9/11/01

I was at work, at the exact same place, same desk, same chair, where I am right now. It was a beautiful morning; bright and sunny.

I turned on the radio around quarter to nine, and they were saying something about a sight-seeing plane flying into the World Trade Center. I knew that one of my co-workers listened to a different station (me: news/talk; him: RAWK), so I walked back to his desk to find out what he'd heard, which was basically the same thing (small plane; possibly sight-seers). We were the first two people in the office that morning.

There was a TV in the boss's personal office, so my co-worker and I hooked it up and turned it on. And we sat down and stayed there for the rest of the day. As the rest of the co-workers and the boss trickled in, we all sat down together and watched. Nobody went home until quitting time.

At the time we had a couple of projects under review by the Port Authority, who had offices in the trade center. We wondered if any of our reviewers were killed.

We could only get one channel on the TV, and their coverage had kind of a bad angle of the buildings, and the commentary was spotty and confusing. So when the second tower came down, we were all, "but wait - Where's the first tower?" We couldn't see that it had already fallen until the second one came down.

After the news came on about the Pentagon, I wondered how many more targets would be hit. At the time, I had two sisters living in or near major metropolitan areas, and I wondered if their cities would be attacked. And if so, how. By planes? By bombs?

Morbidly, I remember wondering how many more people would have been killed if the hijackers had waited another half-hour or so. Lots of people don't go into work until nine.

But the thing I remember most clearly was how damn nice people were to each other in the days to follow. You'd try to merge into traffic and someone would wave you in, instead of flip you off. Cashiers would smile when handing you your change. A weak, wavery smile, but a smile nonetheless. People said, "excuse me", and "thank you". That I remember.

Oh, I remember it all. Or at least I think I do. Memories are tricky things.

DVD/VCR - The Saga Goes On

So! I wrote earlier about my purchase of a DVD/VCR that turned out to be defective, as opposed to me being too stupid to figure out how to use it.

I returned that one to Crapmart, and then went to Target and picked up one made by another manufacturer. I got that one home, opened up the box, and started looking at the instructions before I took the unit out of the box. (I may be a slow learner, but I do learn.) Nowhere in the instructions could I find any info about VCR timer recording, so I called customer service (and once more got someone who spoke English - it's amazing!), and sure enough, this unit did not timer record. SIGH. And at this point I'm starting to think, "Oh, for Christ's sake, just cough up the money for a DVR and crawl out of the Stone Age, already." Yet! I resisted.

Oh! And while all this DVD/VCR shuffling was going on, there was a movie I wanted to watch. So I hooked up my old DVD player to watch the movie. Which got STUCK in the DVD player. Seriously. When I went to eject it after watching the movie, the little shelf would not come out of the player. I ended up having to disassemble the DVD player to get the damn DVD out. And all the while, I'm panicking, because it was a Netflix DVD, and OMG they would send the DVD police after me if I couldn't get it out of the player. Waaaaaaaah!

And I also managed to kill two alarm clocks during this period. I think I'm emitting some kind of weird electronics-destroying force field.

But! Back to the story! So I took DVD/VCR #2 back to Target, and picked up yet another model by yet another manufacturer. This time I had a salesperson open up the box in the store, so I could look through the instructions and see if it would timer record. (See? SEE? I am LEARNING!)

Yippee! This unit did offer timer recording, so I bought it, took it home, hooked it up, did a timer recording, and ............ yeeesssssss!! It works! I'm so excited! Now I can once again tape those pesky Austin City Limits shows that don't come on until eleven!

Oh, and by the way, right now I have a TV, a cable converter box, an RF modulator, and a DVD/VCR combo all hooked up happily together. And I am pretty sure that there is more wiring in my living room than there is in the nose cone of the space shuttle.

Recently Read

As usual, feel free to skip. But make sure to scroll down below to view the tale of Texas beeeeeees!

Zombie by Joyce Carol Oates - Novel about a serial killer, from his point of view. Creepy, but interesting.

The Motel Life by Willy Vlautin - Novel about two guys in trouble - This one was good, but not as good as Northline (another book by Vlautin).

All the Fishes Come Home to Roost by Rachel Brown - Memoir about growing up in an ashram in India - okay.

The Worst Hard Time by Timothy Egan - Nonfiction - About the Dust Bowl in the thirties - This one was very good. I have no idea how some of those farmers hung on in an absolutely barren land, year after year. And I keep wondering, why didn't they move away? Their crops died year after year, their babies were dying of dust pneumonia ..... yet they stayed put. Most of them cited their "connection" with the land, but come on! Go connect with some land somewhere else, for Pete's sake! (I know this is a gross oversimplification - it just frustrated me.)

Fall On Your Knees by Ann Marie MacDonald - A great big ol' fat family saga. This woman's not afraid to tell a great big story, and that's super.

Tobacco Road by Erskine Caldwell - I talked about this one in another post. Interesting, but odd.

Are You There, Vodka? It's Me, Chelsea by Chelsea Handler. She is a stand-up comedian, and it seems like these essays would have been funnier in that format (stand-up) than as a book. I have the same problem with her as I do with David Sedaris - I have no idea which of their stories are true (the books are, after all, classified as non-fiction) and which are made up. It drives me crazy. (Oh! And speaking of driving, Ms. Handler writes about her dad driving her to school in a '67 Yugo, when in fact Yugo did not start selling cars in the U.S. until 1985. I can't believe I fact-checked that. NERD.)

Duma Key by Stephen King - I haven't liked most of his recent work, but this one was pretty good. The spooky woo-woo stuff didn't kick in until page 350 or so, which is good, because I like King best when he's just writing about ordinary people, not about haunted china dolls or whatever. But his recent stuff seems to show an author whose editor has long since stopped actually editing his work. And once the scary woo-woo stuff gets started, things get really confusing in a big hurry.

Driving to Detroit by Lesley Hazleton. Essays about cars and car culture. Meh.

Beeeeeeeees

My sister Texas, who lives you-know-where, had a nest of ground bees by her front door. She stuck a garden hose down the hole and turned on the water, thinking she could drown them. When she went back and pulled the hose out of the hole, the bees swarmed the hose, and a couple of them started after her! One of them stung her on the ear (ow ow ow ow), which promptly swelled up like a balloon.

So! She called her pest control company and they sent a guy out. He took one look at the hole, asked to be let in, and informed her that she had (dun dun DUNNN) killer bees.

That's right, folks; my sister got stung by a killer bee and lived to tell the tale. The scary thing is, the pest control guy was telling her that if the bees had swarmed her instead of the hose, she could have died.

But! She is fine (except for a sore ear), and the pest control guy killed the bees, and all is well.

And now she's got a great story to tell at cocktail parties. Waaaayy better than my cat-up-a-tree tale. Big sis wins again. *sigh*

And I Can Only Imagine What The Neighbors Were Thinking .........

.......... when I was out in their backyard in the dark last night, shining a flashlight up one of their pine trees, calling out, "Little Girl! Little Girl!"

Mmmmmmm ....... pine scented .........

Yesterday when I got home from work I let the kittens out to play. They played for a while, then came in and ate, then went back out and played, and then The Runt came back in, but no Little Girl. After a while I went out to check on her. I could hear her meowing, but I couldn't see her.

As it turns out, the reason that I couldn't see her is because she was about sixty feet up a neighbor's pine tree.

I went to the base of the tree and called to her, and she would meow piteously, but she wouldn't budge. The tree is huge and it has a ton of closely-spaced branches, so I knew she could get down if she tried.

I kept going out to the tree, and calling, and she'd meow, but she wouldn't come down. It was awful - she was meowing so loud I could hear her from inside the apartment, but still she wouldn't move.

Finally, after a couple of hours and after it had been dark out for a while, she showed up at my door, covered with pine sap but none the worse for wear.

At least now I know she can get down. But I swear these cats are gonna give me heart failure.

