tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-83466601167640849562024-03-12T23:36:19.234-04:00The Cackling HenUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger184125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8346660116764084956.post-36461798600095129692024-02-28T19:44:00.001-05:002024-02-28T19:44:45.250-05:00Back Up Out the Gravesite...<p>She hath risen again! Hen is back for a major comeback - <b><i>again!</i></b></p><p>For the few of you left in my loyal coop, you know this is my longest hiatus by far. It was not planned, and I'm back with nothing profound or dramatic to share. I even have a draft in progress for my grand return - started nearly <i>2 YEARS AGO</i>. Even 2 years ago, a younger sporadic blogger (me!) knew I'd left you too long. While that draft has some decent giggles you may never see, it's also a fancy list of excuses for an uninspired and out-of-touch writer. Two years later, my coop deserves better!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://static01.nyt.com/images/2022/12/19/fashion/19TITANIC-ANNIVERSARY-top/19TITANIC-ANNIVERSARY-top-jumbo.jpg?quality=75&auto=webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="180" src="https://static01.nyt.com/images/2022/12/19/fashion/19TITANIC-ANNIVERSARY-top/19TITANIC-ANNIVERSARY-top-jumbo.jpg?quality=75&auto=webp" width="320" /></a></div><p><span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p>This isn't better, but I'm back to tap into some OG Cackling Hen HENergy, while looking forward to a fresh (older) perspective and rebrand. In my absence, I've aged profusely. (how you been?) Shades of that hilarious party Hen you still love are still flapping somewhere inside me (or I'm pregnant). But I hope you've all been aging horribly with me too! I am older, and so are you! I'm also wiser, crankier, sleepier, more mindful, and more rigid. So just like a Maxine comic, this might still be fun for you!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcScJ_VEx2GR_w5mwSUuHwUcqxss8RUdUppVtQ&usqp=CAU" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="254" data-original-width="199" height="320" src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcScJ_VEx2GR_w5mwSUuHwUcqxss8RUdUppVtQ&usqp=CAU" width="251" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>Originally, I was going to share my inspiration for coming back, from devout fans begging me, to reading a novel about how writing ruined the protagonist's life. But I've already slapped enough words together here to publish, and my decaying creative mind must desperately save material. </p><p>If you made it this far - WOW! Truly - THANK YOU. I may retire tomorrow, or I may be ready to ruin my life! Either way, I'm publishing this crap and buying a pregnancy test.</p><p><i>If you're new here - Hey! I was a minor icon and you have a LOT to catch up on.</i> </p><p><br /></p><p><b>KEEP READING!</b></p><p><a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2021/11/freedbritney.html">WE FREED BRITNEY!</a></p><p><a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2022/01/a-buc-shy-of-perfect.html">A Buc Shy of Perfect.</a></p><p><a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2021/07/from-hockey-hater-to-lightning-lover.html">Hated hockey - now I don't.</a></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8346660116764084956.post-32845225357651483812022-01-28T14:15:00.000-05:002022-01-28T14:15:15.471-05:00A Buc Shy of Perfect<p> For anyone feeling sad this week from the Buccaneers' final-seconds loss playoff Sunday, I am too. This is for us and the Bucs. While this Hen isn't full of cackles this week, the Bucs and the fans deserve an homage to the year, even here on this silly blog.</p><p>It strings more because of how close the Bucs came to an unreal comeback win. It hurts more because after winning the Super Bowl last year, anything less than winning it again is a disappointment. It's a gut punch because in spite of unprecedented injuries and adversity all season, the team still won the most games in its history - just missing another Super Bowl win. So while every player, coach, and fan deserves to sit in sadness this week, there's also so much to look back on with pride, as it was another magical season, only without the fairy tail ending. <span></span></p><a name='more'></a><p></p><p>When the Buccaneers signed Tom Brady to the team, there was one mission: win a Super Bowl. And they did it. So then what? Do the older star players retire at that pinnacle? Or do they all stay together on the team, knowing that if they did, the only thing better than that ultimate Super Bowl win would be a SECOND Super Bowl win? The team chose the latter, and rightfully so. If the coaches and players were all committed, mentally and physically up for the challenge, why not?</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh-ZIBGfiNX9LujD0up5MnDufez8GV2cio6gZkj4mjAxs0ygteN8Faklc7w5Wn73coRVVxt8HMG-Omk85ee_BOmjKnnOHrR-YbSGK2PXxbSbgDv4HDcMnB5Bw45LzffhPFAgNwW-0nATFvX4tflfnMDlpWRsEQI1riDxr4CDZ4xKGn_gYsKnYw9oGpO-g=s2048" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh-ZIBGfiNX9LujD0up5MnDufez8GV2cio6gZkj4mjAxs0ygteN8Faklc7w5Wn73coRVVxt8HMG-Omk85ee_BOmjKnnOHrR-YbSGK2PXxbSbgDv4HDcMnB5Bw45LzffhPFAgNwW-0nATFvX4tflfnMDlpWRsEQI1riDxr4CDZ4xKGn_gYsKnYw9oGpO-g=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">let's go, girls</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>We all knew it would be extremely tough to maintain (or exceed) the most elite level of performance for another 6 months, with so many variables that go into every football season. With fewer games in a season compared to other major sports, and a single-game elimination style playoff to the Super Bowl, there is minimal room for error any day, especially in the last 2 months. Every human on that team has to be a near-perfect super human in his role for it to work. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiF3nFYrvxgUojl4sfYyfyRKYh-PXxJLR_8t9lTXQO5xf8Yx0V65kzelRIFLWSXxYGuSL9K2wB-k9kZjvaEmBMftffyQudRvdgUfkBeFYnz7kebGkhj8bDo3xR7uchylARyH6vSn8wdLKkK8XHnnxP1auBx3JiXqkyVJNWktYkxGdPF1cv9qMDcgsphXw=s800" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiF3nFYrvxgUojl4sfYyfyRKYh-PXxJLR_8t9lTXQO5xf8Yx0V65kzelRIFLWSXxYGuSL9K2wB-k9kZjvaEmBMftffyQudRvdgUfkBeFYnz7kebGkhj8bDo3xR7uchylARyH6vSn8wdLKkK8XHnnxP1auBx3JiXqkyVJNWktYkxGdPF1cv9qMDcgsphXw=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>One of the Bucs' keys to success last season was having minimal injuries. This season was the opposite, with a historic number of top players in all positions getting injured and missing games. This forced the backup players to step up into those roles immediately, and they did. Suddenly names we'd never heard before were helping win games, and the team just kept winning. </p><p>In this playoff match with the Rams, the Bucs played poorly and the Rams played well for much of the game. Losing by 24 points with less than 30 minutes to play, the game was over for the Buccaneers by most standards. Some fans began to leave the stadium early, and most teams in that position would have started accepting defeat. But this team, now with Tom Brady and group confidence, no longer operates that way. This gritty, defiant team kept playing for that second Super Bowl. While the end result wasn't the miracle outcome, the second half of that game was still magic. To be behind by so many points and to still have any chance to win, let alone tie the game with seconds remaining, was unfathomable. It showed the true character of this whole team and their season - the hearts of defending champions.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiMCgfOXNxPKslv5n4eGpZlnaK6e2fZbTZ96p9YctmX6OuKO8SNHD3gClbT1-zIR7o0y_wqB9Fh6gTpqckW8A6Dy6wLjV4HEWUPUg_NlM6Cch92wQw8_odit6Uq_G7KvDOf8yuD0Bvk3hrFbEZCvLiKkos_nqlnfwyVVxZ_m5a1pwKWzZgv8VH3GylvgQ=s2048" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiMCgfOXNxPKslv5n4eGpZlnaK6e2fZbTZ96p9YctmX6OuKO8SNHD3gClbT1-zIR7o0y_wqB9Fh6gTpqckW8A6Dy6wLjV4HEWUPUg_NlM6Cch92wQw8_odit6Uq_G7KvDOf8yuD0Bvk3hrFbEZCvLiKkos_nqlnfwyVVxZ_m5a1pwKWzZgv8VH3GylvgQ=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lenny ties the game!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>In a season like this, ending just shy of another Super Bowl win, the Bucs had so many moments of brilliance to show they were still champions, including this game's comeback. Losing so many players to injury, the Bucs brought multiple players out of retirement, who didn't just play again after minimal practice, they played key roles in multiple wins.* The week of the Rams playoff game, 2 star players also dealt with personal family tragedy on top of their own injuries.** Yet they still showed up fully to the playing field, playing phenomenal games in the fight to win. No observer would ever notice those players' injuries or personal grief by their play.</p><p>It's easy to forget that only 2 years ago, the Buccaneers finished another losing season, which had become the norm for over a decade (and most of the franchise's history). The magic of Tom Brady's arrival and the Super Bowl-winning team made it easy to forget how woeful it's been to be a Bucs fan. </p><p>The Bucs' massive comeback against the Rams, where a near-magical win ended in a loss, is one of the many sports victories that isn't recorded as a win. There are countless moments in all sports where athletes experience personal victories without winning. </p><p>While every player and fan left that emotional game with our heads down in defeat, there was still so much good to take away from that game and the whole season. The electric energy from a full stadium of Bucs fans roaring for a playoff game was truly special in itself. For all the years my younger self always loved and cheered for a dud of a team, I couldn't ever imagine living in Tampa while watching the Buccaneers win a Super Bowl, and attending a few games of that championship season (in the middle of a pandemic). I wouldn't imagine being able to attend every home game (including 2 playoff games) of a defending champions Buccaneers team, witnessing them seconds away from another Super Bowl run. The past 2 seasons have exceeded anything I could ever fathom as a life-long fan of this silly team. So while the team walks away from the season with heartbreak, just shy of a repeat Super Bowl, it's all still been a season to applaud and cherish. </p><p>Cheers to you, Buccaneers. You gave it all you had. Until next season.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjqO6-Tg9esycF5jiBx5K_luB_QM6UZTBBnnbx61AlYA9cPHfP8klXN1XUKYPDVTD7g4e0MX1VlV0VzyT79qJxZEsaz4TgfmZ71lIR4fPW4N6g6N_kjTVrpM_AFUajtsAOdj77v2w33xsvJ7Y6-AWXhXeN7hpxIo1Sf70_8uBET_shTeoUEdYmj5xSPZA=s928" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="928" data-original-width="750" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjqO6-Tg9esycF5jiBx5K_luB_QM6UZTBBnnbx61AlYA9cPHfP8klXN1XUKYPDVTD7g4e0MX1VlV0VzyT79qJxZEsaz4TgfmZ71lIR4fPW4N6g6N_kjTVrpM_AFUajtsAOdj77v2w33xsvJ7Y6-AWXhXeN7hpxIo1Sf70_8uBET_shTeoUEdYmj5xSPZA=w324-h400" width="324" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhWl5TVJfR3iuYEkgP16kXl6ekIxckeg-j8RuGTUACucqGI1DghCmnMTYFGEsu5mow4rg3Nce5-eUKriMZsM9Fo9_U8XQHbFrhY5-n0KoHIfaaWAp_zD_qGU01Go1NuxvSD_Aca-WywrvlHmYd0girv_6jDXvolG8MItBQaZ9LGLqG83Yt0HdLthsQACw=s531" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="398" data-original-width="531" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhWl5TVJfR3iuYEkgP16kXl6ekIxckeg-j8RuGTUACucqGI1DghCmnMTYFGEsu5mow4rg3Nce5-eUKriMZsM9Fo9_U8XQHbFrhY5-n0KoHIfaaWAp_zD_qGU01Go1NuxvSD_Aca-WywrvlHmYd0girv_6jDXvolG8MItBQaZ9LGLqG83Yt0HdLthsQACw=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiOQEZaOvVKW18czglFdmZe2K5eae_HEMDr7SutL57m_lMJHWTjvQuYz1QlmWsNz2It8LZ5JZOPeB0npwUPllqbdup8eZCs0grZqkcdbPZoQM9VBVyrSWCHQcZfG2Nz-OY48cPg7BFWVnZaXKp-7iT_ksrrnFF4jInY6OMi2JQzHSQ-erfySjDItGBXYw=s10468" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3628" data-original-width="10468" height="139" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiOQEZaOvVKW18czglFdmZe2K5eae_HEMDr7SutL57m_lMJHWTjvQuYz1QlmWsNz2It8LZ5JZOPeB0npwUPllqbdup8eZCs0grZqkcdbPZoQM9VBVyrSWCHQcZfG2Nz-OY48cPg7BFWVnZaXKp-7iT_ksrrnFF4jInY6OMi2JQzHSQ-erfySjDItGBXYw=w400-h139" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgvKVyv3ZMjqezLg90XphhG4KTfH5_GjNRV3zbCok9IeFQ28Twe5vtw6nL911dw7HI3JIryZQlLb5jZaYtefLoMxsofI4JiGtt-iAzeLbzTtIUhjEZhgdIAiBeD--5fZsO4yV1G82jOhui0j3HmJiEIHmeLJyMG0cQLzGPSe2BPRAdeG__Frof-NC5W_Q=s2048" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgvKVyv3ZMjqezLg90XphhG4KTfH5_GjNRV3zbCok9IeFQ28Twe5vtw6nL911dw7HI3JIryZQlLb5jZaYtefLoMxsofI4JiGtt-iAzeLbzTtIUhjEZhgdIAiBeD--5fZsO4yV1G82jOhui0j3HmJiEIHmeLJyMG0cQLzGPSe2BPRAdeG__Frof-NC5W_Q=w400-h225" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><i>*Richard Sherman and Le'Veon Bell both helped fill spots for injured players and helped win games during the season.</i></p><p><i>**Leonard Fournette's cousin was killed last week, and Jason Pierre-Paul's grandmother passed away.</i></p><p><i><br /></i></p><p><i><br /></i></p><p><b>KEEP READING!</b></p><p><a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2021/02/i-had-dream-and-it-wasnt-nightmare-bucs.html">"I Had a Dream ... Bucs Win!"</a></p><p><a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2021/07/from-hockey-hater-to-lightning-lover.html">"From Hockey Hater to Lightning Lover"</a></p><p><a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2021/11/freedbritney.html">"#FREEDBRITNEY"</a></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8346660116764084956.post-74047898794685981192021-11-17T18:12:00.000-05:002021-11-17T18:12:09.531-05:00#FREEDBRITNEY<p> Britney Spears has given this Hen life once again. She's also regained her own life: Britney is FREE! I had been feeling uninspired, unfunny, and underpaid (still accepting donations), but Britney and I are back on track. I'm clawing out of a brief and mild depression, and she's clawing out of a 13-year conservatorship, where she had no control of her personal life nor her own fortune, while her own family exploited her very existence for their personal gain. We've both been through a lot.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://content.api.news/v3/images/bin/ca5cdad40ee9888f0db6b257533ca172" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="519" height="320" src="https://content.api.news/v3/images/bin/ca5cdad40ee9888f0db6b257533ca172" width="208" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">it's been a long life.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><span></span></p><a name='more'></a>The #FreeBritney movement seemed like just another conspiracy theory to many, but we true fans knew something was truly wrong. While I find conspiracy theories ridiculous and dangerous, I owed it to Britney to entertain just this one. As more truth, documents, and bizarre Instagram posts surfaced, followed by recent documentaries examining how bizarre and wrong Britney's situation was, our #FreeBritney suspicions were validated. Britney had finally had enough of this unjust situation, and thankfully the legal system has finally freed her. Now let's lock up her asshole father, legal system.<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://pagesix.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/3/2021/11/wsp-britney-protest-451.jpg?quality=90&strip=all" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="213" src="https://pagesix.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/3/2021/11/wsp-britney-protest-451.jpg?quality=90&strip=all" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">she's free!!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Britney's work has brought joy and entertainment to countless fans, and many of us truly appreciate and idolize her presence and what her music has meant to us over the past 20 years. As Britney recovered from her public meltdown and released her Blackout album, I was discovering and accepting my own identity. I was tired of repressing things I actually liked just to fit in with societal expectations of masculinity, so I dove into my love of Britney and her music. Her work has brought joy to millions, and even joy from pop music can help people through hard times. It warms my heart to see how her #FreeBritney fans could play a role in helping Britney out of this nightmare of a life arrangement.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://img.dtnext.in/Articles/2021/Apr/202104182146136726_Britney-Spears-says-shes-extremely-happy-in-Q-and-A_SECVPF.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="414" data-original-width="620" height="214" src="https://img.dtnext.in/Articles/2021/Apr/202104182146136726_Britney-Spears-says-shes-extremely-happy-in-Q-and-A_SECVPF.gif" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">free!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>Now with the state of California no longer deeming this functional adult as incapacitated, we're all so eager to see what Britney will do next! While we wait, I have a few dreams and suggestions for her:</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b>Write a tell-all memoir. </b>Guaranteed New York Times best seller. This would be my most cherished book of all time. It's a Pulitzer, bitch!</li></ul><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b>Release new, unfiltered music. </b>Even a spoken word album will do. I just want her to go after everyone who's wronged her, to a gay bar beat - please and thank you. </li></ul><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b>Sue her father and everyone who has been profiting off of her. </b>Kick their sorry asses back to some Louisiana trailer and get her money back! Time to buy candles!</li></ul><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b>Run for President. </b>This is a country I want to live in. The last celebrity president set the bar so low, there is no bar. #Britney2028</li></ul><div><b><br /></b></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://pbs.twimg.com/media/CXlzlneWkAAdq3q.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://pbs.twimg.com/media/CXlzlneWkAAdq3q.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">comin for ya, jamie!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><b><br /></b></div><div><b>KEEP READING!</b></div><div><a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2021/07/from-hockey-hater-to-lightning-lover.html">Hockey Hater to Lightning Lover!</a></div><div><a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2021/02/i-had-dream-and-it-wasnt-nightmare-bucs.html">It Wasn't a Nightmare: Bucs Win!</a></div><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8346660116764084956.post-47708665195189365242021-07-28T08:40:00.002-04:002021-07-28T08:40:54.617-04:00From Hockey Hater to Lightning Lover<p> As I still wipe away tears of joy from the Tampa Bay Lightning's second Stanley Cup Championship in a row, and throwing all my money at new championship merch, I realized that all this was not for my beloved Buccaneers. What was I doing and how did this home-wrecker of a team glide into my heart too? I'm adding more Lightning blue garb to compliment the Bucs red in my home, accidentally displaying enough blue and red to look that kind of "patriotic" I'm not going for. Now that I'm in too deep emotionally and financially, I'm reflecting on how I accidentally became a hockey fan and self-diagnosing a new mental condition. So join me on my journey from hockey hater to Lightning lover!</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qqqJkaBbNBQ/YQFNGsTtakI/AAAAAAAB0S8/84pt3RJ6KJoP99ZJoDOG7Xi5y3zMx2SDgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1756/IMG-5057.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1171" data-original-width="1756" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qqqJkaBbNBQ/YQFNGsTtakI/AAAAAAAB0S8/84pt3RJ6KJoP99ZJoDOG7Xi5y3zMx2SDgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMG-5057.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">come glide with me.