||[Apr. 27th, 2010|09:14 am]
Lesson learned: Setting a 40 pound bag of cat litter upright on the back seat does indeed make it easier on your back to lift it out when you get home. This is true and a back saver. However, I have now also learned to put a seatbelt on it, as when some jack**** slams to a stop in front of you because he just realized that he needed to be two lanes over on the right to exit and he thought that rather than just doing a u-turn at the next light, he'd put himself and the twelve occupants of the cars behind him at risk of a spinal injury by just STOPPING. Sorry, thought I was over the anger. Ahem, anyway -- when you do have to slam on your brakes, and that 40 pound bag slams into your kidneys from behind...well, all I can say is that commercial that likened a small child on your lap to a Sumo wrestler in a sudden deceleration was right. Plus, of course, the force of the impact split the bag. Just in case you thought bad luck had lost interest in me and had wandered off in search of easier prey. |
And in the UK:
Wow. Not that I know anyone here who could qualify. No, wait, I've got to grab pen and paper because the list in my head is getting quite long. Not ME of course. Mostly because I have to be dragged out to drink in public and it's hard to get banned from your house. Although if the Captain keeps mixing those Caribbean Shrubs, this might happen. Caribbean Shrub = Slurring through Dinner, which is an uncomfortable development. Although I console myself that I've been struggling more than usual even during the day with my "L" and "R"...which I will attribute to stress, not residual Shrub. Sadly, I have to say Two Word Brand Name that begins with Kimberly, about a billion times a day, which sucks, because right in the middle is a veritable landmine of letters I can't say next to each other.
This is just the kind of life buoy I need to cling to when I think to myself "Seriously, dude, back away from the Chico's and buy some real clothes":
Cleavage OK, Butt Crack NOT OK. Bedazzling your Butt Crack, perhaps you need bedazzled ear muffs to keep the wind from blowing through your head. Although I feel a bit loserish for not knowing that we were calling that a coin slot. I had actually thought that "coin slot" would have referred to something else. But that's probably just an aftereffect of that night in Bangkok....
Speaking of inappropriate: I did my best for Boobquake, considering I had to be at work. I went down to the get the laundry first thing in the morning, stark naked right past the picture window. Not that there were a lot of people out at 4:45am, but GOD would have seen me. No earthquake. I did my morning walk WITHOUT A BRA ON. Nope, no earthquake. I showed a little more cleavage than usual at work, but more importantly wore a red and black lace bra and black thong underneath my semiconservative work clothes. Again, GOD would've known. Plus a big old Courtney Love run in my hose and I DIDN'T change them, but flaunted it. Still no earthquake.
Actually...according the the USGS, there were 47 earthquakes. But there've already been 18 today and there are USUALLY 40-50 earthquakes every day. It's called PLATE TECTONICS, you religious nutballs. Mullah Sadeghi, may I propose that maybe it's men like you being DICKS, that cause tremblors. In the interests of fairness of religious tests, why don't you call for a day when no cleric is an ***hole and see if it chills out Mother Nature. Just a suggestion.
Thanks to everyone who's sent me kind notes about Percy -- I have good intentions of thanking you personally, but if you were firstish, I may not have been ready to deal, and if you were laterish, my good intentions may be poleaxed by the needs of job and faire. And when you ask me "if I'm okay" and I look at you blankly, or blithely say "yeah, I'm fine" it's because I don't really know what you're asking. Although I guess if I got your meaning, I'd still say the same thing. My social retardation extends to grief in huge way. I am fine. I have my grief in a box upstairs and from time to time I open it (like last night when I thought I would do a post in Percy's honor, but just looking at pictures of him completely unglued me. But I don't really carry it around with me. So pardon me if I joke about him, seem relieved for it to be over -- because it was HARD...for a very long time. Percy violated the greyhound rule of "once they start to get old, the end isn't far behind". And yeah, as much as I miss him, no one has pissed on the rug, or stepped in crap...although Geezercat pooped in the kitchen, just to keep me in practice. I haven't had to remember to pick up or make chicken or fatballs, or haul myself off the couch when I'm exhausted to coax him outside.
Mostly, I haven't had to worry -- will he make it up the steps, make it down the steps, will he eat, what will he eat, how can I keep weight on him, will I have to carry him, where can I park the car so he can get in it, what the hell am I going to do with him once faire starts, should I take him to the vet, not take him....I feel a huge sense of relief. I'd do it again, in a heartbeat -- and will. I know exactly the date when I will reach out for a new dog.
So, you don't need to worry about me and frankly my biggest concern is that I will upset people by not showing enough grief or sadness. Or brushing past any earnest condolences. I don't DO public sadness. Remember, my family cracks jokes at funerals and I probably offended the Captain when my reaction to the lovely condolence card sent by the vet's office was "yeah, well, they have to send that BEFORE they send the bill. So, if you want to express your sympathy, The Captain is grieving appropriately, like a normal human being and is far less likely to give you the brushoff.
I was captivated by this story:
If you follow the thread, it's the story of an Octopus and the man who loved her. So, I console myself -- ten good years with Percy, seven with Willow -- give your heart to an octopus and you're lucky if you get a year. Although, looking at the picture of the baby Octo...I think your heart just gets grabbed.