changed my mind though. He didn't say hello, he didn't shake my hand or introduce himself. Just dragged his sorry ass up onto my porch fuming and swearing and sputtering and making demands. This apartment building is a slum. The police have been called numerous times for some of the tenants fighting in the street, squealing tires, etc. Chicken shit goes well with his gray flecked faux paint job, I'm thinking.

FF The kids started school this week. Am I going to hell by saying I'm grateful for the sound of silence?

FF I have college orientation tomorrow and Monday. I have made it my secret mission to attain nothing less than a 3.8 GPA. Why, you ask? Because someone once told me I couldn't. And when you tell me I can't do something, I instantly hate you and your family and put curses on you.

FF Gabrielle had a virus last week that created sores in and around her mouth. A virus. That's all the doctor could call it. A virus. With all the advancement in medicine you'd think they would be able to at least give my daughter's infliction a name. All she could take was ibuprofen. She didn't eat for four days. She cried in the middle of the night because it was so painful. And we paid a doctor $1,456 for her to tell us Gabi had a virus. I'm changing my college major to become a doctor.

FF The last couple of weeks have been glorious. Mid-80s, sunny, summery. Beautiful. Last two days, I've had to wear a sweatshirt and long johns to bed and woken up with frost on the insides of my eyelids. Fuck Maine. I'm moving to someplace where it's warm. Like Canada, maybe.

FF We still have not repaired the porch roof. I tore up a third of the shingles in the corner where we've had leaking. That was two weeks ago. One time, when I was a kid, I dismantled an electronic toy I had been given for Christmas because I wanted to see if I could put it back together. I failed. I hid the toy in my closet because I was afraid my dad would kill me. My folks called the other day to say they were coming over and for a split second I actually considered hiding my porch. How lame is that?

FF No dear, I don't agree with you. I can't keep my hands or my eyes off of you. You must be doing a whole lot of something right...