Maybe He Was Headed For The Pet Cemetery

I was out on the back deck yesterday when a squirrel crossed my backyard carrying a dead chipmunk in its mouth.

I shit you not. What the hell?!

Click Right Here

I have been staying out of the political fray, mostly because just thinking about the Republicans possibly winning this election makes me angry. How anyone with a modicum of intelligence could vote for John f*cking McCain is beyond me. (Sorry, Exador. Can we still be friends? Agree to disagree, and all that?)

But today, Chez at Deus Ex Malcontent has encapsulated my feelings perfectly. Please head over there and read this post. And after that, if you still want to vote for McCain/Palin, I am well and truly baffled.

The thing that gets me about this current crop of Republicans is that they would have you believe that being smart is bad. That being smart is somehow wrong. WTF?

Thanks, Chez, for saying it better than I ever could.

Rebuttal

HA!! Teh Human is lying!! We are gooooood kitties:

Calm kitties:

Nice kitties!

Do not listen to Teh Human!

Rust Never Sleeps

Lately, the kittens have eschewed their evening naps.


And I'm exhausted.


Until recently, the routine went like this: I would get home in the evening, the kittens and I would playplayplay, I would give them their dinner (nom nom nom), we would playplayplay some more, and then, around seven o'clock, the kittens would conk out until around, say, nine-thirty or so. Which would give me a couple of hours to rest up, until they woke up again, and it was time to playplayplay until bedtime.


But for the last week or so, the kittens have decided they don't WANT a nap time. They want to playplayplay(eat)playplayplayPLAYPLAY from the time I get home until the time I go to bed. And then they KEEP playing, on and off, all night long.


What's the problem, you ask? Just let the kittens play with each other, and do your own thing?


HAH. You obviously do not have kittens. Because if you did, you would know that if you don't voluntarily play with them, they will MAKE you play with them.


Which goes something like this: You're sitting there, watching TV, minding your own business, when you look down and notice a tiny paw reaching up through the space between the chair and the coffee table. Said paw will be waving back and forth, like some kind of underwater plant, right next to you. I DEFY you not to grab said paw, with mayhem ensuing.


Another patented kitten move is the aerial maneuver. Again, you're sitting there, minding your own business, when you notice a blur out of the corner of your eye. And before you even know what's happening, a kitten has launched itself at you, spun itself around IN THE AIR above your lap, and gone flying off in another direction. YOU try not chasing after the little acrobat (after you're done laughing, of course).


Parents of actual children, I have NO IDEA how you do it. Because these two kittens are wearing me out.

And last night, in my exhaustion, the one thing that kept popping into my head was that Madeline Kahn song from Blazing Saddles, "I'm So Tired."

"I'm tired ....... tired of pwaying the game ........ ain't it a cwyin' shame ....... I'm ....... so ........ tired."

I really need some sleep.

Movie Review - "Life After Tomorrow"

Oh, I really enjoyed this one. It's a documentary about women who were in the cast of "Annie" when they were kids.

It was just really sweet. And it was amazing how these women could still remember the choreography.

It Ain't Me, Babe

Last night I monkeyed and monkeyed and MONKEYED with that damn DVD/VCR, and finally realized it was time to call - dun dun DUNNNNN - the dreaded "customer service".

So I grabbed a beer and some food and settled in, 'cause you know how that goes - first you spend an hour on hold, then you try to explain your problem to someone who does not speak English. Good times!

I dialed Magnavox customer service, got put on hold, held for about five minutes - and then the call was disconnected. Oh no, Magnavox, you're not gonna get rid of me that easy.

I called back, got put on hold, and after about ten minutes, I got a real live person. Yay! And - get ready for this - he spoke English. A flippin' miracle!

So we went through the way I had everything all hooked up, and the way I was programming the unit to timer record, and the L1/L2 option, and the RF modulator hookup, and blah-di-blah-di-blah, and finally he said, "You've got a defective unit."

And I actually laughed, did a fist pump, and said, "Yessssssss!" Because, for once, it wasn't ME screwing shit up. It was the machine!

So I asked Carlos what my options were, and he explained that the easiest thing for me would probably be to just take it back to the store, but if that would be an inconvenience, they would SEND SOMEONE TO MY HOUSE to pick up the unit (all sixty bucks worth, mind you) and arrange to ship me a new one.

Oh Magnavox, I love you. Truly. Your electronics suck, but your customer service is aces.

Goddam *?!@*ing VCR

I got the DVD/VCR hooked up over the weekend.

I can watch DVDs. I can watch VCR tapes. I can timer record programs on VCR tapes.

I cannot, however, watch the programs that I have timer recorded. They will play; I can hear the machinery working. The TV just won't show the tape that is playing. And no; it's not a "Channel 3" thing; I just can't figure out what it is. Grrrrrrrrr.

I know it's time to call the 1-800 number. Unfortunately, I really don't feel like talking to someone in Bangladesh with extremely poor English language skills right now.

How was your weekend?

........ Hold On To That Feelin' ......

Streetlight .... people ..... whoa-oh-OHHHHHH .......

I don't know which is funnier:

a) That someone turned a stop sign down by the creek into a Journey song.

b) That they originally spelled it "belivin'".

c) That they then recognized their error and tried to insert an "e" after the fact.

d) That they inserted the after-the-fact "e" in the wrong place.

Anyway, points for trying, dude, whoever you are.

There Will Be Blood. And Sweat. And Tears.

My VCR crapped the bed the other night.

Why yes, I DO have a VCR! I use it to tape programs that come on after my bedtime. At ten. SHUT UP.


I had been thinking that when my trusty VCR finally croaked, it would be time to upgrade to a DVR. But the DVR prices have not yet dropped enough to fit into my measly budget, so last night I went to Crapmart and bought a DVD/VCR combo. All I really needed was the VCR, but they don't SELL plain ol' VCRs anymore, and my DVD player wasn't that hot anyway, so I went ahead and plunked down my sixty bucks. And then my heart stopped, because I am cheeeeeap.





It makes a really good platform for the kittens' "cat attack" toy, doncha think?


So! Now all I have to do is hook the mutha up. *cough*.

I SUCK when it comes to all things electronical. (YES, IT IS A WORD. Because I said so, that's why.) Let's just say that I'm technologically impaired.

I got the manual out of the box, and reviewed the connection diagram, and it looks do-able. Then I reviewed the "timer recording" instructions, and they, too, look do-able. Which means I am going to mess this up in ways heretofore unimagined, because that's how I roll. When I got my first DVD player, several years ago, my neighbor Bill took pity on me and came over and set it up and even went to Radio Shack to get the RF modulator (whhaaaat?) that I had no idea that I needed and set THAT up and let's just say I am very, very sorry that Bill moved away.

But! There is a three-day weekend coming up. I know what I'll be doing!

Crying. And swearing.

I've Been Remiss

I never did post a pic of my last foster, Gigantic Farting Cat. Here she is:





Poor GFC had a sad story. The shelter had one particular volunteer who was a little, shall we say, overzealous when it came to trapping the feral cats in her neighborhood. One day she captured GFC in one of her traps.

Unfortunately, GFC did not appear to be feral. She appeared to be someone's pet. She was friendly, and cuddly, and spayed, and had a beautiful coat that had obviously been groomed on a regular basis.

Then, just to compound the fuck-up, the rogue volunteer took GFC to a friend's house for a few days before taking her to the shelter. A friend who had leukemia-positive cats.

So poor GFC, evidently someone's pet and now exposed to feline leukemia, landed at the shelter. The shelter immediately started putting ads in the paper, messages on line, etc., trying to find GFC's owner. They tested her for leukemia and she tested negative, but because she had been exposed to leukemia-positive cats, she had to be quarantined for ninety days and then re-tested, just to make sure.

And somewhere out there, a little old lady is wondering where her cat went.



Not all volunteers are good volunteers.

It's The End Of The World As We Know It*

Last night, on America's Got Talent (I know! I KNOW! What can I say?), there was a group of clog dancers performing to "Push It".

