I have been too damned busy (work) and tired (work) to do much blogging. or to really even think about doing much blogging. So here's a bunch a useless thoughts than are running through my head. Consider this a stream of consciousness sort of thing - one though leading to the next.
* It is so freaking hot outside. The heat index yesterday - Sept. 14th - was 98 degrees. Actual temp was 94. I'm a warm weather girl, but would a few days of 86 degrees kill anyone?
* If you go back to work, the list of stuff you have to get done doesn't get any smaller. You just have less time to do it in.
* You would fall out of your chair if you saw some of the behaviors parents send their kids to school with.
* Teachers are grossly underpaid.
* Parents should really take some time to volunteer in the classroom. I mean - your kid is with that teacher and with those kids for more hours each week than they are with you. Don't you think you should have a handle on who they know and what they are doing?
* No, my son. You may not have any kind of Chocolate Cereal for breakfast.
* By the way - if you send your kids to school for the free breakfast, you should know that at least once a week they serve pizza and corn dogs. For breakfast.
* I think I'd like to live the life of my lazy spoiled cat.
* Gray Rat Snakes are really freaking fast.
* Only 15 more days until I can start hanging up my Halloween decorations!
* On rare occasions, if you put book holds on 15 books at the Public Library, they may all come in at once.
* You don't have much time to read if you have a job.
* It's really frustrating to not know if you'll have a job much longer, whether you need the job or not.
* It's a good day when someone refers to your hair roots as "low lights."
* Next week is International Talk Like Pirate Day.
* I bought a new Pirate Flag this weekend. It shows a Skull chugging a drink and says "Time Flies When You're Having Rum."
* I wish Jimmy Buffett would set his spring concert dates.
* I wish Zac Brown was playing anywhere near Tampa.
That's it - my thoughts are exhausted. Hopefully I'll have the energy to tackle the next topics in my mind soon. It's a toss up between "Why I Think It's Wrong to Build a Mosque Anywhere Near the Site of the World Trade Center (subtitled "I Don't Care if That Pastor Wants to Burn the Book") or "Why can't we get some Hurrican Action Here?"
2 comments:
* My superpower is finding things I have previously lost. All it takes is to bitch incessantly for 7 days straight and purchase a replacement. Voilà! Item is found! This is why I now have two tubes of Bobbi Brown’s Black Chocolate sheer lipgloss. And three pairs each of prescription glasses and sunglasses. Among so many other things.
* My car heater is immediately turned on to “Tropical,” and has been, every morning for the last three weeks. This is not a good sign because it signals the annual-packing-away-of-the-flipflops is just around the corner.
* I am boycotting FOXNews.
* I’m thinking about becoming a member of the Cocktail Party.
* The FlipFlopKiller will go to the vet this weekend. “Distemper” my ass. He already hates going AND he’s getting his teeth cleaned. This loving and very mellow and cuddly kitty will transform into 9.7 lbs of slitty-eyed feline rage and they had better be ready with their super-anti-pissedoffedness shot. I’m just sayin’.
* Some dude stopped me on the street last Tuesday morning and said I had a beautiful smile. That was a really cool way to start the day.
* I booked a massage last weekend and when I arrived I found out the therapist had canceled. Because of stress. Handtothegoodbook, I do not lie.
* The bagel dude does not know that a ‘couple of bagels’ actually means ‘2’ bagels. HIM: You said a couple of bagels. That’s not a couple. That’s only two. ME: So just what do you think “a couple” means, hon? HIM: *MASSIVE BLUSH.* Oh.
* I was mortified to hear a Glee cover of Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin.’”
* I’ve been really wanting to go to a concert lately -- but not bad enough to go see Michael Bublé. Everybody and their dog seems to love this guy. Me, not so much.
* I’ve been a reading somebody lately. A recent find, “Shoe Addicts Anonymous” was so well received, I hot-footed (heh!) it back to the store in two days to pick up the sequel, “Secrets of a Shoe Addict.” (The first was definitely WAY better). And because of the season, I’ve finally started Karl Rove’s book.
* Have new passport, will travel. :)
* One of the top Halloween costumes for women this year is Sexy Elmo (and yes there are even Big Bird and Cookie Monster versions but they’re not top sellers). As if the Sexy Kitten v Witch dynamic wasn’t bad enough. Now you need to add the mommy complex in there? Ew. So ew.
* After weeks and weeks and WEEKS of searching, I finally found the perfect red, patent-leather peep-toe in a heel that won’t kill my arches and which still looks badass. Awesomeness, thy name is Marc Jacobs.
* I am totally rooting for Jimmy J. on “Survivor.”
Oh, and I’m curious to compare notes here. Just how spoiled is spoiled, exactly? I love dogs. This is well known. It is also well-known that I prefer big dogs. I am unabashedly biased towards Dobies, especially because of my first puppy-sweetie-baby: Sam, a Dobie-Shepard-Great Dane mix.
While I don’t particularly care for the purse-sized pups, I’m admit to being horribly embarrassed on behalf of the neighbor’s girlfriend’s dog. I occasionally see that poor tic-tac in a dog suit outside. In public. In a pink tutu. Godlovehim.
Now, even though Sammy’s been gone for a long time (*sad sigh*), and there have been others, like Fred, the verystinkypitbull I had for awhile, and Dutch, my silly and extremely hyper Keeshond, it just so happens that I am in the curious position of being a cat roomie right now.
He is THE FLIPFLOP KILLER. He is 9.5 lbs of gray and white furry love I picked up at the shelter when he was just a kitten. He has, over the years, destroyed more than 16 pairs of Old Navy 2/$ flipflops and 1½ pair of Reefs.
He is what is affectionately known as a “talker,” being one of those cats who will bust out with a “mrreow” when he wants something.
He plays fetch.
He walks on a leash – or he did, until the Unfortunate Incident.
He can (and will) grow to four times his normal size (not unlike Dr. David Banner before he becomes all green and whatnot and morphs into TheHulk) and five of his six ends get all pointy whenever we head to the vet.
Whenever I’m just sorta hanging out on the sofa and watching something with socially redeeming value on TV (Helloooo, Jax Teller!!), he jumps up and curls up to watch with me.
And I love all these things. Which is why he gets special kitty treats. And name-brand kitty food. And kitty toys. And frequent playtime. And the cat bed he never, never, never uses.
But now that he’s getting on in years, he’s becoming kinda demanding. The latest example? He doesn’t want his water in his special-just-for-him bowl anymore. No. No, he does not.
He wants his water. Fresh.
From the tap.
EVERYTIME.
The first time he woke me at 3:37 IN THE MORNING!!!!!!! with those mrreows I mentioned, I just rolled over. The NEXT time he did it, it was with that little paw and the bigsadcateyes. Like, if I didn’t get up right that very second and rehydrate him, he would shrivel up and become a furry gray-and-white raisin in the next two minutes.
So, it was either stumble into the darkness to get that wretched, blackmailing, feline a drink of water or face a court of inquiry because dollars to donuts I just KNEW the SPCA was going to choose the next day to make its first “home visit” in ten years and I would be hauled off to the clink for letting my cat disintegrate into powdered form.
I did wrong though because I set precedent that day and created a monster.
Now he knows that all he has to do is smack me in the face with a paw a couple twenty, thirty, times to wake me up and then he’ll get a drink of water.
But first he’s got to get to my room. No problem there. All he has to do is walk past the bowl of fresh water I keep for him in the kitchen.
Spoiled punk.
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