Blackberry Ninja

7 months ago, as we were moving into our new place, I had a vision of my future summer self, lounging on the hammock with raspberry lemonade made from the fruit I grew as pumpkin vines curled at my feet, ready to do my bidding.  However, things don't always turn out the way you want, as evidenced by my cat's complete incompetency at filing taxes.  So far this summer, my lemon tree has stopped growing and now has white fuzzy things on it that alarm me, those venomous squirrels have eaten most of our raspberries and strawberries, and I'm pretty sure those white fuzzy things might be alien eggs now that I think about it.  Anyways, as anyone know who has eaten fruit straight off the plant/tree/vine, it is about 182 kablillion times better than storebought, and I felt like my dreams were crushed beneath my feet.

Is it just me or does "an asshole" sound wrong?  "A asshole" sounds even more not right.  Maybe because "asshole" is usually used in the plural, as it is hard to limit yourself to just one asshole?  This particular squirrel, however, deserves singling out due to the ridiculous way he is holding the nut.  What are we, at a tea party?  Use your pinky finger asshole.

Anyways, my work has a giant blackberry bush that is blooming right by the exit to the parking lot.  The thing with this is that people in Oregon treat blackberry bushes like they're a communicable disease and typically don't approach blackberry bushes unless its with a bottle of planticide and full body armor (blackberry plants are very hurty).


If you can believe it, even the LEAVES are painful.  Forget chinese water torture, if I ever have to go torturing I will just whack people in the armpits with blackberry branches.

I  figured I would stop by one day after work, grab a few berries, and bring them back as a treat for LOML. It was then that I made the fatal mistake of tasting a delicious berry.  Flash forward to an hour after work ended and I am manically limping through the bushes (I stepped on a giant thorn because of the hole in the sole of my stupid vegan shoe) with blood all over my hands and scratches on my arms.  Every time a car came by I feel the need to duck in the bushes, thereby spilling my blackberries and making me screech insults at anything in the nearby vicinity.  I ate berries like I hadn't eaten in a year, and the madness didn't stop until I heard a bear* in the bushes and ran away, screaming like a little girl**.

Delicious, magical fruit.

So I brought home whatever loot hadn't gone in my mouth and we devoured it in a matter of minutes.  The next day, I dragged LOML back there to get more, and we spent another hour, me with a little less enthusiasm as I am never anything but a classy lady in front of LOML.  Then two days later I was back again, and now I'm sitting at work wondering how I can slip out and pick berries for an hour without anyone noticing my absence, so this is evidently a new problem for me and I might need an intervention.

Now comes the point in the story where I really don't know how to end this, and all I really want to do is go pick berries and mash them in my face.  So I will just wrap this up with a picture of the chicken mask I want to buy.

I could name him Friar Chicken.  Get it?  Like fried chicken?

I could name him Friar Chicken.  Get it?  Like fried chicken?

*I never actually saw the bear, and LOMLs assertions that there aren't bears in an office park remain unfounded until he can prove to me that there isn't a bear in there.

**Actually, it could have been a vampire, because I did have a lot of blood all over me.  Or a shark.   Regardless, a hasty retreat probably saved my life.