I met a mountain lion on a walk through our neighborhood.
I was taking a late-summer stroll on one of the many well-groomed paths that snake through the suburbs south of the Minnesota River here in the Land of 10,000 Entitlement Programs...my mind full of TV theme songs and quotes from Gilligan's Island...when the aforementioned meeting took place.
About 20 yards ahead of me, the big cat crossed the path and entered a wooded area to the left that sloped down to a small creek and back up to the back yards of several houses.
As I put my walk on hold, I thought, "Cool!" But then it got unbelievable.
I saw the mountain lion walk along the fence row, and then, with what looked to be an effortless leap, it jumped the backyard fence of a house...a house with a working barbecue grill on its deck. The cat bounded up the steps of the deck, knocked over the grill, picked up the thickest steak of the bunch, and started back down the steps.
About halfway down the steps, the beast did something you'll never believe. It turned around, went back up to the deck, popped open a cooler, snagged a six-pack with its right paw, and loped back down the steps, across the yard, over the fence, and into the trees...apparently on its way to a relaxing evening with friends.
It's at this point that I feel the need to remind you that this blog is called Almost the Truth.
However, it IS true that there's a path near our house with a wooded creek running beside it.
The morning trip to the new workplace did NOT go as anticipated.
I had a couple checks I needed to deposit, so I left about ten minutes earlier than would have been necessary. (Do you remember checks? They are pieces of paper that one person or entity gives to another as a directive to the bank of the other person or entity to take a particular amount of money out of the giver's bank account and place it into the receiver's bank account. It's old tech in a new tech world.)
My normal mode of check depositation is to visit the Asset Taking Machine at my local convenience store/gas station/CornNuts dispensary. As I was pulling into said establishment, I decided to fill my three-quarters-empty gas tank. I sidled the car up next to the pumps, got out, opened the gas-cap-covering panel, unscrewed the gas cap, turned to the pump, and reached into my pocket to retrieve my plastic-bearing wallet.
Correction...I reached into my empty pocket.
"Oh crud," thought I.
I hopped back into my mighty motor vehicle and returned home as quickly as was legally possible.
When I got home, I bounded upstairs to where my wallet wasn't. That wasn't my initial plan, of course. I had intended to bound upstairs to where my wallet was, but that's not what happened.
Just as I started breaking into a sweat, I remembered that, the previous afternoon, I had put my wallet into the little glove-box-like thingy between the two front seats of MY CAR.
Yeah...I know.
At that point, I had eaten up those extra minutes I had started with, so there was no longer time to put gas in the car or make the deposit. I went to work. I went directly to work. I did not pass Go and I most definitely did NOT collect $200.
I did make an interesting discovery, though. When I got out of the car at work, I noticed that I had made the whole trip with the gas cap dangling from the side of my car.
Alert readers with fairly good memory skills will recall that last week's post slipped in a tiny mention of the end of my job search...and the good news is, the search didn't end because I gave up, but because the incantations I pronounced over my resume and LinkedIn profile finally took effect and fooled some fool into hiring me.
For a while, at least.
Officially, this position with DocumentCzar will last nine months, but there's already talk about how the more amazing I am the more likely it will turn into a long-term gig.
No pressure there.
The biggest pressure for me, actually, is centered in the central area of my body...round about the bladder. Being back in the highly-processed air of an office environment, trying to keep hydrated by ingesting copious amounts of water, I find myself needing to make a few trips down the hallway to the men's room. (There IS a slightly closer rest room, but its door says "whoa men"...I'm not allowed to "go" there.)
At least it's a nice rest room: Touchless dispensers for soap and paper towels, aromatic oils, soft lighting....
The problem is, there's lots of people in this office. People who apparently have the same issue with bladder function as I do. It took me five trips before I got to stand at the grown-up's urinal. Until then, I was stuck trying to hit the mark at the Billy Barty Memorial Porcelain Pee Pot.
And don't even get me started on what happens when I need to do more than a stand-up job.
("Eww...can we move on to a different subject, please?")
Biggest perk so far: my manager keeps a bowl of chocolate on her desk; available for any and all raiders. I've already gained three pounds.
In memory of the recent anniversary of the day of my birth:
(To the tune of "Sixteen Candles")
Sixteen candles...
