Remembrance and Reflection how Allied

I organized all of my pictures in photobucket last night, which means I lost all the direct links. I'm going to go back and organize some of htem, but not all of htem, so I'm putting my basic favorite parrot pics here, and then i'll take care of the rest. 

I love being young. I love being married. I love having no kids. Why? Because we get to make the stupidest mistakes in the world without more than a month's budget of spending money to worry too much about. The worst that can happen is we eat Ramen Noodle Soup for four weeks. 

Anyway. I have my Sophie Doph and I really love her. James wants a parrot. He's wanted a parrot for a while--it's at least been at hte back of our minds that little Sophie Doph should have a friend, anyway. (not that they can share cages, mind you, but someone to squawk at on the days we're away at work.)

Yesterday J and I were driving back from Stuart. We saw, wonder of wonders, a new bird shop! Actually, it had been there for five years, but this was the first time we'd seen it. So... we stopped in. (I regularly stop at bird stores. I love to look at all the different birds, all their colors, and personalities...) What do you know? They have an umbrella cockatoo -- and he's jabbering away at James. Seems to adore him. We ask whether we can hold him, the shop owner says, "Sure!"

Hansel cooed at James and then climbed up his arm and sat on his shoulder. For forever. He was sooo happy and soooo sweet. He just wanted head rubs and head rubs and kisses and cuddles. OMG. The perfect bird for James. So... we bought him. Apparently he was "on consignment." Some little girl had gotten him when she was 10 or so, and then, now being 15, didn't want him anymore. So mean. :(

We bought him, brought him home, he hung out on James's shoulder all the way home. We put him on his new playstand.. And then we tried to pick him up a few hours later. That's when the trouble began. He attacked me. He bit my finger so badly it's still bruised and swollen, and bled for a while last night. Then he tried to attack James's face -- got his ear. 

And when I say Umbrella Cockatoo, I mean, this sucker's huge. He's like 19 inches tall and his beak could frighten a Tazmanian Devil. So he's attacking James, he's attacking me. He actually bit me more--six times on the arm--all of them now bruises.

We manage to get him back on his playstand.   We leave him alone. A few hours later it's time for bed... so we try to put him into his cage. He tried to lunge for my face but caught my bra instead. Now I have a nice sized bruise on the top of my boob. Didn't know that was possible. Damn bird. In trying to detach him from hanging from my bra (yes I had a shirt on), he kind of flung toward the cage and scrambled up to the top of it. Plumage extended, wings out, beak wide open, he's informing us the cage is all his. We know better htan to disagree with a feathered hell beast. We stuck some peanuts in the foodbowl (all the while eyeing him to make sur ehe didn't try to attack us). Then we snuck out of hte room and out to the patio--where we could watch him through a crack in the blinds. He just looked around and rocked. I went in there to sit with him since he looked scared. After a while I talked him into "stepping up" for me. Amazingly, he did--and went without fuss into the cage.

So James is freaking out. We have this huge bird that keeps attacking us. I swear that by today he'll be better. He's blaming me for talking him into it. I'm reminding him he's an adult and can make his own choices. Sophie's looking like the most innocent, wonderful parrot on earth.... She knows she will be sainted one day and made an arch cockatoo in heaven for her perfect personality and sweetness. We leave her on the other playstand int he livingroom because we know she doesn't climb off--such a good baby! And we go to bed without talking to each other and sleeping as far apart as possible. It's a good thing we have a king sized bed.

This morning I awoke to decibal-topping screams from the backroom. James was whistling in the shower.  Sophia, on her playstand, her crest up exchanges an expression with me. If she could talk she'd have said, Told ya so.  As I write this my ears begin to hurt. I mean, the screams were so loud the broom fell over. Seriously. I try to talk him out of screaming.James left for work. We growled goodbyes, each holding the other responsible for the monster that now existed in our house. By this time I've also e-mailed or posted to four different "rehomed birds" lists seeking help and advice. ALl of those saints swear it just takes a few months of patience and he'll be better.

Are you freaking kidding me? This feathered hell beast is trying to rip apart the cage and lunge for my face and I'm supposed to wait a few months?! Oh yeah. Whatever. I tried feeding him treats. I tried sweet-talking to him. He began barking like a 300lb poodle. And growling. And he's still lunging for my face.

In trepidation I finally call the shop owner back and inform him of the activities of hte morning and night before. I'm sure he's going to say there's nothing he can do. We signed a release yesterday. I'm imagining my life with this hell beast. And our neighbors! Our neighbors are going to HATE us! So I call, and to my surprise... he says, "You have three options. You can exchange him for the other cockatoo -- she's so much sweeter! You can exchange him for another bird here. Or I'll give you your money back. Life's too short to be bothered with a horrible bird!"

I can hardly believe my ears! He'll take him back! Now.. how to get the damned bird into the carrying case. 

I cleaned out the carrying crate and put a few toys, some nuts, and a towel at the bottom. I stared at another towel, thinking maybe I could "towel him" whatever the heck that means. I stared back at him. His beak was open and he was banging against the bars closest to me, trying to break them. He reminded me of a pahrana in feather form. The towel seemed too scary. He wouldn't be a happy pahrana if he escaped from my holding him. What if he got out of the towel? What if he actually succeeded in biting my face?! What if he snapped my glasses in half? Or my ear?

I considered trying to pick him up wiht the towel around my hand. And then I actually tried it. He hopped off--onto the floor, and then hopped like a rabbit in a circle trying to attack me. God that beak! I manage to get him to bite the towel and lurched him back into his cage before he could do further damage.