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><span></span></p><a name='more'></a>Growing up as a figure skater, hockey is the rival sport. We share a building with ice, but nothing else. We have different skates, different blades, different bags, different clothes, and drastically different smells. Hockey players and their locker rooms have a uniquely putrid smell that one must experience to truly know, but it's some pungent mix of sweat, rot, and machismo that seeps into floors and walls forever. I refused to train hard enough to sweat as a figure skater, and I always blitzed out of my childhood ice rink before anyone could ever smell me or call me a loser. Also in the 90s, boys were supposed to play hockey and girls were to be figure skaters. As a male figure skater, I felt uncomfortable with these expectations for boys and girls on the ice, but nothing sway me to try skating in sweaty pads without toe picks and double axels. To survive, I built up a feeling of superiority over the rival ice sport. Sure, hockey was supposed to be for boys, but hockey was smelly and hockey players were stupid brutes. My figure skating skills were more difficult and refined. (I still see non-Lightning players as stupid brutes.)<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HvsjAeAIVtk/YQFNz9R18lI/AAAAAAAB0T0/jklRlIRPadcBqS2k9TeJe1thSL03s4DUgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1440/IMG-4821.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HvsjAeAIVtk/YQFNz9R18lI/AAAAAAAB0T0/jklRlIRPadcBqS2k9TeJe1thSL03s4DUgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMG-4821.JPG" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">unrefined skating.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>As I got older and gained more confidence being a male figure skater, I finished my competitive career with a new indifference toward hockey. It was no longer a threat, and my new home in Florida had a respectable hockey team: The Tampa Bay Lightning. They shared the "Tampa Bay" with the Buccaneers, but left out the embarrassment. The occasional cheap Lightning game was a great event to have expensive beers with friends, support/harass my cheerleader friend, sometimes watch the guys chase the puck around, or even be blissfully unaware someone took me to a game as a date. Times were drunk and simple, and my stakes were low as a Lightning fan.</p><p>After years of galavanting the globe with Hens on Ice, I returned to Florida unemployed, lost, depressed, and with ample time for local sports! With my beloved Bucs in the midst of a 20-year "Succaneers" suck-fest phase, I started going to some more Lightning games with my dad or hen friends. As a battered and hurt Bucs fan, I started paying more attention at Bolts games. They were different: They won games! Fans didn't boo their own players! The games were high-energy and fast-paced on ice! And as I took all that in, I had a bigger epiphany: hockey is an ice sport like figure skating! The players I was watching weren't those smelly, talentless thugs from my childhood ice rinks. These Bolts boys had devoted their lives to skating and their sport just like I had! (But probably smelly)</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-znYQqZ9pnDM/YQFPDNplJiI/AAAAAAAB0UM/PD9I7iojJZE_7cbf1z46j4TWeOTYwrbgQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG-4485.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-znYQqZ9pnDM/YQFPDNplJiI/AAAAAAAB0UM/PD9I7iojJZE_7cbf1z46j4TWeOTYwrbgQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMG-4485.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">trampa life.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p>In the midst of pre-2020 Buccaneers (Succaneers) loyalty, it was also refreshing to support a winning team (but without a long history of winning or a nationwide fan base - key to maintaining my character). My weird childhood Bucs fandom had slowly morphed into a true Tampa life - I became a local resident and all-too invested in Tampa sports teams. </p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h7jqwDAGUMs/YQFOuDEW0kI/AAAAAAAB0UA/8krh8j52fGYx_7Lhb7Cj4ZEh2hCOE_6mgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG-4678.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h7jqwDAGUMs/YQFOuDEW0kI/AAAAAAAB0UA/8krh8j52fGYx_7Lhb7Cj4ZEh2hCOE_6mgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMG-4678.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">i'm a winner, baby.</td></tr></tbody></table></p><p>Two years ago, the Lightning were the best team in NHL hockey history, only to finish with heartbreaking defeat in the first round of the playoffs. Last year was true redemption: Champs after the jarring and isolating pause of a global pandemic. A magical moment in an unprecedented time.</p><p>This season, the world and hockey glided back toward a sense of normalcy. Fans returned to the arenas, and once again, we got to be part of the game. As we slowly process what we missed and lost from this pandemic, I returned to the arena to cheer on my favorite hockey team with more joy and meaning than ever before. The Lightning had persevered through a global health crisis to win a championship, then returned a few months later to do all they could to repeat the big win. </p><p>And they did: they won it all and kept the Stanley Cup - But this time, on home ice, with thousands of fans roaring and shaking the arena. This time, we all shared in the experience and journey more. In going to key playoff games, including the win that got them to the finals and the first win of those finals, I personally witnessed and felt the talent, poise, and energy of this Lightning team. I felt the heart of this team: talented, dedicated individuals working together to be the best team. But this time, they were the best team winning it all with their fans. And it just feels good to be one of them - a tiny part of a moment of greatness and joy. (and just far enough away from the smell)</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tGoSFaCtWo8/YQFPRRym5LI/AAAAAAAB0UQ/-f7rpjfzxsQADEUidhuLZVRQnjX2rGx8QCLcBGAsYHQ/s940/IMG-5061.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="788" data-original-width="940" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tGoSFaCtWo8/YQFPRRym5LI/AAAAAAAB0UQ/-f7rpjfzxsQADEUidhuLZVRQnjX2rGx8QCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMG-5061.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">yay.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BBFoXbYYOL4/YQFPdkE4PjI/AAAAAAAB0UY/blMgRe6o3jkT8rQF6CQeJIMF23HE3kXzgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1080/IMG-5063.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BBFoXbYYOL4/YQFPdkE4PjI/AAAAAAAB0UY/blMgRe6o3jkT8rQF6CQeJIMF23HE3kXzgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMG-5063.JPG" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pHGQZ3o6nzw/YQFPjE-CkfI/AAAAAAAB0Uc/izD5CD8zT-Q7ZztrPuW1RfiV_rZv1Q8agCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG-4861.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pHGQZ3o6nzw/YQFPjE-CkfI/AAAAAAAB0Uc/izD5CD8zT-Q7ZztrPuW1RfiV_rZv1Q8agCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMG-4861.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">definitely smells bad.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p>KEEP READING! <a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2021/02/i-had-dream-and-it-wasnt-nightmare-bucs.html">BUCS END MY NIGHTMARE!</a></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8346660116764084956.post-85784845072249596802021-02-14T18:41:00.000-05:002021-02-14T18:41:35.966-05:00I Had a Dream... and It Wasn't a Nightmare: Bucs Win!<p><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ahoy, coop! </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;">I had this really weird dream that the Tampa Bay Buccaneers got to play in the Super Bowl in their own stadium, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;">and Tom Brady was their quarterback; </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;">so they won. B</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;">ut 2/3 of the stadium was filled with cardboard cut-outs of people, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #050505; white-space: pre-wrap;">and the real people had to cover their faces most of the time.</span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">Oh, wait...</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">That allegedly happened. The dystopia of 2020 clearly hasn't stopped for 2021. In the meantime, I'll be hoarding every newspaper article, picture, and all bootleg merchandise for the rest of the year.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">Shifting gears for a new year </span>after the greatest Super Bowl in history<span style="font-family: inherit;">, The Hen is here </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">to talk about sports ball! For those of you who are pure, originalist Cackling Hen fans, don't fret: My next article will return to babbling about idiot passengers, how that former president is still flaming human garbage shit, and/or Britney. </span></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ktAkdusFsHM/YCmn5ofD-tI/AAAAAAABy8M/_DQnyogKbNMzxddHFUR0MsR0p9v6tw8QQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_3437.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ktAkdusFsHM/YCmn5ofD-tI/AAAAAAABy8M/_DQnyogKbNMzxddHFUR0MsR0p9v6tw8QQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMG_3437.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">yay, sports!</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">If you missed it - The Tampa Bay Buccaneers, my favorite football team, won Super Bowl 55. While we all fought for our lives during a global pandemic, the Buccaneers decided: THIS is our year to win the Super Bowl! </span><a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2020/03/tb-tom-brady-and-tampa-bay-not-from.html" style="font-family: inherit;" target="_blank">They lured down Tom Brady</a><span style="font-family: inherit;">, Gronk, other talents, and one alleged felon who can catch a ball. They all gelled at the right time, won it all, and celebrated in true Tampa style: drunk on boats. So if you're wondering why I care, why you should care, or what's a Buccaneer, this article is for you!</span></p><p><span></span></p><a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Bucs, just like being wasted on water, have a special place in my heart. I'm not a bandwagon fan, Brady bro, nor a Tampa native. I'm actually just a dumb and stubborn only chick who made poor choices as a child. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">6-year-old me loved creamsicle orange so much that I decided I loved the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. I did not live in Florida, nor would I until I started college. By the time little me learned the Bucs were </span>notoriously <span style="font-family: inherit;">a terrible football team, it was too late.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hDp7Th_mHi8/YCmoJI4wJ7I/AAAAAAABy8Q/atBSCRdAsVYb5r0PaiPaaHJVAS8RXNLHwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1334/IMG_2805.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1334" data-original-width="750" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hDp7Th_mHi8/YCmoJI4wJ7I/AAAAAAABy8Q/atBSCRdAsVYb5r0PaiPaaHJVAS8RXNLHwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMG_2805.PNG" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">this dumb kid could've liked blue and the patriots.</td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: inherit;">After enduring years of teasing when I’d proudly wear my orange Bucs garb to school, high school me was on top of the world in Colorado when the Buccaneers won the Super Bowl in 2003! The Bucs may have ditched my favorite orange winking pirate for a red flag by then, but the years of loyal suffering were worth it! Then I moved to Florida in 2004, and they’ve been mostly terrible ever since.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rGn7x-d_zGM/YCmodOb4_iI/AAAAAAABy8c/QU4iO2X4HloMyXaaqyp949qVBvkbMPacQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_3595.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1535" data-original-width="2048" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rGn7x-d_zGM/YCmodOb4_iI/AAAAAAABy8c/QU4iO2X4HloMyXaaqyp949qVBvkbMPacQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMG_3595.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">don't know any of these people.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Call it nostalgic, insane, endearing, or masochistic, but this team is special to me. I learned to love the violent sport, and the Bucs became my team. Sometimes I think it’s great I was unique and confident in loving a team when it made no sense; other times I think I was stubborn and dumb to stay with such a dud. Regardless, there’s no turning back. Everyone loves an underdog story, and I’ve been barking with this team since the 90s. </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">With nothing better to do during a pandemic, I followed the Bucs extra closely this season. Sports were a needed distraction while we dealt with peak COVID-19 numbers and a shit garbage president. With Tom Brady as the new quarterback, there was legitimate excitement around the Buccaneers, even if he was 43 or 63 years old. They had talented players in every position, and now they had a quarterback who could throw the ball to his own team. I just prayed every day that the season would happen in spite of the global pandemic. The most Buccaneers-like thing the Buccaneers could ever do would be to sign Tom Brady, just to have the season cancelled. I could see it in every nightmare.</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But Tom, Gronk, and Lenny (and eventually that alleged felon) all showed up to play football with the Bucs, and all the games happened. As a lifetime Bucs fan, my expectations are always low. But each game at least gave me an unfamiliar feeling of hope that they at least had a chance to win any game with Brady at the helm. In classic Buccaneers fashion for me, I had the privilege to witness 3 of their 5 losses in person. Thanks for keeping me humble, Tom. </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Humbling Tom and the Bucs won enough to get into the playoffs, a success on its own. Then they kept winning against the odds, and sailed into the Super Bowl in their own Tampa stadium. With the trauma of being a true Bucs fan, I always mentally prepare for them to lose. For the Super Bowl, I was nervous and still shocked it was all happening. The game would be historic regardless of outcome: The Bucs were the first team ever to make a Super Bowl when it's hosted in </span>their<span style="font-family: inherit;"> own stadium. I was so proud of the team to accomplish that, but I was also prepared to feel sad for them. They had an amazing year, just to possibly lose the big game on their home turf. It would be historically bittersweet, ending on bitter; or </span>historically<span style="font-family: inherit;"> perfect - a feeling I couldn't comprehend.</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It was historically perfect. I couldn't breathe or digest solid foods for 3 hours, but as the final minutes ticked down, I slowly realized that the battered Chiefs didn't have enough time to catch up. The Bucs didn't have enough time to blow their big lead, or even make me nervous. Every Buccaneer came to win that day, and they did. It took 20 games and a Super Bowl win, but I saw that I was no longer watching the same Bucs who had historically disappointed me. For the second time in my life, each season of Succaneers leading to this wild season and historic win was worth it. </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2VBR7iOUWHw/YCmo_eroy5I/AAAAAAABy8k/KzfvXZLWbNExX3JLG9QnL9AJuVAE0410wCLcBGAsYHQ/s1822/IMG_3551.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1025" data-original-width="1822" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2VBR7iOUWHw/YCmo_eroy5I/AAAAAAABy8k/KzfvXZLWbNExX3JLG9QnL9AJuVAE0410wCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMG_3551.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">game not over, but might win.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I'm thrilled for all the players, especially the long-time stars who were glimmers of hope through the dim years of Succaneers, who stayed loyal to the team, just like us stubborn fans. This feels great for all of us who don't get to savor triumphs often, and this team is now cemented into football history greatness. </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CcvTwLpAIe4/YCmqH8VbfUI/AAAAAAABy8s/vxYBa_9CuPwaLwV8cEE-7UId6yUSfJ7xQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1810/IMG_3615.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1018" data-original-width="1810" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CcvTwLpAIe4/YCmqH8VbfUI/AAAAAAABy8s/vxYBa_9CuPwaLwV8cEE-7UId6yUSfJ7xQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMG_3615.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">confetti of chiefs jerseys</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">To the other loyal and outcast Buccaneers fans who still live in Idaho or Ireland, and their love for red flags and pirates has never made sense, I have a few final words:</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: inherit;">Enjoy this success fully for the next year. Buy all the merchandise. And notice all the Bucs haters from seasons past who have no more legitimate taunts.</span></li></ul><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FwgOG4zd0ho/YCmqaNjGK8I/AAAAAAABy80/-sAFjfG992sFuvRcH2brtdJGlWGsaZykwCLcBGAsYHQ/s960/IMG_3564.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FwgOG4zd0ho/YCmqaNjGK8I/AAAAAAABy80/-sAFjfG992sFuvRcH2brtdJGlWGsaZykwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMG_3564.JPG" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">what.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: inherit;">Seriously, cherish this. We need to stock up on merchandise and memories to survive the next two decades of disappointments. But come 2039, it'll all be worth it once again. </span></li></ul><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ACD1_Gg9vuM/YCmqkU99fYI/AAAAAAABy84/cyjDTlLoTTQ2xHUa2w8WpSeT3TMXaRnxQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/3856686D-FD81-4DF6-A4D8-831D27B3C8F8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ACD1_Gg9vuM/YCmqkU99fYI/AAAAAAABy84/cyjDTlLoTTQ2xHUa2w8WpSeT3TMXaRnxQCLcBGAsYHQ/w320-h320/3856686D-FD81-4DF6-A4D8-831D27B3C8F8.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">might grow into this jersey by 2039.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xESACaoG-KE/YCmq3jSGC1I/AAAAAAABy9A/MSFXGM3iE_QbmlKKP-nQVLFl2f22r7VHACLcBGAsYHQ/s2016/IMG_3589.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="2016" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xESACaoG-KE/YCmq3jSGC1I/AAAAAAABy9A/MSFXGM3iE_QbmlKKP-nQVLFl2f22r7VHACLcBGAsYHQ/w317-h320/IMG_3589.JPG" width="317" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">bucs win! cardboard cutouts cheer!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Uw1N9LDftRk/YCmrysIOixI/AAAAAAABy9M/go0aDiEfMTczNNyl5vjSdLRiXawrhXKSgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1920/IMG_3555.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1920" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Uw1N9LDftRk/YCmrysIOixI/AAAAAAABy9M/go0aDiEfMTczNNyl5vjSdLRiXawrhXKSgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMG_3555.JPG" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">actual photograph of tampa skyline now.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TfLUz22vEoc/YCmr2cC_rXI/AAAAAAABy9Q/g2T1Jg7ia_MD_Ry0sb8F3e8Q3nW6MuyCgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/IMG_3478.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TfLUz22vEoc/YCmr2cC_rXI/AAAAAAABy9Q/g2T1Jg7ia_MD_Ry0sb8F3e8Q3nW6MuyCgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/IMG_3478.JPG" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">mood forever.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>KEEP READING!</div><div><a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2020/08/henniversary-hen-turns-10-part-i-how.html">My Big HENniversary! A Hen is Born!</a></div><div><a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2020/03/hen-vs-hoa.html">Hen vs. HOA!</a></div><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2018/04/changing-world-one-trash-can-at-time.html">Changing the World One Trash Can at a Time.