December 7, 2007

Drugs are Bad, Internet Chat Rooms are Full of Pedophiles, and Geeks and Popular Kids are TRULY Not All That Different IN THEIR HEARTS!

Crazy Farm Plan is like The boobs stuck under the bed in Paris story, in that once you have HEARD the title, you have pretty much heard the story. God---in the stuck under the bed story---is in the details, as He is in most things. BUT somehow I have developed a Pink Sock-ish violence against telling CFP CORRECTLY with all the little building lunacies that stacked up like blocks and made it more than its title, and you have developed a violence against me for being so irritating and floppy and unable to TELL it, so here is the atheist version, detail free, just so we can put it to bed and make up.

Here I shall pause and announce that I HAVE LEARNED A VALUABLE LESSON. No, really, I have. And now, all at once, the title, she is making sense, no? Because it is JUST like an after school special, so much lesson have I valuably learned. We will save the moral for the end, be cause that is just good after school special form, and you better brush your teeth and get that gun out of your pocket, because there WILL be mandatory hugging. Tears optional.

DETAIL FREE ATHEIST VERSION: By coincidence, I read LAST CHILD IN THE WOODS and Animal Vegetable Miracle in the same month that my parents decided to move out of Birmingham to a more rural area. Then I started shooting stuff with my brother and these things came together like the Magic Toilet Theory of Life, and Crazy Farm Plan was born.

PAUSE – you want to know what the Magic Toilet Theory of Life is?
AH! I can smell it.
You do.
Okay.

I will tell you tomorrow.

ANYWAY, my weirdo brother and his even weirdo-ier sister (aka: me) decided that it was a GOLDEN opportunity to get our entire family to purchase some untamed wilderness in CENTURY FLORIDA of all places, and build houses and grow our own food including chickens and a meat-hog, and eat totally microbiotically forever and possibly stockpile weapons and have a cult.

That’s it. It was better in my head. There were DETAILS…

SAMPLE DETAIL 1: We had every member of the family do pro and con lists, and Scott and me and mom and dad and Bobby took all took it very seriously, writing pages of GOODS AND BADS, and doing financial feasibility studies and budgets. Then my sister in law, Julie, sent in her list. The PRO side was noticeably blank. In fact, the whole list read like this:

CON: Bobby will have to divorce Julie.

Sample Detail 2: When we were actually looking at properties, Bobby, my ever-hopeful-of-being-allowed-to-become-a-survivalist-and-grow-a-ZZ TOP-beard brother, slipped us this link, touting it as the solution and the best place for The Branch Jacksonian Home Base.

MY FAVORITE line of the whole Crazy Farm Plan Dialog came from Julie, who said, and I paraphrase here because I have lost the e-mail, dern it,…. “I suspect that the way you see it in your head is like, You sit in the house and write novels, and Bobby sits in the house sculpts, and Scott and I tote sod and slaughter pigs and plow the back 40.”

The only response she got was a buzzing, cricket-y sort of faux-silence, because I HAD seen it that way, maybe, secretly, except in my version I would leave the house once a day to play with the goats.

ANYWAY, sometimes things happen that I REALLY want to blog, and then more things happen that push them aside, and by the time I return to the first thing, it no longer has the rich red flow of the zeitgeist in it, and I am pre-bored by it already and do not want to tell it. But the MEMORY of how bad I wanted to tell it earlier makes me think I WOULD tell it if only I had something PUSHING me, so I post that I WILL tell it here to make YOU be the push…And then I still do not want to tell it and MORE things keep happening I would rather tell you about than the dead thing I am done with.

THE VALUABLE LESSON IS, I must not SAY I am going to tell it here. I either tell it, or I do NOT tell it.
There is no try to tell, master Yoda says. There is only TELL, or PINK SOCKS.

Hug?

NO?

OH RIGHT. I learned a valuable lesson, didn’t I?

OKAY! The Magic Toilet Theory Life came about in college (BE WARNED: this is SO disgusting) when my roommate had a great smacking hairy boyfriend and her great smacking hairy boyfriend had an enormous herd of equally hairy and greatly smacking male friends and they would all come over and sit around our teeny apartment and drink beer. Beer makes you PEE. About half of these boys had never been taught to FLUSH.

Some nights, four or five of the non flushers would go in there one after the other and pee and pee and pee and not flush. The Magic Toilet Theory of Life was that, given that these monkey men COULD NOT BE TRAINED, IF we could send the ones who FLUSHED away on an errand, and then feed the NON FLSUHERS the correct foods and cocktails and malted beverages in a mystical order, and then get them to go pee one by one in a sequence based on the chemicals they had injested, THE MIRICAL of LIFE would happen in the toilet. It would be just like the Big Bang, except in our bathroom. Our deep and sincere hope was the miracle of life would have FANGS and SLAVERING MONSTROUS RAGE and it would leap out and eat the NON FLUSHERS. The end.

See.
I CAN BE TAUGHT.
Hug NOW?

Posted by joshilyn at December 7, 2007 9:25 AM
Comments

BIG HUG!!

I do like anticipation, as frustrating as it can sometimes be, but only if there is a pay-off. And you paid-off, and with a bonus, so thank you!

P.S. Julie sounds like a riot.

Posted by: Deborah P at December 7, 2007 9:50 AM

Julie is the bomb with a side of diggetty.

I won sister in law Lotto.

Posted by: joshilyn at December 7, 2007 9:53 AM

No hugs! No learning!

