Update on the Farm

So not every egg you eat is an embryo.  They have to be fertilized.  So my next question was: well how do chickys have sex?  Or chickys and roosters I guesss, since if chickys did it, there'd be no fertilization.  But first, most eggs in the store are not embryos.  If you happen across an egg that has what looks like a string in it and you cut it out, that's a fertilized one.  Go figure.  Chances of you finding one of those if you're a suburbanite is slim.  If you buy directly from a farm, well maybe homegirl chicky got out for a while and got some action.

Chicken Sex
They don't last long, do they?  Who woulda thunk it?

And now... one last thing to leave you with.  Something I died laughing at and just couldn't stop, even in totally inappropriate.

Farm Life

I called my mother on my way home from the boy's house... who, by the way, was kind enough to escort me to a party.

So I see something out of the corner of my eye and say out loud: I think it's a cow!

My mother responds: I'm pretty sure there are not cows in Rock Creek Park Morgan.

Me: Ok, then, it was a really fat deer!

This then leads into a conversation about cows.  I asked about wild cows, to which my mother noted there is no such thing.  I wondered how cows came to be then.  Mom mentions God and that didn't they have to put two of each animal on the ark?  To which I then noted: Yeah, so they could fuck like bunnies and procreate.  Wait, how did the term fuck like bunnies come about?

Mom had bunnies.  That procreated.  A lot.  As such, she assumes the gestation period for a bunny is quite short.  You see, she claims she knows these things because she grew up in a farm town.  I happened to look this up.  The gestation period for a bunny is about 31 days.

Then we were back to the cows.  And how there is no such thing as a wild cow.  Mom says this is true because who would milk the udders?  And if the udders are milked, then they burst.  I demanded she go ask dad if this is true.  Why in the world I thought my father would know, don't ask me.  But it turned out he did.  Udders don't burst, they just dry up.  So now... do wild cows exist?  Then mom and I couldn't figure out what copulates with cows.  I began to doubt mama's farm knowledge.

This doubt only increased with the discussion about chickens.  She asked about eggs, etc.  I then pointed out to her that when she eats eggs, she's essentially eating chicken embryos.  Wait... what?!  Mama was a little grossed out and asked how this could be.  So I explained that this is why the eggs must be collected as they're made, because if they're kept warm enough by the hen for long enough, then a chicky is made!  Mom asked dad if this was true, to which he replied, yup!  Mom remains grossed out that she eats embryos...

So mom's farm knowledge?  Needs some work.  Dad's random fount of knowledge?  Solid.  Although, not knowing the gestation period of bunnies works against him.  And yes, he knew what copulates with cows.

Or in my world...

BOVINE!

Wide Load

So I'm definitely not going to mention who I've been speaking to this morning, as this conversation is hilarious, but I'd get my ass kicked from here to next Tuesday if I noted who was conversing with me.  I will say it is a working to get healthy friend.

Person: These shorts make my ass large and in charge

Me: a totally derogatory compliment about how certain peoples love such asses

Person: Lol, it's wide... I need a wide load sign

Me: I don't mean to laugh, cause I really shouldn't, cause put the two of us together and we need a double wide sign!

Person: Leakage!

Person: Ewww!  Mwahahahaha.  I meant LOL!

Best.

Conversation.

EVER.

Cougar

I was just in Starbs to waste some time before an interview.  I'm wearing a dress that hits below the knee and a little sweater on top, plus a pair of black flats.  My make-up is simple, as is my jewelry.

I just got hit on by two 21 year olds.

So either I look young ad hot (let's add skinny for the hell of it) or... I look like a cougar.

Did I forget to mention the rocking grey hair?!

Let's bet which type they were going for...

Chix

Yesterday, it was suggested that some friends and I go to dinner at a place called "Chix" in DC, as tomorrow I run 8 miles and I do not want to be eating foods that will make me regret going two feet.

So this morning I went to chix.com... let's just say... that wasn't the restaurant page.  In fact, it was a porno page.

Maybe I should be checking in with certain men in my life to see what they're up to in their spare time?!

Only I would somehow stumble on porno.  Good morning Morgan!

Chix=Chicks.  Ha.  That's funny.

Pretty Girl

A "friend" (i.e. some random chick I don't know, but I "know" because we follow each other online... follow me?) of mine wrote this on her tumblr:
I wish I was one of those pretty girls. The ones who get all the guys looking at her as she walks past. The one who could get any guy she wanted. The one who wakes up looking beautiful, effortlessly. The one with the flawless skin, the pretty eyes, the gorgeous hair and the perfect figure. One of those girls who live their life with confidence. I wish I was one of those girls, but I'm not. I'm just me.

I stopped and considered.  I've never been pretty.... ok, we all know my ego is a little bigger than that, I consider myself stuffing... I mean... stunning.  I mean, I get guys who look at me when I walk past, it's just generally because I have toilet paper under my shoe, a booger hanging out my nose, or my thong poking out like a hick in a WalMart.  I definitely don't get any guy I want... but that's cause I got the one I want (ok honeypie, I paid you lip service, cough up something shiny).  I wake up flawless... flawless in my knowledge that my hair is a rat's nest, my boobs have sweated through the night and probably smell, and again, that booger thing (I'm pretty sure honeypie is now re-thinking this relationship).  I've never had perfect skin, but that's what make-up is for, I do have pretty eyes, so woohoo, I got one on the list, hair that's a little strange and a little out of the blue, and a figure that puts in the wrong time period - I was MADE to be a Renaissance gal.  In those days, a little extra was a sign of wealth.  Ho boy, in some time period, I would be RICH.  As for the confidence deal... well, um... me?  Confident?  NEVER.  Don't know what you talking about.

Really.

But I am just me.

Love me anyways?