Sorry, Lady, wrong house.

Short commutes are awesome.  I occasionally take advantage of my 2-minute drive from work to come back to the house mid-day, sit in front of the TV, possibly eat something, and watch cheesy action flicks from the early 80′s and 90′s.  Little things like that make the work day go by much faster.  The opportunity to take a siesta in my own bed rather than the “Lactation Room” is also much appreciated.  (The Malaysian wasn’t aware of what lactation referred to and would regularly take lunch break naps in any of the empty rooms designated for milking.  He now only eats on his lunch break after a fellow employee  informed him about the intended purpose of those rooms.  Still makes me laugh.)

Yesterday my thirst was out of control, so for lunch all I could dream about was a tall glass of watered down juice.  Around noon I headed back to the house.  At 12:02 pm I pulled into the driveway.  Sunbathing lizards scattered across the walkway as I opened the door, headed into the kitchen, and turned on the sink to wash my hands.  I screamed.  At the bottom of the empty sink was a large lizard (compared to others outside) peering up at me with a look that said, “Alright, lady.  So how we gonna play this?  Your move.”

The running water didn’t seem to startle it at all.  It just waited for me to decide what I was gonna do.  No way I was going to leave it there to have free reign of the kitchen, dining room, and especially not my bedroom.  No-freaking-way in the world.  Somehow I would have to get it outside with the rest of its buddies.  I don’t really have any problems with lizards, but I prefer for them to stay outside.  There is even a black one that hangs out in the decorative shutters on the front of the house.  It peers out from the shade when I pull up and goes back to cooling down after seeing it’s only me, not some stranger, or at least that’s the story I tell myself.

[Read more...]

On the Glass Wall

For those of you not into museums or exploring what your city, town, or even backyard have to offer, then I encourage you to venture out a little and explore a new place.  See what there is to be seen.  It’s worth it.

Promise.

Both the video and the pictures were taken at the Cockrell Butterfly Center or Brown Hall of Entomology in the Houston Museum of Natural Science.

If Barbie Pooped

When I was younger my sister and I would use everything and anything to make a Barbie-sized world come alive.  Fluffy towels were unfolded to make lush carpeting.  Greeting cards popped up to provide doorways.  Cotton balls and jewelry boxes served as throw pillows and benches.  Luckily, Barbie’s surroundings were only limited by our imaginations rather than our toy boxes or piggy banks.

That same imaginative quality popped up the other day after sitting outside on the doorstep.  I thought someone was on their way to the house, so I went downstairs to open the door.  Moving languidly over the cracks, a little snail kept me company as I waited for a person who never arrived.  Before knowing that she wouldn’t be able to make it, I continued waiting for her while watching my companion make its way to moist soil.  Bored from sitting so long, I grabbed a piece of grass and put it in front of the snail’s path to see what it would do.  Slimy ripples undulated over the green blade trying to identify the object.  It seemed to pass the test and was judged acceptable to glide upon.  Something weird started happening.  I bent down to get a closer look.  A long, thin brown object seem to come out from the top of the shell as the slug wriggled and writhed around.  I wasn’t sure what I was watching, yet it fascinated me.  My assumption was it could possibly be feeding or a radula-related anatomical feature.  I ran upstairs to grab my camera in hopes of videotaping any activity that followed.

When I arrived back outside all my excitement dissipated.  The brown line that seemed to slither out of the snail’s shell and over its body was not part of the gastropod anatomy, rather something excreted from the organism itself.

Lying in a coiled pile a few millimeters away from the snail was the tiniest pile of poop I have ever seen.  If my sister and I ever built Barbie a toilet, what the snail left behind would probably have fit inside it perfectly.