Happy day,
***WARNING....this post may have words and ideas deemed cringe-worthy, politically incorrect or socially inappropriate given the current lens at which we view words today. If you are likely to be...what did the kid call it...triggered...yeah...triggered...then you should skip this post. You have been provided with ample warning. Any emotional damage you incur after this sentence is self-inflicted.***END WARNING
My name is Lord Happy and I...am an addict. I don't mean to be an addict, you know, it wasn't like I set out to be this way. It just sort of happened. But it was a long time ago, and it was such a rush when I was 5 years old and I wanted to play with my dad's fish because they looked bored, so I threw in my matchbox cars so we could play. I have no memory of the dog looking askance at me, but I'm sure she did. Some time later, as the family legend goes, the fish looked hungry, and so a peanut butter and jelly sandwich found its way into the tank. And still some time after that I decided to help out dear old dad and I cleaned the fish tank. It turns out that Tide laundry detergent is not a fish-safe product, mostly on account of it not being non-GMO and not organic, I'm sure. Being gluten-free did not seem to matter.
Not too much further down the timeline, perhaps a decade or so, I got my own tank, and started with convict cichilds and along the way, I started working at an LFS which turned into a managerial position of 4 stores. It wasn't that I was so amazing at retail or knowledgeable. I just showed up for my shift and knew that if someone wanted to pay me more for showing up and doing what I was doing, I'm not so foolish as to turn that money down. Well, you know what happens to young people who work in fish stores...they pick out all the oddballs, plus all the cripples. Now I know that's considered a derogatory word these days, but calling a fish with a bent back (tuberculosis?) or a missing eye "differently-abled" or "neurologically-diverse" just wasn't done back then. So if I have triggered you, well...that's a you problem. But these were the fish that one couldn't bear to feed to the piranhas or snakeheads or clown knives, and the toilet really isn't a suitable death for a cripple. And all these fish need homes, so it wasn't long before I had a few tanks of my own.
Over the years I would travel and fly fish back with me in my carry-on luggage, which always caused a stir at security because it always looked weird going through the x-ray machine. Kiddies today don't know that you used to be able to bring liquids on a plane, and smoke, too, but its true...the only thing that was limited to 3.2 ounces was the bag of weed one could shove in their crotch and not look totally guilty. So I heard. But I digress.
From the days at the stores, where I could buy anything I thought I could sell, I'd buy fish in a binge-like fashion. So if a school of tetras lived 2-4 years and began to die out all at once, then you replace them that way. Or if you had an ich outbreak because you were working doubles and didn't have time to take care, you replaced the whole lot. And if your kid dumped Tide into the tank, well, that might cause a binge shopping trip as well. And that's pretty much how I buy fish to this day...by the dozen.
Over the years my interests have changed, of course, and nowadays the offerings are quite broad. Sometimes I would see a fish pop up on Aquabid or be mentioned in one of the posts here and I'd go look it up, or it would be on Youtube and my mind would go racing with the possibilities, but I wouldn't really act on them. Like, I don't have any stiphodon, for example, but I think they'd be fun to raise. So these ideas would just lurk in my head, waiting for the right opportunity...to strike.
From time to time we've all experienced a variety of stresses during this most amazing year of our lives, and some of us have turned to mother's-little-helpers to find solace and peace enough to sleep. Come to think about it, my mother's little-helper wasn't a pill. It was a wooden spoon and the front door. And some screaming of things like "if you and your brother don't get out of this house right now I will beat you both like cake batter" and out the door we'd run. She never did make good on that threat, but at the time, all we knew was that she hadn't beaten us...yet. Wait, where was I. Oh yes...so this past Saturday, after a couple of hours of watching some fish porn and reading about gudgeons and whatever, I still couldn't sleep and decided to cuddle up with Princess Ambien. Oh that winsome, comely nymph of a pill, just 5mg makes it possible for me to slip off into the oblivion that some nights just need. And then a funny thing happened.
