We took M. to the Children’s Museum for the first time today. She had a great time, for the most part. Her favorite part was riding on the carrousel. Unfortunately, she spent the next hour saying, “Nay-nay?” which is her way of saying she’d really like to go find those fun horses again than play in the sand. I’ve got some good pics that I’ll try to get posted tomorrow.
I meant to post the stuff below last night, but apparently hit Save rather than Publish. My bad.
Two strange things I felt obligated to share with you, my loyal readers. I’m not sure which is odder, so please log your votes in the comments. Now eat, you jackals.
First, for about the last month, every day when I get on the highway to return to Indy from Bloomington after class, there’s been this guy on the side of the road riding his horse. And I mean right by the side of the road; he’s right up next to the shoulder. That on its own isn’t super strange. It’s a rural area with farms and ranches, and people with horses like to ride them. I guess. I’m a city kid so I can’t be sure about that. What’s weird, though, is that often he’s not just riding. He’s got the horse doing tricks. Most days they’re spinning in circles, like the horse is trying to catch its tail. Seems like an odd place to teach a horse tricks, what with cars zooming by at 80 MPH mere feet away. But the horse seems to dig it and the guy seems pretty proud of what he’s got going on, because, like I said, it’s been happening every day. Weird, and a little distracting. I keep waiting for a speed trap to be right over the next hill, waiting to catch people shaking their heads at that damn horse.
Second, each of the last two Saturdays we’ve received a call that showed up on the Caller ID as “Prison.” A week ago, I was sitting in my office reading and S. was napping when the call came in. I saw the listing and figured it was just another jilted ex-boyfriend of my sister-in-law who’s using our guest room, so I let it go through to voice mail. I checked it a little while later and was greeted by a recorded message that went something like:
“This is a collect call from the Marion County Prison. This call is from:” and a guy named Doug said his name. “The charge for this call is $4 for the first minute, $3 for each additional minute. To accept the call, press one. To decline it, press three. To block future calls from the Marion County Prison, press nine.”
Since it was a message, I couldn’t respond. I felt bad for Doug, since he clearly wasted his Saturday call on the wrong number, but I was also a little concerned Doug might come steal my iPod or M.’s books and blocks when he’s released from his prison stay because we didn’t pick up. This past Saturday, though, another call from “Prison.” This time S. answered so she could select the Block Future Calls option. I guess it’s bad form to live in Hamilton County and get calls from prison inmates. It was again Doug, and again I felt pangs of sadness for him. Maybe he just needs someone to talk to, someone to share his worries and dreams with, someone to help guide him through this troubled time in his life. Instead, he’s left with unanswered calls and his prison girlfriend. Poor guy. Doug, if you have internet access, you’re in my thoughts.