Man tries to pay bill with spider drawing.

Just trust me and click the link. It’s hilarious.

I hate it when you can’t find out what movies will be playing at a theater beond the present week’s offerings. The theater over in Pullman has ‘coming soon’ listings on their website (and the film I want isn’t coming soon), but the theater in Moscow? Nada. You can’t get anything beyond the current week on Fandango, either.

I just want to know if Changeling is going to be playing around here, dammit!

P.S. Quantum of Solace in little over a week, woot!

Me, perusing Craigslist: Do you want a He-Man Masters of the Universe Castle Grayskull Playset? 
Mike: I had one of those when I was a kid. And my cat, Tom? He got stuck in it.
Me: Did it have batteries?
Mike: I don’t remember.
Me: Because this one has… *reads ad* “over 20 lights and sounds as well as tons of battle features, Castle Grayskull is packed with fun play possibilities! Includes a crushing front drawbridge, trap door that leads to the Castle dungeon, a weapons door that reveals the sought-after Power Sword and a dual-firing cannon.”
Mike: I remember the trap door, because that’s what Tom got his foot stuck in. Worked perfectly.
Me: …Mike, by “Tom got his foot stuck in the trap door” do you mean “I put Tom’s foot in the trap door and it got stuck?”
Mike, very earnestly: NO! Tom climbed into Castle Greyskull when it was folded up!

Something about the way he referred to it as Castle Greyskull - not “the Castle Greyskull,” or “the Castle Greyskull playset,” or “the toy” - cracked my ass up. 

Mike called me from work around 5 pm to say, “I am probably going to regret this, but… do you want to rescue an injured duck?” Well duh. I got directions to the location of said duck, threw on some duck-catching clothes, and off I went.

(In case you didn’t know this about me: I have a St. Francis of Assisi thing going on. Lost and injured animals are attracted to me. They find me so I can help them, I swear. It runs in the family - the same thing has always happened to my mom, and her dad before that. Apparently this has now spilled over to Mike. Ooooh, poor Mike. It only gets worse.)

Anyway, ten minutes later, Mike and I were mucking around beneath a bridge, trying to catch a young female mallard who quite obviously had a problem with her left leg/foot. She didn’t do well on land, but managed to flap into a creepy puddle with unidentifiable swimming things (I’m 99.9% sure I saw leeches), which I was not about to go wading into. Fortunately, we were able to herd her out and catch her. 

Turns out the duck had a nasty open fracture above her left ankle. There was about 1/3 of an inch of bone protruding - it wasn’t bleeding and looked pretty dirty, so I couldn’t really tell how old the wound was. Other than that, she was quite lively and not very pleased to be in captivity. Driving home one-handed while delicately holding a pissed off mallard under my arm was interesting. 

Once home, I put her in a box with a towel over the top and set about finding somebody within a two-state radius who actually cares about a wounded wild duck. There’s a vet in town who does wildlife rescue - the office was already closed, but I called the number anyway. I got the answering service. I started to explain that “I found a wild duck with…” and was interrupted with a shrieking ”IS THIS AN EMERGENCY!?” Cheese and crackers, lady, I was unaware I called Animal 911. I explained the duck has a broken leg and cannot live in my bathtub so yeah, it kinda is, but she didn’t seem to understand the practice flipping does wildlife rescue and instead referred me to Washington State University’s teaching hospital. Okay, fine. 

I called over to WSU and after a little phone tag with the receptionist and a vet student and the doctor, they said to bring her on in. Now, Artemis (the lab) had been in her kennel this whole time, and you better believe she thought this was just the icing on her woe-is-me cake. There was a bird in her house and it was hot today, did I mention that and why am I not letting her catch the duck!? Poor pup. 

Anyway, off ducky and I went to WSU. They had a form for me to fill out, and that was pretty much that. I actually feel better leaving her at a teaching hospital than I would with a vet who does wildlife rescue on the side… Hopefully, they’ll be less concerned about the bottom line and more interested in the educational value of the experience. 

I took pictures, for posterity. The first one is my “Here I go again, rescuing things” face: 

And, DUCK! 

I tried to get one of her injury but it didn’t really turn out well with the camera phone.

During the course of this whole thing, somebody mentioned that WSU will accept wild animals from across the state line, with the exception of deer. I wonder what the deal with that is? And if you have an injured deer, what in the hell are you supposed to do with it?

As I explained to Mike, my philosophy on wildlife rescue is that the sporting thing to do is help injured animals so they can live to breed, exist, and maybe be fairly hunted another day. I’d like to think we’re a little more evolved as predators than those that just prey on the weakest members of the herd. This is why I like organizations like Ducks Unlimited, which value both conservation and hunting. 

Ha - put that in your pipe and smoke it, hippies!

Shamelessly stolen from Skreidle on LiveJournal:

Here are all the outtakes and older editions. I absolutely love it.

Background: I was trying to call the DMV. I dialed prefix 882.

Man: “Hello?”
Me: “Hi… this isn’t the DMV, is it.”
Man: “Nope, this is the guitarbecue!”
Me: “I see! I definitely have the wrong number then.”
Man: “Yep, unless you’re interested in guitars or nachos!”
Me: “Well… I do like both of those things, but I doubt you can be much help with my DMV question.”
Man: “I’d certainly like to, but I’m afraid me advising you on such matters is probably against at least one state statute. You might want to try dialing 883.”

I should have asked him where the guitarbecue was being held… I want to go! :(

(Almost as awesome: We passed a house on one of the main streets in town the other day - one of those weird houses located in the middle of an area that is now mostly businesses - and there were a bunch of college students out front barbecuing… with a sign that said “You honk, we drink!”

We honked. They drank.)

I just wanted to give a shout-out to USAA, which is our primary bank, lending institution and car insurance company. I’ve been dealing with them for four years now, starting when Mike deployed to Iraq at the beginning of our relationship and left me with a power of attorney to attend to his affairs. They have consistently bent over backwards in the customer service department, and I always encourage military friends to join while they’re eligible.

Here’s the good news: They’ve changed their eligibility requirements to now include…

Former military personnel:
- If you’re no longer in the military, you are eligible until you turn 35.
- If you continue to serve in the military after you turn 35, eligibility expires upon separation or retirement from the military.

So - if you’re former military, under 35, and not a USAA member yet - go join now!

…Your cell phone’s text auto-complete thingy always wants to select “arf” instead of “are.”

I tried eating a grapefruit for breakfast, only to realize: I don’t think I know how to eat grapefruit.

Just checking in… sorry I’ve been MIA, we spent the better part of spring break in Californiastan, and since half the stuff I enjoy doing is illegal there, I didn’t have much to post. ;)

I’ll try to post something interesting tomorrow - which, incidentally, is the second-best holiday of the year. So by “try to post something interesting tomorrow” I really mean “try to post something coherent before I hit the Guinness.”