The reading of the books...

The annual Christmas book reading...

This year it was a little different, as we had our Christmas celebration on Sunday so Amanda and The Trucker could partake.

Amanda's book was about being fancy.
Ryan gave his best Wilson impersonation while reading about Walter the Farting Dog.
Erin did a fine job with her book about a Christmas angel.
Mom and Dad shared a book called "You're All My Favorites". The big surprise ending was that the whole thing was a lie, and I'm their favorite.
Ryan handed out some big love for Aggie and Fat Al. They just couldn't stay out of the holiday action.

Aaaah, the old Ferguson. Now that Pa King has a new John Deere, the Ferguson doesn't see much action. Not to let the old girl sit and rust, Ma and Pa dressed her up with lights and a wreath, and let her celebrate the "merry and bright" part of Christmas. No Ferguson Christmas light display would be complete without a little duct tape... hey, it's shiny.

Don't you judge us.


Pa King enjoying the spoils of Christmas~ most notably, the Trucker's gift of a "Beers Trucking" ball cap. Good times, people, good times.
Ma King surveying her flock. She did the tree up very fancy this year. It was unlike anything she'd ever done, and really put a good spin on having everyone plus 2 at home for Christmas.

There is some serious cat-love going on in this house. The Great and Powerful Oz may have been slightly overwhelmed and maybe a tad intimidated by 4 kittens, but she's really digging having just one. You can almost see the relief wash over Pooh King's face as he finally sleeps with both eyes closed, not having to worry about late night kitten attacks.

You see, it went something like this:

Ryan: I bet Amanda would fit in Dad's new suitcase.
TK: I bet she'll get in it if we give her money.
Ryan: Hey Amanda! Come here. Get in Dad's suitcase.
Amanda: No way.
TK: I'll give you a dollar.
Amanda: I want a dollar from Ryan, too.
Ryan: Okay.




Amanda: Now, give me my dollars.

Center ring

And the award for "best thing to get this guy" goes to me for getting The Trucker some sweet Homer slippers. I asked Amanda what to get him, and she said "I don't know. He really likes wool socks, and he always uses a hankerchief." Um, no, not acceptable for his first Christmas in the center ring of the King Family Circus. But he does love him some Simpsons. When I saw these, I knew they must be purchased. I was right. Check out the giddy joy on his face.

You don't fool us, Joe Cool, we know you're really staring back at Homer.
See that? That's a wash of relief on Amanda's face. We thought The Trucker might be proposing, despite all insistances otherwise. When he pulled a little velvet box out of the Christmas tree, we all held our breaths, except for Erin, who immediately started wailing on my brother. Lo and behold, The Trucker got her diamond earrings.

Whew.

I promise, I promise, I will show the pictures and tell the stories soon. Seriously. But first I have to clean some shit up so they can deliver my new mattress.



A new mattress, you ask? Um, didn't you buy a new mattress made of the feathers fallen from the wings of angels just back in August? Yes, yes I did. And it has developed a pit in the center. Really, it's kind of like quicksand. If I lie at the edge of the bed, I inevitably wind up rolling toward the center. By morning, I'm in the fetal position in the pit, and I have to crawl through a thousand feet of angel feathers to get out. I called the wonderful local furniture store I bought it from (where it was cheaper than I could find it anywhere else) on Wednesday to ask how to enact the warranty.



No problem, they say, we'll deliver a new one on Friday.



Friday? It's already Wednesday. Doesn't Serta have to approve it or something? Isn't there paperwork to fill out? Don't I have to sign over my first born child or something?



No problem, she says again, we have them in stock in the warehouse. We'll bring a whole new set up on Friday, if that's convenient. A new mattress, box spring, and frame... a better frame that will support the bed better so you won't get another pit.



Convenient? I don't work on Friday anymore. That's awesome!



So, here I am, trying to get my Christmas leftovers under control, my laundry under control, and my one remaining kitten under control. That's right, the crazy cat lady is down to one. Otis is the last man standing. It surprises me because I thought he would be chosen early because he's so relaxed and easy going. Turns out, too many people choose kittens based on color, and though one lady said she wanted a laid-back snuggly kitten, she wasn't pleased by his "plain" coloring, and had the nerve to tell me she didn't think he was very special. I didn't even have to throw Oz. She threw herself right at that nasty lady's face. I woke up in the middle of the night feeling a little rustling on my bed. Oz was asleep in the crook of my arm, and Otis was rambling around the bed. As he walked past her, she reached out and pushed him down, then pulled him closer to her. We all slept like that for the rest of the night. She's teaching him how to be a good little cat. Not special, my ass.


Oh, and by the way, Fat Louie's family sent me the absolutely most wonderful pictures of him. He is so happy, and he obviously adores the girls as much as they adore him. If I ever get my butt in gear, I'll scan them and post them, and you all will crack up. I mean, seriously, the cat is dressed in a t-shirt, bib overalls, and is kicked back pimp style being pushed around in a stroller (and loving it). I don't care who you are, that's just funny.

I have returned from the circus.

A crazy-good time was had by all. Soon there will be pictures and book readings!

For now, I have to go earn some money. Damn dog didn't get a job while I was gone. Neither did the kittens. Slackers.

Well, the 3 rings of the King Family Christmas Circus are in full effect. Ryan and Erin, Amanda and Shawn, me and, well, me. Let's face it, I'm enough to fill a ring on my own! Things have gone swimmingly. This morning we split up and hit the town shopping, gathered to take Gram to lunch, and split up to finish shopping in the afternoon. This evening has been filled with gift wrapping, horse feeding, dinner preparing, and more story telling than you can shake a stick at. Good time, people, good times. Christmas will be celebrated tomorrow since Amanda and Shawn take off on Monday. I split on Tuesday. Ryan and Erin will be weaning Mom and Dad down for another week or so.

