Pay No Attention to the Dying Woman on the Sofa

Yes, those death moans are coming from me. Seems I've been struck down by some nasty little bug. I've sneezed so much in the last two days that I've pulled a muscle in my ribcage. Now every sneeze and cough is a new adventure in pain. And I've discovered that store brand cold and cough medicine doesn't do diddly squat.

Went to the casino last night with my parents (yes, the only time I stay out until odd hours these days is when I'm with my folks). Dad and I went to see George Jones which is evidently becoming a daddy-daughter tradition since we've done it for three years in a row. I guess at his age, George has his schtick memorized and doesn't veer from it much, which is why I felt like I was seeing the same show for the third time. He's been celebrating 50 years of hits for a few years now. That's cool. Dad and I still had a good time, even if I was miserable.

I sneezed through the concert, which I'm sure enhanced the enjoyment of the people around me. Then I sneezed the rest of the night and thought I would die from the clouds of cigarette smoke. (Not to mention the guy smoking the pipe filled with cherry tobacco--it smelled like someone burned a cherry pie. Ugh!) We didn't leave until after 1 a.m. I was completely broke, but Dad sat down at a slot machine and within three spins won over $1200. Needless to say, he wouldn't share. Then he sat down at a penny slot and won $155 on a bonus round. Lucky bastard. He's already earmarked it for fixing up his '57 Chevy.

I've now spent all of today miserable on the couch, blowing my nose and dozing through the "Fairly Oddparents" marathon on Nickelodeon. Yeah, I have a cartoon addiction. I admit it. Wanna make something of it?

Eh, whatever. I'm gonna go make some hot tea and likely Irish it up a bit. It might not banish this cold, but it will make me not care about it anymore. Unfortunately, I have to be at work tomorrow no matter what.

Happy Thanksgiving

The turkey is digesting, the gravy congealing. There's a football game on somewhere, and my boys are wreaking their furry havoc. Thus another holiday draws to a close. Now it's on to Christmas shopping!

I'd like to take this opportunity to list a few things I'm thankful for this year before I turn my attention to the Black Friday ads:

1. I'm thankful that we as a nation came together to show the rest of the world that we reject the direction our nation has been traveling in these past eight years.

2. I'm thankful that we have a president-elect who is capable of speaking in clear, concise English to relay common sense and practical answers and doesn't become a joke every night on late-night television.

3. I'm thankful that no one other than the turkey was harmed in the making of our thanksgiving. (Sorry, nameless turkey. You sure were delicious.)

4. I'm thankful I was able to purchase a house this year and fix it up just the way I want.

5. I'm thankful to still have a job.

6. I'll be really thankful if I hit it big at the casino Saturday night!

I hope all four of you, my loyal readers, had a very pleasant day with your loved ones.

Vacation Day One

I actually remembered to shut off the alarm last night before I went to sleep, but that didn't stop the world from disturbing my R & R.

Around 7:30 Sam, Turtle, Tommy and I were sacked out on the bed when I hear "BAMBAMBAMBAM!"

No, it wasn't a visit from a prehistoric cartoon character. It was the roofers next door trying to get the neighbor's new roof on before the holiday. I tried to ignore it and go back to sleep, but Sammy being cute and wanting to cuddle distracted me. It's not often he slows down long enough to work at being cute and giving me some purr time. However, when a certain pillow-hogging cat named Turtle rose up and started the hairball hack, we abandoned ship.

Today's goal is to head to my aunt's house and dig the remaining bits of my belongings out of her garage. It's mostly Christmas stuff, which I will need tomorrow afternoon to begin my decorating. Most of it has been stored there for five years waiting for me to live someplace where I actually have room for it. Yippee! Those days are here. Can't wait to see what's in there. I'm sure I've forgotten what 90% of it is.

I guess the first step in reaching today's goal would be to get my lazy rear in the shower and stop futzing around. Of course, right now Turtle is lying on top of me and taking every opportunity to rub his chin on my fingers as I type. Because heaven forbid I be doing anything other than paying attention to him. It's really giving the backspace button a workout.

Holiday Eating Tips

As we start our slide into holiday gluttony, here's a few words to live by:

1. Avoid carrot sticks. Anyone who puts carrots on a holiday buffet table knows nothing of the Christmas spirit. In fact, if you see carrots, leave immediately. Go next door, where they're serving rum balls.

2. Drink as much eggnog as you can. And quickly. It's rare...you cannot find it any other time of year but now. So drink up! Who cares if it has 10,000 calories in every sip? It's not as if you're going to turn into an eggnog - alcoholic or something. It's a treat. Enjoy it. Have one for me. Have two. It's later than you think. It's Christmas!

3. If something comes with gravy, use it. That's the whole point of gravy. Gravy does not stand alone. Pour it on. Make a volcano out of your mashed potatoes. Fill it with gravy. Eat the volcano. Repeat.

4. As for mashed potatoes, always ask if they're made with skim milk or whole milk. If it's skim, pass. Why bother? It's like buying a sports car with an automatic transmission.

5. Do not have a snack before going to a party in an effort to control your eating. The whole point of going to a Christmas party is to eat other people's food for free. Lots of it. Hello?

