It’s been a while, but summer is near and that means
it’s time to start making music again! You’ve got two
chances to come and hear some newer songs and newer
faces in the group.
The Seattle Federline Quintet is SeaFed on alto & soprano
sax….
Just because I’m on friendly terms with That Poor Woman now, it does not mean I want to be on the mailing list. My stomach heaves when I see his name in my box on official business, so I do not need this spam. I replied with the quickest TAKEMEOFFYOURLIST-PLZ-KTHX-BYE ever.
What a great helper I have! This way I get to fold laundry three times instead of just once. I’ll be an expert in no time!
But she has fun with the laundry, and I have fun watching her have fun. Yes, that’s me dirty pillows sling around her neck.
K. The Report From Kittenport
So Vimes is doing pretty well, other than the fact that he erased part of Companion’s work document early this morning, just as he was wrapping it up. I think for thirty seconds or so, my fella may have pictured the Captain as a muff, kind of like when starving people in cartoons see everyone as a giant ham.
I had to tell Companion about auto-save. The man just looked into computers in about 2002 or so, and now is off shaking his highly-skilled moneymaker at the big daddy corporation, and he doesn’t know about auto-save. He is truly a unique individual. When I was excitedly typing “Rocket From the Crypt” into a search engine at my community college in 1996, he was hoeing sweet potatoes in a field or something, I’m serious. Life is weird.
But I digress. The kitten is a lot of fun, now that he’s become used to life in a normal house. I’m not sure what the people who were giving him away were doing to him, but he didn’t seem like other kittens I’ve brought home. We brought him home and he was a little logy, and he ate a meal that was the size of his whole body. He immediately snapped-to after this, and started running around stupidly, the way kittens are supposed to. His behavior, and the chowing he did for the rest of the day, plus the fact that he didn’t go potty until more than twenty-four hours after we got him, made me think that maybe they had stopped feeding him at some point before giving him away.
Aaand there was the litterbox issue. You never want any litterbox issues, but thank goodness it was a small issue. Apparently, the Cap’n has never seen a litterbox, which was kind of weird, because usually their moms pottytrain them around four weeks or so. I kept put him in it, like you’re supposed to, to remind him where it was, and he kept going, “Hmm, you seem to be intent on repeatedly putting me in this tiny desert which has nothing to do with me.” I made sure there was a litterbox on every floor, since this is a pretty big place. Yesterday we woke up to a puddle in bed by Companion’s feet. No good.
So last night, I confined him in the downstairs bathroom. I hated seeing the fuzzy little face disappear behind the door, with only water, the litterbox (containing a poo that had been dropped on the kitchen floor, and then relocated to give him a clue), and a bathmat to keep him company. But he’s using the box today, and I’m going to keep him on lock down for at least another week until he’s random-puddle free.
The final issue was that he seemed pretty perplexed by humans in general, so I think he hadn’t been handled much. Now instead of ducking away when we bend to pet him, he waits for the skritches with his tail twitching. He still skitters away from Strudelzilla, and I don’t blame him. But I think he will work out okay here.
In Other News
Finally, I am going down later to the inaugural day of the new Wallingford Farmer’s Market. It sucks that we have to be so miserly right now, due to Companion’s long-awaited first paycheck, because I would love to support the market by buying some foo-foo honey or something. Next time. The Wallingford Market is running every Wednesday from 3-7, I believe, and is in the parking lot of the Wallingford Center (Wallingford’s “dying mall”). I am going to take pictures and give it a little write up for the other website I’m writing for.
In Other, Other News: “Monkey Chow Out”
Also: you should check out this monkey chow guy, Adam Scott (sp?). He is eating nothing but monkey chow for one week, and is currently on day five. It makes me think of “Bachelor Chow” from Futurama. Despite his detailed descriptions of his digestive problems as a result of his diet, I still think he’s teh hot. I recommend his monkey chow video diaries, too. He’s hilariously deadpan.