Aw Jaysus.




*Best REM song ever. I know that everyone says "Night Swimming", but they're wrong. So there.

Book Review - Tobacco Road

Okay, I will admit - I've never read this one before. AND I thought Erskine Caldwell was a woman. Hmmmf.

I'm about three-quarters of the way through, and I'm a leeetle confused. Is this supposed to be a comedy? I mean, there's the whole thing with totalling the brand new car, and the thing with Dude marrying Bessie, and it seems like it's supposed to be funny, but ......... these people are starving. And unbelievably ignorant. I don't know if I'm supposed to laugh, or not.

Anybody? Your thoughts?

I Think My Vet Reads My Blog .....

........ 'cause she hardly used her "squeaky voice" at all last night, and she was giving me the stinkeye throughout the visit.

Oh, Dr. B.! Please don't take offense! I remarked upon your voice because I had never heard a vet talk like that before! They're usually all gruff and no-nonsense.

Dr. B., if you have a blog and I hope you do, please feel free to talk smack about me there. Just make sure to send me the link so I can read my own beatdown, ok?

Time to go to the v-e-t

Tonight the kittens go to the vet for their very first Itty Bitty Kitty Committee check-up. Oh, they were seen by the vet tech at the shelter, but tonight is their very first visit to MY vet. (Erm, that is, the vet that I take my cats to, not, you know, MY vet. Got it? No? Moving on ....)

Anyway, I couldn't figure out why I was getting all nervous and jerky about this. I mean, it's just a vet visit. Dr. H. is out of the office due to ankle surgery, so the kittens will be seeing Dr. B., who is very nice. And talks to the cats in a really weird, high, squeaky voice that is TOTALLY not like her normal speaking voice. Hey, whatever gets the job done, right?

So I'm all nervous, and trying to figure out why, and then it hit me, well, DUH ....

The LAST time ...........

The LAST time I went to the vet's ................

The LAST time I went to the vet's, it was to have Rocky put to sleep. And he did not go gently into that good night, and it was horrible, and my heart was sick for months afterward, and I still feel awful about the whole thing.

And here's the thing. One of the ways I try to calm myself down when facing a bad situation is to ask myself, "What's the worst that could happen?"

Yeah. You can see how that really doesn't work so hot in this particular case.

But! The Runt and Little Girl will be making the acquaintance of Dr. B. tonight. It should be interesting. And I can only hope I don't do something totally inappropriate, like walk into the vet's office and burst into tears. 'Cause that's what happened the LAST time I was there, doncha know ......

Wax On, Wax Off

On Saturday, I washed and waxed the car. I really, really do not enjoy waxing the car, but hey! somebody's gotta do it, right?

My Dad was a car buff. He was always buying old cars and tinkering with them. He used to pay me to wash and wax his cars, and he always insisted that I use Turtle Wax paste wax. "If you're not going to use paste wax, don't even bother", he'd say. "That liquid stuff isn't worth crap."

So on Saturday, I washed the car, then I grabbed the container of Turtle Wax (it's shaped like a turtle, with a little shell on top! How cute!), a bunch of old t-shirts, a chair (so I could reach the car roof), and the radio, and got to work. And I thought about my Dad as I waxed and buffed.

Dad! Lo these many years later, rest assured that I'm still using paste wax.

Happy, Happy Birthday Baby

Two years ago today, I started writing.

And after two years, I still haven't decided if blogging is (a) a hobby; (b) a pleasant diversion; (c) a complete waste of time; or (d) something else entirely. Hmmmm......

Happy birthday, l'il blog!

That Damn Tequila

Little Girl: *erp* Why did I let The Runt talk me into doing that last shot? *erp*



Me: Dude! You've got bigger problems! Did you know that you have three ears?







P.S. Check out the little tiny orange eyelashes! Swoon. Totally distracts from the whole three-ear thing.

Why, Jif, Whhhyyyyyyy?

Jif has apparently stopped selling its Peanut Butter & Honey in my area, as I can't find it in any of the local grocery stores.


*snif*


In other food news, Ben & Jerry's is selling a flavor called "Cake Batter", which was highly recommended to me, but when I couldn't find it at the store at first, I picked up some Edy's "Take the Cake", which is birthday-cake flavored and which I actually prefer to the "Cake Batter", seeing as how it has "frosting swirls". Whee!

Pop Quiz

Okay, so that last post got me thinking about aging (bleeecccchh), so here's a pop quiz that will veer wildly off tangent after the first question, 'cause that's how I roll.

Would you rather be ..............

1. Twenty or forty (assuming you would somehow stay that age for the rest of your life)?

2. Too hot or too cold?

3. Pretty or smart?

Here's my answers:

1. Forty. I was pretty much an idiot when I was twenty, and my life was all about the drama. I didn't even START to acquire any common sense until some time in my mid-thirties.

2. Close call, but I'd have to say too hot. I'm at the office right now, where it is FREEZING, because the guys insist on keeping the AC at sub-zero temps. I'd rather be too hot than be sitting here shivering.

3. Pretty. So sue me. You don't really have to put a bag over my head, but I'm not exactly a knockout, thanks in part to my Roman nose (thanks, Dad!). I'd like to see what Pretty is like.

Bonus question! Can anyone recommend a good (scoopable) cat litter that doesn't cost a fortune? Rocky always went outside, and now that I am faced with a litterbox, I've been trying out different litters, and they all pretty much FAIL. Has anyone tried the "Feline Pine" that Crapmart sells? Kthxbai!

Not Dead Yet

There's been a lot of news coverage about Dara Torres, the forty-one year old Olympic swimmer. Everybody's acting like it's a miracle she can even get into the pool at her advanced age, and I'm thinking, "Wait a minute! I'm older than she is! What does that make me, chopped liver?"

So then I was watching the equestrian events, and there was this Canadian guy jumping. (Okay, okay, he wasn't jumping; the horse was doing the jumping, and he was riding the horse.) And they were talking about how this guy was sixty-one years old, and this was his ninth Olympics. (Ian Millar, by the way, if you're interested. And when he takes off his riding helmet, he looks like he's around forty.) And then I discovered that there is a Japanese rider who is sixty-seven.

I feel better now. People older than me are competing at the Olympics.

But you know; I don't feel old, at all. When I think about being forty-five, it just boggles my mind. How the hell did I get to be forty-five? I can't possibly be that old! Jeezus Christ, fifty is right around the corner! What the hell?!

Is it just me, or does everybody feel that way?

Penny Rock

Over the weekend I went back to Salt Springs to try and get acquainted with more of the trails. This is necessary, because I have an embarrassing confession to make: I suck at reading trail maps. Give me a road map, ask me to get from Point A to Point B, and I may or may not get there, but give me a trail map, and I will fuck up every single time.



When I look at a trail map, it makes perfect sense. I pick my route, off I go, and after a while I realize that, yep, I've screwed up again. AFTER I've gotten waylaid on some side trail, I can look at the trail map and see exactly where I've gone wrong (the "d'oh!" moment), but somehow I seem unable to learn my lesson and READ THE DAMN MAP RIGHT THE FIRST TIME.



So! When I start walking at a new place, I try to get a general feel for trail locations, because God knows the maps aren't gonna help me.


There is a cool rock at Salt Springs. Over the years, people have stuck pennies into it. My sister-in-law, who is in her sixties and grew up near Salt Springs Park, says she remembers sticking pennies into it when she was a little girl. But the funny thing is, the pennies are melting.







I don't know if you can tell by the picture above, but the pennies are slumped over. Pretty cool.

The Wild Bunch, Part 2

See Part 1 below.

The shelter worker and I headed back to the kitten room. She explained that they had separated the feral two from the adoptable two. We got to the cages, and she said, "These are the feral two. The two boys."

Except it wasn't two boys in the cage. It was The Runt (a boy), and Little Girl.

