The Agony and the Egg-stacy

I feel like an extra in a Portlandia sketch, because I’ve got my own egg guy now.

This all began last week when a coworker arrived with a carton of farm fresh eggs. She said she had a supplier and might be able to hook us up, too. I was immediately interested, because fresh eggs are, shell we say, quite divine. So when she told me that her egg person did not have enough to go around, I figured that was it, my dreams had flown the coop and I was destined to continue purchasing my eggs from the grocery store like just another commoner. I did learn an important life lesson, though: don’t count your chickens before they hatch.

Why, yes. I am breaking out the egg puns in earnest. What can I say? They crack me up.

Just when I thought all hope was lost, Deb said she found somebody on Craigslist who could get us farm fresh eggs. Best of all, he delivered, as long as we ordered a minimum of five dozen. He charges a mere $4 a dozen. Granted, this is more expensive than what you’ll pay in the grocery store, but about half the cost of what they charge at the farmer’s market, and the quality is far superior. I have to admit, I never would have thought to look for something like that on Craigslist! I was so proud of my coworker’s ingenuity I wanted to give her a standing ovation. I scrambled to find additional people who were interested, a task that went over easy. Before long we had a commitment for eight dozen eggs. The guy showed up at our office two days later, and I have been enjoying farm fresh eggs ever since. They are, dare I say it, eggcellent.

We are planning on opening this up to the whole office and making it a regular thing. Our egg guy has lots of chickens and can easily meet our demand. We’re thinking a delivery every two weeks should be sufficient.

Never a dull moment around here, folks.

Tara and I have new neighbors in our apartment complex. And these neighbors have dogs. Let’s just say things are off to a rocky start.

I’ve never been much of a dog person to begin with. I just prefer the no-fuss nature of cats (though I will admit I’ve known some pretty cool dogs in my day – Sadie, Lily, and Hank come to mind). Regardless, I’m a live-and-let live type of guy for the most part.

But not when your dogs bark constantly, as in incessantly, as in nonstop for hours at a time. Which these dogs do, every single moment that the humans next door are gone. Which is most evenings until 8:50 p.m.

Things got so bad, I finally broke down and called the management office to complain. They were actually sympathetic and told me they’d already received other complaints, so they were going to talk to these people and let them know if they can’t control the barking they will either have to get rid of the dogs or get rid of themselves. I was satisfied with this response.

A little while later, we were coming home from the grocery store and ran into the neighbors. First time we’d met them since they moved on. Immediately, the guy goes, “I’m sorry about our barking dogs!”

Now, I could have said, “Oh, it’s okay. No big deal.” But it is NOT okay and it is a big deal. I wasn’t about to let him off the hook that easily! I might have been graded a C- on social graces, but I’m pretty sure I got an A on Telling It Like It Is 101. To his credit, that made him apologize more. I still didn’t let him off the hook – trust me, his dogs are really annoying – but I respect him for admitting they are a problem rather than getting defensive about it. The sad thing is, he seems like a nice enough guy. I really hope they can get those pups under control. Seems like their bark is worse than his bite.

Oh, you thought I only did egg puns?

No such luck…