Today, tired of dried chow, Adam desperately turns to canned monkey chow. Go Adam! You rule!
…To my homies KJC and MRC. But all may enjoy the glorious sight of Sebastian Bach (yes, Skid Row‘s Sebastian Bach) rocking out to “Hollaback Girl” on Gilmore Girls.
Please, please, please let there be a cut scene on the DVD featuring “My Humps.”
This week, the search engine company Google refused to turn search engine queries and other user information over to the US Department of Justice for analysis. Most surprising was that Google did not cite user privacy as the reason for their refusal.
Veronica Zelman, an official Google spokeperson, said yesterday, “We’re not sure why the government is even bothering with this data. They want search queries? Pussy, pussy, pussy, marijuana. Figure it out. It’s not that hard, people.”
US Attorney General Alberto Gonzalez rejoined, “But the Department of Justice needs to know how many times people searched for the word ‘pussy.’ This is a critical and sensitive security issue.”
(Originally titled, “Maybe It’s Just The Mac n Jack’s Talking, But…)
Today we had delightful her school friends over for a playdate.
The older boy, who is five, noticed our KRAZY xmas tree.
“Mom!” he stage whispered, “look at their TREE!”
“Yes, I see it.”
Suddenly all eyes were on the festive, Beyonce-topped xmas ficus.
“That’s Beyonce,” Franny explained. “She’s a singer and she’s our Christmas angel and she’s BEEE-you-tee-ful.” She popped an orange segment into her mouth.
“So SJ,” my friend said. “What are you going to do when Beyonce, you know, gets older, and gets out of the limelight a little?”
“Well, I said. “I am fully confident that she will appear in US Weekly in a gold dress next Christmas. But perhaps next year will be the year I laminate her.”
“Maybe there’s a Beyonce Barbie. You could get one and strap her to the top of your tree.”
ZOMG, there is! I neeeeed it. I put it on my Amazon Wishlist, along with some other critical items.
In Other News: Unfortunately, I Cannot Put Him On My Wishlist
But I swear to god, this guy is bringing me around to loincloths. I mean, screw pants. No one will ever know if you have camel toe, ever. Or sanity either. Certainly no one will know if you have that.
Whoa, you guys, I had this crazy dream!!! I dreamt I was married to a jackass for like, yonks, and then I tried to divorce him. Yay, freedom! And I dreamt I went to court and told everyone what had happened, about how I came home and found our kid covered in her own shit while he was “watching” her! And they said, “we’ll believe you, maybe, if you pay us another $15,000 to look into this.”
Oooh, that was a bad part, because I was only a student and had like, only $15.00.
In the meantime, I dreamt my shitty husband brought my weblog to court and presented it as pornography that was exploiting my daughter! And he had no idea I even had a weblog! And said that I was a dog fucker with low self-esteem!!! And that it was my fault my stepfather abused me!!! It turns out my stepfather threatened to lock me out of the cabinets BECAUSE I WAS SUCH A BIG FAT EATER, NOT BECAUSE HE WAS A FUCKING PSYCHO. HAA HAA HAA!!!!111
Phew, I’m glad the court paperwork cleared that up for me. Here I was, thinking I was abused as a child and that I had endured an emotionally frigid marriage which culminated in our daughter being progressively more neglected. MY BADS!!! LOL!
SO, in this dream I lost my weblog, for like, a whole year which was incredibly depressing. When you put three years of your life into something creative, you can get a little, you know, ATTACHED to it. MAN, DID I CRY A LOT. You could have drowned a pony in my tears. HAHA HA!!!!!!
SO I woke up this morning to post again and I realized that my last post was…what? June…2004? I really haven’t written in a over year?
Well, that’s about to change. I’m done fucking crying; back to writing.
Thanks to those who bumped me to start again: Daniel, my Companion, Supa, Mike, Joshua Norton, and everyone else. THANK YOU.