I'll let you know what I get for prezzies! Whoo hoo!

kitten update

It's Stila (the black torte kitten) that has a new home.

She's going to live with a family that has 3 kids, but she's really for the 8 year old boy. It just so happens that the family had to put down their elderly cat a few months ago. The 8 year old has been heartbroken. He told his mother how much he missed having a cat. Something along the lines of "I just miss having a cat to cuddle with. And really, I need someone to tell my secrets to. I mean, you and Dad are great, but I just can't tell you all the details." Stila is scheduled to "fall of Santa's sleigh" on Christmas Eve. She'll have a bow around her neck, and I'm sure she'll be staying up to wait for Santa to drop off the rest of the presents. God bless my petsitter, Amanda, who will make the Christmas Eve kitten drop while I'm out of town participating in the King Family Christmas Circus.

There's a good chance that Otis or Sweetpea will have a home by Friday as well. Turns out kitten-pimping at work can become a productive gig. I was chased across the Evil Wal-Mart parking lot by a case manager I work with whose daughter has decided to get a kitten. I've emailed pictures and personality descriptions, and hopefully will hear some news tomorrow. I sent my best pictures, and they are soooooooooo cute, so hopefully the news will be good.

As for tonight? I wrapped all my presents. Well, all but Gram's. I need a different size box, or maybe a bag, for hers. Dear 6 pound 7 ounce tiny baby Jesus, don't let me have to go back to CVS for that. Seriously, I can't take it.

Awww, Mitzi. She's such a fun girl.

Goose got to Farmville on Wednesday, and promptly went to sleep. Jetlag from Alaska is a bitch. When I got home from work, we went and hung with the yoga crowd. Goose got her stretch on and life was looking a little more shiny.

On Thursday, she pedaled and ran around Farmville. Literally. Then we toasted Student farewell. Friday we went shopping in Carytown (Richmond) and I got my ass kicked playing in a volleyball tournament. Good thing I got some good stuff on Cary Street!

We split for Charlottesville on Saturday. Whoo hoo! It was cold and nasty, but we had a good time anyway. With Mitz, how could you not? And, we saw the butt-ugliest Christmas tree ever. Seriously, a Barbie tree? I've had nightmares more pleasant than this tree.

Then I had to leave, and so did she. Awwww man, that stinks.

I'm not dead. I promise! I'm just very busy, and very tired. I had a great 4.5 days with Mitzi that spanned from Richmond to Charlottesville. Now I'm working 10 hour days, trying to finish up Christmas shopping, wrapping presents, re-homeing kittens (2 down, 2 to go!) and preparing for my triumphant return to the King Family Christmas Circus. I promise I'll write a more detailed update tonight, and if you're really good, I'll include a picture.

Now, get back to work!

The Goose is loose.

Pardon me while I take a break. See you Sunday!

Kiss it... I mean, HIM, I mean, it... I mean, him...

A quick update before work...

This is the first time my fingers have worked since Saturday. Seriously.

I went out to the Extreme Makeover: Home Edition construction site and did 5 minute chair massages for the people who were working on the house. I was a very popular girl. 5 hours later, I had the feeling my arms would be a little sore. About 2 hours after I got home my forearms started to ache. By 8pm, I was having a hard time doing anything but flail. I had to be the passenger in George Jetson 'cause my arms weren't doing a very good job of staying on the wheel. But, it was fun to volunteer, and I think it really helped some of the folks feel thanked for having come to work on the house. Unfortunately (for my sister) Ty wasn't there, but I did get to see Michael and Paul film a scene. It was neat.

Today is the big reveal. A few of us are taking off of work to go see them bring the family home and hear Ty yell "MOVE THAT BUS!!!!" They've shifted the focus of the show from my little guy's autism to his father's love o' the Civil War. That's not necessarily flying well around here, but my little dude is getting an awesome pirate bedroom, and that's a priceless thing for him.

I'll try to take some pictures when I'm there this afternoon. Stay tuned!

So, the hospital is having a wreath decorating contest. The winning department will be announced at the Holiday Party. Except on the paper announcing the contest, it had said "Christmas Party". Then "Christmas" had been blacked out, and "Holiday" had been written (by hand) above. Classy.

Him: Why do they have to do that? It's Christmas.
Her: Not everyone is Christian. Some people are Jewish, some are Pagan, some of us celebrate Festivus for the Rest of Us.
Him: We can celebrate any holidays you would like, but you do realize that you are likely to get cards and gifts for every holiday there is, right? I mean, you're going to have to take more days off than anyone.
Her: There's a Pancake Day.

I love pancakes.

Of course, we all know my feelings on this debate!

Update

Amazingly, the tree is still standing this morning. The bottom branches are bent the wrong direction, but the ornaments are still on, and the lights still work. Amazing! I think I need to push the chairs in around the dining room table, though, the kittens are starting to eyeball them like high-dive platforms!

It's not exactly what I thought my first Christmas tree would go through, but it ain't bad!

The Kitten Tree

Note: Sweetpea's feet at the bottom, Otis to the upper right, Stila to the upper left, and Pooh King shaking his head in disbelief.
Sweetpea on the up and up.
Stage lighting.
Hide and Seek
Really, it could also be the Earthquake Tree. Every time I get the branches bent just right so as to more resemble a live tree (which I'm not allowed to have in the apartment) the kittens go racing up and down, and around in circles, and flatten the braches right back down. I think my apartment should have its own Geiger counter for kitten activity. The tree has definitely been shaken from top to bottom. After a few hours, the newness has worn off and the kittens have moved on to bigger and better targets... We'll see what's happening at 1am!

