A Potato's Blog

Got woken up at 6AM by a phone call from a friend stranded in Montana because of the heat wave and almost no cell service because of their crap provider.

OhSoThat'sHowIt'sGonnaBe.jpg

Ok.

I somehow summon a week's worth of spoons and in less than 30 minutes and 5 phone calls, get them

A hotel

An appointment with a mechanic from 2 states away

A perscription refilled from 2 states away

and A Pizza

Go me.

But then it's 8AM and there are unscheduled live humans at the door and while EVERGENCY MODE is still on, I have already blown through a ton of spoons, and also probably shouldn't meet whoever it is wearing just a pair of bootyshorts that say "CRYPTID" in Gothic Font on my ass.

So I greet them in those shorts and a T-shirt that I manage to put on both inside out and backwards

#nailedit

It is, Fortunately, not the mormons.

it is, Unfortunately, two UPS guys trying to deliver my other in-house friend's new phone except the new guy doesn't know how to operate the "sign for package" device, and the old guy that's supposed to be mentoring him is like, 92, deaf as a post, and doesn't actually know how to operate the device either.

by the way

it is already

over 100 out

it takes almost 30 minutes to sign for the phone

when i get back inside, i discover that apparently the Corgi has learned how to open his kennel from the inside because he is now out of the kennel and waiting for me to come in.

he also has cat litter all over his face because while he was waiting for me he also learned how to open the baby gate to the cat's room and help himself to a cat shit breakfast.

He'll be fine

He's a cattle dog, they're legally required to have at least 1 really disgusting snack they love.

but

more to the point

i have no idea at what point he learned to open his kennel from the inside

has he been staying there out of politeness this whole time??

And

I got other shit to do today.

namely.

I'm seeing a realator

The Devils most pathetic yet effective demons

I get a reminder text that I have an appointment with her

at least

I think that's what it is because what she sends me is: "🏡⏰12:00 ❔"

With the time typed in the middle like that.

She is, according to her profile, at least 80.

so I reply "😎👍"

and then she sends me a string of GODDAMN POST-MODERN EMOJI HEIROGLYPHICS THAT TAKE UP MY ENTIRE SCREEN.

She's on an iPhone so half of them don't even translate across platforms

It takes me half an hour and three different software programs and goddamn wingdings to translate, but she has sent me the address and rules about masking and not wearing shoes inside.

in emoji

instead of like

literally any other format

I am

FASCINATED

It's not fairies

It's Doris.

I'm going to see a prospective house because due to various circumstances, I'm probably going to be moving to the other side of a major metropolitan area in the next few months, but that's not important.

I get to the house

I get a text from the realtor

The realtor is not the person who has been texting me in emoji

The person texting me in emoji is the homeowner, who the realtor says will let me in if I want, she's running late.

Sure

Why not

I put Herschel on leash and go to the front door

As much crime as he commits at home Herschel The Hanukkah Goblin has terrific public manners, and is Very Cute so I'm about 90% sure the emoji fairy is going to let me take him through the house

Door opens.

90-something blue haired old lady with a spine like a question mark and glasses that could be used as telescope lenses opens the door.

"OH [Gallus]! How lovely to see you!"

This woman clearly knows me because she remembers my anniversary was last week and that my sister is back from Australia.

Problem is

I know about 500 geriatric ladies with blue hair, scoliosis and extreme prescription glasses, because I am a member of 2 quilt guilds, the scientific illustration guild, the rocky mountain SCA and stagehand for three different theater companies, so I know everyone's grandma and fuck me if I can tell them apart.

Wait

There's a quilt in thekitchen, visible front hall

I don't know faces but apparently I can recognize applique techniques at 40paces.

"...Doris? From SAQA?"

"YES! Who is this handsome little man?"

Herschel speaks enough English to know that "handsome little man" means "this person will feed me milk bones and bacon if I'm cute enough"

Immediately does a Sit Pretty and Shake.