6. Under no circumstances should you exercise between now and New Year's. You can do that in January when you have nothing else to do. This is the time for long naps, which you'll need after circling the buffet table while carrying a 10-pound plate of food and that vat of eggnog.

7. If you come across something really good at a buffet table, like frosted Christmas cookies in the shape and size of Santa, position yourself near them and don't budge. Have as many as you can before becoming the center of attention. They're like a beautiful pair of shoes. If you leave them behind, you're never going to see them again.

8. Same for pies. Apple, Pumpkin, Mincemeat. Have a slice of each. Or if you don't like mincemeat, have two apples and one pumpkin. Always have three. When else do you get to have more than one dessert? Labor Day?

9. Did someone mention fruitcake? Granted, it's loaded with the mandatory celebratory calories, but avoid it at all cost. I mean, have some standards.

10. One final tip: If you don't feel terrible when you leave the party or get up from the table, you haven't been paying attention. Re-read tips; start over, but hurry, January is just around the corner. Remember this motto to live by:

"Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, chocolate in one hand, body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming "WOO HOO what a ride!"

Have a great holiday season

(sent to me by the Republican Propagandist)

Happy Sam-Aversary!

Well, it's been a year now since Sam moved onto my patio and refused to leave. I can definitely say life has not been the same. Quiet has been replaced with loud, calm replaced with crazy. Not to mention that despite being the youngest, he's got an overpowering need to be the alpha male. One thing about him though, he makes the best guard cat and is great at patrolling the perimeter.

Despite the fact that he drives me nuts with his incessant meowing, I love the little fart.

I put together a little photo essay to commemorate our first year together...

Taking a moment out of his busy schedule of running up and down the stairs at the apartment.

Playing with his favorite toy--a hawk's feather.

Coming to grips with his neutering.

Giving himself a timeout.

Getting Tommy to do his grooming for him.

Getting picked on (he walked backwards around the livingroom trying to get that thing off. )

And last but not least, being cute.

The Kind of Day I'm Having

more animals

(I think this guy and I have the same ears!)

Woke up this morning wearing a cat as a hat and breathing in fumes that smelled like three-week-old fish. And I thought I had bad morning breath! I need to start feeding him more kitty breath mints. Evidently Turtle's new favorite place to sleep is on my head. My neck now has a permanent crick in it.

This being Monday, I didn't get to while away the morning lying in bed watching TV. Damn. Instead it's up and dressed and into the office to take care of paperwork and put out fires. At least it's a short week thanks to the holiday. Plus, I'm taking off on Wednesday. Yay! Two-day work week! (As long as there are no disasters. It's been known to happen.)

Real quick, let's chat about this auto industry bailout. OK, seriously, these guys have balls. I mean, they screw up their businesses, wonder why no one's buying cars, ask the government for help, but refuse to change anything or make any concessions. Not to mention showing up in their private jets and acting like they can't understand why anyone would be upset over that. Hey Dingus--Thanks for rubbing your wealth in our faces while we struggle to pay the mortgage and buy food!

Let me say this--if I owned a business that had been successful and in demand, but it tanked because I couldn't manage it properly or refused to change with the times, well, sucks to be me. Too bad, so sad. It's called the free market. Consumers are going to spend their money at the places that offer what they want to buy and at prices they want to pay.

If I managed to find an investor interested in helping me save the business, it's guaranteed he would want some changes made in the way things are done so his money doesn't get tossed down the tubes.

I have this to say to the "Big 3": If you truly want to rescue your companies and use government funds to do it with, then you need to make products that fit today's consumers. I'm talking greener, more fuel-efficient, and affordable! I'd love to buy a hybrid, but can't afford it. When it comes to choosing between a new car and paying the bills, well, I'm just going to keep driving my paid-off Chevy Tracker for a while longer. Get off your asses and refit your plants to produce products this world needs.

And On the Seventh Day She Slept--A Lot

This morning Tommy, Turtle and I took on the form of slugs. Here it is after 10 am and I finally got out of bed! (the other two are still there) I did at one point earlier this morning get up and throw a load of laundry in the wash, but after that it was right back in bed. Sam kept running in, jumping on the bed, and giving us looks of disgust for our laziness. I think he was looking for someone to play chase with. He was definitely meowing up the wrong tree.

Usually on the weekends I'm up early and working on the house. This week, though, I ran out of my synthroid and kept forgetting to get it refilled. Amazing the effect a lack of thyroid hormone can have on you. I reminded myself at least three times yesterday to call the pharmacy, but forgot every time.

OK, so I put the laptop down and took a minute to call the pharmacy. Now all I have to do is remember to go pick it up. And after that stop, I need to brave Wal-Mart so I can save a couple bucks on toilet paper. Blah. The thought of that wears me out. I need another nap.

*UPDATE*
Tommy wins the laziest award since he was the last one out of bed. Around 1 o'clock he sauntered into the living room, got a scratch on the head, then flopped down in the floor for another nap.

Like Sacks of Wet Cement

So, remember the episode of WKRP where Mr. Carlson and Herb do a free turkey giveaway and their big idea is to throw them out of a helicopter? Poor Les Nessman standing in the parking lot watching those birds rain down. "Oh, the humanity!" It was funny and horrific all at once.