Now before I say what happened next, which you probably already know but are too captivated to stop reading (unless you were triggered and are continuing to bask in the self-harm because even though it is oh so wrong, it feels oh so right), I have a tablet that I tote around the house, and sometimes it finds itself in bed with me and the missus. We are modern folk, after all, and while as a younger couple the electronics we might have brought to bed didn't have screens, we've evolved with the times. And online shopping is so much easier when one doesn't have to remember pesky passwords to Paypal and stuff. I can't wait for the day when I can just spit on the screen and be done with it, but that's technology for ya.
So it was a bit late, perhaps 2am when I downed the half-bar of Ambien. And I remember reading about gudgeons and killies. What I did not remember doing was the part that comes after the reading. Remember that moment, years ago...or maybe just last Tuesday for some of you heathens, when you woke up in a bed that wasn't yours and your mind would fill with wonder and a slight bit of horror? Was it bravery or fear that caused you to look to see who was breathing next to you? Were you looking forward to the relief or dread of finding out? So I did the double tap to turn the tablet on, and the words "Thank you for your order" glowed back accusingly at me. From Coast Gem USA. So I thought...well, I do love Mrs. Happy, she's been a good wife for 22 1/2 years, I wondered if I bought her sapphires or emeralds or opals or diamonds. My eyes were drawn to the right side of the screen: Your Order Total: $58.00.
I groaned. The only thing worse than not buying the wife a gift for no reason (logic that one out) would be buying genuine faux pas authentic costume jewelry. For $58. What I miserly pauper I am. I slid the finger down the screen, and then across my eyes because clearly there was schmutz in them. It wasn't jewelry. It was a MV-363 mustard fancy butterfly halfmoon betta. Now, I know we have a global audience here, but I will tell you that, in my life, the colors mustard and blue are very close to maize and blue. These are the colors of a university that fancies itself as a rival to mine, although for that to be even remotely true, it has to win more than 3 times in 20 years, and they haven't. But I saw a glimpse of salvation. The wife wouldn't be upset at adding another fish to the flock, no...because it has HER TEAM'S COLORS! So I did not have to do Nadia Comăneci-level of mental gymnastics to slide this one by. I was going to be regarded as a thoughtful husband, and probably be rewarded with an afternoon delight, oh yes I was.
That's about the time things went, shall we say, off the deep end. Because I opened the email application that was pulsing so tantalizingly. And there it was. In bold. Your Order Confirmation from Aquarium Fish Depot. It was sort of like being slapped with a wet mackerel. Because I know myself. I don't just buy one fish. I knew I didn't just buy one betta. I buy fish by the dozen. I looked over and the wifey, bless her little heart, was still sleeping. And so with a mixture of dread and Christmas-morning glee, I tapped.
I'm pretty sure every country has a jurisprudence system of some sort where an intrepid lawyer/barristser/attorney has trotted out a novel defense. The US has had quite a few, including The Twinkie Defense and Affluenza. My defense wasn't going to be so hard of a sell. Its really quite simple. The Ambien placed me in a state of mind where I was highly-suggestible and vulnerable. Because of my addiction, I was unable to resist the tantalizing images dancing before me and was powerless to resist a drug-fueled buying spree. No one in their right mind would buy seven peacock gudgeons, twelve celestial pearl danios, eight clown killifish and, as an afterthought, two breeding pairs of fundulopanchax gardneri Misaje ADL 13-15 and the aforementioned betta. From three different sites, no less!
And yet I did. And so they shall come. I have space for them all. Its not a problem, no...it is an opportunity for success. An opportunity to craft a story for the delivery day. It wasn't just buy-one-get-one. No dear...it was a buy-one-get-thirty-one. Because I'm hard core, because that's how I roll, babe. And in the meantime, I've deleted Paypal from the tablet, because I am not going to fall prey to Princess Ambien like this...again.