We went to sign up to volunteer on the Extreme Home Makeover House. Turns out, they don't even need volunteers until late Wednesday night or Thursday. They didn't even have the tent set up to take waivers! Oh, Amanda, I totally volunteered to use my mad professional skillz to offer the crew massages during their grueling schedule.

I'll tell Ty you said hi!

ABC's Extreme Home Makeover rolled into Farmvegas yesterday, complete with at least 5 tractor-trailers. High fives all around for those who know what that means for one of my patients.

Don't worry, Min, it's my goal to get a picture of Ty without his shirt on.

So, Tuesday was MetalHead's birthday, and since I'm cool and love birthdays, I made her a marble cake with peanut butter chocolate frosting. Made it with my own two hands, I did. On my way back from fighting the good fight, I swung by my apartment and picked up the cake (made fresh that morning, I forgot to say). I also had to drop into CVS to pick up a card and a gift bag. Good thing fightin' the law didn't take longer.

I literally ran into CVS, grabbed a "You're 30, life is practically over" style card, a gift bag, and some tissue paper in which to tuck MetalHead's gift. Mission accomplished in less than 3 minutes. I got up to the counter, and I met Bernice. My life would never be the same.

First off, there were two women behind the counter. We'll be calling them Sophie and Bernice. Sophie is a mid-50's Jewish-ethnic-looking white lady. Bernice is late-70's black lady with a voice Tyler Perry would be proud of. Really, imagine every stereotypical voice in "The Nutty Professor" and you can practically hear Bernice.

Sophie says something about how she needs to leave in a few minutes to have a cat-scan of her sinuses, and the following scene plays out.

B: A what?!?! A cat scan of your cat? Who does a cat scan of a cat?
S: No, Bernice, a cat scan of my sinuses to figure out why I can't breathe right.
B: Well, let me tell you what happened to me! I went to the doctor last week for my annual and pap smear...
(I look at Sophie, she looks at me. I can't believe this woman just said pap smear at the top of her lungs in CVS.)
B: And I got ready, you know, cleaned all my stuff up... (During this, Bernice is squatted down, demonstrating how she cleaned her stuff up for the doctor... It wasn't pretty people. I can't even describe the look on Sophie's face.) So I got in there and got all ready. You know, I have to lay all funny up in the stirrups 'cause my legs don't bend like that anymore. Then the doctor comes in and tells me he can't do my pap smear because my blood pressure's too high. So there I am, legs all up in the air (again, trying to demonstrate) and he says even though he's not going to look in the front, he needs to take a peep in the back!!!!

I could no longer contain myself. With change in hand, I ran for the door. Bernice wasn't done with the story yet, and I'm pretty sure Sophie's jaw had not elevated from the floor since she heard the word pap smear. There was a man hiding two rows back trying to wait the story out before he had to hand Bernice money... what, with her demonstrating cleaning her "stuff" up and all.

I want to paint my bathroom floor like this, then invite M@ and a big bag of weed over. I bet I could laugh for hours.

I know, I know. None of you, VJ especially, think it was worth my time to go to court. Let me tell you, folks, it was.

First off, my ticket went from $400+ with points to $126 with no points on my license. My insurance rate won't change now. The speed zone on the ticket was wrong, and Trooper Witt had to say so. It was great. But really? I'm almost a little sorry I didn't do anything else along with speeding. I mean, I saw a 16 year old get a court-appointed attorney to defend him against the charges of a) wreckless driving, b) driving with a suspended license, c) possession of marijuana, and d) carrying a concealed weapon. I mean, really, I was the only person who was JUST speeding. They should have given me a medal and let me walk. But I'm happy with not going to traffic school. I'm schmuck enough, I don't need to sit in a room with a lot more.

So I wrote my check, set the cruise control, and did the speed limit all the way home. I dropped into CVS to pick up a card and wrapping paper for MetalHead's birthday and heard/saw a story that has to be saved for tomorrow. You should prepare yourselves... it has to do with a 70-something black lady and a gynecologist. I almost died. Seriously.

9:30 am, Tuesday, November 27, 2007. Me, a judge, a court of law.

Bring it.

Pie has a home!

Since Plan A didn't work out, I've resorted to Plan B. What is Plan B? Well, pimping kittens, of course, while I try to find another place to take them.

So, last night I'm walking into the building and my next door neighbor says something about wanting pussy. I yelled "SOLD!" and threw a kitten at him.

Just kidding. My next door neighbor is a very nice man and doesn't have any pets. He said he'd been thinking quite a bit lately about getting a cat, as that would provide him with some company and suit his lifestyle. He walked into the apartment, I opened the kitten door, and all the kittens just stared. (Note I said stared, not ran away and hid... Progress!) Then Pie walked right up to him, crawled onto his knee and started licking his hand. "I think he picks me," says neighbor guy. Ummm, yep.

So, Pie's name will now be Pi, and (when possible) written with the mathematical symbol. Pretty creative I say. And he's going to live right next door, so I can still check in on him.

Hooray!

2 minutes of love...