I pointed this out to her; we did some, um ..... checking of parts (Little Girl and Tuffy, who was deemed "adoptable" along with Fluffy, are virtually identical, except Tuffy's a boy) (I know this is getting confusing; I'm sorry!), and it turned out that yes indeed, The Runt and Little Girl, my two favorites, had been deemed feral and unadoptable.

So I grabbed my two feral, unadoptable kittens, and headed home. Where they played and played and played and then slept, waking to hop up on the bed several times during the night to nuzzle my face and purr.

The Wild Bunch. *snort*

That's The Runt in front, and Little Girl in back, after I brought them home last night.

The Wild Bunch

So! The shelter called yesterday afternoon - they had found another foster home for Gigantic Farting Cat, which meant I could bring her back to the shelter and pick up the kittens.

After work, I loaded up Gigantic Farting Cat, put all her stuff (litterbox, dishes, toys, etc.) out on the porch, as it will all have to be disinfected, and headed for the shelter. We transferred GFC to another carrier for her trip to her new foster home, and the shelter worker turned to me.

"There may be a problem with some of the kittens", she said.

My heart sank. All I could think was that they had picked up some damn shelter disease and had either been euthanized or were very ill.

"Two of the kittens are fine .................", she continued.

THE RUNT!!! I'm thinking. PLEASE let The Runt be okay!

"............. and the other two ..............."

By this time, I'm practically on the floor. I can handle it, I told myself. Whatever it is, I can handle it.

"................. and the other two are so feral, we think they're unadoptable."

Whhhaaaaaaaatttt???? Feral? Unadoptable? I'd taken care of those guys for the last two months, and while their Momma was certainly feral, the kittens were all cute and adorable. While I had fallen hard for The Runt and Little Girl, the other two were also fab. Not a one of them ever hissed or spit or clawed or objected to being picked up. I had treated The Runt's ear mites with mineral oil and Q-tips (he was too young for ear mite meds) and he sat right there and let me work on him.

"So," the shelter worker continued, "If the two you've picked out to keep are the feral ones, you can certainly change your mind. Or, if you decide to take them anyway, we'll give them to you for free, since we won't be able to adopt them out."

And I'm thinking, what the hell happens to unadoptable kittens? Are they euthanized? Are they sent out to be farm cats?

So of course, THEN I'm thinking, oh, I hope it's The Runt and Little Girl who are the "feral" ones. I'll take them! I love them! They're not feral, damn it!

So we headed to the kitten room, to see which ones had been determined to be feral, and which ones were adoptable.


Oooops! I've gotta go get some work done. I'll be back later to finish this up.

Questions About The Olympics

How do the male divers keep those tiny little bathing suits on? They're already cut so low; it seems like when they hit the water at however-many-miles-per-hour, the suits would fly right off.

Why do all the American female gymnasts have severely receding hairlines? (Personally, I'm thinking anorexia, but that's awfully mean-spirited of me.) They showed a team interview last night, and most of the gals had hairlines somewhere around the tops of their heads. Oh, and I had to laugh when that one gymnast was talking, and she's all, like, "We TOTALLY support (whatever her name is), (who was standing RIGHT BEHIND the girl who was talking), even though she blew her routine and made us lose the Olympics." Yay snark!

WHO is that, um .......... person doing the human-interest stuff? Last night they had, um ...... her? ...... eating weird food. All I can think is, well, I know it's supposed to be a woman, but I think she started out as a man and made a little side trip to Sweden.

Recently Read

Standard Disclaimer - As usual, I am putting these up mainly just to keep track of them. Feel free, as usual, to skip this post.


Places to Look for a Mother by Nicole Stansbury - Novel about a dysfunctional family in the seventies - good.


Mudbound by Hillary Jordan - Novel about a Southern farmer's wife in the 1940s - good.


I Was Told There'd Be Cake by Sloane Crosley - Funny essays - entertaining.


Prep by Curtis Sittenfeld - Novel about boarding school - good.


The Prince of Frogtown by Rick Bragg - Memoir about the author's father - very, very, good - this guy can write like nobody's business.


Driving Sideways by Jess Riley - A light summer novel - good.


Northline by Willy Vlautin - Novel about a Vegas waitress - grim, but good.


No Man's Land by Ruth Fowler - Memoir about being a stripper in NYC - I did not like her writing style and couldn't get into this one - gave up about 40 pages in.


Moose by Stephanie Klein - Memoir about growing up fat - interesting.


The Good Times are Killing Me by Lynda Barry - Interesting, although I'm a little confused as to why this one was in the "grown-up" section of the library and "Cruddy" was in Young Adult - I think they got it backward.


The Bones of Plenty by Lois Hudson - Novel about the dust bowl years on a Kansas farm - OK, but I got through about half of it and quit, mainly because I had other books waiting - maybe I'll give it a try another time.


I Love You Like a Tomato by Marie Giordano - Meh. I got about 200 pages in and lost interest.


Lullabies for Little Criminals by Heather O'Neill - Novel - Very depressing and very good.

Well Okay Then!

Whew! Thanks to everybody for your support these last few days.

I had been talking to my sister Texas earlier in the week about trying to make this decision. She called me last night and she was all, "ummm ............ are you ok? I was worried about you and so I read your blog (she never reads my blog) (oh hi Texas!), and then I was really worried until I got to the end of that last post and I just wanted to make sure you're, you know, OK ......."

Awww! Great ........ now my blog is making people think I'm having a nervous breakdown! (oh wait ........ I kind of was having a nervous breakdown, wasn't I?)

ANYWAY, I am actually (relatively) calm this morning, and hopefully all the hand-wringing and AGONIZING and panic attacks are over with. I'll keep you posted. (and you're all, like, NO!! No! DON'T keep us posted!) Heh.

Ahhh yes - RockyCat the blog. Where the author goes batshit insane for all to see. Aren't you glad you stopped by?!

Splat

Oh my God you guys, I am really at a crossroads here, so I'm just gonna splat it all out.

Last Wednesday, I took Evil Momma and the foster kittens back to the shelter. I was already thinking of adopting The Runt and Little Girl, but I was torn, because I really enjoyed the foster experience, and The Runt and Little Girl were both orange, and I was never partial to orange cats, and while they were cute adorable kittens now they would grow up to be ordinary cats, and after losing Rocky in February after 15 years was I really ready for more cats so soon, and what if I didn't adopt them and they found better homes with people with more money, but oh my God I'd miss The Runt, and blah blah blah .........

On Friday, I stopped at the shelter to visit the fosters, and they were still upstairs in intake because there was some respiratory thing making the rounds of the adoption center, and they were all glad to see me and I told the volunteers that I wanted The Runt and Little Girl, and filled out the paperwork, and was told the shelter would call when they could be released. And even as I walked out the door I was not sure I was making the right decision (see agonizing above).

All weekend, as I waited for a call from the shelter, I worried and worried and WORRIED about the decision, and actually managed to work myself into a full-blown panic attack on Sunday, with the difficulty breathing and the chest pains and the whole nine yards.

By last night, the shelter STILL had not called (is it a sign? oh sweet jeeezus), and I took a deep breath, called the foster coordinator, and told her I had decided not to adopt and wanted to continue fostering instead. She asked if I could do another foster right away, and I said yes, and so right now I have this fucking fat monstrosity of a cat who FARTS constantly in my home for the next sixty days and I'm thinking that oh my God I WANT THE RUNT BACK and I have no idea what to do. I am really seriously thinking about stopping at the shelter after work and explaining that I have changed my mind ONCE AGAIN and I want to bring back the fucking fat farting cat and get The Runt and Little Girl.

Oh, you guys, I know I asked you for help on this once before and you TOLD ME WHAT TO DO and I DID NOT TAKE YOUR ADVICE and oh help help help me please.......... am I insane if I go to the shelter tonight and tell them I want The Runt and Little Girl ......... having trouble breathing again ...... please help .........


UPDATED TO ADD:

It is done.

