Thursday, January 6
Paper farm, 2005
A while before last Christmas, some emotional wires that connected my girlfriend and I short-circuited, and all communications ceased abruptly. Christmas came and went. We spent a rare holiday season without our usual exchange of crazy warm wishes. Thank goodness, New Year came and fixed up one of the wires; girlfriend sent me the first of her latest yshwer-pets: the three square pigs (one of them is supposedly a gay. No prizes for guessing which.), wishing me a happy new ear and taking at least 49% of the rust off our static sistahood with that.
So my girlfriend is a cartoonist-on-whim. That means, she can draw you any animal, alive or extinct, anytime anywhere as long as she has the pen. She drew me a reindeer over-wrapped in scarves on the back of a receipt once, two Christmases back, while waiting for our main courses to arrive. I think I might still have that slip somewhere.
Like the seasonal collections of designer outfits, there are seasonal changes of her main characters. Last season, she gave me the sheep, and the very next day, she gave me those pigs. She hasn't really given me the cows yet, but I'm positive they'll come sooner or later. It's a paper farm out there.
My real animal barked me into giving him an extra run today. The first place he ran to, was to his best friend's, the Golden Retriever's, just a couple of houses down. The two are the best of friends-foes. They bark at each other as furiously as I would to my fishmonger if I discover that he tries to shortchange me on my fish. But then again, both of their tails would also be wagging just as madly at the same time. So perhaps, all that ferocity is actually their canine way to communicate in an extremely manly manner, you know, like an ego thing, to see who barks louder.
"Hello !! " Bark bark.
"Hola ! " Bark bark louder.
"How's your day ?! " Bark even louder
"Very well thank you !!! " Barking at top of his lungs.
Well anyway, Goldie was not at his compound, or his Little Tikes kennel today. Lecter was sniffing around and poking his head thru' the gates looking for him and he wasn't there. He (lecter) then leaped over a canal and onto a huge grass patch to the steep slope by the side of the house, walked the whole length of it a couple of times while sniffing and poking his head thru the railings several times before jumping back to the front gates again. I thought I saw him lay down by the side of the gate, looking rather deflated for a moment.
I thought he missed his friend. Either that, or he was just feeling darn sian, not finding his friend where he usually finds him. Either way, I'd felt the same way. Now, my friend and I just need to work on that 51% of rust.
So my girlfriend is a cartoonist-on-whim. That means, she can draw you any animal, alive or extinct, anytime anywhere as long as she has the pen. She drew me a reindeer over-wrapped in scarves on the back of a receipt once, two Christmases back, while waiting for our main courses to arrive. I think I might still have that slip somewhere.
My real animal barked me into giving him an extra run today. The first place he ran to, was to his best friend's, the Golden Retriever's, just a couple of houses down. The two are the best of friends-foes. They bark at each other as furiously as I would to my fishmonger if I discover that he tries to shortchange me on my fish. But then again, both of their tails would also be wagging just as madly at the same time. So perhaps, all that ferocity is actually their canine way to communicate in an extremely manly manner, you know, like an ego thing, to see who barks louder.
"Hello !! " Bark bark.
"Hola ! " Bark bark louder.
"How's your day ?! " Bark even louder
"Very well thank you !!! " Barking at top of his lungs.
Well anyway, Goldie was not at his compound, or his Little Tikes kennel today. Lecter was sniffing around and poking his head thru' the gates looking for him and he wasn't there. He (lecter) then leaped over a canal and onto a huge grass patch to the steep slope by the side of the house, walked the whole length of it a couple of times while sniffing and poking his head thru the railings several times before jumping back to the front gates again. I thought I saw him lay down by the side of the gate, looking rather deflated for a moment.
I thought he missed his friend. Either that, or he was just feeling darn sian, not finding his friend where he usually finds him. Either way, I'd felt the same way. Now, my friend and I just need to work on that 51% of rust.
4 Comments:
i think its the pig on the lower right...that hairstyle gives it away..NOT THAT THERES ANYTHING WRONG WITH THAT..
HAHA, not right ! One down, two to go. Guess again, people.
oh come on, rei..no straight pig would be caught dead with that flock-of-seagulls haircut in 2004.
ok..the one NEXT to the gay haircut one..
Muahahahaaha, hilarious. Okay, according to its illustrator, the answer should be the one at the bottom left -- reason's what THE wrote. But you guys are hilarious larh. I think we got a budding scriptwriter amongst us somemore HAHA.
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