||[Mar. 15th, 2012|11:11 pm]
Like on top of everything else, I needed work to decide to block access to LJ today (apparently half the staff is streaming some basketball thing, so they upped the security level. Thanks, sports fanatics.)|
Small things that make me happy: Boxwood top wine corks! My friends are clearly better at pursuing my obsessions better than I am, thank you Geva! Plus, Fetch sends me a text that says “found two praying mantis egg cases in the garden and thought of you.” Because associating me with cannibalistic predatory insects where the female is twice the size of the male and usually snacks on him after sex….well, that’s how my good friends demonstrate how much they understand and love me.
Dear cats: I put those clothes in the drawer for a reason. I’m pretty sure the reason was NOT so that you could fish them out one by one and drag them across the floor, leaving them in random, assorted heaps, so that you could then play “Defend the Drawer” with each other.
When did Grand Marnier become the new Jaegermeister? I feel like just yesterday it was either Tequila or Jaeger shots…and then I got put in the pod, came out and it’s Grand Marnier. Grand Marnier? Can you GET any more old lady? (Okay, sherry. There’s always sherry. Or Madeira. Shudder. ) If that’s where you’re going to go, at least upscale to Cointreau. Grand Marnier is for cooking. Pouring over food and setting it alight. Although, admittedly, if I had to do a shot to save our lives and had to pick between the two, I’d go for the Grand Marnier. But then you’d OWE me. Bigtime.
Dear cats: What’s with the 2am vomit alarm? I don’t remember setting that one. Do you think that maybe, just maybe, you could hurka gurka splat downstairs? On the vinyl flooring where it’s easy to clean up? Or even on the bedroom carpet. But MOTHER OF ALL THAT’S HOLY, quit puking on my BED. While I’m IN IT.
There’s been a lot of whining about the time change. I will allow that perhaps it’s Facebook’s Fault. Facebook: Your WHINE consolidator. But seriously, you know it’s coming. Prepare for it. Set your alarm five minutes earlier each day, on that weekend, take the change 30 minutes on Saturday, 30 minutes on Sunday. Ease into it, if you need to. Or, you could just work yourself into exhaustion, wake up at ridiculous hours in a vain attempt to get everything done, pass out at 9pm, because at a certain point the candle runs out of wick, and whatever, you have no clue what time it is anyway, so there’s no real shock. In any case – if the prize is an extra hour of daylight to putter in the yard, garden or sipping wine and reading a book on the deck, having to leave the house while it’s still dark for a couple of extra weeks is NO problem.
Which does mean, of course, that this is weeding season. And I just can’t DO it with gloves on. (Weeding. Stop that.) You need all the tactile you can get to sense that moment when the wild onion starts to give loose and now you know which direction in which to yank it. So, instead, I have to wear gloves to put hose on, and apologies to anyone whose bare skin I touch over the next couple of months. Yes, I KNOW, it’s like being caressed by a shark.
Dear cats: If you’d pause just a moment and THINK about it, you’d realize that the sound from the window is muffled and there’s no actual breeze or scent wafting in from the open window. Which means it’s CLOSED. Or, you can keep jumping up and smacking into the glass; hell, I’m easily amused.
Having caught up with what’s been disc-released for True Blood and Walking Dead, I’ve started Boardwalk Empire. Four episodes in and I’m struggling a wee bit. Oh, it’s good, but not nearly as compelling as the last two. Although I’ll be the first to admit, human beings behaving like monsters is not nearly as interesting to me as actual monsters. So no monsters and….the clothes are ugly, it’s all so sepia-y and depressing, there sure isn’t any eye candy. Good actors, but….meh. I thought, okay, you adored Deadwood – aah, some pretty men, horses and leather. Rome, pretty, pretty, pretty, in a sweaty kind of way. And Carnevale – ugly clothes, sepia tones….but there was enough weirdness to keep me hooked. Gangsters just don’t do it for me. I’ll keep going, because I am enjoying it, just not to the same degree as others in this class. Okay, I may also be carrying a higher degree than usual of “you should be doing something for Virginia Faire or doing housework or anything but wasting an hour watching television” guilt. And my brain is having no part of “can’t I sit down for an hour to eat dinner and chill?” Sometimes it sucks to be a New England WASP. We don’t need our parents, or relatives, or clergy to make us feel guilty…it’s in our GENES.