As soon as I finished writing the above, I knew I was being ridiculous. I simply HAD to have The Ruuuuunnnnnnttt and Little Girl. I went flying out of the office (sorry, Boss, I'll explain it all tomorrow), sped to the shelter, and talked to the woman who runs the shelter. I explained my situation, trying to sound *not insane*, and to my surprise, she totally understood. She said that they would find another foster home for gigantic farting cat, and I could take home The Runt and Little Girl. I am to call her tomorrow at noon to make arrangements for the transfer.

I am so relieved! My heart was telling me all along what to do, and my mind refused to listen, blocking my heart with nine million "what-ifs". I think the panic attack on Sunday should have been my cue, but GOD FORBID I actually LISTEN to what my heart (and the Internet!) is telling me. I think there's a lesson here for me.

So! While I feel bad about crapping out on the whole foster deal, for it is truly a worthy undertaking and I recommend it highly, by the end of the week The Runt and Little Girl will be back home with me.

The End.

Movie Review - "No Country For Old Men"

Disclaimer: I am a terrible movie reviewer. I have an attention span of, like, five minutes, and then I have to get up and go DO SOMETHING, so it can literally take me DAYS to watch a movie. And even when I'm actually WATCHING the movie, my mind tends to wander (Look! Something shiny!) so I end up watching some scenes over and over until they can sink into my wayward mind. So feel free to disregard this and any future movie reviews on this site, and feel free to disagree with my feeble opinions.

Warning: Minor spoilers may follow.


While I found this movie interesting, I don't think I'll be watching it again.


Although the blow-gun thing that the guy with the really bad haircut used was pretty cool.


I think this was based on a book by Cormac McCarthy, which explains some of the ...... weirdness. I have tried to like Cormac McCarthy, I really have; I just don't.


But! According to Netflix this movie is, like, two hours and twenty-odd minutes long. So I'm watching along, and watching, and bad haircut guy has a bone sticking out of his arm and buys a shirt from a kid, and then Tommy Lee Jones is talking about his dad, or maybe his grandpa, and then ........


The movie ended. Just ended. And the credits started rolling, and I'm all like whaaaaa? And I checked the DVD player and the movie had ended at almost two hours exactly.


So! When Netflix said it was two hours and twenty-odd minutes long, were they including the trailers? Or did I get some weird Reader-Digest-condensed-version of the movie, which would explain why it ended so suddenly?



I'm confused. As usual.

Headstones

On Saturday I went to a local cemetery.

I had heard that it had great views, and it did:

What are those house-thingies (see pic below) called? Are they crypts? Mausoleums?

And I wondered, who pays for them? Do you decide ahead of time and set aside money in your will to build a little housie for your bones? Do your kids do it in memory of you?

Some people take the simpler approach:

Some people accessorize. This grave had a very simple marker, plus several angels, elephants, a statue of Saint Francis, and a teeny-tiny horse and wagon (you can double-click on the pic to make it bigger):

Do you think she asked her friends to do this before she died? Or did they just go ahead and decorate? I think I'd be kind of pissed off if someone placed a bunch of crap on my marker ..... oh, no, wait; I wouldn't be pissed off ..........I'd be dead.

Gee, do you think this guy was a dolphins fan? This headstone really bothered me, for some reason. It just seemed so ...... tacky. And I couldn't figure out if the statue in front was a dog or a fox. I'm guessing dog, but I'm not sure.

Anyway, it was a neat place to spend some time.

Make Up My Mind, Will Ya?

Evil Momma and the kittens went back to the shelter for adoption on Wednesday. Now I have a decision to make:


1. I can adopt two of the kittens from this last litter. They are all adorable, and I fell particularly hard for The Runt.


Pluses: I would get to have two adorable kittens in my home, who would grow up to be beautiful, loving cats.


Minus: It means a big commitment, in time, in money, in emotion. Cats live a long time, and vet care is expensive, and it is very, very hard when they finally pass away.



2. I can continue doing foster care.


Pluses: Kittens are a ton of fun, and the work is very rewarding. I get to give a safe haven to momma cats and their young kittens who otherwise would be spending their formative weeks in a cage at the shelter, or, worse yet, be turned down by the shelter because they are out of room.


Minuses: They all go back to the shelter once they are old enough. And young kittens really aren't cuddly; they are too busy playing to want to be held. And, with the large litters, cat food gets expensive, especially when Momma is malnourished and is making up for lost time. The shelters do offer to help out with food, but I hate to ask, when they are already so strapped financially.


3. I can continue to do foster care, with the understanding that if the kittens who just went back fail to get adopted, I will adopt two of them. (Two is the max my landlord allows.)


Pluses: This seems like the most logical option.


Minuses: I would really, really miss The Runt, if he got adopted.



I talked to the foster coordinator, and she said that while they always need foster homes, they also need permanent homes. They have cats at the shelter right now who have grown up there, because no one adopted them as kittens.



So I just don't know what to do. I feel like any of these options would be a good one; I just don't know which one to choose. Help me!

The Unbearable Lightness of Being a Kitten

So long!

Farewell!

auf Wiedersehen!

Adieu!

And they're off! Off to loving homes and new adventures in the great big world.

Bye, guys! Stay as sweet as you are! Bye!

Bye!

Bye!

*Sob*

Oh No .........

The shelter called ......... they want their kittens back.

After a couple of false starts, Evil Momma and the kittens are supposedly going back to the shelter tonight.

This is gonna be tough.

This Never Woulda Happened When Rocky Was Alive, Part Two

I wrote earlier about the exploding rabbit population in my neighborhood, and how Rocky used to chase the rabbits off. All but ONE rabbit, that is ......

One night, several years ago, I was sleeping soundly. I had left the bathroom window open, as usual in the summer months, so Rocky could go in and out. So there I was, sound asleep, in the middle of the night, when I was rudely awakened by a sudden "thump" on my chest. I looked down to discover that Rocky had brought in a baby rabbit, jumped up on the bed with it, and dropped it right on top of me.

Well! Little baby bunny, who was very much alive, started screaming. Have you ever heard the screaming noise a rabbit makes? It's really quite impressive. And the rabbit shot off the bed, followed by Rocky, followed by me.

And everybody went tearing around the apartment, round and round and round, until I managed to grab a towel, throw him over Mr. Bunny, shut Rocky in the bedroom, get the rabbit downstairs, and let him go in the yard.

And that was the last time I left the bathroom window open at night.

I should reiterate, to my knowledge, Rocky never actually killed any wild animals, except for mice. The ones he didn't run off, he would bring into the apartment. Very much alive. Thanks, Rocky!

I miss you.

Quick Question(s)

I got to see my youngest grand-nephew, H., yesterday. He is just learning how to walk and was wearing the cutest pair of what appeared to be little teeny cross-trainers.

My first pair of baby shoes, which I actually unearthed a while back while looking for something else up in the attic, were RIGID. I mean, it was like they were made of steel or something, they were so inflexible. And they had these incredibly slick soles, with no traction whatsoever. I mean, even if you already KNEW how to walk, any attempt to walk in those shoes would be destined to end in FAIL. Did anybody else have baby shoes like that? Or were my parents sadists? Or am I just SO OLD that those baby shoes were actually de rigueur back in, like, medieval times? Or, wait, were they maybe just for show, and I had another, more comfy pair to actually walk in? I'm so confused.

ALSO. I thought I saw something on TV the other night about Dog the Bounty Hunter being back on the air. Is this even possible? Wasn't he exposed as a horrible racist who threw the n-word around in a phone conversation?

OK, that's all my questions for right now. Feel free to add some questions of your own in the comments! But only if you answer mine first. (Kidding!) (Sorta).

Evil Momma Says ......

I WARNED him that if he did that ONE MORE TIME he'd have to go in Time Out!!

This Never Woulda Happened When Rocky Was Alive

My neighborhood is experiencing a rabbit population explosion. I counted four in a neighbor's backyard the other night.