Well, Sarah Palin's latest brings that to mind, only without the funny. At least on WKRP we knew it was fiction. Geez Louise! "Friend to animals?" Give me a break! I saw the article but in no way could I bring myself to actually watch the video. Enough said. If you haven't seen it, I'll let you Google it yourself. I'm not attaching that crap to my blog. But dammit! Would someone PLEASE stop pointing a camera at her????

Bought a new Christmas tree and already have it set up just to let the boys get used to it before I put any decorations on it next week. So far they've pretty much ignored it, but we'll see what happens when Sam's "turdness" kicks up.

Petland and Puppy Mills

I choke on bile whenever I hear stories of animal abuse and overbreeding. I can't watch Animal Cops or Animal ER because it just kills me. As someone who would never treat their worst enemy that way, well, it makes me want to treat the offenders that way. I wonder how an unscrupulous breeder would like to be stuffed into a filthy cage!

MSNBC ran a story today about the Petland chain of pet supply stores that are selling animals from "commercial puppy mills" and telling the customers the pet they just purchased came from a reputable breeder.

People, do you really need to have a fancy, name-brand dog? Or some snooty purebred cat? OK, guess I have to dial back on that. Several of my friends have preferences for particular breeds and have purchased pets from breeders. I can't fault them for that because they took a pet into a loving home, but really, don't forget that the animals in the pound are living life on borrowed time!

Every dog I've had, save one, has been a foundling or adopted from the Humane Society. Every cat I've ever owned has been a freebie, save Tommy--who was rescued from a hoarding situation. I purchased a pair of bunnies a few years ago because I couldn't stand to see them in a cage and they now live in a pen with plenty of leg room and lots of dirt to dig in. (If there weren't six of them, I'd attempt to make them house bunnies!)

Unfortunately, those of us with soft hearts lay eyes on an animal and don't care where it came from. We know that it needs us and the love and care we can give.

Yes, stronger regulation is needed. But until puppy mills are shut down, they won't stop what they are doing, and more and more of these poor animals are brought into this world! Stop the demand, stop the supply!

I'm sorry, I have to get off my soap box and go home and hug my babies.

No Dogs Allowed

Was browsing through the Google ads on my page and discovered that there is an All Cat Hospital in the area (Hebron Pkwy in Carrollton). OK, so it would be a drive to get to, but Texans are used to driving long distances to get anywhere.

It is interesting that a veterinary hospital has chosen to specialize in cats only. Just goes to show how many people own cats. And let's face it, look how tense things gets when you're waiting in the vets office surrounded by dogs while holding a cat!

I once took Turtle to a cats-only vet when we lived in Fort Worth. He hated it! And I'm not talking about plain ol' going-to-the-vet hate, I'm talking the most virulent hissing, snapping and scratching--not to mention pooping-- reaction you have ever seen! It took three of us to hold him and was the only time in his life he was actually happy to get back into his carrier. And even then he kept hissing. The vet actually asked me if he was always that aggressive. Needless to say, we never went back.

Evidently the smell of other species doesn't bother him as much as smelling a bunch of other cats. Which is why I like our country vet. His name is Nub and is the calmest of all the vets we've ever been to. He has seen all of my pets--cats, dogs, bunnies. Can't say Turtle likes him, but he hasn't tried to go for his jugular, either. At least not yet.

So, yes, cats-only hospital good, but not for a particular cat named Turtle.

Indescribable

That was the subject line in an email from my boss yesterday wherein he sent me a link to the following story about a trailer that was being moved to a new location, broke down, and blocked the freeway for several hours: Sheriff Order Destroys Home.

He said:

sad? funny? incredible? absurd ...

read some of the comments
after the story, too

this is my old kentucky home

I read the story, and while I felt for the woman's heartbreak over the loss of her house, the writer of the article threw in so many extra details that it took a downward spiral towards absurd.

First, she's a 35-year-old grandmother. Not so much absurd as "Oh Mah Gawd!" I mean, I'm 35 and have no children, much less a husband to beget them with! I really really hope the reporter put in the wrong age.

Second, the Sheriff's reelection slogan was "More 'Dick' in 2006!" On my knees laughing about that one!

Next there was this:

To be fair, the partial closing of U.S. 68 for some nine hours on a Friday night is pretty major in Nicholas County, where Garrett Tuesday was reviewing a Mayberry-like constituent call concerning a thwarted attempt to snatch a fresh cherry pie from a kitchen.

My boss and I were giggling and laughing so hard by the end of the story that we were wiping tears away! It was a horrible bit of schadenfreude, but come on! To safely move a mobile home, you do need more than a guy named "Pancake" and a farm tractor.

Who Needs an Alarm Clock When You've Got Cats?

I was jolted out of a weird dream this morning (sunbathing in my underpants in the backyard--like I said, weird) by Sam chasing Turtle up onto the bed. Turtle heads for the pillow and the top of my head in order to get away from him. I manage to mutter "stop it, Sam" and burrowed back under the blankets. Sam left, but Turtle decided to stay put.

