Come on...just give me a simple YES or NO.
I have a h-u-s-b-a-n-d headache today, created from his inability to never answer a simple question with a simple answer; and my inability to ever just leave things alone when he's thinking for minutes before answering, and then asking me questions that aren't even in the same generic application unless I make my simple question more complicated. What gives? I felt like I was in an Abbott and Costello remake of who's on first base. When will I ever learn to just shut up and enjoy my quiet place?
Pardon me...do I really look like someone who cares?
Oh, that's right, my job specs tell me I have to care, so I care; but when I walk out that door on my way to that little red Solara at 4:30 prompt, I leave your answered phone messages in that lowest bidder trash can by my desk. I won't remember you next year when you visit again unless you reeked of nose burning, teeth blackening, toe curling body odor that lingered in my office for several hours after your absence on your last visit. It just won't happen. I've lost my edge on remembering all 100,000 visitors from last year. Of course, I really do care; but when I walk through my front door to my menagerie of three cats, one dog, and a husband...you're history.
Have I told you lately how much I hate you?No? I hate you, I Hate You, I HATE YOU!!! You're bad news. Your head games are driving me crazy. You're an intoxicating addiction, and you're still a headache after I've cut you off from my life. Please, just go away. I told you I wanted you out of here, and I MEANT IT. Get out, Out, OUT!!! I'd like to end this association, so why can't you just leave me the frick frilly fracken alone? If you didn't seem to have so many friends, I'd wipe you out of existence, but the gathering mob would probably lynch me. Here we go again...I'm so totally not listening...hm hm hm hmmm hm diddly um...
I'm purrfect without you, big boy!
Dustin has been seen near the company of a certain black and almost no white feline lately. It's an uncomfortable match, as attested by the slightest hint of fear that glints in his eyes when she's up close and in his face. She deliberately crosses that bridge of cautious space he sets between them, and gives him the rub over, marking him from head to toe as hers alone. Then wap wap plunk dunk kapooey! She bats the hell out of his face and head sending him hightailing it to his doggie cave bed for asylum. She's a perplexing little psychotic vixen.
She's running on all eight cylinders!
Who would have thunk I'd be hooked and reeled in to that animal planet reality show of good felines with bad parents aptly named 'my cat from hell'. Zoe disgustedly dismisses that garbage, correcting me on the more appropriate title that should be used, 'my humans from hell'. I watch it hoping there will be an episode that relates to the wedge that has been forged between my cat Lacey and my sanity. So far, I've not seen anyone else blessed or cursed by a crazed food-a-holic feline maniac, but I keep watching and hoping. Misery loves company.
Instead, I learned my calico is high end upkeep in the play-till-you-drop world. With the energy of a raging volcano, she requires all the spare time I don't have to play, play, play. Wondering if playing till exhausted would curb her food rages at mealtime, I must sadly report it does not. I thought she was going to choke to death sucking in all that food when she was out of breath. She had to be put in time-out for 15 minutes until she was once again a normal breathing crazed food-a-holic feline maniac ;(
Did you say pull the grass, to hell with the plants; or pull the plants, to hell with the grass; or was it...?
I'm happy to report that husband has superficially annihilated all that bad Bermuda grass. I'm sad to report that most of my garden beds seem to be barren now. I think the good guys are fermenting in my compost pit. Too bad they each didn't have two skinny little legs to high tail it, running like a bat out of hell from the approaching gloved hand of a certain someone who has watched Conan the Barbarian way too many times.
Go with the flow? You're kidding...aren't you?
I used to be good at storytelling. Well...let's just say I thought I used to be good at it, but I'm feeling like a mutiny took place these past few months while I had my head buried up to my shoulders in the sand. I'm just so thoroughly dead in the water with this blog, and this doesn't work for me anymore. Has my ship already sunk? Is it time to just move on? Is it too late to start a salvage operation?
I hate roller-coaster rides, so why am I always on one!
In for the surprise of my life? Well, that could go two ways...plummeting to rock-bottom, or climbing into the heavens. When one coasts up that track into the wild blue yonder, there's an anticipation of agony for when that upward climb peaks out and suddenly ones flying by the seat of their pants towards the center of the earth. With luck and perseverance, the uphill acceleration lasts longer than the downhill plunge. I'm poor again, but only for a while, as I'm choosing to believe that there is always a point where the track flattens out, then curves upward again. I just have to hold on long enough for that next upward climb.
Bummer! Now I can't be mad at you anymore.
Husband surprised me today. He doesn't accomplish this feat much these days, but today he's a warm glow in my heart. Plagued with an aching shoulder and a headache that loves keeping me company, I had to bow out of an excursion with him and our terrier planned for this bit of unusually nice weather. He disappeared for an hour and reappeared to tinker undercover in the kitchen; then he presented a tray of prosciutto with melon, lovely homemade rolls with olive oil dip, and a yummy slice of carrot cake with butterscotch drizzled over that fluffy icing; all from my most favorite place in this city to eat out at. Rats...:)