(Archives and the rest of the design will be finished soonly.)
“Dammit, am I bitter! Unless & until I can receive daily writings from Vonnegut, Robbins, & HST, you (and Pussy Ranch) are my fix.
I’m not asking you to pen a new “Gravity’s Rainbow.” Just write. Every day. It’s what you do, or have you forgotten?
Please don’t disappoint me…you wouldn’t like me when I’m disappointed….
So overlook the enormous crush I have on you & simply focus on being obscenely prolific so’s I kin git mah yaya on!!!
RedBeans&Ricely,
John W. Reader
(The “W” stands for “Bitchin'”)”
Goodgod. I�m competing with Pussy Ranch? COOL. Yessir.
YAY! A reply from the first library I applied to!!!
Hello Mr. Asshole,
Doh! Well, okay, I do have the sexually ambiguous first name. And I am glad that my cover letter didn’t smack of girlie. Whatever that means. I am confusing myself. All I’m saying is, I did not print my CV on Hello Kitty letterhead, though it was HELLO-tempting.
On behalf of Foo-foo LaRue, Interim Associate University Librarian, this email is to acknowledge receipt of your application materials for the position of Resource Specialist Librarian. We appreciate your interest and will give your candidacy every consideration.
WOOO! MIAMI!!! LOL!!!111
State of Confusion University’s Academic Professional search procedures are thorough…
Uh-oh. Now I must thoroughly distribute brand new Abraham Lincolns to everyone on my reference list.
…and do take some time to complete. We will attempt to keep you informed of our progress as we go through the various review processes.
Yes, I know–sometimes the covered-wagon mail truck doesn’t get through. I hate this blither blather.
We are requesting that you complete voluntary Applicant Data Sheet located at: http://chittychittybangbang.edu and email it to me TorrenceMcCracken@scu.edu as an attachment. This information allows the University to meet its obligations for applicant tracking under Federal regulations.
I left this out the first time, because I am one of those “Race is a social construct” jerkasses. You must send us this voluntary form. Mmm-kay. As my friend pointed out, it would probably be okay to not fill out any of it and send it back. But I prefer to bend over. In my reply I told them that I would be DELIGHTED to provide them with ANY OTHER information they need, up to and including erotic dreams I have had about Michael J. Fox.
Again, thank you for your interest in the State of Confusion U. Library, and we look
forward to getting your Data Sheet soon.
Damn it! I am the bitch of the application progress. I wonder if anyone there has cars that want washing?
Update! 4:15 PM
Fuck this…my concentration has gone the way of Victorian Uterine Theories. No more job applications. I am just sitting here with the Sunday DTs. THE BUGS! THE BUGSTHEBUGSTHEBUGS!
“Where do you want to eat? Can we have teriyaki? Or do you want to grab something quick from Larry’s deli section?” I asked. Mr. Husband had just pulled into the plaza where the movie theater was. He was staring at one of his favorite taco stands.
“We can eat wherever you want. We could get tacos….” Mr. Husband always wants tacos.
“Well, can we have teriyaki? We had chili last night and I’m burnt out on chili powder.”
“We can have any of those three things. This is a date, after all.” He patted my leg. We had dumped the girlie with her grandma so we could see a grown-up movie.
“Three things? Tacos is not a choice,” I said. I decided I was going to be a difficult date.
“Okay, whatever you want.” Mr. Husband pulled the keys out of the ignition and held his hands up. I could see what he was thinking: “I’m not taking this crazy bitch out again.”
“If I choose, does that mean I have to put out?” I asked.
“You’re not supposed to ask, you’re supposed to wait-and-see-what-happens,” he said.
“So we have to wait and see if I’m crazy bitch and if you’re a jerk? Just don’t stick your tongue in my ear or call me ‘baby’.”
“Let’s have teriyaki. Man, I hate dating.”
“Me too,” I said.
Some nights it’s easier to be stuck at home on the couch with the girlie.