***WARNING....this post may have words and ideas deemed cringe-worthy, politically incorrect or socially inappropriate given the current lens at which we view words today. If you are likely to be...what did the kid call it...triggered...yeah...triggered...then you should skip this post. You have been provided with ample warning. Any emotional damage you incur after this sentence is self-inflicted.***END WARNING
My name is Lord Happy and I...am an addict. I don't mean to be an addict, you know, it wasn't like I set out to be this way. It just sort of happened. But it was a long time ago, and it was such a rush when I was 5 years old and I wanted to play with my dad's fish because they looked bored, so I threw in my matchbox cars so we could play. I have no memory of the dog looking askance at me, but I'm sure she did. Some time later, as the family legend goes, the fish looked hungry, and so a peanut butter and jelly sandwich found its way into the tank. And still some time after that I decided to help out dear old dad and I cleaned the fish tank. It turns out that Tide laundry detergent is not a fish-safe product, mostly on account of it not being non-GMO and not organic, I'm sure. Being gluten-free did not seem to matter.
Not too much further down the timeline, perhaps a decade or so, I got my own tank, and started with convict cichilds and along the way, I started working at an LFS which turned into a managerial position of 4 stores. It wasn't that I was so amazing at retail or knowledgeable. I just showed up for my shift and knew that if someone wanted to pay me more for showing up and doing what I was doing, I'm not so foolish as to turn that money down. Well, you know what happens to young people who work in fish stores...they pick out all the oddballs, plus all the cripples. Now I know that's considered a derogatory word these days, but calling a fish with a bent back (tuberculosis?) or a missing eye "differently-abled" or "neurologically-diverse" just wasn't done back then. So if I have triggered you, well...that's a you problem. But these were the fish that one couldn't bear to feed to the piranhas or snakeheads or clown knives, and the toilet really isn't a suitable death for a cripple. And all these fish need homes, so it wasn't long before I had a few tanks of my own.
Over the years I would travel and fly fish back with me in my carry-on luggage, which always caused a stir at security because it always looked weird going through the x-ray machine. Kiddies today don't know that you used to be able to bring liquids on a plane, and smoke, too, but its true...the only thing that was limited to 3.2 ounces was the bag of weed one could shove in their crotch and not look totally guilty. So I heard. But I digress.
From the days at the stores, where I could buy anything I thought I could sell, I'd buy fish in a binge-like fashion. So if a school of tetras lived 2-4 years and began to die out all at once, then you replace them that way. Or if you had an ich outbreak because you were working doubles and didn't have time to take care, you replaced the whole lot. And if your kid dumped Tide into the tank, well, that might cause a binge shopping trip as well. And that's pretty much how I buy fish to this day...by the dozen.
Over the years my interests have changed, of course, and nowadays the offerings are quite broad. Sometimes I would see a fish pop up on Aquabid or be mentioned in one of the posts here and I'd go look it up, or it would be on Youtube and my mind would go racing with the possibilities, but I wouldn't really act on them. Like, I don't have any stiphodon, for example, but I think they'd be fun to raise. So these ideas would just lurk in my head, waiting for the right opportunity...to strike.
From time to time we've all experienced a variety of stresses during this most amazing year of our lives, and some of us have turned to mother's-little-helpers to find solace and peace enough to sleep. Come to think about it, my mother's little-helper wasn't a pill. It was a wooden spoon and the front door. And some screaming of things like "if you and your brother don't get out of this house right now I will beat you both like cake batter" and out the door we'd run. She never did make good on that threat, but at the time, all we knew was that she hadn't beaten us...yet. Wait, where was I. Oh yes...so this past Saturday, after a couple of hours of watching some fish porn and reading about gudgeons and whatever, I still couldn't sleep and decided to cuddle up with Princess Ambien. Oh that winsome, comely nymph of a pill, just 5mg makes it possible for me to slip off into the oblivion that some nights just need. And then a funny thing happened.
