It featured a (according to the voice over) “thoughtful husband and excellent dad” playing golf with his daughter. And then out of nowhere, he starts talking about getting checked or vaccinated for hepatitis B. No explanation or anything. Just a warning from the Centers for Disease Control – Hep B is on the loose and Asian golfers with children need to watch the hell out.
Maybe that’s what afflicted all those dresses at the Emmy’s. Maybe I should go read up on the physical side effects on Hepatitis B.
Since we’ve gotten back from Australia, one of us (the male edition) won’t stop lobbying for a new pet. Seems my Outback-Jack-boyfriend-for-life, XFE is unsatisfied with the pet we currently house, feed and lavish with love.
No, he wants a new pet. A different pet. An entirely more exotic creature.
Being the super-awesome and supportive girlfriend I am, I immediately said, “absolutely not.” This seemed to fall on deaf ears, as the clamoring for a pet kangaroo only increased.
“Fine,” I thought, “I’ll show him. We don’t even have kangaroos in the U.S., so this argument will soon end, with me, as the winner.” (This was all mumbled to myself while fantasizing about the awesome victory lap I would soon be completing, finished with a Poe-patented I-Told-You-So-Dance.)
Except, I was wrong. There are lots of kangaroos for sale out there. Including, of course, a wholebunch of crazies in Texas selling them. I swear, you can literally buy anything in Texas. Looking for miniature zebu cattle to go with your wallaby? No problem, says Dr. Zoo Little of Munch Ranch near Athens. What about a camel or zebra? Sure thing, says Nueces River Ranch
(Although, upon further inspection, it does appear that this is a hunting ranch providing hunting animals, which is very, very troubling. Also: “We DO NOT ship outside of the USA or TX.” I’m confused, which is it? Texas or the U.S.? Nevermind, just….skip these guys. They’re stupid and they might be shooting at kangaroos.)
Anyway, once I surmised that you could in fact, despite all logic to the contrary, buy a damn kangaroo in the United States, I figured at least the law would be on my side. There’s no way you can legally own one of these things (outside of Texas, of course). Right? RIGHT??
Only, the law kinda wasn’t helping me out. I don’t know. It’s not really 100% clear. It’s one of those situations where they list a whole bunch of exotic pets that you would need a license or permit for but they don’t mention kangaroos, wallabies or even marsupials. Is this one of those loopholes where you can say, “Well, you never told me specifically that I COULDN’T have one, ERGO, I got one?”
Category: Partial ban on private ownership of exotic animals – allows ownership of some exotic animals but precludes ownership of the animals listed.
Summary of Law: No person may possess nonnative exotic animals that are classed as predatory or undesirable as a “pet.” Nonnative exotic animals include, but are not limited to: bears, wolves, coyotes, weasels, badgers, hyenas, all species of non-domesticated cats, alligators, and crocodiles. Persons may possess these animals if they are a licensed exhibitor, i.e. commercial, educational or scientific uses. However, there are no state requirements for a person possessing non-human primates.
Ah, and therein lies the crux: “include, but are not limited to.” Even reading the underlying citations, I couldn’t find anything that actually precluded owning a kangaroo.
Suddenly, XFE was feeling quite encouraged and was putting on his own special pair of I-Told-You-So-Dance shoes.
Not yet entirely ready to throw in the towel, I decided to contact one of these crazy sellers. I was certain that they would see where I was from (civilization) and refuse to sell me a kangaroo. I decided to contact Castleberry Safari because, well, it sounded like the fanciest, and most uptight, and therefore the most strictly official one of the bunch. People named Castleberry must be quite high-faulutin’ and not into risking their good name or business license selling pets to people that should even have them, right?
I explained via email on their website that I was interested in learning more about their fine selection of varmin, but I had some concerns about my own state’s licensing and permitting requirements. Would they, perchance, know if they could even legally sell me the mystical little creature?
Within seconds my inbox was inundated with kangaroo collateral from one Janice Castleberry, including tons of information on how to care for my future pet, a subscription to their newsletter (which appears to come out quite frequently), back issues of the newsletter going back to September, information on how to order a book written by Rocky Castleberry, and a pricing sheet, which informed me that to bring this new critter into my life would run about $1,700 for a boy and $3,500 for a girl. Also, that they ship COD through Delta and the cost is $235. (Can you really ship anything—let alone a kangaroo—COD anymore??)