So, I've been calling my upstairs neighbor "2 Minute Man." Why 2 Minute Man? Oh, people, really. It's not that hard. I have been keeping track. At best, that guy's makin' love, makin' love, makin' love for 2 minutes. 'Cause 2 minutes in heaven is better than 1 minute in heaven. It's like jackrabbit sex. It should be outlawed. Amanda pointed out that 2 minutes of jackrabbit sex is probably better than 10 hours of elephant love. She's probably right. I mean, have you heard elephants trumpet? That would keep me up all night.

But I digress. As of today, I will no longer be calling him 2 Minute Man. Why? Not because it's gotten better than 2 minutes, I tell you. No. No, he won't be 2 Minute Man anymore because today I saw him walk around his truck carrying a PISTOL. And when I say pistol, I don't mean his wang, I mean a handgun. Now, the guy's in the military, but I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to just carry your gun around at your apartment complex.

No, the day of 2 Minute Man is gone. Now he's "Saturday Night Special."

My kittens are so cute, and so friendly now, and so ready for new homes. Except the Southside SPCA won't take them because they're still over run with kittens. "Maybe we could help you after Christmas. We can't save every animal in Southside, Virginia."

Um, no, my kittens need homes now.

Happy Turkey Day! Bawk bawk!!!!!!



Also, Hey Peppy Birdlegs to Other Goose! Happy Birthday Mitzi!!!!

The champagne reception starts in 38 minutes, and where am I? I'm belly up on my couch, nursing a very bad head-is-turning-into-chest cold. For only the 3rd time in my working career, yesterday I went home early due to illness. My head was made of concrete, and I could barely stay awake for the amount of medication coursing through my veins.

Today I awoke feeling horrible, but it rapidly improved. Now I don't have concrete in my head, just a lot of congestion and a case of constant sniffling. I have started to cough, and though it is dry, it's painful. I hope by tomorrow I'm able to taste my favorite food holiday. I figure that although I'm feeling better today, nobody wants to sit next to the girl who is sniffling, coughing, and blowing her way through dinner. I am not bringing sexy back.

For tonight, I'm going to lay low. I have a second try at my first date with Al Gore scheduled. Really, I'm going to try, but if we don't hit it off better tonight, we're breaking up. He doesn't have to worry about his return trip, though. Netflix handles the postage.

Super Sucks.

Have I mentioned that the awesome bosslady, KD, resigned last month? I don't blame her, and likely would have done the same if in her shoes. The hospital administration has pretty systematically orchestrated her having no other option by closing doors in her face after having her jump through hoops trying to get through. Anyway, on Thursday we learned that the hospital has hired a 3rd party contract agency to take over the rehab services. Come January 1, if I stay at my current position, I won't be working for the small community not-for-profit job I was recruited to... I'll be working for the man. The money-grubbing corporate man. Or, I can go work for the man somewhere else (I was offered a local job on Wednesday) and make way more money.

We'll see.

And you'll definitely be hearing more on this later.

The kittens are coming along very well. They still hiss on occassion, but all are lovin' the love. Stila is the prettiest (per popular vote) and the most haughty of the group. She's the diva. Today Pie found his motor, and uses it immediately upon being held. Sweetpea and Otis are content to be held, but no purring so far. Oh, and I hope to have trapped 3 more by tomorrow night. They're coming out of the dumpster at the hospital. Don't you judge me. (By the way, CT Amy~ these are most likely Fat Louie's at-least-half-siblings. You really should think about it!)

Anyway, I've been invited to a very fantastic-sounding Thanksgiving dinner on Wednesday. Starts with champagne, ends with pie. Who can beat that?

On Thursday, I've been invited to my favorite boy's family post-Thanksgiving-dinner-leftover-feast-a-thon. I'm totally stoked... and a little neurotic. I mean, really, what do you wear to such an event?

Now, I'm off to have a date with Al Gore, where I'm sure to have mixed feelings about still owning a gas-guzzling V8 after purchasing George Jetson. I'm pretty sure he's judging me.

OTIS! Wait 'till Otis sees us! Otis is gonna loooooooooooove us!!!! (Poorly adapted to writing from the fine major motion picture, Animal House.)

Plus 10 to my jackass brother who called in with his suggestion, seeing as it doesn't do it justice to write it.

Otis it is. And I think he likes it.

Okay, I have 3 out of 4 kittens named. Go down here (or two posts back, whichever) to see them. Sweetpea, Pie, Stila, and... I need a name for the tiger boy. He's the hissiest of the babies, but once I pick him up he just melts. I think maybe he needs an old man name, you know, crunchy on the outside but full of marshmallowy goodness on the inside.

As for the others...
Sweetpea: Such a sweet face, and truly the most mellow of the babies. She's a sweetie!
Pie: Once again, a little crusty around the edges, but sweet-sweet goodness on the inside.
Stila: Looks like she has gray eyeliner around her eyes. She's a little bit of a diva, but loves to be snuggled... just don't tell anyone.

So help me out. Name the wild tiger boy.

Strangely, having 4 kittens isn't making my life less busy. I know, shocking.

Fluffy was released into the wild this morning after making it perfectly clear that, in fact, she did not appreciate her hysterectomy and vaccinations. Since the weather was good today and she seemed to be perfectly capable of defending herself, I decided to decrease the stress on both of us and set her free. I'm pretty sure she gave me the finger as she ran into the woods.