Now before I say what happened next, which you probably already know but are too captivated to stop reading (unless you were triggered and are continuing to bask in the self-harm because even though it is oh so wrong, it feels oh so right), I have a tablet that I tote around the house, and sometimes it finds itself in bed with me and the missus. We are modern folk, after all, and while as a younger couple the electronics we might have brought to bed didn't have screens, we've evolved with the times. And online shopping is so much easier when one doesn't have to remember pesky passwords to Paypal and stuff. I can't wait for the day when I can just spit on the screen and be done with it, but that's technology for ya.
So it was a bit late, perhaps 2am when I downed the half-bar of Ambien. And I remember reading about gudgeons and killies. What I did not remember doing was the part that comes after the reading. Remember that moment, years ago...or maybe just last Tuesday for some of you heathens, when you woke up in a bed that wasn't yours and your mind would fill with wonder and a slight bit of horror? Was it bravery or fear that caused you to look to see who was breathing next to you? Were you looking forward to the relief or dread of finding out? So I did the double tap to turn the tablet on, and the words "Thank you for your order" glowed back accusingly at me. From Coast Gem USA. So I thought...well, I do love Mrs. Happy, she's been a good wife for 22 1/2 years, I wondered if I bought her sapphires or emeralds or opals or diamonds. My eyes were drawn to the right side of the screen: Your Order Total: $58.00.
I groaned. The only thing worse than not buying the wife a gift for no reason (logic that one out) would be buying genuine faux pas authentic costume jewelry. For $58. What I miserly pauper I am. I slid the finger down the screen, and then across my eyes because clearly there was schmutz in them. It wasn't jewelry. It was a MV-363 mustard fancy butterfly halfmoon betta. Now, I know we have a global audience here, but I will tell you that, in my life, the colors mustard and blue are very close to maize and blue. These are the colors of a university that fancies itself as a rival to mine, although for that to be even remotely true, it has to win more than 3 times in 20 years, and they haven't. But I saw a glimpse of salvation. The wife wouldn't be upset at adding another fish to the flock, no...because it has HER TEAM'S COLORS! So I did not have to do Nadia Comăneci-level of mental gymnastics to slide this one by. I was going to be regarded as a thoughtful husband, and probably be rewarded with an afternoon delight, oh yes I was.
That's about the time things went, shall we say, off the deep end. Because I opened the email application that was pulsing so tantalizingly. And there it was. In bold. Your Order Confirmation from Aquarium Fish Depot. It was sort of like being slapped with a wet mackerel. Because I know myself. I don't just buy one fish. I knew I didn't just buy one betta. I buy fish by the dozen. I looked over and the wifey, bless her little heart, was still sleeping. And so with a mixture of dread and Christmas-morning glee, I tapped.
I'm pretty sure every country has a jurisprudence system of some sort where an intrepid lawyer/barristser/attorney has trotted out a novel defense. The US has had quite a few, including The Twinkie Defense and Affluenza. My defense wasn't going to be so hard of a sell. Its really quite simple. The Ambien placed me in a state of mind where I was highly-suggestible and vulnerable. Because of my addiction, I was unable to resist the tantalizing images dancing before me and was powerless to resist a drug-fueled buying spree. No one in their right mind would buy seven peacock gudgeons, twelve celestial pearl danios, eight clown killifish and, as an afterthought, two breeding pairs of fundulopanchax gardneri Misaje ADL 13-15 and the aforementioned betta. From three different sites, no less!
And yet I did. And so they shall come. I have space for them all. Its not a problem, no...it is an opportunity for success. An opportunity to craft a story for the delivery day. It wasn't just buy-one-get-one. No dear...it was a buy-one-get-thirty-one. Because I'm hard core, because that's how I roll, babe. And in the meantime, I've deleted Paypal from the tablet, because I am not going to fall prey to Princess Ambien like this...again.