Finally I decided to put the carrying crate up to the cage door and let him try to crawl in. The problem was that wherever I stood closest to the bars, he'd try to bite me through them. So I had to distract him over to the other side of the cage, so I could open the door and put the crate to the door. It took a few minutes, but I finally convinced him he'd have better access to biting me near his food dish.

I whipped the crate to his door and watched in morbid fascination as he tried chewing the crate to bits -- first the top part, then the bottom part. Finally his desire for nuts overwhelmed all sense of birdy reasoning and he climbed into the crate. I quickly closed the door--can you imagine if he got out?? -- and carried him to the car. On the way I noticed him attempting to take apart the crate door. I made a mental note to put the crate door against hte seat of the car so he wouldn't have a chance of actually opening it. 

When I got to the shop the guy opened the crate and Hansel walked out. The guy said, "Step up!" Hansel stepped up, bobbed his head for a head rub, and crawled back into the shop cage, happy as a freaking lark. Little bastard.

And that is James and Jen dumb animal mistake #2.  And we're back to being happily married. And Sophia is the sweetest angel bird in the world.

I got a fever this afternoon. I've taken four aleve in six hours. I think you're supposed to only take 2 in 24. Oh well. I called the HMO and told them I had a fever and they needed to give me a different doctor. She decided I sounded like I had a severe infection and to ensure I didn't get a brain infection (because, of course, the mouth is so close to the brain), she set me up with an appt tomorrow with an oral surgeon who may perform emergency tooth extraction.

James says I'm a baby. He's completely correct. But then, he's my hero and has been numbing my mouth with Special Ointment which is supposed to be cherry-flavored but is really just disgusting.

*dramatic wincing*

So are boys, if Howard Gardner in Steven King's "Talisman" has anything to say about it. Nevertheless, sleep was not a happening thing last night.

James and I were fairly depressed last night, so we decided to go to bed early (9pm). I had a hard time falling asleep but by 10 had settled into some restless slumber. Here's the drama, play by play:

10pm: mother calls, frantic, apparently someone's gone 80 minutes over the cell-phone time usage and dad will be *furious* (and will cancel all cell phones). I offer to pay the difference (even though it wasn't me). This does not quell the fear. We decide there must be some mix-up and she hangs up to call the company.

10:30pm; having finally fallen back asleep: mother calls again, to inform me that it's all straightened up; they don't add the sprint-to-sprint minutes to the non-usage minutes until midnight.

12am: both kitties are in bed with us and decide to run back and forth. Finally Boo settles down in my arms and James rolls over to pet him and talk to him. I awaken again, and ask all parties sharing the bed to PLEASE SHUT UP I AM TRYING TO SLEEP!

1:30am: J has a night terror (something we both suffer from) and I awaken him.

2:30am: J is having a hard time sleeping and Micah is purring like a friggin' motor boat.

3:30am: Micah begins pounding on one side of the shower door in the bathroom because he wants to sit in the shower. After yelling at him for five minutes to quit we decide he probably won't and open the door. (*sigh*, thus reinforcing this behavior.)

4am: Boo decides to try to cover up his litter by scratching the litterbox (which is usually in the guest bathroom, but now in the livingroom b/c of wet carpets) for 20 minutes. I finally convince him it's fine.

4:25am: Boo is not satisfied with the litter coverage and continues trying to scratch at everything in the livingroom.

5:00: Micah is upset because the other half of the shower door is not open. Micah knocks over everything on the bathroom counter banging on the door.

5:30: Boo begins scratching the litterbox again; Micah is playing with the noisy kitty-gym. "Your idea to get it" James reminds me.

6:00am: Micah and Boo are meowing and running all over the house. I decide trying to continue to sleep is futile and I will go into work early today.

So much for ten hours of sleep...

You know what? I adore my INFP and INTP friends. They are the coolest, most non-judgmental people in the world. Yet another fundamental Christian found out today that I'm living with my sweet, wonderful, soon-to-be husband. His response, "Not to be condemning, but how do you reconcile that with Scripture?"

*sigh*

Can you for a moment work on the log in your own eye? Can you for a moment realize that there are no definite black and whites in anything? Can you look inside yourself and see the hypocricy? Where is the love? Where is acceptance and forgiveness? Where is peace and harmony?

It's in the INFPs, INTPs, and INFJs. Thank you, God, for non-judgmental people who realize that everyone's situation is different and that it's not their place to decide who is right and wrong :-)

Blech. I *hate* Christmas shopping. Sometimes I think all I do is whine in this. But I guess it's what it's for, eh?

I'm soooo peopled out! I never want to see another person again! And I miss my boyfriend soooo much. *Will not call him every 20 minutes... Will not call him every 20 minutes.* ;-)
Actually, he's been working, so it wouldn't matter if I called (and I've been good, I haven't... that much. No more than he calls me, anyway!)

So anyway, I stayed in Gainesville almost a week longer than I would have otherwise because my final - my ONLY final, and an OPTIONAL final, no less - was on the very last day of finals, Dec. 20. I was 3 points from an A (B+ at the moment) and if I got a 90% on the optional final, I'd get it.

Of course, this doesn't sound too difficult. But then again, the highest grade I've EVER gotten in this guys classes (I've had two of them) was an 88 - and that only once. He's the only person I've actually gotten a final score of a B from! So, nobly I wait in Gainesville, studying hard for this final. And I got a C. I *knew* it was pointless to stay. I *knew* I'd never get a 90 on it. *sigh*

A week, wasted. Pathetic.

I'm so sick of school. I get a total break of 16 days. A lot of people have nearly a month off! At the moment, I hate school.

Oh yeah, I also hate Christmas shopping. Did I mention that? Too...many...people. I'll never procrastinate on Christmas shopping again!

I hope my bf gets home soon. Ranting to him is so much nicer :-)