And you know, it's really hard to sleep when there's a cat taking a bath on top of your head. It wasn't a quick little freshen up, it was a "Gawd, I'm filthy!" all over cleanup. I opened my eyes at one point to find a hind leg stretched across my face. At another point he decided I needed grooming as well and started licking my hair. Let me tell you, cat spit does not make a good hair gel. Nor do cat tongues gently exfoliate your forehead. After he ripped a strip of flesh off my face for the second time, I decided I might as well get out of bed, so I left Turtle to rule the bed pillow. It must have been boring without me there to bother, because he settled down and went right to sleep.

Sam spent the morning running around acting crazy (what's new) and trying to trip me whenever I walked through a room. I found him attacking the rug in the bedroom floor like it was some predator he needed to annihilate. I actually wish I'd had the camera to capture that one because he had his teeth dug in and was using his hind legs to claw at it. Thankfully the rug came out of the attack unscathed. Ikea evidently makes cat-proof textiles!

He finally got Tommy to play chase with him, so I was able to make it out the front door unnoticed as they were busy racing each other in and out of the cat door and through the backyard. (Why do I have a feeling they immediately decided to take naps as soon as I left?)

My Boss Always Wonders What I'm Laughing At

Just don't tell me you hear the ocean out my butt.

(that's probably the only thing I haven't heard out of my cats--from either end!)

BUS-ted!

Driving home this afternoon, I was coming up to the stop sign to turn onto my street when a very familiar brown tabby went zooming across the street in front of me. He flew across the street in about three bounds and came to a stop on the neigbor's sidewalk. And along comes a pickup truck making a turn with a little terrier in the passenger seat just barking at him like there's no tomorrow.

By the time I turned the corner and pulled into the driveway, he had made it through the bushes and was trying to sneak into the backyard without being seen.

As soon as I got out of the car, I started fussing at him. (Yeah, crazy lady alert--she's talking to the cat again!) He runs past me and under the fence. By the time I got the front door open, he had made it through the cat door and was trying to look innocent. "Oh, hi Mom, I've been here all day." Little devil.

I guess I have choices to make. I can either tag him so he gets sent back home when the pound picks him up, or I can shut down access to the outside. Which would mean the litterbox would have to move back inside. We've already littered the neighborhood with lost collars, but I guess I'll have to give it another go. Maybe someone will at least return the collar.

Now he's sleeping on top of me like the world has completely exhausted him. These moments are the ones that keep me from killing him.

A Little Thing Called "Hope"

Wow.

That's what I thought when I read an opinion piece in the Mat-Su Valley Frontiersman (Alaska)written by sixteen-year-old girl Waverli Rainey, who has a very deep insight into our country. Sometimes we forget that teens pay attention to things other than iPods and MySpace. This young woman is brilliant in her thinking and her way of expressing herself. I know a lot of adults who cannot express themselves this well, or who think so openly. To quote:

All men are created equal. All men. That does not mean only if you’re the same color as me, think like me, talk like me, or worship who or how I do. It means regardless of age, gender, race, political affiliation, sexual orientation, or religion - we all have the right to life, liberty and happiness. Guilt does not follow race. All Arab-Americans are not Muslim extremists; being Arab-American simply means their family came from a certain part of the world. All Asian-Americans are not all like Kim Il-sung; Asian-Americans come from countries like China, Thailand, Japan, Taiwan and Singapore and they are not all the same. All African-Americans are not guilty of the genocide seen in places like Rwanda and Kenya.

If we were all guilty of the sins of our race, then what am I — a Caucasian high school sophomore from Palmer, Alaska — guilty of? Am I guilty of stealing land from their Native owners? Am I guilty of enslaving Africans? Am I guilty of the slaughter of entire races of people? Am I guilty of imprisoning Chinese and Japanese in American interment camps?

As a Causation high school girl, it’s easy to forget things like in America you wear a color — often called black, or white, or yellow, or red, or brown. We do not pick our name or race — we’re not chameleons who can change color at will, it’s how we’re born and raised. Being African-American, or Latino, or Asian-American, or Native American, or Alaska Native, or Arab-American is not a crime. Being Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, Hindu, atheist, or agnostic is not a crime. Wearing a burqa on your head, or glasses on your face, or studying all views of the world and seeing the flaws of all governments is not a crime.

Sometimes I think of a place where all of our languages are mashed together, singing of our own multi-heritage pride; the pride of a truly unified America. A place where we can be proud of our accents because this is how American English sounds, too. A place where there is no more White Power! or Black Power! Where it’s American Power! Or better yet, where it’s Human Power! A place that proudly conjures images of colonists throwing tea into a harbor, Martin Luther King Jr. standing on the steps of Lincoln Memorial, and immigrants working hard to achieve their American dream all at the same time. We are the story of our culture and colors and I’d like us all to take pride in it.

I long for the day when the word American doesn’t bring the world to think only of a white high school football star, but also brings images of each of us as we are. This America would look like both a short blond girl with glasses, and like the son of a Kenyan father and a Kansas mother who was raised by his grandparents — a day when an American looks like ourselves — looks like us as individuals and at the same time as a community of all races and all people.

To read the remainder of her letter, follow this link: Valley Teen Has Some Big Questions.

Thanks to Mudflats for bringing this to the Lower 48's attention.

Could You Repeat That?

It's coming up on my twelfth anniversary of both my college graduation and my thyroid cancer surgery. For the most part, when I think about that time period, I remember more what happened a year later that became one of my more embarrassing moments in life. At least these days it just makes me laugh.

