Creeping on Eagles

Welcome to my new obsession:  Eagles.

Alcoa Davenport Works placed an Eagle Cam on their campus a couple of years ago, and they monitor a pair of Bald Eagles who live there year-round.  Last year two eggs hatched, one baby lived.  This year, three eggs have hatched, and all three babies are alive to date.  I don't see any wedding bands or photos in the nest, so I'm fairly certain these eagles are not married, so while they are ruining the sanctity of marriage, they seem to be doing okay with the kids so far.

I've been creeping on this eagle family for the last four days, and I'm completely obsessed.  I pull them up first thing in the morning and sporadically during the day.  My boss would've been appalled at how much I checked in on the eagles on Friday at work.  He knows I do it because he walked past my desk once and it was up, and he said, "Eagles!  Has the third egg hatched yet?" so who knows, maybe he is spending his day stalking eagles too.

Would you like to stalk eagles 24/7?  Click HERE.

It's like a little sampling of American life - the parents take turns hunting and taking care of the babies.  The babies fight amongst themselves.  The parents occasionally get irritated with each other, and seem to occasionally get exasperated with the babies.  They snack on a mid-afternoon meal of three-days-old field rat and listen to The Black Keys, just like my family.  It's eerie.

When I tuned in, there were two babies and an egg.  The older baby, whom I refer to as Yellowbeak, or Asshole, was always pushing aside the middle child, whom I call Blackbeak.  I would get so upset everytime little Asshole eagle would push past Blackbeak and take the raw fish or mouse, and I just wanted to pull that kid aside and give him the what for.  He's a big bully, and what does he learn?  Pushing everyone around gets you a gullet full of food.  But I guess he's older so I'm going to cut him some slack.  And?  Blackbeak occasionally acts like he's riding the short bus - as in mom and dad are tearing off chunks of fresh squirrel head and feeding Asshole and Blackbeak is looking in the opposite direction going "Duhr, I wonder where I can get some fresh squirrel?

(DO NOT TELL TODD HOT NUTS EPSTEIN!!  He might start drinking again.)

One time when I watched the eagles, the mom started panting with her beak open.  Like the smartass that I am, I went to Twitter, hashtag #alcoaeaglecam, and said, "Mama Eagle is a Mouth Breather - not the most attractive trait in an eagle in my opinion."  Within about 15 minutes, I had three replies on Twitter:

Oh, you can't see that?  Because in my world of technological genius, I took a screen shot and saved it, but not big enough.  I'm such a social media hot shot, huh?  All three interactions were these serious explanations, like "She is cooling off, much like a dog pants".  After the third one, I was kind of feeling like I needed to explain that it was a joke, so I did a response, which was, "People, I was just kidding about the mouth breathing.  However, I DO think she has sleep apnea."  Then I posted, "Also, undercooked squirrel and fish can expose the kids to harmful bacteria.  Just sayin'."  Funnily enough, none of the Twitter eagle experts got in touch with me again, and I was probably blocked from at least three Twitter accounts.  (If you Tweet, my handle is @juliethewife.)

I'd been waiting for the third egg to hatch and had finally decided it was a dud, and then yesterday Youngest Daughter started yelling that the baby was hatching and we all ran to watch it pop out!  (Oh, did I mention I have the whole family on it, and we essentially keep vigil to see what the eagles are doing?  Yeah, it's now a family problem.  I'm sorry, no time for math homework, we're watching nature online.  Don't even have to get off the couch or put down the Cheetohs!)

All three babies seem to be getting food, everything was going well, today they even had a special treat of two turtles and the empty turtle shells sit in the nest.  I checked on them at 3 p.m., everyone looks good, nest is crowded with three babies, two adults, two dead squirrels, a field rat, two turtle shells and half a fish, and when I check them at 4 p.m. the nest is EMPTY.  COMPLETELY EMPTY.  And I freaked out a little bit.  What do I do when I freak out?  I go to Twitter.

 Seriously.  Admitting you have a problem is the first step to recovery.  At least there were a number of EagleGeeks out there with me who had the same problem, and seemed to be just as traumatized.  When I checked back a couple of minutes later, everything was back to normal, with the birds and turtle shells just as they were.  If it wasn't for Twitter, I would've thought I was crazy.  But I also wondered if maybe it's time to start distancing myself from the eagles.  If the parents end up going all Darwin on Blackbeak and push him out of the nest, I'll be depressed for days.

Time to pull back on the Eagle Stalking and get back to hooking.  Until the Eagle has Landed.  And then maybe I'll take another peek.