Finally, Janice emailed me again with the information I had been originally seeking: “Check with your state’s Fish & Wildlife Department to see if they are allowed and if a permit is needed.”
Lord knows the Castleberry’s weren’t going to stop XFE from getting his stupid kangaroo. Which makes sense, honestly, since they are a business at the end of the day. XFE wasn’t even phased by the cost, loudly proclaiming that he’d wanted a boy the whole time (since Petunia is a girl and XFE hasn’t had much luck with her) and wasn’t that just a bargain that they were about half the price!
This was not going well.
Fine. I will indeed check with my state’s Fish and Wildlife Department. I looked all over their website and the only option seemed to be sending them an email in their general box. I guess whoever is in charge of checking that thing thought it was spam because despite leaving all of my contact information, I never heard back from anyone at the Virginia Fish and Wildlife Department.
I tried. I really, really tried. So state of Virginia, you really do have me over a barrel here. I’m trying to do the right thing here and NOT have an exotic, unnative pet hopping uninhibited around the tiny patio of my tiny row house in tiny, civilized Old Town Alexandria. We don’t even have grass for crying out loud! We don’t even have a banana pepper plant, thanks to vandals.
Not that I think kangaroos eat banana pepper plants, but they might. Maybe I need to get that Castleberry book after all.
As predicted on Friday, this weekend was a debacle. Lots and lots of excess and bad decisions on my part. And conveniently, there are no photos of me since both of my camera batteries died. Oh well! (But I do have a few photos of the wedding and the happy couple)
Here’s a partial list of what I did not do this weekend:
Did not help my chef-for-life partner XFE with the 21 pds of brisket and two chickens he made for Amy’s rehearsal dinner on Friday.
Did not run a 5k that I had signed up and paid for that occurred on Sunday.
Did not iron shirts.
Did not go to the grocery store.
Did not clean out the fridge before putting the trash out.
Here’s a pretty accurate and complete list of what I did do this weekend (primarily on a very rainy Sunday):
Laid on the couch moaning about drinking too much at Amy’s wedding and the rehearsal dinner the night before.
Laid on the couch moaning about my aching feet after wearing my six-inch Louboutin’s for six hours of standing and shaking my groove thing quite hard.
Moaned through approximately eight hours of reality television.
Demolished a large pizza.
So yeah. Acting like a jackass. The good news for my liver is that this is probably the last wedding we have to go to for the forseeable future. I’m sure all of our friends will now transition to the baby-having stage, but no way in hell I’m going to any baby showers, I don’t care if they do try to lure me with wine.
Speaking of babies, there were about 8 pregnant women at Amy’s wedding. EIGHT. That’s out of approximately 60 guests. Literally, one out of every 10 people you talked to was preggers or had gotten someone pregnant. I made it a point to high-five every guy with a pregnant girl and shout “Hey! Look what you did! Awesome, dude!”
The wedding was nice and short and the reception was, obviously, a lot of fun. I danced like a maniac, and of course, fell on my ass a couple of times, particularly during my own personal rendition of Flo-Rida’s “Low.”
I also inadvertently insulted a pregnant woman. Of course. I always, ALWAYS, inadvertently insult someone whenever I’m in a social situation. In fact, I’m sure there were other incidents that I’m just now aware of. But this particular incident was at the actual wedding ceremony.
I was talking about how I was going to go home to change from my turquoise dress into a black dress for the reception because I consider it bad luck to wear black to a wedding. Sorry, but black is for funerals, not weddings.
Of course, every pregnant woman at the ceremony (I think there were around 4 of them) was wearing black, including one standing right next to me listening in.
And can we just talk about pregnant women wearing black for a second?? Really? I know black is slimming, but seriously, you aren’t fooling anyone. We can all make out that you’re pregnant. Go ahead and wear a damn color.
So that’s it. The weekend in a nutshell. Full of drinking and pregnant women. I wonder if the two are related somehow.