(The following is something I said, word for word, into my cell phone this weekend)
"Hey it's Tom... Do you have a shovel?... I've got a dead body on my hands and I need to get rid of it, can you help?"
I killed a squirrel on Saturday. Seems like my chick-magnet 'Rolla is also a magnet for other animals. The unlucky former inhabitant of this world must've scurried under my car's left front tire as I was backing out of my parking space Saturday afternoon. Upon return of my errands, there was one dead-ass squirrel waiting for me.
This was upsetting to me. But not in the ways PETA would want me to react. My feelings were mainly personal-inconvenience based. I wasn't too pleased at how I would have to step over a larger than I thought possible squirrel carcass to just get out of my ride.
Also knowing it was nobody's problem but my own - I decided to not go with the shovel routine. Fifteen minutes after the above phone remark, and $2 lighter, I returned to CSI:DP with a plastic dustpan that was destined for one singular task.
What also died this weekend?
My damn NCAA Bracket. Nobody knows just how disgruntled I am that four one-seeds advanced to San Antonio.
Also, a little bit of my sanity died as I purchased a frame for the following poster:
MySister and I now will soon have another item in common.
Owning a piece of art in a frame costing more than forty times the price of the piece.
The stories pales in comparison:
MySister's prized art possession is a painting purchased on her "first trip to Africa." She watched the artist paint the piece as she walked by him on her way to the Habitat for Humanity job site. I don't know the exact price MySister paid for it, but it was a fair price in that economy (ridiculously cheap by ours).
My poster was bought at my "first Lebowski Fest." Just as my sister's initial trip to Africa sent her back for another humanitarian mission, my first experience was great enough to make me want to attend future Lebowski Fests. I watched the artist (Bill Green) sell multiple printed copies on my way to the beverage station for another White Russian. The poster was the second cheapest item at the Fest.
Finally, I started a new book tonight.
The book was written by the teacher of my minicourse.
(I am working on the final draft of one of the stories I wrote for Northwestern University's "Fiction Writing in Depth")
This news does not fit with the Killer Weekend Theme, but it's worth mentioning.