</a> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8346660116764084956.post-49982310560800119002020-12-14T21:28:00.002-05:002020-12-29T12:33:26.453-05:00HENniversary! Hen Turns 10 Part II: Pecks at Fame<p>The dumpster fire of 2020 continues to burn strong, but it's still my clucking 10-year HENniversary! In <a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2020/08/henniversary-hen-turns-10-part-i-how.html" target="_blank">Part I: A Hen is Born</a>, I give you the details and my birth (not messy!) and rise to local celebrity. But my reign over the University of South Florida St. Petersburg's Crows Nest couldn't last forever. Since getting the boot (graduating) in 2011, most of The Hen's life has lived here on this blog. Whether you're just joining, obsessed with every Hen article, or a Ukrainian bot, let's relive some of The Hen's highlights and glory!</p><span><a name='more'></a></span><p><br /></p><p><a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2014/02/the-cat-that-changed-my-life.html" target="_blank">The Cat That Changed My Life.</a> My biggest moment in my Internet career didn't come from any prize-deserving article, or even a bird. The most successful thing I've done in my 10-year Hen career was to share a Grumpy Cat meme at the right time in the right way. That cat has since died and I've never reached anywhere near a million people in one swoop again, but for a cold day in 2014, I delivered a quality meme to over a million viewers on Facebook via The Cackling Hen. </p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/g6wZ-OLVaIU/maxresdefault.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="180" src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/g6wZ-OLVaIU/maxresdefault.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">thank u. R.I.P.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p><b>My most popular article</b>: <a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2018/11/post-tour-life-hobbies.html" target="_blank">"Post-Tour Life Hobbies!"</a> Feeling uninspired, I asked my readers what they wanted to see. A few loyal followers and my mom wanted to know what I've been doing after leaving the ice show world. After I reminded mother goose I see her daily, I got clucking on what the coop demanded! This article continues to get a lot of views in 2020 from spam accounts and Ukrainian bots. Join them! This is also the first time I used a GIF in an article. </p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://img.thedailybeast.com/image/upload/c_crop,d_placeholder_euli9k,h_1440,w_2560,x_0,y_0/dpr_1.5/c_limit,w_1044/fl_lossy,q_auto/v1505327080/170911-cox-bots-politics-tease_hflhdh" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="181" src="https://img.thedailybeast.com/image/upload/c_crop,d_placeholder_euli9k,h_1440,w_2560,x_0,y_0/dpr_1.5/c_limit,w_1044/fl_lossy,q_auto/v1505327080/170911-cox-bots-politics-tease_hflhdh" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">image of a loyal Hen reader<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p><b>My Least popular article:</b> <a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2012/04/your-seat-only-reclines-three-inches.html" target="_blank">"Your Seat Only Reclines 3 Inches."</a> When I wrote this article in 2012, I imagined my future career would be a as powerful, award-winning media empire personality, <b>not</b> ever working for an airline whose seats recline zero inches. Life is funny, and sometimes cruel. </p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.gannett-cdn.com/presto/2019/10/24/USAT/4153f92b-e900-4aa7-bd42-4ef18e2b5a20-GettyImages-dv2074042.jpg?crop=1877,1408,x246,y0&width=258&height=193&format=pjpg&auto=webp" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="193" data-original-width="258" src="https://www.gannett-cdn.com/presto/2019/10/24/USAT/4153f92b-e900-4aa7-bd42-4ef18e2b5a20-GettyImages-dv2074042.jpg?crop=1877,1408,x246,y0&width=258&height=193&format=pjpg&auto=webp" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">comfy.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p><p><b>Drafts that never were.</b> We'll never know their potential!</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>"Life According to Grandma"</li><li>"Dear Ashley Wagner"</li><li>"Normal Things in Mexico"</li><li>"How to Annoy a Flying Hen"</li><li>"My Ignorance to the Financial Crisis"</li></ul><p></p><p><br /></p><p><b>Surprisingly-popular article:</b> <a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2019/04/dying-for-face-wash.html" target="_blank">"Dying for Face Wash."</a> Written in 2019, this is my second-most popular article of all time, and I don't know why. It seems like struggling to find face wash at a CVS with odd employees is a relatable experience. Regardless, thank you for the support, Ukraine! </p><p><br /></p><p>Some jokes aside, I do appreciate all of you (bots included) who have clicked, pecked, clucked, and cackled with me in any form over these past 10 years! I'm not The Hen I used to be (none of you are, either!), as my writing consistency has gone from sporadic to embarrassing. You may not believe me, but I promise this is not my Hen Song! 2020 may have me feeling battered, dumb, and lazy, but it won't be the end of The Hen! Stay tuned for more cackles, even if it's just an annual Hen holiday card I always forget to send. </p><p><br /></p><p>KEEP READING!</p><p><a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2020/03/tb-tom-brady-and-tampa-bay-not-from.html">Tom Brady comes to Tompa!</a> </p><p><a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2020/03/my-corona.html">When Coronavirus seemed like it might be quick and cute. </a></p><p><a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2020/03/hen-vs-hoa.html">Hen vs. HOA!</a></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8346660116764084956.post-11917871151514004102020-08-18T09:41:00.005-04:002020-08-18T09:41:31.254-04:00HENniversary! Hen Turns 10 Part I: How the Cluck Was The Hen Born?It's My 10-year HENniversary! I thought this was a big deal until I looked up what precious metal goes with a 10 year: tin. I'll be drinking canned beer to celebrate. <div><br /></div><div>I've been dreading this moment where I'd actually have to do something big on The Hen to commemorate this anniversary. Thankfully 2020 happened, showing many more things to dread like a global pandemic, blatant racism, and that orange criminal still in the White House. Now that the pressure's off, let's get clucking! </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://imagevars.gulfnews.com/2020/04/14/Quarantine_17178486736_original-ratio.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="240" src="https://imagevars.gulfnews.com/2020/04/14/Quarantine_17178486736_original-ratio.gif" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><span></span><span><a name='more'></a></span><div><br /></div><div>Many of you have joined The Coop since I've been pecking around the Internet via social media and my website, giving you quality content since 2011. But did you know The Hen was born in a highly-regarded newspaper? Yes, The Cackling Hen was born in the critically-read University of South Florida St. Petersburg Crow's Nest! When I was promoted to a section editor of the newspaper in 2010, our editor-in-chief told me I'd have to contribute something to each publication besides brutal edits and poor jokes at staff meetings. But she also gave me the freedom that it could be <b>anything</b>, so I took full advantage and crafted my dream contribution: a satirical humor column that required no research and minimal effort since I was already funny. I just needed a name. Since I was always disruptive and cackling during staff meetings, my fellow Nest friend and editor Tara suggested "The Cackling Hen." On that sweltering Florida August Day, a Hen was born! I hope Lady Gaga plays me in the feature film. Sure, I wasn't clever enough to create my own name (or logo) and I was too lazy to contribute any research to our newspaper, but every word of every Hen article has been my own, and it was mildly tolerable on campus! I never looked back. </div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/tUiBLGwArZY/hqdefault.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="480" height="240" src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/tUiBLGwArZY/hqdefault.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">clucking ready.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>For an entire academic year, I pecked at campus issues that deserved a cluck and a cackle. From student government to Chick-fil-A, from budget mismanagement to Britney Spears, no one was safe from the pecking block. But out of every bi-weekly, bi-curious publication, our annual "spoof issue" for April Fool's Day created The Hen's biggest buzz. One student complained that valuable student funds were being wasted on Britney Spears to be the commencement speaker; I told her to research the definition of "spoof issue." Chick-fil-A also wanted to serve The Hen for dinner when I wrote that their Christian chicken was actually leftover rubber, but The Crow's Nest was too busy diffusing an insensitive article toward the LGBTQ community to entertain Chick's complaints. Whew!</div><div><br /></div><div>After graduating from USF St. Petersburg in 2011, The Hen was no longer allowed to have free reign over The Crow's Nest. I bid farewell to my position and its lucrative $60/week. Riding my mild success with the newspaper, I was determined to continue and build on The Cackling Hen's momentum. Graduating with a master's degree was not going to ruin my career as a published columnist!</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.pinimg.com/originals/eb/e1/b0/ebe1b0da60932cbae295d61c0bf32a9b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="361" height="320" src="https://i.pinimg.com/originals/eb/e1/b0/ebe1b0da60932cbae295d61c0bf32a9b.jpg" width="231" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">pissed.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Thankfully, the Internet has allowed me to cluck on and grow a bigger following than Florida college students. Since 2011, this has been The Hen you adore and follow. Even a few of you still read this far into the articles! My posts, writing, and abilities may be sporadic and erratic, but I'm still here and I don't plan to fly away. Hens can't fly anyway.</div><div><br /></div><div>For all of you who have read <i style="font-weight: bold;">this </i>far, thank you! I know most of my followers are Ukrainian bots, but for the handful of actual birds who read and interact, it's because of you all I still cluck away. Ten years is a long time! We've been through a lot. And we're still here: clucking, reading, and ignoring each other for months at a time. Maybe one day, I'll go viral again (not with COVID).</div><div><br /></div><div><i>Did you know I actually did go viral in 2014? <b>Stay tuned for Part II!</b> </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>Fact Fact! Did you know my dream of being a humor columnist began when I was in high school? At that time, The Gazette in Colorado Springs had a wonderful humor columnist, Rich Tosches. His writing was always a sharp respite in that conservative city, typically jabbing at the incompetence of local government. He officially won me over when he poked at how aloof my snobby skating club was, and he also took time to speak to one of my high school classes. After scouring the Internet, I cannot find him on any social media. In the off chance that Rich ever stumbles upon my scrappy blog, thank you for inspiring a shy high school Hen in the dark ages, Rich! </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><u><b>KEEP READING!</b></u></div><div><a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2020/07/help-end-nightmare.html">HELP DUMP TRUMP!</a></div><div><a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2020/03/tb-tom-brady-and-tampa-bay-not-from.html">WHAT THE HELL IS TOM BRADY DOING IN TAMPA?</a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8346660116764084956.post-88202678915358168892020-07-05T18:23:00.002-04:002020-07-05T18:23:35.000-04:00Help End the Nightmare!The last 4 years have been a fucking nightmare. I said it.<br />
<br />
Like any period of time, there have been wonderful things and terrible things, great days and tough days, for all of us. But if you didn't guess, the nightmare has been that vile, real-life movie villain that somehow became president of the United States. Whoops!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.imgflip.com/1llozl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="644" height="248" src="https://i.imgflip.com/1llozl.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">...and my sanity and blood pressure.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
The fact that this orange, evil buffoon got anywhere close to, let alone INTO, the White House has shown many of us that we can't just sit back and assume the right people will be voted into power. 2016 showed me that complacency is not an option with such human garbage leading the free world. 2016 also showed me that generic sleeping pills are no match for the 24-hour nightmare called the Trump Administration.<br />
<br />
Now I'm getting to the good (well, better) part. Like me, I'm sure many of you have asked the question, "How can I help make Trump go away screaming and crying as a loser in 2020?" (or something similar) Good news: there are many options! Thankfully, many people and organizations are also fired up to do anything it takes to help get the orange clown out of power. I'm here as one Hen to share the few things I'm doing safely from home that are simple, but have the potential to be very effective! (And all these organizations will train you quickly and easily via a Zoom session or video tutorial.)<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><b>Vote Forward. <a href="http://votefwd.org/" target="_blank">Votefwd.org</a></b> This organization aims to send 10 million letters to encourage people to vote who don't always do so. "Adopt" voters from swing states 5 or 20 at a time, then print the prepared letters that encourage them to vote. There is a space in the letter for you to write why you vote, or why you think voting is important. Vote Forward has found in previous campaigns that these personalized letters are effective in increasing voter turnout 1-4%, which can make a difference in who wins these toss-up swing states. The site even tells you what date to put these letters in the mail. </li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><b>When We All Vote. <a href="http://www.whenweallvote.org/takeaction/" target="_blank">whenweallvote.org/takeaction/</a></b> Here's another great organization (lead by Michelle Obama and a celebrity line up!) helping to increase voter turnout and register new voters. They have calls to action, including texting campaigns and informative posts for your social media accounts. You can also send voting information to your own contacts directly through the app. And if you're feeling really energized, they offer information and training on how your can register voters outside of your home. Love Michelle Obama? Join When We All Vote! </li>
</ul>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://cbsnews1.cbsistatic.com/hub/i/2018/09/29/c1556a97-d129-486e-9a62-73269259a7cc/gettyimages-1042680620-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="554" data-original-width="800" height="221" src="https://cbsnews1.cbsistatic.com/hub/i/2018/09/29/c1556a97-d129-486e-9a62-73269259a7cc/gettyimages-1042680620-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<ul>
<li><b>Sierra Club. <a href="https://www.sierraclubindependentaction.org/#takeaction" target="_blank">sierraclubindependentaction.org/#takeaction</a></b> The prominent environmental organization is fed up with Trump gutting environmental protections and they're fired up to be active to help boot him out. They offer daily texting campaigns, letter writing (similar to Vote Forward), and phone banks. </li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><b>Vote Save America: Adopt a State <a href="http://votesaveamerica.com/adopt-a-state/" target="_blank">votesaveamerica.com/adopt-a-state/</a></b> This smart and clever folks from Crooked Media are helping create a mass of grass roots volunteers in key swing states to defeat Trump. Choose a swing state and sign up for emails to get volunteer opportunities and calls for action for that state. They also have a series of 4 training videos on YouTube with some amazing guest speakers to help get you engaged and inspired! (<a href="https://www.youtube.com/c/CrookedMedia" target="_blank">youtube.com/c/CrookedMedia</a>)</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><b>Need a one-stop shop for voting info, from registering to vote by mail and other great stuff, for you or your friends/family? Check out Vote Save America's site! <a href="https://votesaveamerica.com/" target="_blank">votesaveamerica.com/</a></b></li>
</ul>
<div>
Let's come together to make November 3 trash day in DC, cleaning the garbage out of the White House!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
SHARE THIS ARTICLE! </div>
<div>
SHARE THIS ARTICLE!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We can do this. Better days are ahead. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Read something sillier:</div>
<div>
<a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2020/04/2020-democratic-primary-in-memoriam.html" target="_blank">Remembering the Democratic Primary</a></div>
<div>
<a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2020/03/hen-vs-hoa.html" target="_blank">Hen vs. HOA</a></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8346660116764084956.post-38673949609451448342020-04-14T09:02:00.001-04:002020-04-14T09:12:06.709-04:002020 Democratic Primary. In Memoriam. <br />
Bernie Sanders is the final candidate to drop out of the busy Democratic Primary race, leaving Joe Biden as the last man standing and the presumed party nominee. For 2016, I created <a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2015/09/the-hens-2016-gop-candidate-guide.html" target="_blank">a guide to the Republican Primary candidates</a> that now is a traumatic time capsule I refuse to read again. Since that guide didn't age well, I opted for a recap for this primary. And my catty comments on these wanna-bes won't be relevant for much longer. We've already forgotten about at least half of them.<br />
<br />