Doris is bewitched

This is fine, but I also know I'm about to severely disappoint the realtor because there is no way in hell I'm moving into this House.

Because

The reason Doris is moving out is that her neighbor is a Cunt Magnifique and has been harassing Doris and everyone else to form an HOA and "improve the quality of our residents" because this woman has nothing better to do than be a racist-ass busy body, and recently, she's set her husband, a county sheriff on Doris, trying to bully her into signing paperwork and threatening her with legal action and writing her up for bullshit property violations

Ain't putting up with that shit

And neither is Doris, so she's selling all her shit and moving out to live with her grandchildren in Santa Monica.

But she's technologically impaired, so the only indication that there is an estate sale happening is a small paper sign in her front yard.

"Doris." I say, as Herschel makes himself comfortable on the couch for belly rubs and pieces of ham. "Did you tell SAQA or FRCC or anyone on Facebook that you're having the sale?"

"oh, I don't know how to do all that!" She sighs. "I tried to call the Denver post but they just put me on hold for ages..."

"Watch Herschel for 20 minutes and he's only allowed to have that one piece of ham."

Pics of everything

Address, time and pics to Facebook, both quilt guilds she's in, two more I have contacts for, nextdoor, and the local SCA discord for good measure.

It's 12 minutes and Herschel persuaded her to give him at least three pieces of ham.

He is petitioning for a fourth by doing a little puppy dance on the living room rug.

"OK, that's enough ham, people will be here in 10. Where is your cash box?"

Because apparently I'm running an estate sale today too.

It's fine :)

There's about 7 minutes of quiet.

Then

They DESCEND

The first on the scene is DeeDee, who doesn't believe in speed limits. She's arrived with a horse trailer. I remember that she is also moving.

"HI DORIS SWEETHEART WHY DIDN'T YOU CALL I HAD NO IDEA THIS WAS TODAY I WAS GOING TO TAKE ALL THIS TO THE GOODWILL HERE LET ME SET UP ON YOUR LAWN "

DeeDee is 73, and has a special spiritual bond with Hello Kitty. She weighs like 98lbs, dresses exclusively in neon pink sanrio clothes and the kind of eye makeup drag queens aspire to.

She also speaks non-stop at a volume normally associated with jet engines.

Half the horse trailer is already spread out on the lawn.

Doris is putting price stickers on stuff

Herschel is trying to tear open a bag of cotton batting.

This, and the arrival of approximately 56 minivans, five more trucks with horse trailers and Corgi Excitement Screaming alert Cunt Magnifique that something is happening outside.

Madame saunters off her porch up to Doris and Demands to know what's happening, you're supposed to notify the neighborhood and get a permit to-"

Doris, surrounded by her pack of silver wolves, shouts. "OH HELLO! EVERYONE, THIS IS MARCIA. I'VE TOLD YOU ALL ABOUT MARCIA." >:)c

You know those high school house parties you see in movies, where the person invites only a few friends, but those friends call their friends, and those friends call THEIR friends and soon like 500 people show up to one house and someone calls the cops and that one John Mulaney sketch with "SCATTER!" happens?

Old people will 100% do this too, except instead of a house party it's an estate sale on a wednesday afternoon and when the cop shows up there are lawyers present and he is in DEEP SHIT because his wife just spent the afternoon admitting to doing a bunch of wildly illegal shit on tape.

So when we left off, the party had really started getting underway, because Marcia the Cunt Magnifique had decided to crash the estate sale and whine about "we're supposed to coordinate garage sales as a neighborhood" and "your friends are blocking traffic on this cul-de-sac while nobody is home" weh weh-

DeeDee is about ready to throw hands but she is nowhere near the most dangerous of the Silver Silver Wolves.

That's Dr. Ruth.