Oh, okay. You did learn. We can be friends.

Hug.

Who knew you could buy a whole BUNKER online?

Posted by: Aimee at December 7, 2007 10:48 AM

I would like to take Julie out for mojitos. We've never met but I'm pretty sure I would adore her...there's a mental-healthiness about her comments which appeals. Just sayin'!

Posted by: Amy-Go at December 7, 2007 11:17 AM

Oh dear.

Amazon's gone again and started selling a book y'all haven't even written yet.

I wonder, though, why they picked the audio version this time:

http://pics.livejournal.com/captainsblog/pic/0009h2fa

Posted by: Ray at December 7, 2007 11:17 AM

Ooohhhh, I really wish I hadn't clicked that link.

You know, the new season of Jericho begins next month, and I will once again feel absolutely compelled to purchase a firearm. I don't have one now, but this being north central Alabama, I may be the only unarmed person in my office right now.

Watching Jericho also compels one to form irrational post apocalyptic plans for survival. Including the building of a Crazy Compound stocked with animals.

Don't let your brother watch Jericho, Joss.

Posted by: City Girl at December 7, 2007 12:23 PM

Girl, you done gone and lost yo mind. But I like it. It's why I keep coming back, in fact!

Julie does sound like a riot and if I ever had to live on farm/bunker/cult I would definitely want the two of you in it with me.

Posted by: Leandra at December 7, 2007 12:58 PM

Should that be the Branch Jacksonian Compound?

And in lovely Eastern Washington, too. Dry, dust, blistering hot in summer and blistering cold in the winter.

Posted by: hollygee at December 7, 2007 1:03 PM

Yes, that Julie sounds like the wife version of Scott. Are you and Bobby THAT much alike? Let's see, we have a novelist and a sculptor, so I'm thinkin' yes.

But the Magic Miracle of Life Toilet theory thing was WONDERFUL.

NOW you can hug me or a baby goat, and I'm pretty sure I know which one you'd pick.

Posted by: Roxanne at December 7, 2007 1:31 PM

MY imaginary top-secret high-security private compound is in Maine. Since it's purely imaginary, the cold winters and buggy-non-winters aren't so bad.

Posted by: Brigitte at December 7, 2007 2:01 PM

Oooh, Joshilyn, HUG! And thank you for learning that lesson and not making us wait for the Toilet story. That is such a cool idea - after having looked at that eBay auction. Heee. I have to go tell the CBs. What a great writer hangout that would be! With, of course, the macho types to go out and hunt and forage, while we, writerly non-macho folks (still know where to find the hairy guys?), lounge on velvet couches, eating bonbons and penning mahvelous literary masterpieces. Who's in?

Posted by: ZaZa at December 7, 2007 2:45 PM

My dream bunker is not a bunker but a cabin, ala HGTV dream home, in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina. I, too, hit the sister in law lotto with Pat. Hubby's three other sisters deceased from ovarian cancer, every one of them. Pat had ovaries removed years ago. Probably why she is still alive. She would be welcome to come with me to NC because she is an artist. We both work quietly. Our two men would be welcome, too. They are not hairy. Is Julie an editor? She put her thoughts in a very succinct sentence.

Posted by: Rhonda at December 7, 2007 3:06 PM

Hugs are always free to a good home. Or crazy farm.

Posted by: Lisa Milton at December 7, 2007 3:40 PM

I'm worried about you, honey, really I am.
You know, you only get this way when your writing a book. Are you writing another book?

Posted by: Desi at December 7, 2007 3:49 PM

Okay I noticed to really bad things about this post. You oh soooo want to gloss over the facts (in hopes we've forgotten) but you
LIE LIELIELIELEIELEIE
Ms Crazy Farm Plan Goat Mama.

1) The story of the Boobs stuck under the bed in Paris, is not even a fraction of the story. Hmphf! But good try.

2) There are fabulous details in the Boobs stuck under the bed in Paris story. Fabulous details, that you can not gloss over with statements like number one.

Good try Crazy Farm Plan Goat Mama, but those of us in the know...er...well we know.

Next folks she will try to tell us all that the Crazy Farm Plan is all in the title. I'm taking odds on this. What say you? She tries in...

one month to tell us this?
three months?
six months?
or in one day, because she happened to go to book study at the Martin Bar, then glosses over in the throes of a flirtini and chocolate induced hangover.

Odds anyone? I'm taking odds. Joss? What about you? Odds? :)

Posted by: Cele at December 8, 2007 12:41 AM

*hug!*

That? Was hysterical. The image I have of some gnarly beastie with ginormous fangs sploishing up out of the toilet bowl and swallowing a sloped-forehead-having cave-boy in one bite will keep me in giggles for a while, now. Thanks!

Posted by: Saturn at December 8, 2007 12:47 PM

Thank you for not telling the real Magic Toilet Theory of Life. I was in fear and horror rom the moment you mentioned it, and I was just about to jump into the comments and rage and threaten, but then I thought, no, she won't really tell it, and then I saw that you were in fact telling it, and I was all making with the jaw drop and whatnot, and then I realized you were telling some other toilet theory, one which in no way implicates me in any experimental urination.

Posted by: Lydia at December 8, 2007 7:24 PM

Joss: Yes. Many hugs. Also, you should totally buy that compound. Central WA is bee-yoo-tee-ful, and I am not at all biased, not even a little.

Lydia: You mean there's another Magic Toilet Theory of Life? Do tell!

Posted by: alala at December 9, 2007 4:20 AM