Let's remember all the fun these losing candidates offered us in the 2020 fight to pick someone better than the current human garbage piece in the Oval Office. In no particular order! ...<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<b>John Hickenlooper:</b> Name was too silly to gain credibility.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://media.npr.org/assets/img/2019/07/31/new-diptych-hands-upgettyimages-1165222240_custom-b191a7ebf4193d4f3af1a9cd7ae2349335d61593-s800-c85.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="409" data-original-width="800" height="163" src="https://media.npr.org/assets/img/2019/07/31/new-diptych-hands-upgettyimages-1165222240_custom-b191a7ebf4193d4f3af1a9cd7ae2349335d61593-s800-c85.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">touchdown!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>Tom Steyer:</b> Actor who played the scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz, now with too much money.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://pbs.twimg.com/media/EG92CkAXkAUHLWU.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="454" data-original-width="800" height="181" src="https://pbs.twimg.com/media/EG92CkAXkAUHLWU.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The power of Oz</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>Tim Ryan:</b> Name and look too much like a Veep character. Seemed horrified anytime he had to speak on a debate stage.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://am22.mediaite.com/tms/cnt/uploads/2019/08/tim-ryan-presidential-debate-dont-yell-1200x800.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="213" src="https://am22.mediaite.com/tms/cnt/uploads/2019/08/tim-ryan-presidential-debate-dont-yell-1200x800.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">don't ask me anything.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>Michael Bloomberg:</b> Creepy half lizard, half man with way too much money and free time. Slightly less-offensive version of Donald Trump. Tried to purchase presidency. Licked fingers and touched pizza.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://trofire.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/2020-02-28-mike-bloomberg-civil-liberties-government-surveillance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="420" data-original-width="800" height="168" src="https://trofire.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/2020-02-28-mike-bloomberg-civil-liberties-government-surveillance.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">feed. it. flies.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>Steve Bullock:</b> Reminded or taught us that Montana is still a state.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://bloximages.chicago2.vip.townnews.com/helenair.com/content/tncms/assets/v3/editorial/c/42/c42f9a33-edcd-5377-9d54-24af24b4b01f/5d8c004797c36.image.jpg?resize=1200%2C800" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="213" src="https://bloximages.chicago2.vip.townnews.com/helenair.com/content/tncms/assets/v3/editorial/c/42/c42f9a33-edcd-5377-9d54-24af24b4b01f/5d8c004797c36.image.jpg?resize=1200%2C800" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I govern grass.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>Pete Buttigieg:</b> Younger, whiter, gayer Obama. Speaks more languages than anyone else in Indiana. First gay candidate to win major party delegates. Became a frontrunner to force people to learn how to pronounce his last name.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://pbs.twimg.com/media/EJ34FtPUwAAqwiE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="450" height="320" src="https://pbs.twimg.com/media/EJ34FtPUwAAqwiE.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's pronounced "Pete."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<b>Beto O' Rourke:</b> Lost a Senate race to Ted Cruz, thought the next logical step was a run for president. Tried to be the fresh, young face in the race until Pete Buttigieg proved younger, fresher, smarter, and gayer.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.libertynation.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/09/Beto-O%E2%80%99-Rourke-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="525" data-original-width="800" height="210" src="https://www.libertynation.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/09/Beto-O%E2%80%99-Rourke-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I wish I was Mayor Pete.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>Marianne Williamson:</b> Entertaining kook who sometimes put a few coherent words together. Offered needed comic relief when debates got boring.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://video-images.vice.com/articles/5d40fcae87ba890008fb060e/lede/1564540300504-AP_19212059468135.jpeg?crop=1xw:0.8925xh;0xw,0.1075xh" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="449" data-original-width="800" height="179" src="https://video-images.vice.com/articles/5d40fcae87ba890008fb060e/lede/1564540300504-AP_19212059468135.jpeg?crop=1xw:0.8925xh;0xw,0.1075xh" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Let me heal you.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>Amy Klobuchar: </b>Had very shaky bangs until she found the right hairspray and stylist. Reminded us she was from the Midwest whenever possible. Planned bad Midwest/mom jokes whenever possible. Fought with Pete Buttigieg whenever possible.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://bringmethenews.com/.image/t_share/MTY2NzIzMTE1MzExNzAzMzE1/screen-shot-2019-09-06-at-82510-am.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="491" data-original-width="800" height="196" src="https://bringmethenews.com/.image/t_share/MTY2NzIzMTE1MzExNzAzMzE1/screen-shot-2019-09-06-at-82510-am.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<b>Cory Booker:</b> Most expressive candidate. Likely fun to hang with.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://mediaproxy.salon.com/width/1200/height/900/https://media.salon.com/2019/06/booker-beto-spanish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="240" src="https://mediaproxy.salon.com/width/1200/height/900/https://media.salon.com/2019/06/booker-beto-spanish.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When Beto tryna' be Pete.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>John Delaney</b>: Looked and sounded like a Republican. Probably confused.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://s.abcnews.com/images/ThisWeek/190113_tw_delaney3_hpMain_16x9_992.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="180" src="https://s.abcnews.com/images/ThisWeek/190113_tw_delaney3_hpMain_16x9_992.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Which primary is this again?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>Andrew Yang: </b>Everyone scoffed at his proposal for a $1,000 monthly handout except college students. Federal government then stole his idea for Corona Virus relief package.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://assets.realclear.com/images/47/475991.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="500" height="240" src="https://assets.realclear.com/images/47/475991.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Republicans stole my idea.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>Kamala Harris:</b> Fiery Senator and former prosecutor who prosecuted everyone on stage. Warren took over prosector role when Harris left the race (see below). A qualified candidates who added great diversity to the Democratic stage. First of all viable minority candidates to suspend campaign, eventually leaving us with 2 old white men. Everyone, including Harris, endorses Biden as our old white man nominee.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.essence.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/03/GettyImages-1174337884-1920x1080.jpg?width=1920&height=1080" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="180" src="https://www.essence.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/03/GettyImages-1174337884-1920x1080.jpg?width=1920&height=1080" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If I can't win, let's slaughter Trump together. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>Elizabeth Warren:</b> Aside from being a qualified, intelligent fighter, we can all thank her for publicly eviscerating the billionaire lizard man on the debate stage (see Michael Bloomberg above) and helping end his vain run to buy the presidency.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.rollingstone.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/Elizabeth-Warren.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="213" src="https://www.rollingstone.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/Elizabeth-Warren.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can I make you bleed a little more?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b>Tulsi Gabbard:</b> Fresh face and reasonably spoken until she turned into Cruella DeVil and refused to drop out of the race for an uncomfortably-long time.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://pbs.twimg.com/media/EKH47hAX0AA1ZjV.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="447" data-original-width="800" height="178" src="https://pbs.twimg.com/media/EKH47hAX0AA1ZjV.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<b>Bernie Sanders:</b> ENDORSES BIDEN 2020. Larry David's twin brother who got into politics. ENDORSES BIDEN 2020. Inspired many young people with unapologetic progressive values and proposals in 2 presidential runs. ENDORSES BIDEN 2020. Angry fragment of supporters who bully on the Internet deemed "Bros." ENDORSES BIDEN 2020. Had great influence in shifting Democratic more left from 2016 to 2020. ENDORSES BIDEN 2020. ENDORSES BIDEN 2020. And ENDORSES BIDEN 2020.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://imagesvc.meredithcorp.io/v3/mm/image?url=https%3A%2F%2Fstatic.onecms.io%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2Fsites%2F6%2F2015%2F10%2Fbernie-sanders-split-01.jpg&q=85" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="380" data-original-width="612" height="198" src="https://imagesvc.meredithcorp.io/v3/mm/image?url=https%3A%2F%2Fstatic.onecms.io%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2Fsites%2F6%2F2015%2F10%2Fbernie-sanders-split-01.jpg&q=85" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Would the real Bernie please stand up?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Thank you, clowns, for the intellectual circus. We Laughed. We cried. Let's laugh instead of cry this time in November. VOTE. VOTE. VOTE.<br />
<br />
VOTE.<br />
<br />
<br />
KEEP READING!<br />
<a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2020/03/tb-tom-brady-and-tampa-bay-not-from.html">TOM BRADY IS COMING TO TAMPA!</a><br />
<a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2020/03/my-corona.html">When quarantine started all quaint and cute...</a><br />
<a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2019/11/hens-guide-to-buying-hen-house.html">Your Guide to Buying a Hen House!</a><br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8346660116764084956.post-24187504627304196022020-03-23T20:21:00.000-04:002020-03-23T20:21:01.946-04:00TB = Tom Brady AND Tampa Bay (not from The Onion)Coronavirus has changed the world in ways we've never seen. Millions of people are quarantined in their homes. Toilet paper is gone. And Tom Brady is a Buccaneer.<br />
<br />
There has been zero sports news with zero sporting events, but for the first time in my life, I will thank Tom Brady. We'll get to the Twilight Zone part where Tom joins Tampa Bay, but first, I thank Tom Brady for making news unrelated to the global pandemic.<br />
<br />
Everything is cancelled and people's homes are now their personal jail cells, but Tom Brady's coming still registers as an Onion article in my mind, just like a Donald Trump presidency. But after many refreshes and journalistic research, it is true and I repeat: Tom Brady is a Tampa Bay Buccaneer.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://a.espncdn.com/photo/2020/0316/tom_brady_buccaneers_16x9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="180" src="https://a.espncdn.com/photo/2020/0316/tom_brady_buccaneers_16x9.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">apocolypse.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a>Before I saw the news myself, I had messages from friends, weird acquaintances, and new bandwagon Bucs fans. Everyone assumed I was excited and celebrating. None of these people got the simple response they expected. They all received an essay on how I do think it's good for the Bucs, but my emotions are complicated and conflicted as a vocal Tom Brady hater. Another thanks for Tom: Thanks for making me a big fat hypocrite this fall.<br />
<br />
As a stupid six year old, I liked orange and decided to be a Buccaneers fan (I did not live in Florida. Kids are dumb.) As I got older and understood that the Bucs traditionally suck and disappoint, I continued to double down my fandom instead of backing out for a local or decent team. The years of childhood suffering paid off in 2002-2003 when the Bucs won their only Super Bowl and I felt vindicated over all all the school bullies. Since then, it's been mostly disappointment.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://pbs.twimg.com/media/Bx3Q44DCMAAGPHH.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="337" data-original-width="600" height="179" src="https://pbs.twimg.com/media/Bx3Q44DCMAAGPHH.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">go bucs.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
That said, being a loyal fan for the lowly underdog has helped form my resilience to life's other disappointments. And whether Patriots fans want to admit it or not, people love a good underdog story. So when the Bucs win (rare), I can rub it in everyone's face that I've been a dumb Bucs fan the whole time!<br />
<br />
Loyal to the constant underdog, I have to hate on any team with a consistent history of success. The Patriots have been very successful for 20 years, and it's not fun for the rest of us. Even other historically successful teams have a few bad years sprinkled in there, but the Patriots haven't had a bad season since I was in middle school (I'm no spring chicken). A "bad" season for the Patriots is losing the Super Bowl. Every season for the Bucs is a degree of bad, leaving us to assess if it was humiliating, or just not too bad. In summary, misery loves company and Patriots fans have had it way too easy the past 20 years.<br />
<br />
Leading the Patriots' success has been Tom Brady. Fine, he's the greatest quarterback in history. He keeps winning. He doesn't seem to age. Each year, I think it will be his meltdown and it's not. Media claim he's in his 40s. I claim he's a mafia-built robot. Regardless, with 6 Super Bowl wins and the best career in history, I don't understand why he keeps playing. He's rich as hell and married to a super model, why doesn't he just get out of our faces? He also seems glassy-eyed with rocks or wires for a brain (my robot theory), and he's friends with Donald Trump (gag).<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://content.fortune.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/09/tom-brady-trump-hat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="560" data-original-width="800" height="224" src="https://content.fortune.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/09/tom-brady-trump-hat.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW EW!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
For all these reasons, I've been vocally against Tom Brady and the Patriots my entire adult life. So as if to spite me, Tom Brady is flying down to Tampa to be a Buccaneer, forcing me to reevaluate my morals and everything I thought I understood about myself and the world.<br />
<br />
It's way too late now to jump ship, so I'll always be a Buccaneers fan. With that, I have to cheer for Brady's success as I cheer for the team's success. I still don't like Trump's friends or the Patriots, but if Brady and the Bucs win a Super Bowl, I'll delete this essay and claim to be a Brady fan.<br />
<br />
<i>Now watch the best video on the Internet below.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/Nq-EuZCRWpU/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Nq-EuZCRWpU?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
KEEP READING! <a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2020/03/my-corona.html">How I'm Dealing with Corona. Day 1.</a><br />
<a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2020/03/hen-vs-hoa.html">Hen vs. HOA!</a><br />
<a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2019/06/whats-going-on-tonight.html">Party. </a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8346660116764084956.post-87319854740438250232020-03-12T21:44:00.000-04:002020-03-12T21:44:04.496-04:00My Corona!In the glory days of Hen popularity and creativity, I would often cluck about current events, fads, and Britney Spears. For example...<br />
<br />
<i><a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2013/10/britneys-solid-advice-good-bad-and-ugly.html" target="_blank">Britney's Solid Advice!</a></i><br />
<i><a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2015/09/the-hens-2016-gop-candidate-guide.html" target="_blank">The Hen's 2016 GOP Candidate Guide! (now haunting)</a></i><br />
<i><a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2015/01/hot-air-and-deflated-balls-in-todays.html" target="_blank">Hot Air and Deflated Balls! (Not GOP-related)</a></i><br />
<i><a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2011/08/that-pasta-bowl-does-end.html" target="_blank">That Pasta Bowl Does End!</a></i><br />
<br />
Currently, my writing is more sporadic and calculated. But sometimes the universe reinspires with the virus of ambition and creativity. Hello, CoronaVirus! Since it cancelled my hockey game plans tonight and I've just finished binging on the new Hillary docu-series, I'm jumping on the Corona bandwagon for a Hen resurgence! Cheers!<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://d.newsweek.com/en/full/1563509/corona-beers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="524" data-original-width="800" height="209" src="https://d.newsweek.com/en/full/1563509/corona-beers.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thank you, Corona!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
We are all handling the onslaught of CoronaVirus news differently. Some are trying to live normally and wash their hands more, while others are hoarding paper products and likely wrapping themselves like mummies. Aside from being reborn with purpose, here's what <i>I'M</i> doing as we ride out CoronaVirus!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://costumefail.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/mummy-costume-01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="333" data-original-width="500" height="213" src="https://costumefail.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/mummy-costume-01.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Corona-ready!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><b>Buying Corona. </b>I heard that both a significant percentage of people believe CoronaVirus is connected to the beer and that Corona sales are down. I did my small part to help offset the pure idiocy of many Americans. Are lime sales down too?</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><b>Watching (finished) "Hillary" on Hulu. </b>When events are cancelled and the news tells me to stay away from other hens, it's a perfect excuse to binge-watch some new series. I'd been eagerly awaiting the new documentary series on Hillary Clinton. Thank you, virus, for allowing me to watch this sooner than later! No cackles here: this series in <u style="font-style: italic;">wonderfully</u> done! <i>Cliff notes: Hillary has been unfairly villainized much of her public life, she's been a trailblazer for gender equality, sexism is still alive and well, Trump sucks, and Hillary is an incredibly strong human being.</i> But as riveting as those notes were, watch it for yourself while we're all quarantined. </li>
</ul>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://media0.giphy.com/media/vRgQWnd7CW0PS/giphy.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="264" data-original-width="480" height="176" src="https://media0.giphy.com/media/vRgQWnd7CW0PS/giphy.gif" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">WHAT THE HELL DO U BITCHES WANT FROM ME?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<ul>
<li><b>Missing hockey games and losing life purpose. </b>I didn't realize how much of my free time revolves around sporting events until I started losing them. As I've crossed off cancelled events on my calendar all day, I now see that I've accidentally become a sports geek in spite of myself. My personal calendar is now empty. This will either be great for Hen productivity, or you'll see live videos of me quarantined in my coop, cooking soup for 5 viewers. </li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><b>Consuming-avoiding-consuming-avoiding all news. </b>I haven't been personally concerned about this virus, knowing I am healthy, young(ish), and I am extra conscious of hand washing. I'm doing everything recommended except still showing up to my supposedly-lethal job (see below). But even limiting myself to the quality, calm journalism of NPR, I'm now in a mild inner panic as they report more closures and cancellations than I've seen in my lifetime. I still think we'll all be okay with NPR and hand washing, but it's still a bizarre time. PS- Someone please block CNN for me as a precaution. </li>
</ul>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://profalbrecht.files.wordpress.com/2013/01/email_overload.jpg?w=584" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="271" data-original-width="400" height="216" src="https://profalbrecht.files.wordpress.com/2013/01/email_overload.jpg?w=584" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">staying informed.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<ul>