Dr. Ruth turned 99 this year and went paragliding for her birthday

So you understand just how hard she goes

Dr. Ruth sort of hobbles over and point-blank asks "So I understand you've been trying to start a homeowner's association?" :3c

Marcia

Entirely misunderstanding how much danger she's in

Starts enumerating the TRIALS AND TRIBULATIONS of trying to start one, because SOME PEOPLE DON'T RESPECT AUTHORITY and all the paperwork and talking to people and she even had to ask HER HUSBAND. A SHERRIF. To go around and hand people stuff to sign.

Some people, right?

Dr. Ruth nods. Some people. She agrees.

You know.

Her son is a lawyer.

Why doesn't she give him a call?

Marcia, a Moron: Oh that'd be great!

Dr. Ruth, hobbling back to Doris: "Don't worry. David will handle this."

Meanwhile

The Friends-Of-Friends and the Friends-Of-Friends-Of-Friends are arriving, lured in because they heard the words "Longarm Sewing Machine" and "Hand-made quilts"

Various factions present include but are far from limited to: -Probably Six Quilt Guilds -The Denver Art League -The Denver Leather League -The Vikings -The Klingons -The Colorado Wild Game Share -A Pack of Scientific Illustrators -A Pack of Assorted Scientists they brought with them -The Sheep Lesbians -The Horse Lesbians -Three Extremely Competent Finnish People (My Scientific Illustration Professor and her sisters) who immediately take over the estate sale and turn it into an auction to maximize profit and keep the taxes in order.

Someone brings two additional Corgi called "Cap" and "Bucky"

They are Pembroke Corgi, and weigh about 21lbs apiece

Herschel is a Cardigan Welsh Corgi and weighs 42lbs because he's hug even for a Cardigan, and is Delighted with his New Minions.

They worship him as a God and follow him around so every time he sticks his face in something two smaller corgi faces immediately follow, like some kind of adorable cerberus.

Pelts and meat shares are being traded out of the backs of trucks and vans

Someone is making bratwurst.

Intrigued by the Brouhaha, Doris' neighbors emerge.

They are also Geriatric and very nervous, because Marcia has been harassing them too.

They are telling this to the members of these factions that are also lawyers.

There are at least 5 of them so far and David isn't even here yet.

I realize my realtor isn't even here.

I decide to text her.

She is somewhere in the crowd and having a nervous breakdown because She's SO LATE!!!

Ma'am.

It's 103 out.

I was just handed a freshly grilled Brat

Some bitch is incriminating herself on the lawn.

Nothing scheduled is happening.

Come sit in the yard and watch the Corgis play on the Palyskool plastic slide set. They're disassembling it like tiny furry engineers.

Have a bratwurst.

One of the Klingons appears, having physically carried my realtor through the crowd, and gently deposits her on the lawn before handing her a Bratwurst.

Diane, the Realtor, is not much older than I am, and from the preppie swaths of society that has "Never had a dog growing up" and "Didn't Know People Could Just. Make. Blankets?" and "What is this? It's like a hot dog but spicy?"

She is having a LEARNING EXPERIENCE.

One of the Horse Lesbians comes over and compliments Diane on her Dior handbag.

Diane thanks her ans compliments the apparently expensive brand scarf she has on. Do you. Know all these people?

Horse Lesbian explains that she's part of the SCA, and what that is, and that why yes. Her girlfriend Tasha is an armorer. Yes like for knights.

More Livestock Lesbians assemble.

They are pulling off shirts to show off livestock and battle scars, and biceps.

Diane is LEARNING A LOT TODAY.

I am just getting everyone's contact info and making sure Herschel does not consume his weight in bratwurst.

BWOOP!

Uh-Oh.

Marcia's Husband is here.

I step out front.

He has used the siren to largely part the crowd and pull into his driveway but it has closed around him and there is No Escape.

He starts huffing and puffing about blocked traffic and permits and the like, but this is not his usual Can-Bully-Without-Consequences crowd.

These are Grandmas.

Veterans of the 60's protest front who never let up.

He's starting to turn bright red and looks like he's about to cry and I've got my phone out to record whatever Incident is about to occur.

-And a Mercedes pulls up.