The treatment for thyroid cancer is an extremely high dosage of radioactive iodine, given in capsule form. The iodine searches out and destroys thyroid tissue. It's a selective treatment, unlike chemotherapy. You're in isolation for a least 24 hours because of the radioactivity. Of course, then you're told you can go home, but you can't sleep in the same bed with anyone for a week, nor be around pregnant women or children for that time period. You also can't get pregnant for a year on the off chance this stuff fries fetuses brains.

Which is also why insurance companies require a negative pregnancy test before they will approve the treatment. (yeah, I know--"approve"--don't get me started on insurance companies!)

I went in the day before the treatment to get the test done. The nurse filled three vials and seemed to take forever. I almost passed out when I looked down and saw the needle hanging out of my arm. I can handle blood from cuts and stuff, but the sight of a needle and a vial attached to me tends to cause the vapors. I remember her asking me if I was hoping for a positive result. I looked at her like she was nuts! No! If it does come back positive, somebody better contact the pope!

So, the next morning, my dad drove me to the hospital to get me checked in for my overnight stay. That's pretty much what it was. Because of the radiation levels, I wasn't allowed visitors. Nor was I allowed to even eat off regular plates. Everything that came into the room had to be disposable. Which meant no books, no nothing. Just me and TV for 24 hours.

This being my second time for the treatment (the first time was just a few weeks after my thyroidectomy. This second treatment was because they had found some tissue had grown back.), I was pretty much an old hand at how this should work. My regular oncologist was out of town, so he had referred me to one of his colleagues. When I came out of the bathroom from changing into my hospital gown, he and the radio-med tech were standing around loudly asking each other where the pregnancy test was.

And of course, there's my dad standing in the room. I think he pretty much immediately started trying to find his happy place, because these two idiots did not ask the question once, they did it multiple times. And you know how dads feel about being reminded their little girls are actually women. I was mortified. How many more times could they say "pregnancy test?" I swear people could hear them out in the hall.

Finally, in order to hold onto SOME dignity, I asked them if it could quickly be done again. What do you know? It could! So a nurse was called, blood was drawn, and a half hour later, guess what? I'm still not pregnant!

As soon as the meds were on board, Dad fled for the hills and I tried desperately to forget that my name had ever been connected with such a test. It's funny to me now, but when you're standing in your bare feet wearing nothing but a hospital gown in front of your dad and two guys you don't know, that's a different story.

Don't worry, Dad, I haven't had a reason to take such a test again since then.

Best Joke of the Day (So Far)

Every December it was the same excruciating tradition. Our family would get up at the crack of dawn, go to a Christmas tree farm and tromp across acres of snow in search of the perfect tree. Hours later our feet would be freezing, but Mom would press on, convinced the tree of her dreams was "just up ahead."

One year I snapped. "Mom, face it. The perfect tree doesn't exist. It's like looking for a man. Just be satisfied if you can find one that isn't dead, doesn't have too many bald spots and is straight."

My thanks to Clean Laffs Joe.

Aw Dang!

more music charts

I thought this was hilarious. Evidently my chances are getting pretty low. Might as well give in and snag myself a few more cats. LOL!! For more, go to http://www.graphjam.com/. This site is also connected with lolcats, punditkitchen, failblog, and others.

Boring around here tonight--Tommy's sacked out in the living room floor and who knows where Sam and Turtle are. I was actually considering looking for a heated toilet seat like the one on "Two and a Half Men" tonight. Maybe I should get back to some of my projects around here.

Lord Love These Ladies!

Becci sent me a link to what has to be one of the greatest blogs ever. I was completely hooked by the second sentence. It is written by two ladies in their 80s and they are not afraid to say what they think. To quote Helen: "even if you watch your p’s and q’s you can still spell bullshit." (I've already mentally hugged her like a million times already!)

Can I just say I wish she was my grandma? In fact, the pic they have on their site reminds me of my grandma and my great-aunt who were pretty dad-gum funny themselves! If this blogging stuff had been around when Aunt Thelma was alive, we'd really have had an interesting view of the world! She would always come out with some of the craziest sayings.

If you've got time and want to see a couple of octogenerians' view of the world, stop in over at Margaret and Helen. Their welcome mat's always out. Plus I hear they've got cake!

Cute Puppeh Update!

Baxter is settling into his new home quite well. He's almost up to 2 lbs (1.9 as of last week!)

Here's a pic Becci took of him sacked out on the couch.

It's a dog's life! (also today's cliche du jour)

Chock Full O' Crazy

I woke up this morning pinned to the bed by three cats--one on each side and at my feet. It took me a few minutes to work my way out from under the blankets. Of course, it was cold, so I was almost immediately trying to find my way back in.

Evidently the cool air exhilarates Sam, because he's run around the house, inside and out, meowing and attacking whatever crosses his path. Watching his antics in the windowsill was pretty funny, especially when he fell off the ledge. (oh come on, it's not even two feet high!) He'll run for a bit and then just drop to the floor for a quick rest. Right now he's outside chasing leaves. Cat's just crazy. The other two are in bed sleeping--one in the guest room and one on my bed. Think I might join them in a nap.