<li><b>Working in flying germ tubes. </b>While I have a heightened awareness of safety and germs working as a flying hen, I don't see more risk in my job compared to others. However, the news has told me I'm walking into Ground Zero stepping into airports and planes. While we've had solid communication and updates on how the virus situation pertains to us, the low cost carrier flies on! I keep refreshing my schedule, hoping I can still get paid for sitting at home. For now, I guess I'm expected to show up to the flying germ tube. Can I ignore all passengers for "safety precautions?"</li>
</ul>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://i1.wp.com/ktla.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/4/2014/10/ebola-flight-scare.jpg?resize=2560%2C1440&ssl=1" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="180" src="https://i1.wp.com/ktla.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/4/2014/10/ebola-flight-scare.jpg?resize=2560%2C1440&ssl=1" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">new uniforms.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Coop, I leave you with the following advice: Wash your hands excessively. Drink lots of water. Read every archived Hen article from the past 10 years. Take vitamins. Don't wrap yourself in toilet paper, even though you can't buy any. Stay tuned for a spike in Hen articles, possibly followed by my next mental breakdown, live!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
KEEP READING WHILE YOU'RE COOPED UP!</div>
<div>
<a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2020/03/hen-vs-hoa.html">Hen Vs. HOA</a></div>
<div>
<a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2019/11/hens-guide-to-buying-hen-house.html">Buying a Hen House</a></div>
<div>
<a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2019/04/leaving-internet.html">Leaving the Internet</a></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8346660116764084956.post-49885626270034422062020-03-07T20:28:00.001-05:002020-03-07T20:28:16.063-05:00HEN vs. HOA <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">As you should have read by now, <a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2019/11/hens-guide-to-buying-hen-house.html" target="_blank">I recently bought my first hen house!</a> It had been a long-time goal of mine, and now that it's accomplished, I can proudly say I'm an adult. And as much as I love it, I'll tell you it's not all sunshine and rainbows like the educational mortgage and homeownership video told me. Some growing pains were quick fixes: from a minor DIY AC repair to overcoming the existential dread of living alone. And with all the fun of buying toilet paper and waiting on couch deliveries came an unexpected battle: the HOA.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br /></span>
<br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Q7M28h1sSp0/XmRHfCgvymI/AAAAAAABqs0/A9IIQUyHURwpeTJpVOWvQaoUCwZZoTqtACLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/8D5AB039-55B3-4986-9CD7-2F1610D424FD.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1281" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Q7M28h1sSp0/XmRHfCgvymI/AAAAAAABqs0/A9IIQUyHURwpeTJpVOWvQaoUCwZZoTqtACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/8D5AB039-55B3-4986-9CD7-2F1610D424FD.jpg" width="256" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">adult.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The Home Owner's Association (HOA) takes money from me monthly to keep my neighborhood safe and beautiful (which it is!), and for this I am grateful. They also enforce the community guidelines and answer silly questions from residents like me. (Where's the dumpster?) Once I found where to take my trash, I thought I'd be done with the HOA until my gate remote stopped working.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://imagesvc.meredithcorp.io/v3/mm/image?url=https%3A%2F%2Fstatic.onecms.io%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2Fsites%2F6%2F2017%2F10%2F000266373-2000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="213" src="https://imagesvc.meredithcorp.io/v3/mm/image?url=https%3A%2F%2Fstatic.onecms.io%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2Fsites%2F6%2F2017%2F10%2F000266373-2000.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">welcome to the neighborhood.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I confess: I'm not always right.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Once I got essentials like a bed and a coffee pot, I could enjoy shopping for more frivolous things, like personal decor and a couch. As I burned through all the mailer coupons, I found a small, tasteful Buccaneers garden flag and a welcome mat that doesn't say "welcome" for the front of my home. They added just the small personal touch I wanted, without inviting strangers to my door.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">A month later, I arrived home to a piece of paper in my door handle that wasn't an invite to a block party or yard sale; it was a "friendly reminder" notice that my "Bucs flag" was not permitted. Shocked and confused, I barged into my violating home and found the hefty HOA "welcome binder," which has all the rules and regulations to keep the neighborhood at Stepford Wives standards. I read every rule and petty request in the architectural guidelines chapter, put my rusty lawyer cap on, and got to work. (Previous law experience includes nearly failing my Media Law course and refusing my dad's request to go to Law School.) Confidence, anger, and experience in my wing tips, I crafted a brilliant letter stating how my small, tasteful Bucs flag fit within the guidelines and should be approved. And just in case I was dealing with stubborn idiots who wouldn't let me have my way, I crafted another argument that, in the off chance my decor still wasn't approved, I found multiple neighbors with similar "violations" that contradicted their reasoning and the printed rules. I collected photos and witness statements, and sent my case in for approval, confident the Bucs would still fly. I even added a joke about how hard it is to be a Bucs fan, hoping for a pity approval, if needed.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">A week later, I received an official letter in the mail from the HOA: request denied.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">This letter threw me into a frenzy, feathers flying and wings flapping back to the binder. I quickly reviewed the guidelines for door decorations, deemed it close enough, and hung the flag on my door.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The next week, I received another "friendly reminder" notice: please remove your garden stake. Since the door flag must have hit Bored Betty in the face as she placed this notice, I figured the door decor was fine and I happily removed the garden stake.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://cdn.cheapism.com/images/051618_homeowners_associations_sl.8f053d9a.fill-1440x605.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="336" data-original-width="800" height="134" src="https://cdn.cheapism.com/images/051618_homeowners_associations_sl.8f053d9a.fill-1440x605.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">friendly patrol.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The following week, I received an official letter in the mail from the HOA: 7 days until daily fines began for the contraband Bucs flag. Where the hell was my "friendly reminder" with the smiley face circa 1990s Wingdings font? Now I was an angry bird.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I rationally knew I should wait until the next day to respond, but the glass of wine in me told me otherwise. I deliberately gathered my thoughts into a rational, yet stern and scathing diatribe to the HOA. I methodically illustrated all my injustices about how I was treated unfairly, along with a demand for a person response addressing all my concerns. Thankfully, GMail offers the option to schedule the email for later time. I scheduled my tirade for an 8 a.m. delivery, so it looked like fresh anger over coffee instead of drunk anger over wine. Thank you, Google.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">A few days later, I received a personal response from Chuck, deservedly with barbs of his own. He began with the warm words, <i>“I’m happy to respond, but with what, I’m not sure.”</i> But he figured it out and wrote on. Here is my favorite line: <i>Many people do not care for sports and the flags are somewhat of a detraction aesthetically. Great for a dorm room or something like that, but certainly not outside of a townhome in a community that strives to be a little more tasteful."</i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Exhausted and insulted, I wanted this battle to end. I thanked Chuck for his response and let him know I found his "dorm room" comment insulting. But things did not end there.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Chuck's mood or medication flipped and his response was apologetic and friendly. He apologized for the "dorm room" comment, saying he didn't intend to be insulting, but he could see how I could take it that way. He went on to make sympathetic Bucs jokes and let me know he used to rent my unit, which is his "favorite unit on the property." He ended our exchange by sharing the best sunset photos he'd taken from my back patio. Now I was blindsided with feelings of guilt and relief, and the desire to change my locks. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Now a pariah within the HOA and probably the neighborhood, I vowed never to attempt to decorate my front lawn again. Instead, my car parked in front of my property is decorated with tacky car flags and bumper stickers. Enjoy that aesthetic, HOA.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">KEEP READING! <a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2019/07/hens-say-dumb-things.html">Hens Say Dumb Things!</a></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2019/06/whats-going-on-tonight.html">Going Out as a Mature Hen.</a></span><br />
<a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2019/04/dying-for-face-wash.html"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Dying for Face Wash!</span></a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8346660116764084956.post-80881989420454737302019-11-04T21:57:00.000-05:002019-11-04T21:57:35.428-05:00Hen's Guide to Buying a Hen House!My latest excuse for not writing: Buying a hen house!<br />
<br />
It's true. I recently bid farewell to all my money and bought my first hen house. The experience was an all-consuming emotional roller coaster that truly gave me respect for adults. I don't know how they do it daily, but I applaud them. I must have done a respectable job pretending to be one, because I now hold keys to the private hen house of my dreams! (within my modest Hen budget)<br />
<br />
After spending months consumed by adult terms like "mortgage," "interest rate," and "house," I decided to create The Hen's Guide to Buying a Hen House so you can learn and laugh from my stress and triumph.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><b><u>Hen's Guide to Buying a Hen House!</u></b><br />
<div>
<ul>
<li><b>Get on Zillow and browse mansions.</b> By just going a little over my already-inflated budget I made up, I could afford the sassy place of my dreams! Should I choose the trendy downtown villa or the riverfront condo with the expansive patio for parties? It'll be tough.</li>
</ul>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://image.cnbcfm.com/api/v1/image/105569495-1542057846065playa-vista-isle-hillsboro-beach-fl09.jpg?v=1542058324&w=678&h=381" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="381" data-original-width="678" height="179" src="https://image.cnbcfm.com/api/v1/image/105569495-1542057846065playa-vista-isle-hillsboro-beach-fl09.jpg?v=1542058324&w=678&h=381" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Starter home.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<ul>
<li><b>Find a realtor.</b> Thankfully, many of my friends became adults and bought homes before I did. After extensive interviews with my home owner friends, I felt confident in my realtor who'd found great homes for 2 of my friends. I was promised she'd also be my life coach (still waiting on those sessions).</li>
<li><b>Find people to lend you less money than you expected. </b>Unless you have wealthy parents or a drug dealing business, you need someone to lend you a lot of money, a "mortgage." Every company made it seem so easy: Give us your basic info and we'll pre-approve you for a mansion loan! What they don't tell me is that after that first welcoming step, they want a little more info, like if I have a job and if I make money. After that, these mortgage companies crushed my mansion dreams and gave me a budget I could actually afford. Time to tour the slums!</li>
<li><b>Cry because you can't afford a mansion. </b>See above and delete all previous Zillow searches.</li>
</ul>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3091/3205328942_14c118a321.jpg?v=0" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3091/3205328942_14c118a321.jpg?v=0" data-original-height="291" data-original-width="418" height="222" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">house hunting.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<ul>
<li><b>Visit houses with your realtor. </b>After crying over the slum listings, my realtor created a search for my budget that found some decent places with minimal slums. I narrowed the list down to 4 to visit my first day of house hunting. It was truly an exciting, adult day. The first place seemed wonderful, but the brick wall turned out to be wall paper and the patio lacked privacy. The second place had the dreamiest back patio view, but lacked brick wall paper. The third place had no patio, unattended pet birds, but a garage. The fourth was a dark cave with a third bedroom!</li>
<li><b>Visit more houses with your realtor. </b>I needed to visit the house with the dreamy back view with fresh eyes. Along with that revisit, we found an 80's-style home with built in shelves and bathroom vanities for small people, and a rundown home with the worst indoor paint job seen by (wo)man. The back view place was the winner!</li>
<li><b>Offer as little money as possible for your modest dream townhouse. </b>How low can we go without being insulting? That's the game of the first offer. My shrewd realtor/life coach found comparable properties in the neighborhood with more modern updates to justify our low offer.</li>
<li><b>Be appalled when you received a counter offer. </b>Doesn't the seller know I should just have this place at whatever price I deem fit, and be thankful I made an offer? The seller reminded us that those "comparable" properties backed up to walls, other homes, or highway instead of a serene lake, so she came back with a counter offer.</li>
<li><b>It's a deal! </b>For my modest budget, no other property would back up into a beautiful lake view. Fine, lady, you win; here's all my money.</li>
<li><b>Question the deal you just signed, how much money actually have, and the meaning of life. </b>It'll be fine, right? And if not, I can rent it out to pay the bills and live with my parents forever, right? But no matter what, it's a great investment, right? </li>
<li><b>Take high blood pressure medication for when no one wants to give you money anymore. </b>That friendly lender suddenly became less sure I could afford this place, and less friendly. They suggested I might need a cosigner or to stay at my job longer. Other lenders said I definitely needed a cosigner and didn't appreciate my 4 part-time jobs from 2017.</li>
<li><b>Eat high blood pressure medicine like candy as your lender asks for endless documents, blood samples, and your first born (if applicable). </b>I didn't have a first born, so I kept sending pay stubs, e-mails, blood samples, and voicemails. I can pay for this, I promise!</li>
<li><b>Contemplate running away to Mexico. </b></li>
</ul>
<div>
<b><br /></b></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.etsystatic.com/11189170/r/il/b00b2e/1128347127/il_570xN.1128347127_iqro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="570" data-original-width="570" height="320" src="https://i.etsystatic.com/11189170/r/il/b00b2e/1128347127/il_570xN.1128347127_iqro.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ok.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<ul>
<li><b>Realize you have no idea how to wire transfer money. </b>What's a wire transfer? Whoever needed my down payment (I don't even remember at this point) didn't accept personal checks or Venmo for $28,000. Weird. After crying and screaming that the title company didn't send me wiring instructions and thinking I'd lose my house and be homeless forever, my dad convinced me I could wire the money at my signing appointment. This was true, except no one at the appointment could help me. Thankfully, a branch of my bank was across the street, so I put all on hold to tromp across the highway to the bank and let a banker send my money. I still don't understand what a wire transfer is, but my bank account is a lot smaller.</li>
<li><b>Signed, sealed, delivered: it's yours! </b>After practicing my signature through a book of legal documents, I signed enough things to get the keys!</li>
<li><b>Cry that it didn't come with furniture. </b>Where's the high blood pressure medicine for furniture shopping?</li>
</ul>
<div>
No one has kicked me out yet, so I guess this place is mine. I'm officially an adult!</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
KEEP READING! <a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2019/07/hens-say-dumb-things.html">When Hens Say Dumb Things.</a></div>
<div>
<a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2019/06/whats-going-on-tonight.html">Going Out in My 30s. </a></div>
<div>
<a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2019/04/leaving-internet.html">Leaving the Internet!</a></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8346660116764084956.post-18519072998790089002019-07-23T14:59:00.000-04:002019-07-23T14:59:01.934-04:00Hens Say Dumb Things Hens say dumb things. In the midst of all the noise we make with our beaks - some brilliant, lots ordinary - all of us have our gaffes where our brans disconnect just long enough for crazy to fly out. The current president says windmills cause cancer and grandma's racist friend wants minority groups to have their own states. These are extreme examples of spoken blunders, but some things (both examples) should never be said.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://collegian.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/08/Idiot-Donald-Trump-American-Slander.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="652" data-original-width="800" height="260" src="https://collegian.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/08/Idiot-Donald-Trump-American-Slander.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Windmills cause cancer."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
As a flying hen, I talk to a lot of people every day as part of my job, or just functioning as a social bird. Between passengers and coworkers, my beak can be exhausted by the end of the day. Somewhere in our social development, many of us have become uncomfortable with silence or short exchanges, so many hens fill that void with stupid comments.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
I'm not saying I'm above my own stupid moments. I mixed up the phrases "run him out" and "rub him out" for 25 years, and I can't pronounce "smoosh." But some things should never be said. Here are a few key examples so hopefully these people can better themselves.<br />
<br />
1. <b>"You look tired." </b>This is an "acceptable" way to say, "you look like shit." No one would ever say the latter, so why say the former?<br />
I've been told this twice recently. What's worse is that I felt fine before someone told me this. What's <i>even</i> worse: both times were from coworkers, AKA people who know exactly what my job entails and how tiring it can be. I doubt they'd want to hear the same comment after a full day on the airplane, but they say it anyway. Is this comment helpful? No. I can't suddenly look young and fresh, so it's just an insult. A simple "hi" or "have a good one" would have sufficed.<br />
