content"O.M. Nicely" is not a name I would saddle a child with.
I can usually tell the sex of an adult chicken on sight. I have here a chicken photo calendar that I'm going to migrate over to my Google calendar for record-keeping purposes. I glanced at the first picture and saw that he was a cock. I flipped to the page before that, and thought "hen". Then I did a double-take, because his comb was about the same size and color as hers, and her eye was just as glaringly amber. (I talked at writing group about my theory that it's increased blood flow to the comb and wattles that make them grow and expand so much, though it could also be hormones.) I looked back, and yeah, she was a 'cauna, and hen-feathered. So she had to have been either a hen or a very femme rooster.
...wow, January 2004 was bad. I was tracking my moods on the calendar, and wow, ow. I'm glad I have it tracked, though, because that's rather interesting to look back at. I'm going to get it off paper and on electronic calendar first, and then I'm going to look into reconciling it with LJ. Good gods, what a mess. ...And I'll surely be saying that looking back now, but at that time I was on the whole healthier and happier than I'd been at any time post-CTY. (I date it back to CTY, because CTY was a trigger event telling me that it could be so much better than it was, and it wasn't.)
I stopped by Burger King and Trader Joe's and blew $10 of my plasma money. I had a coupon for BK, and I wanted tea supplies at TJ's. I like having the plasma money for incidentals. It keeps the rest of the budget so much happier, especially when there's a car to feed.