Check that--I just saw crazy cat running across the street. As soon as I opened the front door to fuss at him he changed direction and headed back to the house with a "dang! she caught me!" expression.

Excess? We Don't Need No Stinking Excess!

Feeling the need to set yourself free from materialistic trappings? Care to live in a house the size of the Unabomber's shack? Check out this story over on the San Francisco Chronicle's site about a guy who lives, quite comfortably evidently, in a mere 96 square feet. I am impressed with the cathedral window, though.

I wouldn't even make it a long weekend in a place that size. And where's the bathroom? Not even sure I could have something that small for use as a storage shed in the backyard. (And yes, sometimes I think my 1300 sq ft house is a little too small for me and three cats!)

Friday's Cliche of the Day

T.G.I.F!

I gave an employee the day off, so I had to come in at 6 to open the office. My Friday got here before the sun came up. At least I get to leave early!

More Signs of Dain Bramage

So Becci commented that losing words is not as bad as forgetting one's own name (which she can't/won't admit to!) At least she's not feeling like she's losing a game of Million Dollar Pyramid to herself.

Other things just as bad:
1. Unable to answer the question "Did I take a shower today?"
2. Constantly having to ask "What did I come in here for?"
3. Being surprised by your reflection in the mirror because you forgot what you looked like.
4. Is this my house?
5. Why is my alarm going off?
6. Do I have underpants on?
7. Who are all these people?
8. What was this list about again?
9. What am I supposed to do now that the election's over?

That's it, I am signing off so I can continue my descent into madness. Will blog from there, as long as there's wi-fi and someone loosens the straps on my straight jacket. I hear they have pudding.

(On a completely side note, tomorrow's my sister's birthday. I think she'll be 29, possibly 30. I don't know. I forget.)

This Post Brought to You by the Letter Q

OK, seriously, my brain is beyond fried. I have an addiction to those PennyPress puzzle books that you find at the checkout counter at the dollar store. I can't just do one puzzle and then walk away. Why work just one when I can work twelve in a row? But evidently it's having a negative effect on me.

I was working a crossword puzzle the other night and came across the clue "stuff candles are made of. " Three letters, ends in "x." Hmmmmm, "melty stuff?" Really, I was sitting there trying to remember what candles are made out of! It took me a couple of minutes, but I started mentally freaking out because I had lost such a simple word in my brain. (And if you haven't figured it out, it's "wax.") I think I might have to dial back on the puzzles. I can come up with answers to the New York Times crossword, but I can't seem to handle a simple Pat Sajack one without losing my mind.

And today's cliche is: "an apple a day keeps the doctor away." (It was the only one I could think of.)

Happy Veteran's Day (Yesterday)

I seem to be a day late and a couple dollars short these days, but I would like to take a moment to thank all the veterans who have served our country. Their service to our country is priceless and I hope our new president-elect will make the right choice for new head of the Veteran's Administration (Tammy Duckworth, hint hint) and make certain vets of all eras receive the care they need and deserve.

Below is a list of those vets I personally know or have known:

My Dad--Lloyd Pitts
My Grandad--Henry Adams
My Uncle--Charles Collings
My friends--Tammie, Corey, James, Daniel and Sean
My Great Uncles--Bob Pitts, Fred Wooten, Biston Wooten
My cousin--Dale Wheeler
Becci's Husband--John Hendrix

Thanks you guys, and gal!

And last but not least, you do have an opportunity to adopt a vet. Military Working Dogs are found permanent homes once they retire from active service. To find out how to adopt a four-legged American hero, go to this site.

Winning the Lottery

I've realized that if I stand any chance of winning the lottery, I actually have to buy a ticket. But it's a nice dream, though, to think about having millions suddenly rain down on you.

The first thing I would do is quit my job, of course. I love my boss dearly (he is the greatest), but let's face it, working only gets in the way of sleeping late. And it interferes with my happiness.

Let's just talk about reason number 3454 why I would walk away from this job today if given the opportunity: team projects (this is also reasons #20-3453). I am being pushed into making a decision on a project that quite frankly seems wrong, nor is it the best option. However, everyone else on the "team" has decided on this particular action and are leaning heavily on me to agree. See, they can't get anywhere without my agreement because I would be the one doing the work of changing the data. In my opinion, I haven't been given enough evidence that this is the way to go and I want to make certain it is actually the best option and not just the easiest before I agree to it. Their stubbornness on this particular issue has left me so angry I can barely think straight. And I've already taken three walks around the building just to try to calm down. (I really need to stop reading my email!)

Which leads me to another great benefit of winning the lottery--no more conference calls! No more stress rash, no more weight gain from stress eating, no more customers, no more alarm clocks, no more business wear, no more no more no more! (Can you tell I really need a vacation?!?!?!)

**UPDATE**
I didn't win the lottery, but I won the battle. Through a series of long emails, I thrashed my opponents soundly about the head and shoulders with scathing logic and rationale about how it would be better to fix the problem than simply deleting the information that got in the way. Gee, seems the easiest solution was to fix the programming after all! *does a happy dance*

Wednesday's Cliche of the Day

I know, I know. Barely two weeks into this new "thing" and I'm laying down on the job.

"Whatever can go wrong, will."