(Now I wonder what kind of trash I look like when I'm actually tired.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://c8.alamy.com/comp/X0JPT7/greater-rhea-rhea-americana-lying-in-a-meadow-and-sleeping-X0JPT7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="588" data-original-width="800" height="235" src="https://c8.alamy.com/comp/X0JPT7/greater-rhea-rhea-americana-lying-in-a-meadow-and-sleeping-X0JPT7.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">feeling good.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
That's all. Never tell hens they look tired.<br />
<br />
<br />
KEEP READING! <a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2019/06/whats-going-on-tonight.html">Going Out in my 30s.</a><br />
<a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2019/05/what-i-learned-off-internet.html">What I Learned Off the Internet!</a><br />
<a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2019/04/dying-for-face-wash.html">Dying for Face Wash.</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8346660116764084956.post-66602732950851444172019-06-08T13:55:00.000-04:002019-06-08T13:55:08.720-04:00What's Going on Tonight?My flying endeavors recently took me to the party capital of the USA: Salt Lake City! The large Mormon population may disagree, but that was the plan reuniting with one of my college hen friends. For 25 hours, we could relive some carefree college partying in the shadow of the Mormon church. Fetch the reality cameras!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/53ff4646e4b09a083b65c0b2/t/589c9cf39f7456ed1d214c3a/1486658808719/" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="750" height="213" src="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/53ff4646e4b09a083b65c0b2/t/589c9cf39f7456ed1d214c3a/1486658808719/" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">yeehaw! </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div>
The plan was simple enough. We'd catch up and laugh for hours over a sassy dinner. Then we'd dance the night away with mason jars of liquor, just like in our prime. We may be a little older and a little wiser, with more bills and less energy, but we could still tear the night up and make the dance floor fall in love with us again, right? I'd also tested out the bar 4 years ago with Hens on Ice. We all had mason jars full of fun, so this reboot to SLC had the recipe for success.</div>
<div>
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
The night started exactly as I'd hoped. We cackled for hours over wine and cheese, followed by a hip dinner of pricey artisan tacos and small margaritas. After slamming an energy drink, we were ready to turn heads at the bar with our dance moves and mason jars!<br />
<br />
We arrived at the bar to a bizarre sight: a line of hens out of the entrance and down the street. I was shocked and emotionally torn, but we'd come so far and had so much potential that we flapped our way into the line. After 20 minutes of sobering up, we made it to the bouncer. To my surprise, there was no cover, all he was doing was checking IDs.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://deadhomersociety.files.wordpress.com/2011/01/genericgaybarline.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="283" data-original-width="473" height="191" src="https://deadhomersociety.files.wordpress.com/2011/01/genericgaybarline.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">what night is this?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
"What's the big event tonight?" I asked.<br />
<br />
"...It's Saturday," said the bouncer.<br />
<br />
"Oh." We entered.<br />
<br />
The bars were brimming with hens throwing their talons in hopes to get a strictly-measured drink. After fighting off other hens for another eternity, I had my moment with the bar tender and clucked out an order of 6 or 12 double vodka sodas. The bartender informed me that double drinks were illegal in Utah, as was my order, so we settled on a normal drink and shot, neither in mason jars.<br />
<br />
After posing like 21 year olds for our photo shoot, we flapped our way to the edge of the packed, sweaty dance floor of actual 21 year olds who appeared to be 12. When Lady Gaga's "Applause" came on, I was ready for our big moment. I shoved the 12 year olds as hard as I could, but we could only create a makeshift stage out of a step into the next bar area. I knew we were stars, but we weren't making a splash in the way I knew we deserved.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://media.giphy.com/media/kCaUfwB9qsp32/giphy.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="250" data-original-width="480" height="166" src="https://media.giphy.com/media/kCaUfwB9qsp32/giphy.gif" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">actual footage.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Later, we ran into my friend's former coworker, who'd found the bar more than we had. He was a lovely Utah boy who mispronounced my friend's name and told me he loved me within minutes. He then emphasized how he's one of the few that can pronounce her name correctly (still wrong), followed by berating my gringo Spanish. I love meeting new friends!<br />
<br />
We flapped to the bar to get one last measured drink and cap the night as mature hens. We found a drunk girl who was just screaming for screaming's sake. She had moved beyond words and was just screaming. As I stared at her and hated her, I had an epiphany: this trashy, tragic screaming girl was us 10 years prior. (But no one ever hated us, I'm sure.)<br />
<br />
As I flew out of the Mormon city the next day, my heart was full after a grand evening with a dear friend. While we had a wonderful night together in the Utah capital, it had truly strayed from my original vision. There had been no mason jars of liquor, no brief blackouts, and minimal positive attention from strangers. But for all this, I was happy, proud, and relieved. I am no longer 12 (21). I am in my late 20s (33). And this I can finally embrace. My favorite part of the evening wasn't the crowded dance floor and being insulted by a stranger. It was the hours I got to spend one-on-one with my friend, drinking wine in her recently-purchased condominium. While I'll continue to make the occasional drunken fool of myself on dance floors (weddings), what I embrace now are these quality moments with people I care about. Maybe I've kind of become an adult.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://media.giphy.com/media/bgrxdvDVQ3qKI/giphy.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="196" data-original-width="316" src="https://media.giphy.com/media/bgrxdvDVQ3qKI/giphy.gif" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">i'm an adult.<br /><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />KEEP READING! <a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2019/05/what-i-learned-off-internet.html">What I Learned Off the Internet!</a> </div>
<div>
<a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2019/01/things-i-learned-in-vienna.html">Things I Learned in Vienna.</a></div>
<div>
<a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2018/11/post-tour-life-hobbies.html">Life After Tour!</a><br /><br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8346660116764084956.post-90770288592039623472019-05-03T19:04:00.000-04:002019-05-03T19:04:16.192-04:00What I Learned Off the Internet!In my last article, I told you <a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2019/04/leaving-internet.html" target="_blank">I left the Internet</a>... briefly. Since my writing is sporadic and I sometimes lack creativity or inspiration as a writer, I promised to milk that big Hen event into 2 articles. As promised, here is what I learned from my social media break.<br />
<br />
<b><u>Things I Learned on a Social Media Break:</u></b><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><b>It was easier than expected. </b>Once I posted that I was taking a break, I knew there was no turning back. I didn't set a time frame, but I aimed for at least a few days. I didn't dramatically delete my apps or accounts; I trusted I could use my own self control, along with the fear of Internet shaming if I came back too soon. To help, I did move my Facebook and Instagram apps to a less accessible folder on my phone to get them out of my face. Once this was done, I went on with my life. After accepting this was my new reality, I truly didn't miss social media. If I felt like sharing something or wanted to know how anyone was doing, I messaged them directly. I checked news directly from a news source (when I felt like it). When I came back a week later, I knew I could have stayed off longer, but everyone needed to know I was at the Cher concert.</li>
</ul>
<div>
<a name='more'></a></div>
<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSy6hKWGYTL3jw0oSrvF_hUCvwT6ZXou7KVufBuvG7gou4TMnow" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="163" data-original-width="309" src="https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSy6hKWGYTL3jw0oSrvF_hUCvwT6ZXou7KVufBuvG7gou4TMnow" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What's out there?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<ul>
<li><b>I checked my e-mail A LOT more without social media. </b>I'd become so used to just clicking a social app anytime I held my phone, my wired brain still needed to to tap something other than Facebook or Instagram. My e-mail app still stared at me, so I'd open it. Thankfully, it reminded me each time that e-mail is usually boring or junk, so I could just get my fix deleting a few e-mails and move on with my life. </li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><b>It's easy to check social media at EVERY down moment. </b>I would feel the twitch to grab my phone anytime I was sitting down. Without the option of a Facebook or Insta glance, I realized what a habit it'd become. What the hell did we do with ourselves a mere 5 to 10 years ago? I guess we just sat there, taking in whatever real world experience was around us, even if it was mundane. I started to enjoy being someone not on my phone at every moment, taking in the sights and sounds around me. I felt more open to the world and the people around me, although I still avoided small talk with strangers at all costs.</li>
</ul>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://static.psychguides.com/wp-content/uploads/psychguides-shutterstock182518145-students_on_their_phones-feature_image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="400" height="240" src="https://static.psychguides.com/wp-content/uploads/psychguides-shutterstock182518145-students_on_their_phones-feature_image.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">sorry, busy.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<ul>
<li><b>I started to feel better. </b>My mild, undiagnosed mild depression and anxiety slowly faded a bit with more time away from the social feeds. It wasn't a cure-all; I'm still a basket case. But I started to feel better and more confident again about being a basket case.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><b>Facebook annoys me.</b> When I decided to return to social media, I was mildly irritated and stressed to return to Facebook. Yes, I could delete it, but I don't want to. I don't want to lose it as a great connection to people and information. It still annoys me, like that drunk, racist, distant relative you have to tolerate over holidays. But like that relative, Facebook sometimes has a word of wisdom or a funny meme in between the slurs. </li>
</ul>
<div>
Now that I'm back on social media, I'll have these life lessons on my mind for at least the next few days. I've vowed to limit by social media usage now, unless I get desperate for attention or affection.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://assets3.thrillist.com/v1/image/1838802/size/tmg-facebook_social.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="418" data-original-width="800" height="167" src="https://assets3.thrillist.com/v1/image/1838802/size/tmg-facebook_social.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look how much fun I'm having!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
KEEP READING! <a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2019/04/dying-for-face-wash.html">Dying for Facewash!</a></div>
<div>
<a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2018/04/changing-world-one-trash-can-at-time.html">Changing the World One Trash Can at a Time.</a></div>
<div>
<a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2017/09/what-i-learned-from-irmageddon.html">What I Learned From Irmageddon</a></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8346660116764084956.post-84304993785194551072019-04-15T18:30:00.001-04:002019-05-14T13:28:31.768-04:00Leaving the Internet. You probably didn't notice since my posts are sporadic and misguided, but I took an official break from social media. Do not fear though! I continued to write while locked in a bunker and now I'm back in full force. Watch out, cluckers!<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://cdn7.dissolve.com/p/D1267_12_389/D1267_12_389_1200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="533" height="200" src="https://cdn7.dissolve.com/p/D1267_12_389/D1267_12_389_1200.jpg" width="133" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">back with caution.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div>
My volunteer Cackling Hen life may seem perfect and glamorous, but it's not. In spite of the photo shoots and under-appreciated writing, I'm a common hen just like you with real bird problems. As much as my non-profit (not by choice and not tax deductible) writing career depends on social media, I recently found myself with possible symptoms of mild depression. After declining invitations from dear friends for brunch and a beach weekend, both activities I thought I loved, I remembered the Zoloft commercials with that depressed cartoon egg. I thought of all those questions that commercial asked while that somber egg moped around. ...Yes, I do have trouble getting out of bed in the morning! ...Yes, I have lost interest in things I used to enjoy! Convinced I was becoming that despondent cartoon egg instead of just older and worn out by idiot passengers, I vowed to do something before I cracked.</div>
<div>
<br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div>
Instead of running away to Canada with a new identity, I opted for a trendy and temporary fix: a break from social media. Facebook and Instagram weren't the causes of my debatable depression, but they weren't helping. Recently, I was finding twinges of addiction with these apps. Like many of us, I was filling every in-between moment and lull with Facebook, Instagram, Tind... LinkedIn, etc. I'd begin and end my days on them. When I planned to poke at my phone for just a few moments, it turned into a half hour or more. What had been a great way to keep in touch with friends was turning into a time warp where most posts annoyed me. Another article about Trump being as asshole, another "best day ever" post, another cat meme with a billion views: it was all too much, except for the cat memes. I was fried mentally, and could even feel physically tense while scrolling. I knew I fully controlled my social media usage, so I left with no set return.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://pbs.twimg.com/profile_images/142095947/crazy_bird_FN_400x400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="400" height="320" src="https://pbs.twimg.com/profile_images/142095947/crazy_bird_FN_400x400.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">selfie from last week.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
A week later, I came back. I didn't return completely enlightened or refreshed, but I'll pretend I did on my next article where I share more specifically what I learned. I'll leave you with a few key takeaways:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>It was easier than I expected.</li>
<li>I didn't miss anything. </li>
<li>I had more time in my day to do productive adult things, like watch TV shows.</li>
<li>Enticed? <a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2019/05/what-i-learned-off-internet.html">READ THE NEXT ARTICLE NOW! </a></li>
</ul>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
KEEP READING! <a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2019/04/dying-for-face-wash.html">Dying for Face Wash!</a></div>
<div>
<a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2019/01/things-i-learned-in-vienna.html">Things I Learned in Vienna. </a></div>
<div>
<a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2018/04/changing-world-one-trash-can-at-time.html">Changing the World One Trash Can at a Time.</a></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8346660116764084956.post-80722669996186321412019-04-02T22:54:00.000-04:002019-04-02T22:54:14.347-04:00Dying for Face WashDesperate for inspiration to prevent a Hen shutdown, I once again turned to the polls to ask readers what they wanted to read. As we've seen, the democratic process has mixed results (Brexit, Trump, American Idol), but I'm confident in my readers! Here goes another comeback, and if you're not cackling, you only have yourselves to blame.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://peopledotcom.files.wordpress.com/2017/01/donald-trump-the-worst.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="213" src="https://peopledotcom.files.wordpress.com/2017/01/donald-trump-the-worst.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">democracy.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Life as a 30-something has led me on a journey for the proper face wash. Instead of worrying about the next big party, I'm worrying about my skin's appearance. My dermatologist put me on a specific face wash that's just specific enough to be annoying. Any variations I've tried with the same active ingredient have a weird consistency, weird side affects, or both. After a few too many trials that left my face burning or discolored, I've accepted that CVS is the only place I can find the face wash I need.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
(Dozing off yet? Stay with me.)<br />
<br />
A few weeks ago, my local CVS was out of my face wash. A week later, still out. Third visit, still no dice. Instead of asking an employee like an adult, I got more irritated with each visit, and made more of a scene leaving each time. Instead of accepting that my harsh face wash might be discontinued (it does stain clothing permanently), I recently visited a different CVS for one last attempt to stock up for the apocalypse.<br />
<br />
The ridiculously heavy entrance door should have been my omen to just leave and cry about my face. Instead, I put my whole body weight into the door and stumbled into the store. I flapped 2 laps around this bizarro world store, unable to find face wash and already missing the 90 year old running my regular CVS. Finally, I found a limited selection of face washes, surrounded by creams and makeup. I started at the weird, puny selection for 5 to 15 minutes before an employee reluctantly asked if i needed help.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://cdn-images-1.medium.com/max/1600/1*5BYENBvU4uOp7wRsReqtPw.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="800" height="200" src="https://cdn-images-1.medium.com/max/1600/1*5BYENBvU4uOp7wRsReqtPw.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">help.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
"Where do you have all of your regular brands of face wash, like Neutrogena and everything?" I nervously asked. (Why was I nervous?)<br />
<br />
"Face wash is right here," she grumbled, pointing to a lone, dusty Neutrogena bottle. I thanked her and she was convinced I was an idiot.<br />
<br />
But that couldn't be it for a face wash selection in a pharmacy! I flapped 2 more laps around the store, pretending I was shopping for other items until I found <b>another</b> shelf of face wash in a <b>different aisle.</b> I clucked to myself about the unhelpful CVS employee while she restocked shelves in my shadow. I squatted in the aisle to rest my feathers and scope out my options.<br />
<br />
As I sat on the pharmacy floor surrounded by face wash, I overheard a customer and another CVS employee talking in the aisle.<br />
<br />
CVS employee: "I'm just dying over here. It's fine. I'm just dying."<br />
