New Years Eve Dec 31 2013

According to a recent study at the University of North Carolina, one out of every 200 American women claim to have become pregnant as virgins.  Researchers at the University of North Carolina were using a test called the National Longitudinal Study of Adolescent Health.  Researchers at universities throughout the country are always administering tests of some sort and getting paid for it.  I would say this test was at least interesting and raises numerous questions.(If I remember right, the last time a woman reported having a virgin birth was over in the Middle East in a town called Bethlehem.)

The first question raised is did the women understand the connection between sexual intercourse and pregnancy.  Apparently some of the women were not even sure what constituted vaginal intercourse. ( In my estimation this would indicate a serious problem.)  Of course it’s possible many of these women came of age during the Bill Clinton Era when Bill managed to create mass-confusion over what constituted “having sex.”

The second question concerns dates.  Maybe the women simply got their dates mixed up.  It’s possible.  Judy is always complaining about how I always forget important dates.  Maybe some of these women are very poor at keeping track of dates and thought they started having sex after giving birth.  Nothing surprises me about human behavior anymore.

The third issue regards a solemn pledge.  Some of the women claiming a “virgin pregnancy” had also signed a chastity pledge.  Granted, when you sign a pledge you should take it seriously. But it’s possible some of these women signed the pledge, and then, when their guard was down, gave in to their boyfriend’s animal-cravings.  Naturally you don’t want to admit you broke the sacred pledge, so you tell a little white lie and claim you had a virgin birth.

Of course there is always the possibility that one of these women had a genuine “virgin birth” just like happened in Bethlehem.  I strongly doubt it though.   I’m even skeptical of the “virgin birth” in Bethlehem which indicates how much of a skeptic I am.  A  coworker with the telephone company once told me I was an irreverent, skeptical heathen.  Didn’t sound good at the time.

Besides virgin births, I also ran across another enlightening subject concerning women. 

A few days ago (still 2013) I tuned into the Dr.Oz tv show and learned that the average woman will pass wind 98 times in a week.  Like virgin births this is valuable to know.  For instance, if I’m in the grocery store, checking the price of fresh salmon I will know not to stand downwind of the lady looking at the fresh clams next to the salmon.

Dr. Oz did not explain how many women were tested, what they ate, or what instruments were used.  Naturally my first thought was that some type of “fart-meter” was attached to various women who volunteered.  (What kind of woman would volunteer to have her farts measured is a scary thought.)

Judy says I watch too much of Dr. Oz.  She also claims that women don’t fart, but, rather, pass “delicate woman winds.”  She claims that men, myself included, pass “big hairy man farts.”  That is an example of gender bias of the most severe type.

Here’s wishing everyone a very happy holidays and a joyous New Years.

Irreverent and always skeptical

Judy is having trouble picking the cherry-tomatoes in our back yard.  We have six plants planted in two wooden containers in the back yard which, because of the abundant sunshine and occasional rain shower, just keep producing more and more tomatoes.  But it is now mid-September and there are small creatures that have matured and are now occupying the plants in abundance.  Judy has given names such as Harriet, Mildred, Lulu and Clara to the numerous little critters.  There are very few male occupants on the plants because the females tend to devour them after mating with them. 
In the world of spiders the male really does get used and abused.
All the spiders in our backyard, and there are many, are mottled brown in color, build orb webs and are called Araneus diadematus. That’s the scientific name; most people call them Garden Spiders.  Of course the scientific name is only important if you’re really into spiders, which in my experience includes very few people.  Fortunately I have managed to influence Judy to at least try to avoid damaging their webs as she picks the tomatoes.  I point out to her that there is a spider, Nephila, which resides in the tropics and builds a giant orb web that is about 40 inches in diameter and strong enough to be used by humans to catch fish in.  This spider catches small birds and mammals in its web and then eats them.  We would never get the cherry-tomatoes picked if one of those suckers was in our little garden.
Judy’s daughter, Deanna, used to catch spiders when she was attending college down in Seattle.  She was living in a basement apartment and kept discovering spiders running across the floor.  She was not the least bit interested in spiders and would cover them with empty jars, jar lids, ashtrays or anything  else that was available. 
In Illinois there is a large black and yellow spider that would build a large orb web between  the rows of corn in the Fall.  Photographers love this spider because of the beautiful designs the dew laden webs create on a Fall morning as you look down a row of corn.  The body of this spider is about 1.5 inches long and the eight legs will stretch out to cover your entire hand.  I know this for a fact because one of these spiders bit me on the back of my hand. 
It was a Fall morning and I was walking through a corn field  when I felt this dull pain starting in my hand and going all the way up to my shoulder.  When I looked down at my hand I felt both surprise and shock at seeing the spider with its small fangs sunk into my skin.  I brushed the spider off and saw that a lump, similar to a bee sting, had appeared on the back of my hand.  I realized I had swung my hand through the spider’ s web which probably really pissed her off after all the work it took to build the web. 
I’ve had one other spider crawling on my hand. The year was 1958 and it was at Camp Pendleton, California and it was a tarantula.  I was in the last 4 weeks of Marine Boot Camp at what was called Basic Infantry Training.   It was evening and some of the recruits had found a large tarantula and were poking at it with sticks.  I knelt down and placed my hand in front of the spider and he(or she) climbed aboard and started moving up my arm.  Some of the Marines asked me if I was crazy but I was pretty sure the spider wouldn’t bite me as long as I didn’t apply any type of pressure to it.  I walked out away from the billets and released it and watched as the tarantula moved off into the brush. 
During the 4 weeks of infantry training you no longer have a Drill Instructor but have what is called a Troop Leader.  The next morning the Troop Leader, a sergeant, informed me that I was now the official spider, scorpion and snake remover for the platoon.  He also made it clear that if he ever found an F-ing spider, scorpion or snake in his quarters he would know who to F-ing blame for it and I would be one sorry son of a bitch.
Not everyone appreciates spiders. 