The kittens? O.M.G. They are too freakin' cute. I have them in the XL crate with toys, a bed, a blanket, and a litter box. Holy cow can 4 kittens fill a litter box fast! I'm cleaning that bad-boy twice a day. The crate is in the 2nd bathroom now with the exhaust fan running. And that's a necessity. I have some waterless bath cloths to clean them with tonight ('cause let's be serious, I'm not throwing half-wild kittens into the water!) to try to cut down on the storm-drain/dumpster smell. I've been handling them several times a day, hugging and kissing them and calling them George, and they're slowly improving. After a $112 Fluffy vet bill, though, I've developed a new plan for the kittens. I'm going to get them completely handleable, then take them to a no-kill shelter. I'll pay whatever "surrender" fee is involved, but I can't drop $500 in kittens to worry myself sick over getting them homes, and probably bite the cost of their shots and sterilization. But it will be a no-kill shelter, and they are so damn cute they won't have a problem being adopted by Christmas.

In related news, Pooh King made a routine visit to the vet to have his thyroid levels drawn. He has gained back the weight he lost after his meds were increased in Nebraska. So, a big, fat chunk of change later, my dog's groceries and meds cost almost as much as mine. Son of a gun! But, since he has to live forever, I guess I'll just get another job... or at least I won't be traveling for a vacation any time soon!

Okay, now, off to fold the laundry that's been clean-but-not-folded-and-put-away for 3 days. I sucketh.

9:45 update: The kittens now smell of relaxing lavendar, and my clothes still aren't folded. Don't you judge me.

The be-be's...

Newly named! On the left is Sweetpea, peeking from behind the pole is Pie, on the right is Stila, and in front, king of the hiss-n-spit, is the only one without a name. Help me out, people!


Fluffy's going to get spayed in the morning... She seems to be totally okay with it, and is okay with being in a pen next to her babies tonight. Now I have to take out her food and water so Doc Wilson can work his magic at 8am. Two of the four kittens are definitely handleable, and I suppose the other two will be soon. Fluffy will spend a few days in the kennel in the apartment before being set free on Saturday (most likely). This way she can live a happy feral life without having 25 million (or more) feral kittens. I'm pimping the kittens (at work) like they're crack-rocks, and I think already I have the potential of a few takers. I don't know how cats are wired, but in less than 24 hours, ALL of them are 100% litter box trained. It's amazing, really.

While I haven't had pictures of Fat Louie recently (ahem, Amy!), word on the street is that he's living happily amongst the CT Norton clan. He gets dressed up in doll clothes and pushed around in a carriage, and likes to go outside with his dog-brother, Murphy. He's living happily ever after!

Oh, and it's Hey Peppy Birdlegs time for my Poppy.

Now, everyone sing with me...

Crazy cat lady

The crazy cat lady rides again. Seriously. If you thought Fat Louie was the end of the cycle, you really don't know me.

Today I acquired one feral mama cat and her 4 kittens (about 8 weeks old). The first kitten was caught bare-handed... well, sweater-handed anyway. 2nd kitten was taken with the trap I purchased from the Tractor Supply Store after kitten #1. A "medium" dog training crate makes for a good pen for 2 kittens. When I got back from dinner with Bob (my Sunday evening ritual, even when Dianne's out of town) the mama, "Fluffy", was in the trap, and some kindly neighbor had managed to shove the other 2 kittens in with her. There's no way that all 3 had gotten into the trap (a rabbit trap, by the way) without a little help. It was a really tight squeeze! And it was a tight squeeze into that dog crate.

Sooooooo, another trip to Wally World later, I am the owner of an XL dog crate, a small litter pan, and a big bag of Kitten Chow. Pooh King has looked at me like I'm a total wacko, and Oz is shaking her head in disbelief.

Fluffy and the gang seem to be settling in. Fluffy's still very unsettled, but has calmed down a good bit. 2 of the kittens (ironically, the 2 that were shoved into the trap with mama) seem to be quite touchable, and 2 hiss and jump every time I get too close. My plan is to have Fluffy spayed and release her back to her feral lifestyle. I know she is very unlikely to be a domestic cat, so it's best that she at least not continue overpopulating the cat world. The kittens are adorable and should be easily "homed"... I'd say rehomed, but they were living in a storm drain, which I don't really consider a home.

Anyway, pictures to come. Until then, any takers?

Yes, yes, moppets, you've been very patient. Very patient indeed.

And now, here's the rest of the story...

When I was in FarmVegas before, I had this great patient who spent several months with us rehabing his shoulder. We'll be calling him JJ. Anyway, he's a bit older than my parents, so he had a bit of a "dad" influence to him... always giving me advice, telling me to be careful, etc. Before I left, JJ mentioned that he had a friend that he would like to set me up with. I politely declined with the excuse that I was inevitably leaving the area and wasn't very interested in starting something just before I left. I also politely declined to mention that I wasn't very interested in a man in his mid 50's. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but 2+ decades is a big spread. So, no match-making was done.

After I left for NE, JJ emailed me his good luck wishes. After I decided to come back to FarmVegas, he reminded me he wanted to set me up with someone. I wrote back and told him not to get the cart ahead of the horse. The awesome former-bosslady, KD, told JJ that she didn't think I was a "set-up" kind of girl. Apparently, this all fell on deaf ears.

I had donated some $$ to the Habitat for Humanity house that was being built in Farmville, and JJ is very involved with that group. He invited me over to see the finished product last week, and to meet some of the volunteers and the family who was getting the house.

I showed up, and lo and behold, there was JJ and one volunteer. A male volunteer. In his mid 50's. And not a Robert Redford 50's. The guy's more like a mid 50's Santa Claus with more pepper than salt in the beard. And bad teeth. (Bless his heart, he's never heard of a dentist.) I was given a brief tour of the house, after which JJ says "Okay, I've got to run" and splits, leaving me with his buddy.

Akward.