Times three point six two five
That's how long I've been alive
Can you believe this jive?!!?
Blow out my candles
It might take a crowd
And I'm not too proud
To ask you to sing loud
(To the tune of "You're 16 [You're Beautiful and You're Mine]")
I may be your worst nightmare
Losing my hair
But Mama didn't raise no fool
I'm 58
I'm balding
But I'm cool
I'm all wrinkled and plain
With major joint pain
I can't do laps in a pool
I'm 58
I'm balding
But I'm cool
(To the tune of "Sixteen Tons")
You live 52 weeks, and what will transpire?
You're one year older and harder to hire.
St. Peter, just call me; I'm ready to leave.
Unemployment's run out, but I will not grieve.
(Postlude)
These gems were written before a late-July offer of full-time employment, with a start date the Monday after my last week of unemployment benefits...the day after my birthday. Nice present!
You know how you can do a search on the World Wide Wackfest on a person's name, right?
And you know that there are companies out there who offer to give you information about that person...for a price, right?
Well, imagine my glee when I typed a particular person's name into my friendly neighborhood search engine and was offered information on that person as part of a FREE seven-day trial of this particular company's informational offerings.
Then I looked closer...
This word "free"...I do not think it means what you think it means.
Belly up to the bar, friends. Let me pour you a large glass of what you've been missing if you're not plugged in to the Almost the Truth Publishing FaceBook page.
Frankly, my dear, I don't give a refund.
This status update is a lie.
Ain’t no sunshine when it’s night. Seldom dark during the day. Ain’t no sunshine when it’s night, and that’s not good for my sight. Guess I’ll just see in the day.
April 15…wasn’t there something important I was supposed to do today? Oh well…I’ll think of it tomorrow.
Look! I can tour farther. (Punny #StarWars reference)
I’m all about the bass…and the trout…and the walleye.
Indiana Jones, having gone vegan, at a backyard gathering of friends: “Steaks. Why did it have to be steaks?”
At what point in my past did I ever do anything so horrible as to deserve the burden of meatless lasagna?
Sittin’ on the dock of the bay, praying these splinters aren’t here to stay…
Don’t know whyyyyyy there’s no sun up in the skyyyyy…oh…it’s nighttime.
As the rabbi empty-handedly said to the priest on Easter, “Frankly, my peer, I don’t give a ham.”
Fie…wordakeen…udda four ehhhhhhhhhhfs…nahkween…nahdook…nahprints…
For every action, there’s an equal and…no…a doubled and opposite misinterpretation.
Said one Looney Tunes gladiator to another, "You got Fudd on your mace, you big disgrace."
Some people think Arby’s. Others contemplate malnourished insects tended to by Noah: Ark Thin Bees.
The love of algebra is the square root of all evil.
If you've been anywhere other than under a rock for the last few days, you know all about the ball-of-stuff-formerly-known-as-a-planet, Pluto, and how its years-in-the-making close-up fly-by by the unmanned spacecraft, New Horizons, is rocking the astronomical world.
You know that if Earth was the size of a basketball, Pluto would be the size of a golf ball.
You know that it takes five hours for the radio signals from New Horizons to get to Command Central.
You know that it takes 100 times longer for its data to download than your phone modem took to buffer its way through a secret Napster acquisition.
However...
What I read in Thursday morning's paper...being passed off matter-of-factly as a commonly-accepted matter of fact...is something I don't think any person on this planet can actually know.
In the thrillingly-headlined piece by the Associated Press' Marcia Dunn, Peaks on Pluto are Rocky Mountain high; Charon has canyons, Dunn states...
The zoom-in of Pluto, showing an approximately 150-mile swath of the dwarf planet, reveals a mountain range about 11,000 feet high and tens of miles wide. Scientists said the peaks - seemingly pushed up from Pluto's subterranean bed of ice - appeared to be a mere 100 million years old. Pluto itself is 4.5 billion years old.
I open the paper and read that and just go...
To be, relatively, right there with scientific measuring instruments and still only be able to say the mountains are "about 11,000 feet high," but in the same breath declare the whole planet's age ... I mean ... seriously ... how ... what...?!!?