It's David.

Dr. Ruth's son.

The Lawyer.

And I emphasize that The because David is not some mere ambulance chaser.

David is the guy that the state sends to prosecute Corporate Fraud and Organized Crime and Other State Departments.

David was part of the team that took down the CO Branch of the KKK.

David is all of 5'4", very round and a balding little man that looks like the Dictonary Definition of "Nebbish" that moves with such intense confidence and authority that he pretty much has the Pillar Men Theme Blasting behind him at all times.

So when he and three other lawyers from the state's office step out of the car

Mr. Sherrif goes from red to while like color-changing octopus and I am like 50% sure he shit himself.

Because what he and Marcia have been doing is Very, Very, Very, VERY, Fucking Illegal.

"mArCiA!" he garbles. "sHuT tHe fUcK uP!"

Marcia is standing in the middle of the cul-de-sac, having spent the last 3 hours recounting to anyone who will listen about the 'measures she's had to take' and now the 5 lawyers that were here are delightedly handing over the paperwork that she had forced on Doris and her Neighbors, and pointing at all the doorbell cameras and witnesses out to the state's top prosecutor.

Friends

I ugly laughed.

FOUR HOURS LATER: -Auction wrapped up with a solid $40K to Doris' name plus pending sales on some of her larger furniture and antiques

Plus whatever David gets in damages from the county sherrif's office.

Marcia and husband are fucking busted

Herschel spent all afternoon running around and eating snacks and is passed out on the floor

Diane is "meeting up with" one of the Horse Lesbians next week.

The sewing machine went to someone else but I did open my purse and found out Doris or someone shoved a bunch of cash in there.

Bog is like the wolves of Yellowstone. Leaving them as they are and observing them from a distance is great! But if you come close or disturb it, you face consequences. You are first greeted by ticks (Lyme's disease) and adders. Then you are faced with bombs and bodies. Only then do you realize you are lost. Your franctic screams for help do not rescue you from your fate of drowning. Your corpse will be laughed at, and you will be used for your stupidity as a cautionary tale. Those who try to convince you otherwise are affiliated with the Big Evil Bog Limited TM.

Setting aside, for a moment, the Kelpies, the Will-O-The-Wisp, the Boggarts, the Redcaps, the Pixies, the Leprechauns, the Kappa, the Banshees, the Salamanders, the Witches, the Trolls, and the many many other folkloric beasties one might encounter in such a place

It is a Mouth Of The Earth

Mires, both Bog & Fen, are peat-accumulating environments. They’re carbon sinks. They’re the spots on the earth where the Carbon returns to the Stone. In most biomes, Dying is simply a temporary form of transformation. The deceased becoming food for other living things, predators and scavengers and detrivores, within short order, biomass reorganized and set about into motion again through the endless alchemy of metabolism. Nothing on Earth stays dead for long, if you remove Ego and Identity from your framework.

But not in Bogs

Bogs keep their Dead

The water, acidic and oxygen poor, rich in bitter tannins and dissolved minerals, but poor in essential nutrients, acts as a natural preservative, preventing the usual nutrient recycling and upcycling found from the jungles to the poles everywhere that life usually flourishes. Those that live in the Bog live the drama of their lives out on top of a gradually accumulating crust of rotting biomass that can get deep enough to swallow a man whole if he steps in the wrong spot. Say, a spot with poor structure, held aloft by a hidden bubble of toxic, flammable methane gas, liberated from rotting carcasses below by methanogenic archaea.

The Bog will LITERALLY consume you

I read it and am extremely squicked.

Also useful to note that ‘squick’ is specifically used to mean “this isn’t for me, personally” without adding a moral judgement to it. A simple easy way to say ‘no, thank you but you do you’. Unlike ‘cringe’ which has negative connotations. Squicks are also more than just uncomfortable.

Daddy kink makes me uncomfortable

Degradation squicks me out

Modern parlance would translate it as "A thing that gives me the ick"