Goldie's taking over the blog for now.

I'm in between home improvement projects. I'm debating what's next on the home improvement list. It's four degrees outside so we're not doing a whole lot other than catching up on last year's reruns on Netflix. So I've decided that for the time being, I'm going to pass the reins of my blogging responsibilities to someone else, who perhaps has a bit more to say. Meet Goldie.



This thing on? Hello? The name's Goldie. Now, before you go all, "oh isn't that cute, a goldfish named Goldie" let me say right now that I ain't no frickin' goldfish. I'm what's known as a South American Cichlid. Actually to be more specific, I'm a BLOOD PARROT South American Cichlid. Which makes me sound more dangerous. Like I kill small birds and eat their organs just for my own enjoyment. Don't even think about calling me a goldfish.

And, the name? Well, there are these two little monkey-like creatures running around outside my tank, which I'm going to call Thing#1 and Thing#2 (Yes, I'm a fan of Dr. Seuss. One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish was pure GENIUS). They seemed to have voting rights on the name, so it was their idea. Not mine. I would have preferred something far more manly, like "Doug", but hey, that's not important right now.

So, the blogging thing. Well, Skinny Guy and I were staring at each other through the glass the other day. I gave him my best hypnotic gaze, concentrated really hard, and thought, "Get me the heck out of here!". Suddenly he grabbed the net, scooped me up, and here I am in front of the keyboard while he's on his knees wiping water off the Pergo. Not quite what I had in mind, but if it gets the message out...

I've been in this joint a month now. During that time, I've noticed a few things. First, these people have no idea how to care for fish. Next chance I get I'm going to shove each one of their giant heads into a mayonnaise jar and then pound on it with a rubber mallet while saying, "here fishy fishy!" See how they frickin like it. Second, it appears that the pattern of daily life around here consists of the following agenda: Skinny Guy leaves for most of the day, leaving Thing#1 and Thing#2 to run around all day screaming, making a mess, and asking that one with the glasses and book in her hand for snacks every eight minutes. She appears to spend most of her day pouring Rice Krispies into small bowls. Skinny guy returns home later, yells at the Things to stop making so much noise, then joins the book lady as she follows the things around, picking up their crap and pouring more Rice Krispies until they are sent upstairs for the night. This leaves me with the rest of the evening to catch Jon Stewart on the TiVo and hang out with the world's most boring roommate, the algae sucker.

Okay, despite the fact that I've finally figured out how to work this keyboard thing with my fins, I'll sign off for tonight. Tune in next time when I give my side of Skinny Guy's couple's therapy story. He really, REALLY, had no idea what he was doing there. Let's just say this guy is about as qualified to perform psychological experiments on fish as I am to drive a Barracuda. And I mean the car.