I Think Our Fish is a Tramp

The little trollop first surprised us by giving birth in the plastic bag on the way home from the pet store, beginning a week-long saga of name changes and Dead Fish Baby Watch 06. Hours of fun were had staring into the fish bowl trying to count just how many babies survived from one day to the next.

Matters seemed to settle a bit, and the final Fish Baby tally stood at one. One hearty little fish is all that survived. Janet and Fish Baby, who has recently been named Kirby, spent a good month living together as a little fish family doing all the things fish families do. They swam, they ate, they pooped, they had a great time. I rather foolishly* thought our pet issues had run their course. I should have known better.

Two weeks ago, CJ and his friend won 3 cheapo fish at Scout-O-Rama. These fish were carted from booth to booth, switched into various containers, and were happily living it up in an old (and rather poorly rinse) fruit container. The plan was for CJ and his friend to divvy up the fish when we dropped Friend off at his house. Friend's parents are clearly not as gullible as we are, as they nixed that idea from the get-go. Apparently Friend's other fish are aggressive little bastards and it was feared that they would eat any newcomers. CJ was awarded sole custody of all three fish, who were then named Chubbo, Brunch and Dessert.

The three new fishies seemed to acclimate well to our fish bowl and got along swimmingly (ha ha, I crack myself up!) with Janet and Kirby. It seems that Janet might have been a little too hospitable and accomodating. She now appears to be sporting quite the bulge in her belly. I had read that goldfish don't do live births; but rather lay eggs that are then fertilized in a swim-by fashion by the male fishies. With this knowlege in mind I was willing to give Janet the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps she wasn't the little slut I'd assumed her to be. Maybe we had a case of immaculate conception right here in our own home.

Further research reveals that she isn't a goldfish at all. She's actually a swordtail something or other. These fish do, in fact, do the live birth thing. So we're back to square one with a cheap little hussy fish on our hands. Sadly, the three new fishies didn't surive and Janet and Kirby are on their own again. Janet may soon become a single mother to another bazillion little miracles. I'm hoping that the bulge is just from a few too many fish flakes. I don't think I can deal with another Fish Baby Saga.

For those of you who are wondering, CJ was quite distressed at losing all three of his fish in one weekend. We made a trip to the local pet store on Monday. He is now the proud owner of an African frog. It lives in the tank with Janet and Kirby. If she manages to birth some sort of freakish FrogFish I'll know we have some really wonky pet mojo going on.


*I say "foolishly" since our luck with pets has always been odd at best. Who can forget the fish who flipped himself out of his tank one night and was found stiff on the kitchen floor the following morning? Ah, good times. Good times.

On the Next Dr. Phil...........................

Women Who Love Too Much: Home Appliance Edition







*swoon*


John the Husband surprised me with major appliances for my birthday. Isn't he a stud??

The picture quality isn't that great, but I'm sure you can still get a sense of what wondrous machines these are. I am thoroughly enjoying doing laundry these days.

Oh What Fun it is to Ride

Why, for the love of God why, do my boys find it necessary to up the volume on their voices immediately upon entering the car? They can be sitting right next to one another, so close that their tushies touch and elbows bump (which causes heated "personal space" debates, but that's a story for another time), and still not trust the acoustics in the car. Apparently they subscribe to the "louder is better philosophy" of motor vehicle passengership.

After exhaustive (or maybe that should read exhausting) research and observation, I seem to have stumbled upon the Super Secret Jost Boys Code of Conduct For Riding in the Car. Note that there are several varieties of mischief to account for the individual skills of each boy. Teamwork, I tell you!

1. When in doubt, shout.

2. When your family stops for a meal on the road, drink until your bladder won't hold another drop. When your parents make you go potty before getting back on the road, only eliminate one-third of the contents.

3. As soon as the car has successfully merged onto the freeway, loudly (of course!) and urgently declare your need to pee.

4. If you find the scenery not to your liking, let your parents know every quarter mile. See how many syllables you can stretch the word "Boring" into.

5. If your brother touches you, looks at you, sings along to the radio, farts, burps, blinks, breathes, or in any way enters your awareness tell him exactly what you think of him and his antics. Accept no excuses, whatever he did was clearly with malicious intent.

6. When you notice your brother's interest in the drive and the scenery waning do one or more of the following: poke him, make faces, sing loudly to the radio, fart, burp, laugh maniacally, etc.

7. Inform your parents of each and every infraction your brother commits. Go into excruciating detail. Repeat as necessary.

8. If another passenger requests a change in the temperature inside the car, complain about it and request the exact opposite.

9. Prior to the car trip, make a list of every possible name for every possible bodily function, and recite them numerous times throughout the trip. Compose a song about them, and teach it to your brothers. Laugh uncontrollably until you have to pee.

10. And the old classic: "Are we there yet?" Increase the frequency of asking in direct proportion to the increase in frustration of your parent. If your parent is stupid enough to give you an estimated time of arrival, allow for absolutely no margin of error.

Road trip anyone?