Buddy-boy comes over to look at my new car and starts chatting me up. "JJ knows I'm not seeing anyone, and he just kept talking about how great you are. I think he's trying to set us up." Um, yeah, he's a rocket-scientist, too. I'm trying to get in the car and drive away asap. "Maybe I can get your number at the Dedication Ceremony on Sunday." Ummm, probably not... especially since there was no way in hell I was going at that point. I got in George Jetson and got the hell out of there. I was not above running over Buddy-boy if necessary.

Thankfully, Dianne provided me with the perfect excuse to not go on Sunday, since it was a perfect day for riding horses. Good ol' Jimbo the Fat Boy. He's really all the excuse a girl needs!

And if by "Tuesday", you thought I meant "Wednesday", you were right. You win a prize. And the prize is this video, which, ironically, is about Wednesday.

Go watch this. Seriously.

In continuing the great apartment decorating drama, I've ordered some prints from Brian Neely. They're so yummy. I strongly recommend you go check out his work (or just go buy some at his online shop). For the living room I've ordered 3 prints from his Silk Road collection to put above the big red plate. I am connected to Brian in a rather Ferris Beuller-ish kind of way. He's the husband of the sister of my best bud Peggy's husband. Did you all follow that?

Now, Diva Eva mentioned that I hadn't posted any dating horror stories lately. Granted, I have been busy playing volleyball and yoga-ing in addition to all of my efforts at settling in, and on top of working about 46 hours per week. Not to worry, though, I'm sitting on a good one. Seriously. Hang in there until Tuesday and you'll hear the most recent tale of hijinx and hilarity.

Don't forget that the clocks went back an hour last night!!!!

You certainly don't want to look silly being the person who shows up to, say, church, work, or a breakfast date an hour early!

NEW POSTS BELOW! You have to scroll down.

In honor of October being Breast Cancer Awareness month, this post will stay at the top until Nov. 1. I promise there will be new stuff below.

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. In honor of your favorite set (may they be yours or another's)... I bought one, and so should you.

GO BUY IT!!!!!

New posts below, which you may or may not choose to read... but everyone's got to see this shirt!

BTW, October is also Physical Therapy Month, but that's less important than protecting your favorite pair. And that's a PT saying that.

Holy shitballs, people.

I'm not usually one to give two shakes about what other people think about me. Well, maybe I give one shake, but only that they know I'm not evil. Anyway, today I was rocked. Flabbergasted. Shocked even.

I am cool. I realized that a few bloggers who I think are REALLY REALLY cool, have my blog linked.

I am cool, and I never even knew.

I'm alive! No, really, I am. I've just been busy.

I know, I know, we're all busy. But, now that I live in one state, I have a lot more to unpack! In the past week I unloaded a 2/3 full U-Haul trailer from my storage unit in SC, and received 6 boxes from my friend's basement from my time in Alaska. I have stuff again! And it's all in my 2nd bedroom. And did I mention that I'm getting a sleeper sofa on Saturday for that room? I've got some boxes to get to tomorrow! Better put on my SuperGirl underpants.

Oh, and tomorrow is Hair Day. Hair Day people!!!!! It's about damn time.

I am officially 150 years old. Seriously.

My back had really been coming around and I was almost back to normal. Okay, maybe not normal, but normal for me. Don't you judge me. Anyway, while at the farm visiting the parental unit, I also packed up the last of my storage unit, loaded it into a U-Haul and hauled it back to Farmville. It was a 5x8 trailer that really was only about 2/3 full. I unloaded about 1/3 of it myself, and then two awesome neighbors showed up to help me with the rest. Being the bad-ass I was 10 years ago, I decided to haul one of the heavy boxes up the stairs myself... as in, without the help of the two guys who volunteered to help me. Meet my newest back pain.

So, I took some muscle relaxers. I took some Aleve. I drank 2 glasses of wine. (I waited for my liver to crawl up my throat and choke it shut.) Nothing. On Wednesday I went to my yoga class. Nada. In a last ditch effort to ease my achin' back, I went to CVS and bought a bag of Epsom Salt. I threw it in a steaming hot bath and climbed in. Epsom Salt. The official greencard of old age.

Today the new PT, Conservative Rob, worked on my back a little. Imagine the surprise for this poor ultra-conservative bastard, who last week easily drew a parallel between cocaine use and tattoos, when he saw the tat on my low back. I think he threw up in his mouth a little. I'm just keeping my trap shut (an effort of Herculean proportions) and letting him walk into pile after pile of self-humiliating doggy-doo. It's more fun that way.

I have a new student. She's done with school and doing her final clinical rotations. She spent her first 2 days with Conservative Rob while I was eating pancakes at the farm. Sucker. Anyway, today was a crazy first day with my student (we'll be calling her Student, by the way). It's soooooooo not the way I like for students to start. We had barely finished introductions when I had to apologize that I would be busting my ass to get the morning under control and she would have to keep up. In the afternoon she got to do more, we got to talk about expectations for her student affiliation, and I got to say "STUDENT, DO MY WORK!!!!!" several times. It seems that she's good-natured, and she understands the plus 10/ minus 10 point system, so we'll be cool. Plus, at the end of our 11 hour day she told me she had learned more in 1 day with me than she had in 2 days with Conservative Rob, and she was excited about learning with me. I heart my job.

FedEx needs a map.

Seriously. Who sends something from Memphis, TN, to Shreveport, LA, to get it to Farmville, VA?!?!?! I think someone needs to meet Rand McNally... And I think it's FedEx.

