License Plate Blues

Let me create a picture of my week to set the mood for this post: First, I was attacked by a rooster (refer to this blog post). Second, my mom spend a couple of days in the hospital then was sent home. Third, my Dad called 911 when she had problems breathing and she complained of chest pain. Fourth, a heart cath revealed that she had blockage in an artery. Fifth, she had to have a stint put in to ease the blockage around her heart and has been in recovery since 5 PM today. This is my pity party post clearly.

My car was parked in the parking deck since 2 AM last night, and before that it had been parked for about 7 hours in the Emergency parking lot. I moved it in the middle of the night to the parking deck because I was worried about hail/trees because of the incoming storm. As far as I know, my car had a license plate on it throughout the time I parked it and moved it to the parking deck.

Fast forward to about 7 PM today. I was TIRED of eating at the hospital food court (although the food is pretty tasty) so I decided to go eat at Bojangles. I walk out to my car, unlock my doors, then walk to back to the trunk of my car because it looked different. That's when I realized that my license plate was gone. I looked all around my car and walked around the deck, but I could not find it. I walked back inside to the security desk to see if anyone had turned one in (Yes, I am that optimistic).

The security guard let me down when he said someone probably stole it. We filled out a report together, then I had to call the police, then go fill out a report with them. Now I have to go take the report and get a new one tomorrow. RIDICULOUS! The cops said the only way anything would ever come of it was if a cop pulled over a car with that tag. Apparently people steal tags because they don't want to put insurance on their car to get the tag, pay the tag fees, or they have a stolen car. Awesome.

If I ever see that tag on another car, it will take all of my willpower not to ram their rear-end with my car.

And to end the story, I stopped at Target to buy a few things I needed at the hospital. When I came out, a cop was behind my car checking it out. I can't wait to get pulled eight million times tomorrow on the way to get my new tag.



My car looks so sad.

Goodbye Doodle

One night last fall, I could not sleep because I kept hearing a rooster crow. I thought it was my dad's watch (it crows every hour-twelve crows for midnight, one crow for 1:00). I got up and tried to turn off everything in the house that could make noise, and I disconnected my dad's watch. The crowing still would not stop. The next day, I found out that the crowing would not stop because my dad had taken in a stray rooster. And roosters do not only crow at dawn, apparently they crow anytime during the day or night.

We think the rooster came from a neighbor's farm. My dad decided it would be a great idea to name him Doodle and feed him chicken feed (that he went and specially bought for him). So, the rooster ended up hanging around. I thought this was really awesome at first. I mean, how many people have pet roosters? And he did take very pretty pictures.

However, what I thought was a sweet, loving rooster turned out to be a cold, calculated killer. My grandmother told me she was attacked by a rooster when she was thirteen and she still has gash scars on her ankle. Roosters actually have "Spurs" that will cut very deeply. I started to worry, but I was fooled by his friendly appearance and thought, "Oh no, Doodle would never do that!"

Well, one day I walked out my front door and there stood Doodle in all of his glory. I decided to walk by him (again, fooled by his apparent friendliness), and this was my first run-in with the rooster. Once my back turned, I heard wings fluttering and his crowing. I ran for dear life. I hopped in my car, and locked the doors. Doodle preceded to walk in circles around my car and crow. I have been told I should read the book, "Junie B. Jones Has A Peep in Her Pocket." In the story, she is afraid of the roosters on the farm because according to That Jim, the roosters can peck your head to death! I am starting to think Junie B. is right.

After my last run-in with Doodle, I have been very cautious of him. Well, today when I went to go to my car, he was standing on my porch (the scene of our last ordeal). I did not want another rooster attack, so I waited patiently for him to strut on his merry way. I suppose I shifted my weight and upset him, but suddenly I heard the fluttering of wings again right as I saw Doodle headed straight for me. Then, I felt a sharp pain across my legs, and I picked up a chair from our porch and threw it at him. He took cover under my porch. Being the baby that I am, when I saw the blood coming from my leg, I started crying very loudly. This led to my dad (the rooster's former beloved owner) to chasing it around our yard with a rake.



The smallest gash on my knee.

Doodle escaped my dad today, but his days are numbered. Someone is going to finish him off tomorrow for my dad. I hate that he has to die, but we have children in our neighborhood who could be hurt a lot worse than me if he got got a hold of one of them.

Meanwhile, I am scheduled up for a Tetanus booster.


Wanted, Dead or Alive (Actually, just dead).

Side note: My sweet boyfriend Matthew said he would protect me from the rooster...haha.