'nuff said.

Humane Society Cause Collar

Was browsing around over on the Humane Society's website and found that they have jumped on the silicone wristband wagon with their "BeKind" bracelets and "Stop Puppy Mills" collars. Needless to say, all proceeds go to benefit the Humane Society. Show your support.

Baxter may be too small to even wear the bracelet, but maybe my cats can get in on the collar action. Why not show a little bipartisan support in the war on puppy mills?

Get your cause collar today!

Monday's (Not So) Cliche of the Day

Today I chose to post a quote from Oscar Wilde:

"Some cause happiness wherever they go; others whenever they go."

It made me think about a certain transitional meeting occurring in Washington today....

My Favorite Kid in the World

I've said it before and I'll say it again--my nephew is the greatest kid in the world!

Today he came over to visit and disappeared into the backyard. He's never been one to do bad things (although the cats may be of different thinking) so I didn't worry about him. My mom and I talked for a bit, then she went outside to round him up. She called to him, then came back in and told me I needed to come out and see what was going on. Not knowing what to expect, I poked my head out to see that he had been raking the leaves in the yard! WITHOUT BEING ASKED! How great is that?!?

Saturday's Cliche of the Day

"A woman's work is never done."

Now back to the two week's worth of laundry I haven't gotten to and the dirty dishes stacked in the sink. Not the mention the sweeping and mopping and vaccuuming. At least the hairball in the floor isn't mine. And yet, I'm the one who gets to clean it up....

Friday's Cliche of the Day

"Curiosity killed the cat."

Tommy is the poster child for this cliche. He's been locked in the attic because he's never met a ladder he won't climb, fallen off the fence because his big booty just won't fit up there, and last night he was almost trapped behind the bookcase. I keep the fireplace blocked off just so he won't be tempted. And who knows what will happen to my christmas tree this year.

Suck it, B**ches!

(Har har har. This site probably gives the same score to all blogs.)

I also pulled a Colbert and created a new word this morning: turdiness. Def: the amount of turd in your behavior. Ex: Sam's level of turdiness increases early in the morning. (He jumped poor Turtle this morning while the poor old guy was still sleeping, then chased him through the house.)

Thursday's Cliche of the Day

"Work smarter, not harder."

This was handwritten on a piece of posterboard that hung over the doorway going from the warehouse into the store at the first job I ever had. It's probably been there since the day the place opened and still there today.

Of course, I know some people who work harder instead of smarter.

My Fellow Americans

So many thoughts run through my head after last night's momentous event. There are so many things that could be said, but I'll keep it simple...

Thank you.

Wednesday's Cliche of the Day

"Dumb as a box of rocks."

My thoughts on a certain person I have to work with on a certain project.

I also heard this once from a nurse about the doctor she worked for!

Vote! Vote! Vote!

For some reason, I just can't keep my brain on what I'm supposed to be doing here at work today. Wonder why that is? I keep surfing all the news and polling sites for some tidbit of a result. And it's what--only 9:30 in the morning? It's going to be a long-ass day.

I did have to threaten a firing over racial commentary, thanks to one of my employees bringing in what she called "Presidential Donuts"--chocolate for Obama, powdered for McCain, and some other flavor for the undecided. She's a McCain voter. Tomorrow cannot come soon enough!

I did head to the polls early this morning. Well, early for me--as in I left the house a full 15 minutes before I was due in to work. My polling place was at the civic center, and I expected there to be quite a few others trying to get their votes in before work. Wrong! The lines were short and moved pretty quickly, and the volunteers were friendly (of course, it was still early in the day). I was actually only 15 minutes late to work! I would like to think that the short lines were due to the number of people who voted early and not people waiting until later today.

Anyway, in order to provide a modicum of distraction from election results and Fox News pundits idiocies, I'm posting the following list that I got from the Daily Groaner.

The Biggest Lies
The check is in the mail.
I'll respect you in the morning.
I'm from your government, and I am here to help you.
It's only a cold sore.
You get this one, I'll pay next time.
My wife doesn't understand me.
Trust me, I'll take care of everything.
Of course I love you.
I am getting a divorce.
Drinking? Why, no, Officer.
I never inhaled.
It's not the money, it's the principle of the thing.
I never watch television except for PBS.
...but we can still be good friends.
She means nothing to me.
Don't worry, I can go another 20 miles when the gauge is on "empty."
I gave at the office.
Don't worry, he's never bitten anyone.
I'll call you later.
We'll release the upgrade by the end of the year.
Read my lips: no new taxes
I've never done anything like this before
Now, I'm going to tell you the truth
It's supposed to make that noise.
I *love* your new hat/haircut/dress/suit...!
...then take a left. You can't miss it.
Yes, I did.
Don't worry, it's OK -- I'm sterile...

Tuesday's Cliche of the Day

"Diamonds are a girl's best friend."

Now if only I could get myself a "friend" who would give me one!

I Can See the Finish Line from My House!

Just one more day, Dear Lord, and it will all be over. All the votes will have been cast, the numbers tallied, the pundits will have had their say (and over on Fox News, they will be trying to find some accounts of voter fraud to embellish and make "truth"), and come Wednesday morning we can all move on with our lives. (Although, Tuesday night there will likely be less bowling for us than there is trying to get election results on our cell phones.)