Customer: "Whatever you do, you want to make sure you're on the right side of heaven's gates when you get up there."<br />
CVS employee: "Oh my God. Did you hear that? Did you just hear that, sir?"<br />
<br />
It took me a moment to process as I sifted through face wash, but the employee was actually asking me. She hovered over me, waiting for me to respond. The employee was also a young woman no older than me, which also confused me.<br />
<br />
"I did." I said, not ready for this interaction. The employee kept walking with the customer.<br />
<br />
"I'm just dying here, and this is what I'm dealing with," the employee announced through the store. "I'm fine, just dying here," she said to another employee who was stocking a shelf.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Once I made my final face wash decisions, I took my wing full of products to the cash register to be greeted by my fear of the moment: the vocal and possibly dying employee.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
CVS employee: "Hi, how are you?"</div>
<div>
Me: "Doing well. ... (bracing) How are you?"</div>
<div>
CVS employee: "Oh , you know, just dying."<br />
(pause)</div>
<div>
Me: "Well, I guess technically we all are." </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Neither of us were quite ready for my reply, and we finished our transaction. I told her to take care of herself as I left, trying with all my might to avoid anything too insincere or trite. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I left the store still not knowing if the young woman was truly dying soon, being sarcastic, being dramatic, or an odd mix of the three. I wished the best for this young woman. I also hoped to never again step into that CVS or wash my face.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://thoughtcatalog.files.wordpress.com/2014/09/cashier.jpg?w=786&h=424" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="425" data-original-width="786" height="173" src="https://thoughtcatalog.files.wordpress.com/2014/09/cashier.jpg?w=786&h=424" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">where's self checkout?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
KEEP READING!<br />
<a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2019/01/things-i-learned-in-vienna.html">Things I Learned in Vienna!</a><br />
<a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2018/12/a-day-as-on-call-bird.html">Life On Call. </a><br />
<a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2018/11/post-tour-life-hobbies.html">Hobbies After Tour!</a></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8346660116764084956.post-59886709188157789992019-01-29T11:47:00.001-05:002019-01-30T16:35:21.173-05:00Things I Learned In Vienna<span style="font-family: inherit;">Guten tag! That is the extent of my German. But in spite of it, I chose to fly to a German-speaking country. Traveling broadens the mind, and my mind needed something after enduring another year of current American life. So I packed my bags and met some of my poorly-behaved friends in Austria. </span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><i>Things I learned in Austria:</i></b></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>This isn't Spain!</b> </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">My tolerable, gringo Spanish does nothing here. I've had such pride communicating in the native tongue abroad in Spain and Latin America. In Austria, I had no pride. Once I realized where I was going and that I spoke no German, I Googled key German words, as well as "do people in Vienna speak English?" I also remembered my old bar trick: fooling drunk people that I could speak German. That old trick was useless in Vienna, since I never found other wasted Americans. Thankfully, I survived Austria on apologetic English and lots of "danke."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Guardian/Pix/pictures/2010/4/26/1272302610013/Angela-Merkel-006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Guardian/Pix/pictures/2010/4/26/1272302610013/Angela-Merkel-006.jpg" data-original-height="276" data-original-width="460" height="192" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">guten tag.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<b style="font-family: inherit;">Winter is still stupid, even in Europe.</b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">When my friend suggested going to Vienna in January, I just thought of my love for European cities, with their public transit, fashion, and historic egos. Living in Florida has ruined me. I never thought of what January is actually like in most of the developed world: cold. The excitement of being in a new foreign city kept me warm for about the first half hour. After that, it was a constant battle to keep my Florida blood warm. A mix of my Michelin Man coat, constant beer drinking, and poor decisions kept me warm enough for a week, but it was still no Florida. Dear local Olympic snowboarder whose jacket I stole: What's German for "Sorry?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://cdn3.img.sputniknews.com/images/104946/18/1049461829.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="433" data-original-width="800" height="173" src="https://cdn3.img.sputniknews.com/images/104946/18/1049461829.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">i love culture.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<b style="font-family: inherit;">The Viennese don't know how to enjoy an ice show.</b></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We went to our friends' Hens on Ice show one afternoon to show our support and pretend to be cultured. We behaved normally, just as we do at home for any ice show or hockey game. We cheered loudly for our friends any time they were on the ice, danced in our seats, and spattered beer onto the row in front of us. This is not how Austrians behave at ice shows. I got shushed and glared at before the music started and it didn't get better. At intermission, a woman said something to me in German I couldn't understand. As I tried to break down our language barrier, my new shush-er friend snapped her head back again and grumbled the translation in a heavy accent: "Ze children cannot see anything with the hat on your head. She asks you take off your hat." I gave my new friend an awkward thumbs up and took the form-fitted knit hat off my head. Unfortunately for ze children, my head was still under that centimeter of woven material. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>I'm terrible at choosing local establishments by myself in new cities.</b></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I arrived to Vienna a few hours before my friends. After some casual sightseeing and excitement, I was starving, thirsty, and needed wifi. Instead of picking the first cafe I found, I wandered the city for hours, peering in windows like a creep with my luggage in tow, finding a reason why each place was not the place: too small, too busy, not cute, too expensive, too cheap, not the food options I wanted, no room for my luggage, too empty, too local, etc. After all these missed opportunities, I settled on a spot that lacked most of what I wanted. Instead of having full meals, it was a bakery. After ordering my bread and coffee, I learned it was the first place I'd found with no wifi. I make good choices.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://i.pinimg.com/originals/9c/a3/73/9ca37382a1c6a7f4a68cbcd282ef18e9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="700" height="142" src="https://i.pinimg.com/originals/9c/a3/73/9ca37382a1c6a7f4a68cbcd282ef18e9.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">good choices.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<b style="font-family: inherit;">I can appreciate new places and still want to go home.</b></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It's easy to get enamored by European public transit, fashion, culture, food, history, recycling, and health care. Okay, that is a lot. But in spite of Florida lacking ALL those things, I still missed it in the grey cold, and I was okay with it. Sure, Vienna had all those great things for a true quality of life, but Florida has sunshine in January. What we lack in culture and efficiency, we make up for it in weirdness and comfort. And as much as I claim to want more culture and efficiency in my life, I also want weird and comfortable. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://images7.memedroid.com/images/UPLOADED784/5ab292eeae352.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://images7.memedroid.com/images/UPLOADED784/5ab292eeae352.jpeg" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="179" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">home.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Thank you, Austria! We both made it out mostly unscathed. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">KEEP READING! <a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2018/12/a-day-as-on-call-bird.html">My Life On Call!</a></span><br />
<a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2017/06/my-spanish-romantic-comedy-plucked.html">My Spanish Romantic Comedy!</a><br />
<a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2017/05/worst-trip-ever.html">Worst Trip Ever.</a></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8346660116764084956.post-1064643408757739962018-12-31T18:04:00.001-05:002018-12-31T18:04:18.568-05:00A Day as an On-Call BirdOnce again, I let the voters decide what they wanted to read for the next big hen article and I now see a trend. When given the choice, people want to read about the real pain and suffering of being a flight attendant. Thanks. At least the budget airline is a constant source of new clucking material.<br />
<br />
Today's topic is a day in the life of a reserve flight attendant. Specifically, it's about <i>my </i>typical day as a reserve, since my little airline doesn't value my sanity as much as some airlines with newer contracts. But I know they're keeping me slightly unhinged for Hen material!<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://out-of-limit.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/stress-test3-664x374.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://out-of-limit.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/10/stress-test3-664x374.png" data-original-height="374" data-original-width="664" height="180" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">breathing normally.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
First of all, a reserve flight attendant is like the show understudy: you're trained and ready to go, but you don't get that big role of working a flight until someone originally scheduled has a nervous breakdown and can't do it. All new flight attendants start on reserve for a few months or few years, until enough newer flight attendants are hired after them or until they have a nervous breakdown and quit. Reserve is a like a cute, more professional and acceptable hazing: prove yourself through a little abuse and you're in!<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://ausglobetrotter.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/big-backpack.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://ausglobetrotter.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/12/big-backpack.jpg" data-original-height="624" data-original-width="400" height="320" width="205" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">ready!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
My typical day on reserve on call started the night before. I'd find out anywhere between 7 and 11 p.m. if I got a trip for the next day. If I didn't get an assignment that night before, I'd start preparing for the next day with a groan and a profanity. After I let out a little anger, I'd pack my bags to be ready for any kind of trip up to 5 days and any kind of weather. Once my suit case was packed and <br />
unable to close, I'd lay out my uniform and shower. If crew scheduling ever gave me the minimum notice of 2 hours to get to the airport, there was barely enough time to complain to them on the phone, let alone clean myself. So I went to bed packed, pre-set, bathed, and anxious, with my phone ringer set to maximum volume. Ah, the glamor of traveling for a living!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
If that phone didn't ring at 3 a.m. (which it did sometimes), I'd wake up confused and disoriented between 7 and 9 a.m. I'd then stagger to the coffee pot, and begin my first of 5 cups of coffee. I'd open my computer to the scheduling website, where I could see if any new, unassigned trips would show up, and I could either brace for a possible call, or know I was free at least for the next minute.<br />
<br />
As the morning progressed, I used my on-call status to justify binge watching TV. It started with an hour of Will and Grace, followed by 5 minutes of The Nanny. I then would turn off The Nanny, once I realized it was The Nanny, and no longer Will and Grace. I'd briefly consider tackling one of those around-the-house projects I never had the time for until now, but then justified not doing it since it was still a "working" day and scheduling would likely call as I was buried in my childhood CD collection.<br />
<br />
Once I stopped pretending I'd be productive, I'd agonize over what TV show to watch. I'd consider a new series, but wanted something noncommittal in case the phone rang. It was hard to find a new half-hour show that seemed interesting and without a laugh track, and hour-long shows made me nervous I'd get to the best part when the phone rang. After giving up on TV for a moment, I'd find my cat to play with for 5-45 minutes. Once the cat would bite me and run away, I'd get back to the vicious cycle of show scrolling.<br />
<br />
Around 2 p.m., but anxiety would ease from intense to moderate, since crew scheduling often called in the middle of the night or the morning, and as the day progressed, there were fewer and fewer flights they could use me for. At this point, I would take a breath and start to celebrate that I was getting paid to stay home and watch TV. I'd settle in on the couch and turn on the perfect show: RuPaul's Drag Race. And just as the queens would start to pull each other's wigs off, the phone would scream. Caller ID: Crew Scheduling.<br />
<br />
Damnit.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://media.giphy.com/media/3oz8xWLdlm17VgEj3q/giphy.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="268" data-original-width="480" height="222" src="https://media.giphy.com/media/3oz8xWLdlm17VgEj3q/giphy.gif" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8346660116764084956.post-31120368437612998062018-11-03T16:00:00.002-04:002018-11-03T16:00:39.789-04:00Post-Tour Life Hobbies!The Hen is back clucking, and in the spirit of trying to salvage democracy in 2018, I asked YOU what you wanted to read! Voter turn out was better than expected (the last Hen poll received 0 votes), so I listened to my voters for which inspiration to follow. Better luck next lifetime, Buccaneers.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://media.giphy.com/media/5b23WOIbHmNqHx4P1i/giphy.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="270" data-original-width="480" height="112" src="https://media.giphy.com/media/5b23WOIbHmNqHx4P1i/giphy.gif" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">new hobbies!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Overwhelmingly, you voted to learn about my new hobbies now that I'm officially off the road full time and up in the air as a flying hen. I was inspired by catching up recently with a hen friend who asked if I've been able to try new things that I couldn't while on tour, such as cooking and finding purpose in life (his responses). Instead of saying "not really" and going back to sleep, I gave this a lot of thought and realized that maybe I have gained a new hobby or two after Hens on Ice.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<b><u>Some of my Post-Hens on Ice Hobbies!</u></b><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><b>Running 5Ks.</b> I'd always wanted to win medals again without returning to competitive skating as a washed up hen. I found my perfect new sport that typically gives medals to all participants.</li>
</ul>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://st1.thehealthsite.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/panic-attack-first-aid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://st1.thehealthsite.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/panic-attack-first-aid.jpg" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="600" height="106" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">everything is great.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<ul>
<li><b>Panic attacks.</b> Along with age and debatable wisdom, I'm also gaining anxiety. When I start to panic, I know there is never a great reason for it and everything will be fine. And it always is. But my mind is prepping me for a mid-life crisis and old age by randomly worrying about things that don't need worrying about, along with searching for purpose with a touch of existential dread. When all this bubbles up, I take a deep breath and find an appropriate activity, such as emptying the dishwasher, making coffee, opening a beer, or crying myself to sleep. 30s are the new 20s!</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><b>Reading.</b> During a long flight, it only takes so long to go down the aisle and offer passengers drinks and snacks they don't want to buy. After a speedy cart sales rejection, and collecting a shocking amount of passenger trash every so often, there is a decent amount of down time. Staring at strangers is only entertaining for a few minutes (usually), so I've picked up reading. This also makes me look busy enough to make passengers feel guilty about asking for free water.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><b>Schitt's Creek.</b> I've found a new obsession in the funniest show on air. I often channel a combination of the hilarious characters in an effort to better myself. </li>
</ul>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://media1.tenor.com/images/2339cb3eaaee2f5540a265b435aebe72/tenor.gif?itemid=7658085" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="224" data-original-width="400" height="179" src="https://media1.tenor.com/images/2339cb3eaaee2f5540a265b435aebe72/tenor.gif?itemid=7658085" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">inspiration.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<ul>
<li><b>New dating apps.</b> Instead of talking to strangers in real life, I like these platforms to feel validated by more matches for a hot second, until those matches never write back. I make sure to make my filters just strong enough to keep up my disappointment from the comfort of my own couch.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><b>Petting the cats.</b> Days at home on call, I need to be ready to go at any given moment. Given the potential short notice, this also puts me on glorified house arrest. When I don't get called, the cats get extra pets to pass the time and hold off the anxiety by the phone. </li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><b>The public library.</b> After going through a period of drastic austerity measures with my own budget, a friend reminded me that public libraries still exist and now that it's 2018, there are all sorts of new things to take for free. What an under-appreciated resource that outlasted its for-profit counterparts, like Blockbuster and Borders. Apparently checking out a CD from the library makes me sound like a dinosaur, but I'm a dinosaur with an expanding music collection at no cost.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><b>Weddings. </b>Now that I'm not in college and not on tour, wild nights out with my friends are becoming increasingly rare. Thankfully one way adults cope with this is by having weddings. It's become my only socially acceptable way to get belligerent off an open bar and dance with my friends. I make sure I go to every wedding I'm invited to, and some that I'm not.</li>