Now, I have nothing against rabbits. I really enjoy watching them hop around and play. And neither I nor any of my neighbors have vegetable gardens, so we don't have to worry about rabbit-inflicted food loss. But this summer is the first in many years that there have been rabbits in the area, and it finally hit me why: Rocky's not around to run them off anymore.

Now, Rocky never actually killed the rabbits. His policy regarding the local wildlife was very much "bring 'em back alive". Oh, except for mice. He would dissect mice with great pleasure, eating only the tasty bits, and leaving the guts and feet in tidy piles on the back porch for me to step in when I went out in the morning to get the newspaper. Aaahhh, memories.

The first live item he brought into the apartment was a chipmunk. A very frisky chipmunk, who scurried hither and yon for two days. I would hear the chipmunk in the bedroom, or the kitchen, or wherever, and I would pick Rocky up and take him to the chipmunk, and all Rocky would do is give the chipmunk an affectionate nudge. I think Rocky was looking for a pet. But then, of course, the chipmunk would go scurrying elsewhere, everywhere of course except the open front door.

So on the second day, I determined it was time to help reunite the chipmunk with his natural environment. I got the broom and the cat and tried to herd the chipmunk outside. Instead, the chipmunk went running into the bathroom and up into the tub. "Perfect!", I thought. "I'll just put the chipmunk in ........ something ........... and take him outside!"

I grabbed a plastic mixing bowl and a piece of cardboard for a cover and headed into the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind me so as to prevent the chipmunk from heading back out into the apartment. You know where this is going, right? I put the bowl over the chipmunk, slid the cardboard under the bowl, and picked up the whole kit and kaboodle, with one hand under the bowl and one hand on top of the cardboard. Then I went to open the door, and ....... yeah....... not so much. I had no way to turn the door handle, as both hands were occupied with chipmunk containment.

So! I did the only thing I could think of (which is usually the worst possible option, in any given situation, given my thought processes), and placed the covered bowl against my stomach, holding it in place with one hand and using the other to open up the door. Success! And I headed out the back door, down the stairs, and across the back yard with the chipmunk scrabbling wildly in the bowl. I set the bowl on the ground, took off the cardboard, and the chipmunk ran happily away, surely to tell his friends about his adventure.

And Rocky spent the next few days sniffing about the apartment, looking for his missing friend.

Coming soon: Rocky graduates from chipmunks to rabbits.

Rember When?

So, I'm reading this article about a new Alzheimer's drug named "Rember". Which is obviously a play on the word "remember", and pretty tasteless, if you ask me.


But now, every time I think about it, all I can think is, "Rember when that word had two more letters?" Heh.

Update!

So! I am back from the dentist. And I was there, having my teeth cleaned, and all was going fine (other than, of course, BEING AT THE DENTIST), and then the dentist came in and was checking my computer chart with the hygienist.


And they're talking about a wisdom tooth, and I'm thinking, "I had my wisdom teeth pulled when I was 18". And then they're talking about the molar that might need extracting, the one that they discussed with me before, and I'm thinking, "nobody said ANYTHING about pulling any of my teeth". And they just kept going on and on, and none of it sounded anything like me, and I finally said, "WHOSE CHART are you looking at?!"


Not mine! Folks, they were looking at the chart for ANOTHER PATIENT. The one who was coming in AFTER me. And I feel sorry for THAT patient, because it sounds like her teeth are in pretty bad shape.

Then! I get back to the office, and the shelter calls. It turns out that a nasty, often FATAL virus has been introduced to the shelter, possibly from an incoming stray. The shelter worker told me that the last time this virus made the rounds, last year, it killed eighteen kittens and four adult cats. Needless to say, I will be holding onto my fosters for at least a few more days (yay!), until things clear up at the shelter. Right now the shelter is on "lockdown" (no cats in, no cats out).

Oh! And it turns out that the hygienist has a daughter with the same first name as me. So that makes two of us. It's not that unusual of a first name; it's just that nobody seems to name their kids that. (No, it's not Bertha!)

Right now I'm just relieved that the dental torture is over (until next time). And the cats get to stay with me for a while longer. Bonus! And I'm thinking about all those cats in the shelter and hoping they all make it.

Updated to Add: Oh yeah! I forgot! The dentist informed me that I have "geographic tongue". Sounds like some kind of porn term, no? (Warning: Do NOT google that term. DO. NOT. Not unless you want to see a bunch of pictures of people with their tongues sticking waaaaayyy out. Gross.)

Getting Ready For A Bad Day

Tomorrow morning, I have to go to the dentist for my six-month cleaning. The last time I was at the dentist, bad things happened. As far as that goes, bad things happen pretty much every time I go to the dentist. My teeth have ached for two weeks now in anticipation of this visit.


Tomorrow after work, the foster cats* go back to the shelter. They are sending over a volunteer to "net" Evil Momma, because she is still not handle-able. I've got an ache in the pit of my stomach just thinking about those beautiful little guys and girls going back, but I know it's time they find permanent homes, now while they're still cute and small and adorable and people "ooooh" and "aaaaah" over them.


So it's gonna be a pretty bad day, tomorrow is. Time to square my shoulders. I just have to keep reminding myself that it's not the end of the world, that it could be worse, and that two days from now, it will all be over with.

*You know, I've been thinking about putting a disclaimer in the posts about the foster cats. Something along the lines of, "No, I did not let my cats breed indiscriminately. I do foster work for local animal shelters. I take in cats that OTHER PEOPLE let breed indiscriminately and take care of them and their kittens until the babies are weaned and they can find permanent homes." Because I would hate it if anyone thinks that I am one of those asshats who fail to neuter their pets, let the cat get preggers, and then dump her and the kittens at a shelter. The End.

Hmmm. Guess I'm a little sensitive today.

Friends

Fun With Alzheimer's!

I picked up my Mom the other day so we could go to the flea market, and she insisted on taking her bathrobe along, calling it her "coat".

I could have corrected her, but I didn't. I mean, it's the flea market, for Pete's sake! Even with a bathrobe, she's still not gonna look any stranger than 90% of the people already there.

One thing that flips some members of my family out, and I can't seem to get worked up over, are Mom's pants. She insists on wearing pants of the extreme high-water variety. If, by chance, she should happen to put on a pair of pants that are actually the correct length, that is, not showing several inches of ankle/shin, she rolls them up until she is sure that they are the correct length, i.e., "the flood's a comin'!"

As I said, I just can't get myself worked up over this. She's 84 years old, her husband's dead, and she's got Alzheimer's disease. Life's dealt her a pretty shitty hand lately, and if she wants to go out in public in pants so short that they're practically capris, that's ok by me. And besides, I've been noticing an awful lot of old ladies lately wearing pants that are way too short. Is it some kind of octogenarian fashion statement? I have no idea, but at least Mom's not alone in her fashion sense.

Art Appreciation

For the longest time, I couldn't figure out why the kittens seemed to be fascinated by the pictures on the walls. Then one day it hit me: They could see their moving reflections in the glass!

So it wasn't my amazing artistic talent after all.

The Hitchhiker

Last Tuesday, I went to Greenwood Park. A local summer camp was having a day program there, and so the lake was full of children. SCREAMING children.


Now, I have written before about screamers. Kids who are in serious need of a reset of their "on/off" switch. Imagine a whole lake full of them. Imagine that lake surrounded by lovely rolling hills which were echoing the sound. It was bedlam. And you know, I was thinking, "I'll bet the lifeguards are wearing earplugs", but then I realized that they probably are not allowed to wear earplugs, so that they can hear if a swimmer calls for help. And then I wondered how they would even hear anyone calling for help anyway, what with the decibel level of the screaming and all. And then I hiked further into the woods, to get away from the goddam screaming kids.


When I got back to my car, I found that I had gained a little friend:




This little bee, heavy with pollen, was resting comfortably on one of my hiking boots. I think he was trying to hitch a ride to get away from the screaming children. I gently shook him onto the grass. After all, if he wants to get away, all he needs to do is spread his wings and fly.

It's A Good Thing I Didn't Go Out For Lunch ......