Chick Magnet

Judy has gone to work at the Literacy Council, and I am taking Corki for a walk over at Lake Padden.   It's about 10 a.m., temperature in the mid-70s, and Corki is happy as a dog could be. Algae is beginning to take over this shallow end of the lake and I can see a number of waterfowl swimming in among the growth of plants that are becoming visible on the surface. On the shore a woman is tossing  a large stick out into the water for her dog to retrieve and I notice the Mallard ducks and Canadian Geese seem to ignore the dog.  Among the Mallards is a hen with ducklings that are about a quarter grown; I count five ducklings bobbing in the water as they trail along behind her.

 

A couple of teenagers are sunbathing close to the path I'm on and Corki wants to sniff their feet but I pull her up towards the path. Farther along the bank I see an older guy(my age) sitting on a canvas stool with a fishing pole set in an upright position. I wonder if he has his line out beyond the algae growth. 

 

It's a nice pleasant day on Lake Padden and everyone is happy and comfortable and then I see the eagle.  The eagle is cruising in at about tree-top level right above the ducks, geese, sunbathers, fisherman and Corki and I. Then the eagle's wings come in against his body and he drops like a bullet and then the wings are extended and one leg goes out and grabs one of the ducklings and he begins beating his wings as he heads across the lake. 

 

Now there are only four little ducks on the lake.

 

The teen age boy  raises up off the blanket and says, "Holy shit! Did you see that?"  His girlfriend didn't see the activity, doesn't seem all that interested and continues to lay on the blanket.  Down by the shoreline the woman with the dog is standing with the stick in her hand and seems a little awe-struck by what just transpired in front of her.  I am surprised that the eagle would grab prey with so many people nearby. But it was very quick and probably took less than 30 seconds.

 

Judy and I have noticed that the ducks on Lake Padden will start out with a brood of about 7 or 9 ducklings but then when we see them later, close to maturity, there will only be 2 or 3 ducks left. Life is rough for a ducky.

 

Corki and I continue on around the lake.  I'm wondering if it's going to be a one-pooper, a two-pooper or maybe even a three-pooper walk.  I judge her walks by how many poops she takes; it's not a successful walk unless she poops.  Of course that's why it is critical to have at least three poop-bags.  When Judy is along she will quite often cheat by scooting the poop off into the brush.

 

As I walk along I notice that when I meet women they will look at Corki, smile and then nod at me.  This is quite different than when I walk alone in the park. Quite often I have noticed that many women will move over on the opposite side of the path and clutch their cell phones as if they are about to dial 911.  I have tried smiling and saying hello but this only results in them turning around and running in the opposite direction.

 

On this walk I meet three women and all of them smile and start asking about Corki.  They always comment on how cute she is and want to know her breed.  As I explain to  them that she is 7 years old and is part Corgi, none of the women dial 911.

 

It is obvious that the dog is a "chick-magnet."

 

Also, I have been wondering how to supplement my retirement income and perhaps Corki is the answer.  I could rent her out as a guaranteed "chick-magnet."  Of course I would have to figure how much to charge per hour and what would be the normal time frame for her to be rented out.  If the enterprise was successful, maybe I could start a franchise and go nationwide.

 

I'll see what Judy thinks.