I Must Confess...It's Tuesday #8 (Plus an Appetizer of Money and Sex)

Here's Where I Discuss the Economy for a Second and Then Shut Up

JP Morgan buying Bears Stern for $2 a share had Mr. Farklepants in the proverbial dither. He's Mr. Peak Oil. Mr. Doom & Gloom. Senior Hell in a Handbasket. While I'm Mrs. Rainbows and Sunshine in comparison [I know! And me with all my bitching up in in here]. I am the optimistic ying to his half empty yang. It's that magic that is our marriage. I often tune him out hang endlessly onto his every word when he gets started. He's been discussing the rising cost of gas before it even became an actual issue. He bought a natural gas car, like, years ago. He's replaced all of our energy sucking light bulbs with the energy efficient persuasion and now I have no good light in which to apply my makeup. He's invested wisely. We decided long ago to not upgrade our house and have kept the same low interest rate fixed mortgage with a payment that is more than likely less than many people pay to rent an apartment in California; while many acquaintances, neighbors, and friends are now struggling in their McMansions. He's wise when it comes to all things money, except when he forgets to pay for a traffic ticket. When the news informs us that gas may reach $4 a gallon nationwide, it is nearly that already in Los Angeles. So after he finished his most recent financial forecast, in which the JP Morgan/Bears Stern scenario mirrored that of just before the Great Depression; I informed him that when I last put gas in my car I refused to put in more than $50 and that would just have to do because of the outrageousness of it all. And he looked at me as if I had just whispered something deliciously naughty and stuck my tongue in his ear and my hand down his pants. It's okay. We're married.

The current state of the economy plus a .05 cent wine sale at BevMo? Coincidence? I think not.

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Tuesday's Confession

Alternate title: I Guess I Sort of Asked for This

So, here's what I did: I bought some bird food, ya know, for Drib

Yeah. So, that attracted an assload of birds. And then this happened:

And look at him. The smug bastard. He just watched me take his picture. Fecker. [and this is not Drib. nuh-uh. Drib is pretty and blue. This guy is a thug. Look at him! All disheveled.]

For once a product that lives up to its claim: "A highly appealing formula designed to attract a great variety of songbirds" - that will pilfer my patio furniture to line their nests.
File under: My bad.
Sub-Category: Poorly exercised judgment.
Section: Extreme use of stupidity.