......... because, apparently, the bottom hem of the back of my slip has been tucked into the (interior) waistband of my (somewhat sheer) dress since some time this morning.

Oooooops.

In my defense, YES I AM wearing underwear! and pantyhose! Which leads me to a question:

You know how pantyhose have those little ........ um ......... crotch panels in them? Are those crotch panels actually supposed to be, like, underwear? Are you not supposed to wear actual underwear when you are wearing pantyhose? Because I find that idea a little bit distressing. When I get dressed in the morning, first I put on underwear, then pantyhose. Have I been DOING IT WRONG all these years? Because even if I have, I am going to continue to do so. The idea of wearing pantyhose without underwear underneath is skeeving me out.

But please tell me, oh Internet - am I DOING IT WRONG??

Ha! I Win.

Last night, I fixed my broken toilet using only a pair of needle-nose pliers and a twist tie.

Actually, the only reason I was attempting toilet repair is because I am desperately trying to forestall having the super send over a repairman until this latest load of foster cats is out of the house. I am fairly certain that the landlord would be a little, um ........ concerned if he discovered that I currently have FIVE cats (and three litterboxes!) in my apartment. (The per-apartment cat limit is two. But actually, now that I think about it, I mean, Evil Momma is ONE cat, and the kittens (all four of them!) count as ONE cat also, no? I mean, they're kittens, not full cats, no? No? Just like at the grocery store, if I get one jar of spaghetti sauce, one bag of apples, and ten cans of cat food, I can still go in the "eight-items-or-less" line, no? Because there's ONE jar of spaghetti sauce, and even though there's eight apples in the bag, it's ONE bag of apples, and the ten cans of cat food go under the "cat food" category, and thus count as ONE item, right?, so I only have THREE items, no? No? No. Yeah. I thought so. Seriously, I have never actually had the nerve to try this little stunt. I am afraid the people in line behind me might kill me.)

Movie Review - "The Little Girl Who Lives Down The Lane"

Wow. Now there's a grim little flick. Jodie Foster plays a creepy adolescent who's got a few too many secrets.

At first I thought that it was a made-for-TV movie, thanks mainly to the cheesy soundtrack, which was chock-full of that seventies' "wocka-wocka" music more common to porn films, but the scene with Martin Sheen and the hamster (no, not porn (heh)), made me think it was a theatrical release, cause I kinda doubt they would have shown that on TV back in the day.

Oh, and Jodie Foster's nude scene made me pretty uncomfortable. I mean, she was fourteen when she made the movie, and she was portraying a thirteen-year-old, and they had to put in a nude scene? But then I checked it out on IMDB, and it turns out that her older sister did the scene, because Jodie refused. Good for you, Jodie! But yo, older sister, what were you thinking? The character's thirteen, for pete's sake!

So! All in all it was interesting, even the over-the-top hamminess by the woman playing the landlady. (Alexis Smith, who, according to IMDB, was in, like, a billion movies. I wonder if she over-acted in all of them.) But if you're squeamish, look away when Martin Sheen picks up the hamster. A word to the wise.

Salt Springs State Park

Last Monday, I went to Salt Springs State Park. (After fielding the first emergency phone call from the office, which came in at 10 a.m. Sigh.) I had never been there before, and the driving directions on the web site would have had me going quite a bit out of my way, so I went to a local community web site, BC Voice, to ask for directions. Now, I did this with quite a bit of trepidation, as the bloggers on BC Voice can be absolutely vicious. I mean, you ask for driving directions, and someone will chime in with, "whatsa matter? you too stoopid to read a f**king map?" Seriously. If you want to check out some really mean people, check out BC Voice. I'm not going to link to it here, because they would probably hunt me down and kill me.

ANYhow, I got my directions (thank you, nice person!), and off I went. Which is always an adventure, because I am fully capable of getting lost at a 4-way intersection. But! I managed to make my way there, through some very pretty countryside and places I hadn't been to in years. Hi, Quaker Lake! Hi, Laurel Lake! Hi, Brackney! Although I am sad to report that the McMansionization of Quaker Lake is well under way. When I was a kid, Quaker Lake was surrounded by small family cottages. Now, there are houses the size of freaking hotels on the lake. Kind of sad.

So! I get to the park, pull in the parking area, and the first thing I see are some llamas:

Heck, I don't know why they were there! They just were!

There were waterfalls:

And salamanders:

(Or is this guy an eft? I always get my reptile terms mixed up.)

And there was bee balm:

I love bee balm. It looks like fireworks. (Now here's where someone chimes in and says, no, that's not bee balm, you idiot, that's (insert plant name here)).

So! This is a beautiful place, and I managed not to get (too) lost on the trails, and I'll definitely be going back again. If I can find it.

Dresses and Pantyhose and Heels, Oh My!

I spent last week in shorts and tank tops. About half of every day my feet were in hiking boots, and the rest of the time I went barefoot.


A good portion of the time, my feet and the rest of me were plunked down in the kiddy pool. Oh! There was an emergency on Sunday when the kiddy pool developed a leak, necessitating a quick trip to Crapmart for a replacement. Luckily they still had some in stock, although back-to-school stuff is already replacing a lot of the summer fun stuff.


Lots of time was spent down by the creek, eating blackberries and raspberries and splashing around in the cool water and digging up wildflowers for my gardens. (Nothing endangered! Just beach peas and crown vetch and daisies and monkey flowers, all of which get mowed down when the town comes to mow the floodwall.)


There's lots of birds down there:




But now, it's back to work. Time to earn a living. *sigh.*

Didja Miss Me?

Well, did ya? (It's ok - you can lie!)



Here's a quick pic:




That's Watkins Glen. You can get an idea of the scale by the people standing on the trail on the left and the person standing on the bridge in the middle. I'd been here before, but this time I took a guided tour up the gorge, which was interesting. Don't let me forget to tell you about the flip-flops! And the Aldi's bag!

Right now, I have to tackle the Giant Pile 'O Mail on my desk. Back soon!

Bye For Now!

In just a few short hours, I will leave the office. And I don't have to come back until ....... a week from Monday! Suh-WEET!

Now, since I don't have a computer at home (sob), and the local library keeps pretty funky summer hours, my internet access will be spotty (sob).

So! I'll try to check in when I can, and I'll be thinking of all of you, hard at work, while I am eating yummy things and drinking and sleeeeeeeping and hiking and drinking and attending summer festivals and reading books in the back yard and eating soft-serve ice cream and ................ ok, I'll stop now.

See you soon!

Gratuitous Cute Kitten Pics

Oh hai! (It cracks me up the way his tail is sticking out of the side of the box.)




Pile On Evil Momma:






All four in the same shot (that's getting harder and harder, as they become more independent):





Front to back: Little Girl (formerly Number Three), The Runt, Fluffy and Tuffy. Do you think they have enough toys?

Shark, Jumped

Actually, I don't think it can count as jumping the shark if the show sucked from the very beginning.

But hey! Did I call it or what?! I'm talking about "As the Wrench Turns", the new animated series on PBS featuring the guys from the NPR show "Car Talk".

Did anybody besides me attempt to watch this train wreck? No? I didn't think so. Actually, it was EVEN WORSE than I imagined, if that's even possible. Honestly, I could only watch a minute or two at a time before my head started to hurt and I had to change the channel. But then I kept switching BACK, like maybe a miracle had occurred in the last few minutes and the show suddenly got good. Nope, didn't happen.

But! I finally popped in a tape (I know, I KNOW! I am ancient!) of the series "Carrier", also presented by PBS. It's about life aboard the aircraft carrier USS Nimitz, and it is absolutely fascinating. THIS is the kind of interesting, in-depth thing PBS does extremely well.

So! I watched (as much as I could stand of) "As the Wrench Turns", so you don't have to, and I can confirm that it's truly, truly bad. And if you want to catch PBS at its best, check out "Carrier".