</ul>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://smitten-weddings.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/09/drunk-wedding-guests.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://smitten-weddings.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/09/drunk-wedding-guests.jpg" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="400" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">so happy for my friends.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
KEEP READING! <a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2018/08/my-double-axel-saga-in-my.html">My Double Axel Saga in my later years!</a></div>
<div>
<a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2018/04/changing-world-one-trash-can-at-time.html">Changing the world!</a></div>
<div>
<a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2018/02/learning-to-fly-this-is-not-ice-show.html">Learning to fly!</a></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8346660116764084956.post-49257947224337544912018-08-23T22:49:00.000-04:002018-08-23T22:52:50.134-04:00My Double Axel Saga in My...<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y07Y0UWNQho/Vdix6_2ODAI/AAAAAAAAA2g/l0C6R_vgsCAztnQejPur8FOSgaJu-MXfwCPcBGAYYCw/s1600/IMG_2989.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y07Y0UWNQho/Vdix6_2ODAI/AAAAAAAAA2g/l0C6R_vgsCAztnQejPur8FOSgaJu-MXfwCPcBGAYYCw/s200/IMG_2989.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is 30.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i>WARNING: I'm going to have real talk in this article about my age that I'll forever deny in future clucks. </i><br />
<br />
Since I turned 30 and began my midlife crisis fading away from show hen life, I have been clinging to recording my go-to, somewhat-challenging trick: the double axel. The video recording started on my 30th birthday, when I thought it would be cool to capture me doing a double axel on this <br />
significant, ancient birthday, as well as on a battered hip. (30-year-old birds bruise easily.) That same week, I left my Hen on Ice show of 4 years and faced midlife confusion, rejection, and existential dread, with some ice skating in between.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
A few months and a few more short ice show contracts later, I decided to hurl myself into some Cinco de Mayo hangover double axels. They went better than they should have and looked respectable on a phone screen; a new habit was born. I skated to show myself, my friends, and my fan that I could still kind of ice skate as an old, mostly-retired, show hen.<br />
<br />
Although I started sharing double axel videos every few weeks, it became especially important to share on my first skate after a birthday.<br />
First 31-year-old double axel!<br />
First 32-year-old double axel!<br />
I recently captured my first 33-year-old double axel. Currently reading Johnny Weir's memoir, I thought this added inspiration would make my new year's double axel even easier. It didn't.<br />
<br />
The 7 seconds on the Internet look the same as all the younger double axel videos, and that was the ultimate goal. But I'm here to confess (for ratings) that the process was a little harder and there were more outtakes than ever before.<br />
<br />
The struggle of a few unsuccessful attempts reminded me that there will be a day where I can no longer do my signature trick. I thought for a fleeting moment, "Is today that devastating day?" It wasn't. Whew.<br />
<br />
There are things I could do to avoid this struggle, such as skate more. It's an easy fix until my body becomes broken, but I've enjoyed years of double axels where I don't really need to try or think. So for now, I'll keep finding that balance of minimal effort for 7 filtered seconds of a 34-year-old double axel.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><u>Double axels: A Journey in My 30s.</u></i></b></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
This is 30:</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzSPW-LnoajTZcTkdTWn-GkmrefWrs9coclNAP6LSpT79oePhf89L5A8mxwtjjJo0uk1fjqp2aIqhfedS3PBg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Then I turned 31 but didn't document the moment properly:</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dx_KIdjRoNFD8QhzfWQU6wIAqhmPD9zUHpXEYbUSEg6qvIZk4LoG_Bl8dCQuEi-UzSQ3Ru9C_3B4oQ-V6UkQA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Then I turned 32 and learned how to document properly:</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzapDXqlVlprj-wp3JNaFhdAPrpMwqm3qhb9DokXo-a0S4IVTws_mk2flNGjd3yx93pUd5Kx4FOG2YY--PNJg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
And 33. Next stop: 34!<br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxZEBL5Ko0TfksH2yYc47p2lJwAhnh7ggW4N_dMJcGOKAuX32xeQwU2wIVFAoHX5TTKk15V55Z42d3J6xr0mA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
KEEP READING! <a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2018/07/lifes-picnic.html">Life is a picnic sometimes.</a><br />
<a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2018/04/a-scrappy-arrival.html">"A Scrappy Arrival."</a><br />
<a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2018/04/changing-world-one-trash-can-at-time.html">"Changing the World One Trash Can at a Time." </a><br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8346660116764084956.post-17636596585298046822018-07-23T19:38:00.000-04:002018-07-23T19:38:00.768-04:00Life's a Picnic.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://cdn.playbuzz.com/cdn//2dd015fb-2a54-4436-8e21-17f1ae568169/72f1ce00-b0f3-46d0-80a1-4b31821fffec.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://cdn.playbuzz.com/cdn//2dd015fb-2a54-4436-8e21-17f1ae568169/72f1ce00-b0f3-46d0-80a1-4b31821fffec.jpg" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="638" height="150" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My South Philly dream.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I have unintentionally become a regular of South Philadelphia. But until I get my own TV sitcom like The Fresh Prince of Bel Air, I'll continue writing my sporadic humor blog. Every time I'm in Philly for an overnight layover, I have grand aspirations to go downtown and run on the infamous steps <br />
where Rocky was filmed. But then I remember I hate stairs, running, and heat; and I also have to work a red eye flight. So all these factors keep me within stumbling distance of our mediocre hotel in South Philly.<br />
<div>
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<div>
Today's Philly layover started with the same range of emotions: excitement to go downtown, disappointment that I justified not going downtown, and excitement again to make the best of my humble day in Essington, PA. With the sun shining and the prospect of a new day, I flapped to the Wawa to get a cheap picnic lunch for the nearby park on the river. This park is my go-to spot for this layover, and I pictured myself staying for hours, enjoying my lunch, writing chapters of my novel, and conquering the world's problems. </div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.americancinemathequecalendar.com/sites/default/files/stills_events_390_240/the_birds_390_0.jpg?1477519328" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://www.americancinemathequecalendar.com/sites/default/files/stills_events_390_240/the_birds_390_0.jpg?1477519328" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="390" height="196" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Day in the park.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I fluttered into the perfect spot to settle for hours and started enjoying my picnic lunch. However, my enjoyment was short-lived once some other birds eyed me and my lunch. Now, most birds are hen friends, but these aggressive crows and geese were not! I looked into their hungry eyes and saw right through their charade. These bully birds were just after my lunch, not my friendship. I scarfed down my sandwich as the crows cawed and infiltrated my personal space. One brazen crow hopped next to me as I took my last bite. I clapped my wings together to shoo him away, losing my napkins to the clap and a wind gust in the process. I jumped up and flew to gather the stray napkins, as well as some other litter to do a good deed for the day. But I couldn't collect too much trash, as the evil crows continued to infiltrate my area. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I picked up my bag and my empty coffee cup that I'd recycle later and moved to a more photogenic spot. I squatted in the grass to get the right angle for Instagram, trying to crop out the mucky coast of the river, the construction fencing, and litter. I hadn't taken a single photo before a nasty crow stole the coffee cup from my side. I shrieked and yelled at this devil bird until he dropped it. I accepted that the day wouldn't be an Instagram day, and I gathered my bag and coffee cup to move to my third spot of the hour. At this point, a flock of geese began honking and following me, chasing after my stupid coffee cup I should have just thrown in the trash can. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
At my new picnic table, I stared down the geese until they slowly waddled away. Crows were still in the vicinity. I took a deep breath and tried to unruffle my feathers so I could get back to my novel and world problem solving. Before I could open my bag, a large bee landed on my headphones and settled onto the white wire like it was a flower. I fluttered off the bench and waited for this stupid bee to figure out its flower was an Apple product. The bee finally buzzed away and I sat back down. Annoyed, I reached for my phone to vent to a friend about all these stupid park animals ruining my <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://m.media-amazon.com/images/M/MV5BMWFmODU3MGItMjFlNS00ZmJkLTllMDgtZGUzNjljZGY2NjFiXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyNjczNzg5Njg@._V1_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="436" data-original-width="800" height="174" src="https://m.media-amazon.com/images/M/MV5BMWFmODU3MGItMjFlNS00ZmJkLTllMDgtZGUzNjljZGY2NjFiXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyNjczNzg5Njg@._V1_.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bird arrest</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
day. As I started to write, 2 policemen arrived to the park and eyed me. WHAT THE HELL WAS HAPPENING AND WHY WERE THE COPS HERE AT THIS EMPTY PARK ON A WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON? The only thing that would have salvaged the day would have been for the cops to arrest ever single crow and goose in the park. They didn't. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I waited to try and see why the cops came to the park and started scratching my wings. During all this, some sort of bug decided to attack me. Livid, I accepted this was not the nice afternoon in the park I'd imagined. I grabbed my bag, which I never once opened, along with my stupid coffee cup I wanted to chuck into the river, and I flapped back to the safety of my hotel room. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm done with nature in South Philly. Next time, I'm going to the casino.<br />
<br />
<br />
KEEP READING! <a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2018/04/a-scrappy-arrival.html">"A Scrappy Arrival."</a><br />
<a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2018/04/changing-world-one-trash-can-at-time.html">Changing the World One Trash Can at a Time!</a><br />
<a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2018/03/reunited-with-questions.html">Reunited with Questions.</a></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8346660116764084956.post-43753413283284617812018-04-23T13:04:00.000-04:002018-04-23T13:04:45.316-04:00A Scrappy Arrival<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://fthmb.tqn.com/rs7Arvz8YE8-VbfhRZN4Aybn9sw=/960x0/filters:no_upscale():max_bytes(150000):strip_icc()/gull-with-litter-5a43ba1147c26600368d06e9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="533" data-original-width="800" height="133" src="https://fthmb.tqn.com/rs7Arvz8YE8-VbfhRZN4Aybn9sw=/960x0/filters:no_upscale():max_bytes(150000):strip_icc()/gull-with-litter-5a43ba1147c26600368d06e9.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Someone dropped something.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After a recent long day of flying my wings off to Philadelphia, the hotel shuttle took me and my fight crew to our modest home-sweet-hotel for the evening. As we unloaded the shuttle and grabbed each of our identical black bags, I saw a small piece of paper on the ground. This is a detail from my day I shouldn't remember, but the shuttle driver made sure I did.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As we gathered our feathers and belongings from the curb, the driver started hollering, "White receipt on the ground! White receipt on the ground!" I glanced at the sidewalk and saw it. There was a slim chance it was mine, I was aware. But I didn't care enough to find out. In the scheme of my day after 10 hours of flying, it just didn't matter.</div>
<div>
<br />
<a name='more'></a></div>
<div>
But it apparently mattered to the shuttle driver, as I heard him cluck some more about it, louder this time. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"There's a white receipt on the ground! Someone's white receipt is on the ground! Does this receipt on the ground belong to anyone here?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The driver was getting agitated as no one claimed this tiny piece of paper, and I grew more confused about why he cared so much. I rolled my eyes and flapped toward the door with my bags when I felt another wing tap my shoulder. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"A man told me he saw this fall out of the pocket of a guy wearing a white shirt," the shuttle driver huffed, waiving the receipt. "So this belongs to you."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Stunned, I stared blankly at the man and muttered an "Oh, thanks." </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"I've been trying to get your attention!" The driver clucked. Then he stormed away. I put the scrap of paper in my pocket while looking for the nearest trash can, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Welcome to Philly.<br />
<br />
<br />
KEEP READING! <a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2018/04/changing-world-one-trash-can-at-time.html">Changing the World One Can At a Time</a><br />
<a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2018/03/reunited-with-questions.html">My Big Reunion!</a><br />
<a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2018/02/learning-to-fly-this-is-not-ice-show.html">Learning to Fly!</a></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8346660116764084956.post-65979765137673470912018-04-03T13:36:00.000-04:002018-08-27T10:16:10.843-04:00Changing the World One Trash Can At a Time<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wvKuWPnC2Bw/VUBXIUbBa-I/AAAAAAAAAu4/JGNP2CJHP0UbBuzQnfyeSlHvWZ3Lpb8vQCPcBGAYYCw/s1600/DSCN4422.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="150" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wvKuWPnC2Bw/VUBXIUbBa-I/AAAAAAAAAu4/JGNP2CJHP0UbBuzQnfyeSlHvWZ3Lpb8vQCPcBGAYYCw/s200/DSCN4422.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">fond memories.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It feels good to make a difference. Nearly 3 years later, the strange gods of fate and misfortune brought me back to a previous Hens on Ice hotel. Hello again, Ontario! I flew back for a shorter, skate-less stay without my posse.<br />
<br />
I didn't realize how many tour memories I had in this dusty California town until I flapped back to this non-descript hotel. Last time, our boss visited and I told her I'd be quitting the ice show (unsuccessful). I kidnapped 2 of my friends for <a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2015/04/bucket-list-travel-salton-sea.html">an epic day trip to the decrepit Salton Sea (gross)</a>. My BFF and I wore matching outfits (miss him). I got drunk by the pool with my hen friends (again). But most importantly, I pushed for change at this hotel.<br />
<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://media.treehugger.com/assets/images/2011/10/istanbul-bosphorus-strait-trash.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="331" data-original-width="468" height="226" src="https://media.treehugger.com/assets/images/2011/10/istanbul-bosphorus-strait-trash.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">accurate dramatization.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
One sleepy, fatigued morning 3 years ago, I went for my second cup of coffee after breakfast. The first cup clearly wasn't strong enough, as the trash can stumped me. The can had a 2-flap lid, but there was no foot pedal to open it. I thought it maybe had a sensor, so I waived my trash over the top. Nothing. I held my trash over the lid again and moved it around slowly. Nada. I squinted and looked down again for a pedal. Nope. Then I noticed 2 odd buttons on the edge of the lid. Who designed an "automatic" trash can lid that you had to touch to use? Maybe it was the weak coffee, but I was pissed. The buttons were covered in syrup, grime, and probably an STD. Desperate, I tapped the sticky button with my finger. Nothing. This bizarre, dirty, inefficient trash can that was trying too hard to be fancy, was broken. A trash can is one of the few things today that should never break, since it's just a can for trash. But here I was, caffeine-deprived in Ontario, 8 months into tour with the first busted space trash can. Furious, tired, and irrational, I grabbed the whole lid with my wings and flung it to the floor. Finally, I could discard my empty sugar packet.<br />
<br />
I started to walk back to my room, but then I was inspired to be proactive and make a difference. How many more hens would struggle with that trash can if I didn't do anything? I couldn't just walk away. I flapped over to the front desk to talk to the receptionist.<br />
<br />
"Hi there," I clucked shrilly with a smile. "The trash can lid over there is broken. It's gotten really gross and you can't throw anything away without touching the lid."<br />
<br />
The receptionist stared at me blankly, and barely muttered an "Okay."<br />
<br />
Flustered, I continued to ramble to prove my point. "It's just really unsanitary to have to touch the trash can. You could just take the lid off because you really don't need a lid for a trash can, especially one with buttons. It's just not necessary and now trash is piling up and it's making a mess, and I had to touch the trash can to use it. I just wanted to let you know." The receptionist stared and did not respond.<br />
<br />
I walked away, knowing I at least did my part, and the trash can remained untouched for the rest of the week.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.sheilazellerinteriors.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/01/Oscar-the-Grouch-with-Flowers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://www.sheilazellerinteriors.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/01/Oscar-the-Grouch-with-Flowers.jpg" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="541" height="200" width="135" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Perfection.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
3 years later, I was back unannounced, eager to check out the trash can and yell at the receptionist. I hurriedly grabbed my room key and ignored the next day's shuttle time so I could see if the horrid, filthy space trash can was still there. And there it was: a normal trash can circa 1995 with a lid that <br />
had an opening. Simple and efficient, if not a little ugly, the lobby trash can was no longer a problem (to my knowledge).<br />
<br />
Sometimes progress is slow. Often progress isn't linear. But fighting the good fight is always worth it, and I will take credit for trash can change at this suburban L.A. hotel.<br />
<br />
<br />
KEEP READING!<br />
<a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2015/04/bucket-list-travel-salton-sea.html">Epic bucket list travel to the Salton Sea!</a><br />
<a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2018/03/reunited-with-questions.html">Hen's First Reunion.</a><br />
<a href="http://www.thecacklinghen.com/2018/02/learning-to-fly-this-is-not-ice-show.html">Learning to Fly!</a><br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com10