I'm Addicted to Twitter and Jen Hates Me

I'm in a sunny meadow with technicolor grass and trees.  I'm chasing a little blue bird...come back, little bird, come back!...and I can't get enough.  It's as though the little bird is Red Bull and Vodka and I'm Lindsay Lohan.  Then I see people wandering in the meadow and I tell them "Follow me!!!" and most of them look at their watches and turn away (I'm talking to YOU, Jen Lancaster!  But with great respect and optimism...) but a few of them say "What the hell..." and follow me.  Suddenly, the bright sunny day with the little bluebird goes dark, and I hear CH's voice, far far away, saying, "Oh crap, we've lost our internet connection!" and I wake up, screaming.

 I should have known from its vacant eyes it was a junkie bird.

It's interesting I would pick up this new Internet crack rock at the Erma Bombeck thing.  Lesson?  Drugs are everywhere, kids.  Everyone kept saying "You need to be on Twitter...all writers should be Tweeting...." and so I did (remember @juliethewife - join me in the opium den!).  JUST like I got a big comb with "JULIE" on the handle for the back pocket of my Jordache jeans in 1982.  JUST like I got my hair cut in the Flock of Seagulls style, with one side shaved, in 1984 (I do have a picture, and if I had another hour I would find it).  JUST like I wore oversized button-down shirts and HUGE sweatshirts with leggings and sprayed my hair five inches off of my scalp in 1988.

Damn you, social trends.  You are my kryptonite.

So now, instead of writing like I should, I am spending a huge amount of time on Twitter, because I have to learn.  I am like Neo in The Matrix when they hook him up to learn about flying helicopters and kung fu and heavy weaponry (except it's Twitter stuff, like birdies and the @ # keys).  Here is the convo Current Husband and I had this morning:

CH:  "Hey, could you call the paper about that thing?"
ME:  "No, I have a ton of stuff to do today."
CH:  "Like what?"
ME:  (Indignant.)  "I have a ton of things to do.  I just told you that.  You totally don't respect my time or what I do around here."
CH:  "I just want to know what you have planned for today.  Just give me something."
ME:  "Writing."
CH:  "Writing what?"  
We sit in silence, looking at each other.
ME:  "ALRIGHT!  Posts on Twitter and Facebook, and maybe a blog entry.  Are you happy now?"
CH:  "Are Twitter and Facebook and the blog paying you?"
ME:  "No.  Only in cultural references and Trivial Pursuit 2010 answers."
CH:  "Then no.  I'm not happy now.  I would've thought that Jen Lancaster thing would have stopped you by now."

Et tu, Brute?  No sex for you, CH.  Let me tell you about the Jen Lancaster thing.

So I may have mentioned I attended the Erma Bombeck Writing Workshop.  Did I?  Okay, good.  And I may have mentioned in the past that I am completely stalking Jen Lancaster, (New York Times Bestselling author of the soon-to-be released My Fair Lazy, order now!)  So I meet these extremely funny women who happen to be excellent writers (whom I am featuring on the Facebook page this week, are you following A Day In The Wife on FB yet?) and we are all keeping in touch on Facebook and now Twitter.  The Monday after the conference, the Erma Bombeck people are all over the place, friending and following everyone they met.  It's a good thing you cannot get syphilis from the Internet, because everyone from Erma Bombeck would have it.  (I have to say that it feels so wrong to put the words "Erma Bombeck" and "syphilis" in the same sentence, but I learned from Wade Rouse, who is writing a dog book with Jen, by the way, that I am supposed to be honest and humorous in my writing, and I ask you, what is funnier than syphilis, people?)

Three of the women I met and myself are messaging back and forth, and I see that Jen Lancaster has a new post on her blog, titled "Such a Pretty Stalker", about her seeing Bob Harper from The Biggest Loser and stalking him.  Of course, a big light bulb goes off and I think, "Hey!  I bet my good friend Jen would LOVE to hear about how it's so funny that I happen to be stalking HER!"  

And this, my friends, is how restraining orders begin:

STEP 1:  Constantly comb the victim's Facebook, Twitter, and blog page for references to things you think you have in common.
STEP 2:  Immediately decide to get in touch.  Already sent three e-mails?  That is not enough.  Real stalkers go for multi-media platforms.
STEP 3:  Follow victim on Twitter.  Jen's is @altgeldshrugged.  Follow her, because I bet she will follow YOU.
STEP 4:  Send snarky message, such as 

"@altgeltshrugged I posted that I'm YOUR stalker on my 4-14 blog, www.adayinthewife.com. BTW, leave coffee grinds out of your garbage? Thx."