Mom likes me best! She made apple pancakes with apple cider cinnamon syrup (homemade) and sausage for breakfast. We ate like kings! Wait a minute, we are Kings! Mmmmmmm, life at the farm. I slept for 11 hours last night, and it was pretty darn delicious. Forgive me if the postings are skinny over the next few days, what with being at the farm and all.

In other news, he who shall not be named also emailed my mother! He sent mine on Monday (I think) and emailed Mom on Thursday. No, she's not replying either, and if he has the balls to call her house she will tell him that I am happy and well and have no interest in keeping contact with him. The end. Thanks for all the support, though. It seems like we all have an ex that we'd nominate for abduction by aliens.

Oh well, I must to sip my coffee now!

George Jetson has been violated. Violated by some disgusting hoopty white car. While I was in the bank arranging for George's payments, he was outside being whacked by a door. The violation was unwitnessed. Only the wreckage remains.

George has a door dimple now. The nerve. Since George is a Honda, I've been advised it's actually a "Chin dimple".

In other news... No, I did not write back. Yes, I deleted the email. He was very proud of the fact that he remained "friends" with all ex-girlfriends. His ego was such that I'm sure he felt they all harbored some fantasy of getting back together with him. Since I won't ever run into him and I don't have any reason to "keep in touch" I'm letting it go. I won't boost his ego by even replying, and it pleases me to know it chaps his ass that I'm the only one who didn't want to be friends then, and I don't want to be friends now. Thanks for all the feedback.

The WTF moment of the day...

Today things went as they normally do. I drug myself out of bed at o'my-god-it's-early, walked the dog, drank my coffee, and opened my eyes... in that order. I had a good day at work, complete with a 70+ year old man making fishnet panty jokes (he was wearing them, not me). I had dinner with Dianne and Bob (Bob, who makes everything PERFECT) and had a great time laughing and telling stories, as we do almost every week.

After dinner I came home and walked the dog, unloaded the dishwasher and sat down to check my email. I checked Gmail first, then Yahoo Mail. Gmail held no real surprises. Yahoo Mail? Oh yea, baby, that's where the WTF moment of the day occurred.

Now, I don't check that account too often (an FYI for those of you who seem resistant to change it in your address books) so there's usually a shat-load of junk mail and the occassional legit email from a resister. (I think I made that word up. Don't you judge me.) As I began deleting the spam, I saw it. It was from him. Him... the one I left 3 years ago. The one who, knowingly or not, tried to make me less than myself. He who said the cruelest things, who played on my deepest fears. He whom I haven't heard from in over 2 years, which I'm sure surprises him since he thought I would always be wanting to crawl back. He who had no f'ing clue who I am, or he'd have known that was NEVER going to happen.

He wants to know where I am and how my life is. WTF? Doesn't he know that curiosity killed the cat?

So, my question is... do I answer it? Do I validate him by answering? Do I let him know that I am deliciously happy? Happy in the way that he promised I would never be. Does he deserve to know? Am I slightly neurotic that I don't want him to know where I live? Give me some advice, people.

In completely unrelated events, I appear to be growing a horn for Halloween. I am blaming it on the flu shot I got yesterday. Other Goose will be the first non-genetically related vacationer to Farmville this time around. Oh, and I desperately need a hair day.

George Jetson: bloop bloop bloop bloop bloop bloop bloop

State Trooper Witt: Did you realize you were doing 73mph in a 60mph zone?

TK: No, honestly, I did not. It's a new car, you see, and it's easy to zip along without noticing when the engine doesn't rumble under the hood.

State Trooper Witt: You can tell the judge on November 27th. Maybe he'll let you take Driver's School.

TK: Damn it, George!

George Jetson: Bloooooooop bloooooooooooop blooooooooooooop bloooooooooooop.

She said: I can't go. I'll miss Grey's Anatomy again.

He said: Oh, I meant to tell you, they all died last week so you don't need to ever watch it again.

She said: That had better not be true. It's not true, right? Now I have to watch to make sure they're all not dead.

He said: Oh well. I tried.

Groundhogs can fly, and other viscious truths

Groundhogs can fly. I shit you not.

While Diane and Jenny (the ladies I ride horses with) are out gallivanting around the country... okay, Diane is sick as a dog in Boston but Jenny is definitely galavanting in L.A., but I digress... I have been feeding Wilbur and Jimbo the Fatboy. Now that they've figured out that I'm only there to feed them but not to ride, they come running when I yell. "It's the food lady! Hooray for the food lady!!! We're STARVING lady!!!! Can't you get that grain ready faster?!?!?!" You get the idea. So imagine my surprise when I called for them on Sunday evening and only Jimbo runs to get dinner.

Of course, I can't just stand there and wait, I have to go hunting for Wilbur! So as Jimbo munches happily away, I decide to go around the front of the barn and call Wilbur again. Now, when I pulled up to the barn, the resident big fat groundhog had run for the hills... or rather, for under the barn. So imagine my surprise when, as I cross under the big tree in front of the barn, I hear a strange scratching sound from above me. As I look up to see what the bustle is about, I see a GIANT BIG FAT GROUNDHOG scrambling down the tree, straight at me. I screamed. It screamed. And then it jumped out of the tree and STRAIGHT AT ME!!!! I swear, it was going to scratch my eyes out. I hit the ground running and met Wilbur as he came around the corner to get his dinner. The groundhog hit the ground and beat feet for the barn. Jimbo the Fatboy kept eating dinner as though none of the rest of it was happening.

Groundhog, people, groundhog. Not treehog.

I sat in my pee pants all the way home. Poor George Jetson.

