Feathers Are Not So Pretty When You Know Where They Came From

So, normally I would be just horrified by the fact that James brought a bird into my bedroom at 6am this morning, let it go so that it could fly into the wall, crash, and then be TOTALLY AND COMPLETELY EATEN by James right in front of me like some sort of crunching, horrible, early-morning soul torture.

But not today. Today I just sighed, poured myself some coffee and leaned against the counter to wait and let the caffeine kick in before I got into bird-feather-clean-up mode.

(Oh, and a slight beak-clean-up, because he could eat the talons, but not the beak. Of course.)

This laid back attitude toward my murderous cat is only because the last two days of work have been so rough and long, that I could pretty much handle it if James brought a baby deer into the house and rode it around from room to room, before mud wrestling with it in my bathtub.

They've been so stressful in fact that at about 3pm on the first day I glanced at the wine bottle on the counter and realized it was going to be my only savior. Just a few calming sips - and you can all stop with your intervention plans - I don't even have a glass a night anymore, so back up off - if you worked for family You'd Be Sipping On Something Alcoholic On Your Lunch Break Too.

So of course, the one time I do this the Fed Ex guy shows up. The last thing you want when you're sneaking wine in the middle of the day is to be caught by someone bringing you a gift you bought for yourself.

The next last thing you want is for it to happen again the next day.

And the third last thing you want is for all of this to happen when you're dressed like either a) a homeless hippie who somehow spilled ranch dressing all down her chest a week ago and hasn't washed her sweatshirt yet; or b) some sort of slutty P.E. coach gone terribly wrong, and still in a ranch stained sweatshirt.

Since I didn't have the foresight to photograph myself because I was too busy trying to convince a stranger I wasn't as off as I looked, I recreated it for you here. Enjoy.

First day. Homeless-hippie-looking me, tries to hide day-drinking, and talk about Jersey Shore in an effort to distract Fed Ex guy:

Second day. P.E. coach gone wrong me is now so over pretending to be something she's not, that she is flaunting wine glass. Sometimes it's better to just be honest with the Fed Ex guy.

And now I have to go finish vacuuming up feathers.

And put some actual clothes on. Just in case UPS comes by. I don't need another round of this.