Oh yes, people.  I sent it.  But it gets worse.
So she isn't responding, and I'm all "But Jen, I get it!  We're buds!  You e-mailed me!" and I'm messaging with my Erma Chicks, and suddenly, MuffinTopMommy posts "Jen Lancaster is now following me on Twitter!  I can't believe it" and other stuff that was generally joyful, but the world spun around and when I came to, I looked on FB again, and ANOTHER one of the moms, Clare from It's All Good In The (Mother)Hood, has posted "She's following me on Twitter too!  I am so excited!"  And I am suddenly the girl who isn't going to prom and all of her friends are going.  And I have a dress and a secret bottle of Boone's Farm stashed for the Big Night, and I'm going to have to buy myself some flowers and drink it alone (well chilled, of course).  Because get this...

It was my birthday.  Sniff.  (shuffles feet.)

Let me hear it...the collective "Awwww".  Stalkers have birthdays too.  I kept thinking, "It's my birthday, I'm sure she will follow me.  It will be the pinnacle of my day."  Because:

STEP 5:  Stalkers should always assume the victim knows they exist.

I'm checking Twitter, and it's not happening.  So I look at my original post.  Hey!  What's that?  I SPELLED HER TWITTER NAME WRONG.  That must be it.  So what do I do?  I repost the same message to the right address.

Oh. Yes.  She.  Did.

Why?  Because:
STEP 6:  Good stalkers never quit.  Even after they serve their time.

So I send the post, AGAIN.  

crickets.  crickets.  crickets.

And to this very moment, Jen is still not following me on Twitter.  Even though she has over 14,000 followers and she is following over 13,000 people, and she describes herself as "an aggressive follower", I think I have actually freaked her out.  And really?  I'm not that scary, unless I am really drunk or you are a guy I want to date circa 1985-1991.

I have become the Dave to her Oprah.  The Matt Damon to her Jimmy Kimmel.  (I would normally put a third one in here, but I can't think of many stalking incidents that don't turn out badly.)  I am attending her book signing for My Fair Lazy (pre-order now!) on May 14 in Chicago, so Jen, I will be there.  Consider yourself warned.  And my friend and I have already made plans for a Liquid Lunch, and we are hooking up with the Chi Omegas from Iowa State (who saw my hair sprayed to the heavens; again, I have a photo, it's in the basement) and things might get a little loopy.  My friend has already told me that she is bringing her taser gun and plastic cuffs, and I have already told all of them I will need pictures of me being dragged away by security for the blog, so no worries my friends, it will be as though you are there with me.  Because I'm a giver that way.  I will set up a Paypal account so you can help me with bail if you feel so inclined.

ON A QUICK SIDE NOTE:  My friend made the hotel reservations, I was in charge of calling Borders to see if they are using wristbands for Jen's signing.  Called Borders on Michigan Ave.  Got automated system.  Hit 3 to hear store events.  The only one listed is Hulk Hogan appearing in October of 2009 and he will not sign memorabilia.  Figures, f***ing wrestlers.  Got through to sales rep, said "Jen Lancaster will be there on May 14, will this be a wristbanded event?"  Sales rep says, "uh, John Lencester?" and I say, "NO, J-E-N Lancaster.  She is signing books at your store on May 14."  "Oh. (pause) Let me go ask someone about that."  On hold for a long time.  "Um, we don't know anything about that event yet.  Call back a couple of days before and we should know something."  One would hope, honey.  One would hope.

SO.  You may be wondering, "What happened, Crazy Aunt Julie, how does the story end?"  (Or you may have stopped reading this post five days ago because it is so friggin' long.)  Let me tell you - this story has a happy ending.  After I spent my BIRTHDAY, which was my 41st and on a MONDAY and therefore a total FAIL, waiting for Jen Lancaster to friend me on Twitter, something good happened (other than meeting my blogger friends at Erma, which has been like manna from heaven).  I did get a famous friend.  The Bloggess, whom I love and respect and can only aspire to blog like her, followed me on Twitter.  And it made my entire week.   I love you, Jenny The Bloggess.  And I promise to never go through your garbage.

The End.  So tell me - what is your Twitter name?  Who are you stalking?  And finally, any suggestions on how I get Jen to follow me on Twitter?
UPDATE:
Jen is now following me on Twitter!!!  Yay me!  It's just like when Oprah went on Dave's show and was all "I didn't know you were stalking me, I have no idea what's going on."  So hopefully she doesn't read my blog and say, "Uh, yeah, UN-Follow!!!  TWITTER SECURITY, STAT!"  Now what the hell am I going to write about?  Candace Bushnell?  Are you out there?