Oh what a relief that will be. Finally I will be able to have conversations with Republican-leaning people without forcing back the need to tell them how wrong-headed their thinking is.

And if you can't make it through the next two days without shoring up your reasoning for voting against the Republican party, Huffington Post has an extremely well-written and well thought-out piece by John Cusack.

And by the way, I'm not just voting for Barack. I'm voting straight Democratic ticket because I don't want that good ol' boy fuckwit John Cornyn representing me in the Senate. He doesn't even have the balls to say he's a Republican in his TV ads! Not that I'm much happier with Rick Noriega, but let's face it--that particular race is nothing more than a choice between a douche and a turd sandwich. (Yes, perhaps I do watch a little too much South Park!)

Monday's Cliche of the Day

"It is more economical to be inefficient."

This one must be engraved on the wall down at corporate headquarters!

Sunday's Cliche of the Day

"Nervous as a whore in church"

(Welcome to my newest idea--a cliched saying each day!)

New Candidate for President!

Gotta love those engineers. And you thought Dilbert was the only one with a sense of humor!

Well It's Saturday Night...

and I'm sitting here at my desk wearing a peel-off face mask while trying to find stuff on eBay and dealing with Tommy meowing incessantly at my feet. Wow. How exciting!

But hey, just look at my cute little "office" I set up in the guest room closet!

OK, so I need a life. Whatever. If there were a guy hanging around the house, I'd be too embarassed to walk around wearing a peel-off face mask and singing John Denver tunes at the top of my lungs (damn that new Raisin Bran Crunch commercial!)

Give me a bit to clean up. I need to go to the 24-hour pharmacy. I'm sure there'll be some "winners" hanging around there! (On a side note, how is it I always run out of important feminine items at odd hours??)

Puppy Mills

This is Baxter and he is now my poster pup for puppy mills. This little 1 1/2 pound Yorkie pup was rescued last weekend from the 4th worst puppy mill in the state of Oklahoma. (He's so tiny, his little paw is no bigger than the tip of my little finger.)

In a roundabout way, my aunt and my friend Becci rescued pups because "the breeder was getting out of the business." Thanks to Becci's research, we learned it's likely because the state is about to shut them down.

As you can tell from the links on this blog, I support supporting animal rescue (yes, I said supporting support!) In my group, I'm the cat collector. I'm not against dogs, I just don't understand them and their incessant need for approval. Cats just don't give a rat's ass, unless it really is a rat's ass. Then just try and keep them away! (haha, little joke....)

Anyway.... Becci is the dog collector. She loves little Yorkies like no one else I know. So when given the chance to add a third to her brood this past weekend, she was all over it like white on rice.

It began innocently enough. My aunt emailed me and let me know she was getting a Yorkie on Saturday. I called her to find out the details and was told that a relative of one of her co-workers was a breeder and was getting out of the business, so was giving away the puppies. When I told Becci, her immediate reaction was "I WANT ONE!!"

So I called my aunt back and asked if there was any way to add Becci to the free puppy list. There was! And so the three of us settled in to await the arrival of the pups from Oklahoma. I wasn't getting one, but I was just as excited.

We waited and waited. Finally around 5:30, we met up with them in the parking lot of the hospital. Tabitha and Carolyn start pulling out little scraps of fur from a carrier and everyone was getting all caught up. Unfortunately, the poor little bits were covered in vomit and poo because they had gotten carsick on the four-hour ride back to Texas. Becci was given a choice of an older, larger male, or a smaller, younger male. Sight unseen, Becci decides on the smaller one.

So they reach into the carrier and pull out this teeny little bit of fur that wasn't even moving. I wondered if the poor pup was actually alive. We all did. They told us he had been sat on during the ride because he was the smallest.

OK, so now I'm totally pissed off because they didn't do more to take care of the little bit. A) why did they take just one carrier for six dogs? B) why didn't they stop and take the poor little thing out of the carrier? and C) well, what the hell? Why wasn't more done to make sure he didn't get into such a condition? I mean, he wasn't moving! We could barely get him to open his eyes. I kept checking him just to make sure his heart was still beating. I was so afraid he'd die from one breath to the next. Becci's heart was already wrapped up in him no matter what his condition. So would mine have been, if I had been in the same position, because let's face it--neither of us would turn away from a creature in such distress.

Becci carried him home in her arms like a baby. A few hours later I called to check on him and she said he had taken a little water, but other than that was pretty passed out. A few hours later, however, she called me from the vet's office. They had decided to take him in so he could get some fluids and get his blood sugar back up. Which was good, because within an hour, he was on his feet and eating the vet out of house and home.

Little Baxter made it through that day by the skin of his teeth. And her "free" dog cost Becci $400 at the emergency vet clinic. But as sweet as he is, he's worth every penny. There is no telling what conditions he came from in Oklahoma, nor do we yet know what health problems he may encounter in the future thanks to his breeding. What we do know, however, is that this little pup is now going to be one of the world's most spoiled and best loved itteh bitteh puppehs on the planet.

Don't buy a pet. It only encourages the unscrupulous. Skip the breeders and pet stores and go to your local pound. Rescue one. Or in Sam's case--let one rescue you.