Actually, it IS Rocket Science

I (didn’t) see the moon and the moon (didn’t) see me

Over the weekend I attempted to catch sight of the great pumpkin Supermoon.  Since news of the fact that the moon would be at its closest to the earth that we’ll probably ever see in any of our entire lives (for another decade or so) surfaced and word reached the cray-cray’s, of course the doomsday tellers climbed down from their asylum atop the mountain and regaled us normals of what we needed to do to in preparation for a very slightly-more-than-mundane event.  Throughout the past week I have read an exorbitant amount of nothing less than hysterical postulations of what our online crazies have offered us.  Here are some fun mass hysterics to waste your time with; what I like more than anything are their sensationalizing headlines, such as Supermoon Behind Wild Weather, Supermoon Occurred Tonight, BEWARE!,  and YOU MUST READ THIS!!!! SUPERMOON PREDICTIONS!  WHAT’S GOING TO HAPPEN!

The outcome of all the kookoo’s speculation was obviously not as fruitful as they might have assumed, but everybody’s familiar with the hindsight adage.  I opted instead to venture outside to glimpse the moon myself.  From where I live I can only somewhat see the moon, but I recently found it is much easier if I travel west about a mile up to a clearing I discovered that surpasses a couple of neighborhood alcoves.  So around 7pm I headed up there in hopes of seeing the fantastic sight that is the moon-that-looks-just-a-little-bit-bigger-than-normal.

There were a couple of people who had the same idea as I had, because it appeared some people had come up with binoculars, professional cameras, and even camping equipment (seriously, they brought a friggin’ tent and everything).  I found an open spot on a concrete tetherball platform among them and settled my apparently unprepared self in.

Before long a woman and her dog wandered into the clearing, no doubt to make the same pilgrimage the rest of us had and probably to make something else.  The dog was cute enough, albeit rough looking, kind of an oversized cur, with a tongue wagging all over the place, though in all honesty it would have taken two hands to get it back in his mouth.  There wasn’t much space left in the opening so I scooted over to allow them to see.  We eventually struck up conversation because due to the fact that it had rained all day, we weren’t able to see much of anything in the sky past some thick tiger stripes of illuminated clouds.

She was a pretty decent lady in her mid-40’s, I’d guess, and she explained that she had rescued her dog, Pall-Mall (if the name didn’t give away her smoker’s status, her voice certainly did), from a shelter a few years ago.  She went on to tell me that she did so because her kids had been begging her for a dog, except they had previously owned a prized variety of bird and a pedigree cat that none of them took care of and eventually lost interest in, so when they began plaguing her for a dog she decided she was going to find, “the ugliest looking thing that could be called a dog,” adding that at the time of adoption, Pall-Mall had just overcome a case of mange. I immediately liked her more than I could rationally have admitted.

We went on discussing different aspects of either of our lives while willing the clouds to move, as futile as that turned out to be.  Polite conversation continued until Pall-Mall made it clear he had some unfinished business to attend to and was running out of time.  The conversation lulled to the shrill tone reverberating from Pall-Mall on the flat surface of concrete.  It kind of started out as a small high-pitched wail, like the sound you make when blowing between a blade of grass, to a full out balloon releasing air through a squeezed air-hole sound.  Kind of like an


I swear it went on for practically 5 seconds.

You guys, there are few things that offer me such pleasure in life and spur unending peals of laughter, but unmistakably one of them is unwitting gas.  What I even found more hilarious was that neither Pall nor his owner seemed phased by the uninvited butt symphony.  Seconds after the ass fanfare ended, Pall kept his composure and turned at hearing my stifled laughter as if to say, “Whut. Like you never fart.”  And his boss was equally disinterested, opting instead to shrug and say, “Yeah, sorry, I should have warned you.  At least we’re outside.”  Which is when it hit me.  The stench of a thousand wasabi farts- it basically singed my nostril hairs.  As I covered my nose and looked over at my new acquaintance,  I got the impression that she actually got a kick out of my suffering.

I think I’ve made a new best friend.

*note: no, the dog’s name is not actually PallMall, upon request.  Names were changed to protect the tooters.


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  1. * udmonlezun says:

    There you go again, Ash…You should just write a book. Thanks for the giggles this morning! 🙂

    | Reply Posted 7 years, 6 months ago
    • Aw, thank YOU, Sula. Thank the heavens someone else found hilarity in that situation.

      | Reply Posted 7 years, 5 months ago
  2. * abbey says:

    This one I hadn’t read yet and it just made my friggin night!

    | Reply Posted 7 years, 5 months ago
    • Abs, you gotta get out here and let me make your night every night.

      Why are you giggling?

      Just sayin I’ve got scrabble and I make a mean guacamole.

      | Reply Posted 7 years, 5 months ago
  3. * kimbelly says:

    only you think of ways to say things like, “ass fanfare” and have it make any sense…

    | Reply Posted 7 years, 5 months ago

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