Driving George Jetson is kind of like flying down a highway at 70mph in a rollerskate. Seriously.

For the past 3.5 years I've been driving Tough Lucy Dodge. Tough Lucy is a gas-guzzling V8 power monster who handles like, well, a big SUV. She served me well during the time I was traveling around the US. I could haul anything. I packed her to the gills with my portable life. She delivered me, safe and sound without so much as a flat tire, from coast to coast multiple times. I have jumper cables, 2 quarts of oil, power steering fluid, and a tow rope "in case of emergency" that were only ever used to help other people. She's a good truck. But at 13 miles to the gallon, she's killing me softly.

Meet my need for George Jetson. I am only driving a 6 mile round trip to work each day, and I can't bleed my wallet dry (and simultaneously ruin the environment) trying to earn a living. I had really thought I would get a hybrid, but as it turns out, my driving needs don't really make a hybrid worth spending the extra money.

How do you make yourself more comfortable driving your new rollerskate after driving a construction boot? Drive 200 miles in the first 24 hours you own the car. Seriously. I bought the car with 25 miles on it, and today it has 247. So, here are the pros and cons of the new ride...

• There are fewer bells and whistles compared to Tough Lucy
• He makes weeeeeeeeee-weeeeeeeeeeeeeee sounds
• He's amazingly, perfectly, beautifully clean
• People look at me because I'm driving the first Fit in Farmville
• I got 36 miles to the gallon in my first 200 miles. Compared to 13-18 for Tough Lucy.
• Did you read that, people? 36 mpg. Frockin' awesome!

And with a single self-photo, Dianne the Rookie takes the lead in the Hummer Hunt. Curses!

pppsssstttt....

I bought a new car. A shiny, new, gas-sipping Honda Fit.
Meet George Jetson!

If you're really, really good, I'll show you my new shiny thing tomorrow.

For tonight, know that Cliff Huxtable was back in class... and this time no farting. I was so proud.

No, no, people, it wasn't really Bill Cosby! That was to paint a picture in your head. Being in that class is what it would have been like if Bill had been there... and I suspect he would have brought Jell-O pudding, but that's neither here nor there.

Now, on to my award. The CEO generously bestowed on me the "Nice Matters" award. Now I'm supposed to say some nice things and pass it on. Well, here's the nice stuff: Thank you. Thank you very much. It's nice to know that the things I do matter. It's nice to know that the blogger community reads my stories and laughs, knowing that I'm telling on myself 99% of the time. And now I pass it on to all of you. I pass on the ability to let your kindness matter in the world. Get out there. Spread it around. Make your own life better by making a difference in someone else's.

Tomorrow night starts our new Farmville volleyball league. I spent the evening helping assemble the brand new poles and net, preparing for our 6pm start time (lest we be trying to set the net up for the 2 hours we get to play). As we finished, we looked at the flyer advertising the new event. "Open Gym for Adult: Begins Oct. 8". Okay, #1) Adults. There should be adults. It's a game for teams! and #2) It begins Oct. 1. Tomorrow. I made the contact that got the ball rolling and I've confirmed the date at least twice. Oct. 1. Not to worry, though. We've got the key to the gym and a group of players ready to go, so we're starting with or without the Recreation Department!

So they say that you never really know what someone is going through until you've walked a mile in their shoes, right? Well, strap a pair of mine on people, but be careful what you step in, 'cause I'm going to be wanting them back...



Last night's yoga class... hmmmmm... how to do it justice? Everyone's seen The Cosby Show, right? Remember Bill Cosby's character, Cliff Huxtable? He was the guy in front of me in class last night. The instructor had been fairly "normal" for a yoga instructor. I mean, minimal "find your heart light" and "feel the echo of the universe in the window of your soul" kind of stuff. Very calm and relaxing, but really not a lot of the stuff that makes people mock yoga. I liked it.



This week, the class had doubled in size. All the friendly faces from last week, plus some new ones... including one horribly bendy sorority chick who felt it necessary to do everything perfectly. I swear, I will throw my ninja cat right at her face if she shows up next week. Anyway, a very nice couple was in the front row, and my open mat was right behind them. No problem. Now, this yoga class is in a big metal building/gym type thing, so it's not terribly quiet, and it echoes a lot. The ambigulously gay duo planted themselves right behind me since one of them had adopted a "high fiber diet that was REALLY giving him some results". I was glad the fans blow from the front toward the back. It sounds like a small jet engine is taking off, but I figure it's better than lying in a pool of my own stinky sweat.



The class got started, and all was going well until I realized that Cliff Huxtable was in front of me. You talk about the least bendy man ever! I don't think he came near a pose all night. And the grunts, people, the grunts! He grunted and groaned, squeeked and puffed his way through the warm up. I was choking back the laughter from the get-go. Imagine Bill Cosby doing yoga, and you'll know what I was 4 feet from. Anyway, we get into the first "down dog" of the sun salutations, and he farts. I don't mean a silent-but-deadly, either! He ripped it, and it ECHOED in that gym. I looked between my legs at the AGD and whispered "That wasn't me!" just so they knew. We were giggling silently to ourselves when he did it again. I swear to the 7lb 6oz Tiny Baby Jesus, the instructor starts in with "Squeeze your buttocks! It feels good to do it! Tighten those sphincters! It's so natural and effortless!" She says it about 50 more times through the 1.5 hour class. I freakin' lost it. I have never been so greatful for fans in my life! I swear, at least the smell flew past me and into the back of the gym.



But the instructor and her sphincter talk. Almost.Killed.Me.



Now, let's be giving those shoes back.