Oh! And don't let me forget to tell you about the time I auditioned for the Air Force Band. True story!

Ear Worm

If you are cold
Here, take my sweater

Here, take my sweater

Here, take my sweater
Here, take my sweater
Here, take my sweater Here, take my sweater Here, take my sweater Here take my sweater heretakemysweaterheretakemysweaterheretakemysweaterheretakemysweaterOHFORTHELOVEOFGODTAKETHEDAMNSWEATERSO
ICANGETHISSONGOUTOFMYHEADARRRRRGGGGHHHHHH

help me.

The Dude's Wearing Peds

(Uh-oh, here I go again, blogging instead of actually, say, WORKING. *Sigh*.)

But seriously! I just noted that one of my male co-workers is wearing Peds with his sneakers. Do they even MAKE man Peds? Because if not, that means he's wearing WOMAN peds. WHY?

In other sartorial office news, Hack-Em-Up-Ed, he of the t-shirt with a cartoon squirrel and the caption "I'd like to put my nuts in your mouth" on it, is currently wearing a t-shirt emblazoned with the words "Got Wood?" in print about 10" high on the front. In his defense, there is a logo for a lumber company on the back, but STILL. Why the questionable t-shirts, Hack-Em-Up?

OK. Back to work, dammit.

Must ......... Get .......... Busy.............

Ok, so I have next week off, so that means there are nine thousand things I need to get done here at work before I go. And so far I have done approximately ...... none of them. And I'm sitting here blogging.

Wow. I don't even know what's wrong with me (I mean, other than the obvious). I am usually Johnny-on-the-spot, getting everything done waaaayy ahead of time, and here I am stalling. And stalling. And stalling. And the 941 needs to be filed, and notes have to be left for the temp, and I need to enter all of those invoice hours, and ....... yeah ........ not so much.

Oh! But I did watch a cute movie last night. "Lars and the Real Girl". It requires a real suspension of disbelief, but once you do that, it's a really enjoyable movie.

One more thing: Someday ME 2, are you out there? I see that you've pulled your blog, and I just wanted to make sure you're ok.

No crunch! Crunch is bad!

So! I've been thinking about all the tasty stuff I'm going to eat while I'm on vacation next week (woot!). Ok, technically I'm not actually going anyplace, other than doing some day trips, but I have the week off from work, so that counts as vaca, right? Right? Please tell me that it counts!

And I am going to make Alpo (a tasty, tasty sandwich spread which is not actually dog food but which does have a rather ...... um...... unfortunate appearance, thus leading my lovely dysfunctional family to give it the name Alpo), and crab dip, and I'm going to possibly bust my grill out of the shed and have a steak or two, and I may actually splurge and have a Subway sub.

Now, I don't usually go to Subway, because they cut their sub rolls the wrong damn way. The only CORRECT way to cut a sub roll is horizontally down the side, and Subway does this funky cut-it-down-from-the-top technique which is just NOT RIGHT, but I have been jonesing for a meatball sub (no cheese, though - also WRONG) for quite a while, and have been holding out due to my oh-my-holy-hell-gas-is-four-bucks-a-gallon budget. (Can-I-put-any-MORE-dashes-in-this-post? Let's-see!)

So! A relatively recent addition to the franchise market in this area is Quiznos. And I was thinking, maybe Quiznos instead? But then I seemed to recall a Quiznos TV commercial in which they talk about their TOASTED sub rolls and how the rolls are CRRRRUNCHY and oh no no no that is just WRONG.

Sub rolls should not crunch! Sub rolls need to be springy yummy white bread with no nutritional value and not much taste at all, so as not to distract from the delicious fillings inside. Seriously, the thought of biting into a sub and having the bread go CRRRUUNNCH is just wrong on so many levels I don't know how to deal with it. Besides which, the crumb factor has got to be out of sight.

So! How do you prefer your sub rolls? CRRUNNCHHY, or nice and soft and comforting, the way God intended?

Oh! And while you're answering my possibly insane question, please scroll down to the post below (unless you're squeamish about bugs) and help me out there, too. Please?

What the Hell IS This?!

Okay, first, a lovely bluebird, down by the creek. See it? Right there in the middle of the picture? Oh, I love bluebirds. And they are relatively uncommon in this area, so seeing them is always a treat. WARNING: Do not scroll past the bluebird if you are squeamish about bugs. You've been warned.




Next up: WHHHHHAAAATTTT??




Oh my gah, what the holy hell omfg IS THAT?? It's about an inch long, with an insect-like face and scrabbly thick legs and lacy WINGS and an OPEN WHITE SPOT on its back, like it's missing a piece of armor or something. Very slow to move - it just sat there and waved its legs around while I took pics.

Somebody please tell me what the hell that thing is, and that it's part of the natural order here on Earth, because it sure looks like some kind of funky alien species to me.

Now the Mailman Thinks I'm Suicidal

So, I was down by the creek last weekend, just rambling around (the blackberries are ripe! nom nom nom), and on the walk back I paused on the bridge over the creek to watch the fish in the water below.

I heard a vehicle pull over to the side of the road and a voice, laughing, saying, "Don't jump!". I turned around and it was my mailman in his postal truck, so I laughed and said "Don't worry - I won't!", and he waved and went on down the road.

And I was thinking, hmmm...... he's kind of cute ........... I wonder if he's single .......... oh, but wait...... he thinks I'm suicidal.

Oh well.

Aaahhh, the Glorious Fourth ......

....... when the car breaks down and the plumbing backs up.

Now the Saturn's just messing with my head. I was running errands on Friday, driving around, and I looked down to see that all of my dashboard gauges had flatlined. Gas? Zero. RPMs? Zero. Engine temp? Zero. And even though I was doing at least 30 at the time, according to the dashboard I was going ......... yep ....... zero.

So, I made a mental note to buy some gas, since I was pretty sure I had about half a tank, but I had no way to prove it, since the gauges were not cooperating, and to call the mechanic on Monday to have it looked at.

And then I hopped in the car on Saturday, started it up, and ..... everything was fine. All gauges working. And everything's been fine ever since.

WTF, Saturn?

Oh, and the plumbing thing? TOTALLY NOT MY FAULT. It was the guys DOWNSTAIRS who had sewage backing up into their bathtub, forcing the Roto Rooter guy to come out at 8 p.m. on the Fourth to unclog the main line. Not me!

How was your Fourth?

Who On Earth Thought That Was A Good Idea?

PBS, that's who. Next week, PBS will begin airing a prime-time cartoon following the "off-the-air lives" of Tom and Ray Magliozzi, those guys from NPR's "Car Talk" program.

Um ...... really? Is it aimed at little kids? At adults? Either scenario does not seem like it could possibly turn out well.


I predict this show's "jump the shark" moment will occur within the first thirty seconds of the first episode.


You know, I do listen to NPR and watch PBS, but in both cases, sometimes something will come on that is just so .... wrongly conceived .... that I think to myself, "this is what happens when you let the nerds run the show." And trust me, I was/am a nerd. So I know how these things can happen. I think they need to hire just one cool guy to poke his head in from time to time to say, "um.... guys? You might want to think that one over."

Note to Self

Wearing three-inch stilettos to work on a day that is going to involve a lot of inter-office walking is probably not the best idea in the world.

Just sayin'.

Detainees Breach Security Barricade

"Tear Down This Wall!", Fluffy demands.


AP - According to eyewitnesses, the security barricade restricting access to the kitchen was breached at approximately 6:35 p.m. last night. The charge was led by Fluffy, who was followed by Tuffy and The Runt. Number Three was asleep at the time and was not directly involved in the escape.

Despite several frantic attempts by Evil Momma, the insurgents refused to be brought back into custody. After several more border crossings were noted, the barricade (poster board and duct tape) was removed by Teh Human, allowing unrestricted access to the kitchen.

The insurgents reported that there would be no further action, as their demands had been met.

At press time, the only identifying photograph available was that of Tuffy, aka Marty Feldman:

No charges will be filed.