Birds of a feather and all that

Something disturbing is going on over here. And it’s not just “The Handmaid’s Tale” Season 2, episode 1 because OMG my husband and I finally watched it and I am traumatized. But I digress.

A couple of days ago, I looked outside into the backyard and noticed a white patch on the lawn. I couldn’t quite make out what it was. At first I thought it was a patch of dandelions that had gone to seed. I walked back there to check it out more closely. I was in no way prepared for what I was about to see because apparently I stumbled upon a CRIME SCENE:

As you can see, there were a mess of feathers scattered all over the lawn. Some of them were bloody. I suppose something–a dog, a fox, a coyote, a thing of EVIL–killed a bird and did it in the most violent way possible. It was just horrible. There was no sign of the bird anywhere.

I was hoping the mess would take care of itself over the next few days, like the wind would blow the feathers away or something. I was wrong. It’s four days later and the feathers are still there. As is the blood.

The only good thing to come out of it was that my kid had to make a traditional Hopi headdress for school and during construction, we realized we should have bought feathers during our trip to Joanne’s earlier in the day. I mentioned that maybe we could grab some from what was left of the deceased bird in the backyard and my kid was all, “Yeah!!!!!” and I was all, “Ugh, now I have to go find some feathers that aren’t bloody; I’ll be right back.”

I picked out two feathers and my kid glued them onto the headdress, so I guess the bird did not die in vain. Yay. Today’s blog post brought to you by Debbie Downer.

A tale of woe

I was so close.

Last night I took a ride on an emotional roller coaster. I hate roller coasters, emotional or otherwise, so you can imagine that I did not have the time of my life.

It all started with my husband, as rides on emotional roller coasters often do. He sat down on the couch and turned on the television. It was not sports. That was the first clue that something unusual was about to happen.

Then he reached for the remote that changes the set-up from TV to whatever it’s called when you can stream shows from Netflix/Hulu/etc. right to your television. Clearly, I’m not well-versed in this technology, but I knew enough to know that something amazing was about to happen.

You see, my husband does not enjoy watching television shows. He prefers movies. There’s only one show he’s ever actually watched with me and liked, and it was “The Handmaid’s Tale,” based on Margaret Atwood’s book of the same name. It was at that moment that it occurred to me that he was going to tune into the first episode of “The Handmaid’s Tale” SEASON 2. I knew that it was being released like any minute but totally forgot about it until that very second and I cannot even express to you how incredibly stoked I was that this was going to happen momentarily. I was so happy I started screaming, prompting my kid to scream down from his bedroom, “What’s wrong? Are you crying?!?”

“Oh no,” I replied, “Everything is finally so, so right!!”

So we’re sitting there, the anticipation of the new season pretty much killing me, when all of a sudden my husband says, “Uh oh.” Terrified, I asked what was going on. Did the internet go out? Was the house on fire, making us evacuate and delay our viewing? What?!? He replied that the new season was not going to be released for two more days.

Do you know what it’s like to achieve nirvana and then suddenly plummet down to the deepest depths of despair in two seconds flat? I do. Because that was me.

And if things weren’t bad enough, he asked me the one question that made me hit rock bottom (I already thought I was at rock bottom, but he inexplicably was able to bring me further down). This is what he asked me: “Do you want to watch a pack break instead?”

For those of you who don’t know what a pack break is, I envy you. Sometimes I think back to the days when I didn’t know what a pack break was, and I actually weep. A pack break is a type of YouTube video in which a person records him or herself on video opening baseball card packs. Then this person discuss the cards they’ve received AT LENGTH, including what number it is in the sequence of production, the condition of the card, etc. I imagine if there is a hell, it’s a never-ending loop of pack breaks being broadcast on 50 different computer screens simultaneously, and I am forced to sit in a chair in the middle of them all.

I mean, to go from watching the first episode of a new season of “The Handmaid’s Tale” to watching a pack break was JUST TOO MUCH TO BEAR. I became despondent. Irritable. Irate. And that was just in the first 60 seconds after the suggestion.

We ended up watching the first episode of “Jessica Jones,” so the evening wasn’t a total loss. It was good. No “Handmaid’s Tale,” but what is, am I right?

I think I’ll take today to recover from having experienced the highest of highs and lowest of lows all within a five-minute period because, honestly, it’s taken a lot out of me. Let this be a lesson to you: Research when your favorite shows are dropping so this doesn’t happen to you. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.

Image from The Stranger.

Taking a walk on the wild side

We’ve been getting our fitness on here at Casa Towbin lately. And by “fitness” I mean taking a leisurely walk a few days a week after a filling dinner of, say, pasta and bolognese sauce. But nonetheless, activity is happening. It’s usually just my husband and myself taking the walk, which is nice, but I’ve noticed something weird with him on these walks. Shocker.

(On our walk)

Me: You know, if The Handmaid’s Tale ever happens in real life, you BETTER become a commander and you BETTER take me up the rungs with you. That’s the only way I would survive in that kind of world. I’m not saying I’d in any way be happy living as the wife to a commander, but I just wouldn’t make it in a Red Center, and if those are my only options, then that’s what I would choose.

My husband: Uh huh. (munching on something)

Me: Are you eating something?

My husband: Yeah. Want one? (He presents a handful of jellybeans to me, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.)

Me: You’re eating jellybeans on our walk?

My husband: Sure. I always do.

Me: Where do you keep them?

My husband: In my pocket.

Me: You’re telling me you shove your pockets full of jellybeans and eat them on our walks?

My husband: Um, yeah. Do you want one? Here’s a cinnamon one. I know you like cinnamon.

Me: That’s not the point. (Me, taking the cinnamon one because duh.) We’re exercising and you really shouldn’t be counteracting that exercise by popping jellybeans one after the other.

My husband: I don’t care.

Me: You’re an odd duck.

The next day he didn’t even bother to hide his stash during our walk. He literally grabbed a box of Jujubees and ate them one by one over the course of 40 minutes (we went on an extra long walk that night, maybe because he was thinking Jujubees are higher in caloric value that jellybeans? I don’t know how his mind works, to tell you the truth).

So that’s how we do fitness over here. Yes, “we” because I always eat the cinnamon jellybeans from his stash. Ok, and the toasted marshmallow. And 17 other flavors.