In Coffee Spoons

The cats have cabin fever.

Sweeney goes in and out every ten minutes, hoping the weather has changed. The right side of my body is cold from inching the door open and closed.

Charlotte tears around the house chasing Malingo. And she's taken to burrowing under the rug and hiding her toys there, so she can burrow under the rug later and catch them.

Malingo is destroying everything in sight. Everything is a cat toy except, of course, his cat toys. He's particularly fond of shredding paper, so he is banished from my room a lot.

He's also banished from my room because despite my wrapping my latest art project in newspaper and hiding it, there are charcoal and pastel marks all over my floor. And shredded newspaper.

Tipper is just sleeping a lot. You know, like she does every other season.

Vomiting Cat
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Spam: DO YOU REMEMBER EATING THIS?

God, if I had a dollar for every time *that* question has come up in my life.

~

[12:54] They didn't have you, where I come from: i brought you some
bmch bmch
techno music
bmch bmch

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[14:44] inkyjord: OOO! OOO! Scream at me! It's kind of hot.
[14:44] Seiran79: Bow chicka wow wow YOU FUCKER

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[11:27] senator730: ok tell me where are u from?
[11:28] seiran_o19o: The moon.
[11:28] senator730: ohh
[11:28] senator730: moon?!
[11:28] senator730: u far from me

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[12:14] senator730: OF VULVA OR ANUS WHICH IS MORE PLEASURITY FOR GIRLS?

I *was* going to call this "A post that does NOT involve famous dead people", but nooo, Heath Ledger had to go and spoil that for me. It sucks that he's dead, not because I admired him terribly as an actor or anything, but because this has completely halted a Terry Gilliam film featuring Tom Waits.

Allow me to repeat that: A Terry Gilliam film featuring Tom Waits.

FUCK.

~

The Tiger Lillies:

“The criminal castrati and his accordion driven anarchic Brechtian street opera trio performing their unique mix of falsetto crooning, strange gypsy music, cabaret from hell and deranged black comedy all over the World.”

Heart. Heart. Heart. Heart. Heart.

~

Reading a lot. Reading a lot of Ruth Rendell/Barbara Vine. I don't understand it, but Ruth Rendell's novels under her own name are much better than the ones she's written as Barbara Vine. It's like her junk pile pseudonym.

~

Erin wrote a really amazing story and you should read it because I am extremely fucking proud of her.

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My spam is now writing poetry of a sort.

It is lucky moment to be in an excess of joy
Just dont hesitate
And the glariest ladies can entertain you
When you see indecent show without paying any penny

~

The movie "Gamebox 1.0" cannot tell the difference between ninjas and zombies. Which is sad. Really, really sad. And dangerous.

~

Aaaand the big update- Dad slipped on the ice out at the lake, and fractured his knee. Whereas a normal, sane person would get himself to the truck and go to Urgent Care, my father chose to get himself to the truck, go home, change his clothes, have dinner, and go to Urgent Care.

This is ultra big news because if Dad has to have surgery (waiting for MRI results on this) or have a cast put on (ditto MRI results), he won't be able to go back to work for some time.

If Dad can't go back to work, he's pretty much made up his mind to retire now instead of at the end of the year, since this would allow him to collect both retirement and disability.

Erin: What are we going to do if Dad retires and he's home all the time?
Me: I...don't know.

Mom: What am I going to do if your father retires and he's home all the time?
Me: I...don't know.

What are we going to do if Dad retires and he's home all the time?

I don't know.

~

Last but not least, I love my mom.

It's early in the morning, Mom's getting ready for work, I'm in the kitchen having a cup of coffee and enjoying the quiet.

Mom comes in and pours herself a cup of coffee. And we both just stand there in the kitchen, drinking our coffee, nice and quiet.

Mom: *apropos of fucking nothing at all* Why pubic hair?

Me: *spitting coffee all over myself* What?!

Mom: Our our underarms, either. I mean, it doesn't make any sense. It seems very random where we ended up with hair and where we didn't.

Me: ...

And then this afternoon, we're doing laundry. Just down in the basement, sorting laundry, nice and quiet.

Mom: I'm glad I don't have eye stalks.

Me: What?

Mom: Well, just imagine if your eyes were on stalks like an alien, instead of in your head. I'd be very depressed.

Me: ...