(this is annie)


At the park

My mom and I had some travels; voila des photos! (voici? voila? I need more French classes.)






Of course I remain loyal to my little friends the squirrels. This one crawled into my bag, seemingly aware of the fact that nobody could love the little nut-nibbler more.

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Okay. I will try to form a few sentences, but my mind is aflutter and I cannot form coherent thoughts.

As a child, one of my favorite activities was playing with my kitten. This seems like a sweetly normal thing for a country girl to do, until you realize that "playing" involved making cat chariots out of discarded shoeboxes and Tinkertoy wheels, and dressing the poor kitty in Cabbage Patch Kids outfits. "Ooh, Alfalfa," I'd coo, "You look so pretty in your bonnet! Time for a ride!" Unsurprisingly, my hands were often covered with tiny slashes from an unwilling feline playmate.

I like to think that I've grown out of that phase by now—or at the very least, I've become a part-time fashion stylist. But sometimes, when I crawl down a dark mental alley, there's a temptation to put a hat (okay, tutu) on Mikan. I am not particularly proud of this impulse, but at least I am honest about it, and I refrain from putting clothing on the cat.

Some people choose not to repress their animal-as-dolly urges. Instead, they indulge them in strange and marvelous ways. In Boca Raton (of course) a woman has befriended/captured a squirrel, who she calls Sugar Bush. Sugar Bush believes that prayer should be part of public schooling, that welfare must end, and that the ACLU is trouble. Sugar Bush hunts for Bin Laden, performs like Britney Spears, dresses like the pope, stands amidst the wreckage of September 11 and re-enacts last year's tsunami. It is as befuddling and amazing as you'd expect it to be.

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squirrels in love

I've been reading For Whom The Bell Tolls by Papa Hemingway for the past three weeks. I'm at page 140. Normally, I can plow through a novel in a day or two. But this! This is inexquisite torture. Disliking this book makes me feel like I'm part of the illiterati, which is antithetical to my whole "Mysterious and Smart in 2004" plan. I jest. Mostly.

Yesterday, Adam and I decided to walk to Leo's Lunchroom for a snackaroo. "It's brisk," we thought. "It'll be good to walk." Wrong. By the time we walked to Wicker Park, our noses were magenta from the cold. But this is not the point of my story. The point is this: while walking on a side street, we came across two plump squirrels. They were chasing each other around the sidewalk, wiggling their tails and seemingly smiling with acorn-plump cheeks. It's still a few weeks to early for them to be mating, so they were simply flirting. It put a big smile on my face to think about that. Squirrels in love!

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acornia

This Beautiful Squirrel Crystal will be yours for a mere

$4.95!

Don't step on me.

I'm cute.

I'm gorgeous.

I'm Invincible.

- - -

Ah, thank you, Todd, for forwarding that spam. What squirrel isn't cute and gorgeous and capital-I invincible?

Sometimes I wonder about squirrels and what they think about. Studies have suggested that squirrels are much smarter than one would imagine, although their memory is limited. I once toyed with the idea of trying to tame one of our fluffy tree friends and observe it, even luring one inside the apartment on Oakland. But then I realized that Squirrely might poop on the bed, or try to pull my hair out for nesting material.

Sometimes at work, I daydream about squirrels chasing each other from tree to tree. Without fail, this type of scene prompts me to gleefully coo, "THEY'RE IN LOVE!" like a syrupy lunatic.

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say hello

    it's anniet at gmail.


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