Wednesday, Aug. 23, 2006 - 9:42 a.m.

technical difficulties

Howdy folks, thanks for stopping by.

Perhaps you were looking for my rant:
"Is Frank Zappa alive and well, playing trombone in a clown band?"

I have a $*&$@(@%&*& meeting to attend in 15 minutes, and have had a helluva time formatting my pictures properly.

Because I'm a brat, I'd rather make you wait than give you something substandard.

So wait you will.

Meanwhile, I'll be trying my damndest to stay awake and not throw paperballs at irritating people.




Tuesday, Aug. 22, 2006 - 9:13 a.m.

low-key news: meet my pets - part 3

I spent yesterday alternately napping and puttering around my house feeling too ill to go to work. My little dispenser of fuzz therapy couldn't have been happier to take care of me: purring serenades lulled me to sleep, and chirps followed by scritchy-tongue smooches greeted me when I woke.

Zachary likes:

  • strutting around with a fresh haircut
  • giving Michael baths
  • napping on my feather pillow
  • watching Mr. Hubby juggle
  • watching basketball on TV

    Zach is dignified about:

  • having his mane gently brushed out
  • being carried by small children

    Zachary dislikes:

  • being startled

    On the July 4th 2002 I was on my way out of the house to run errands, and I happened to hear what I thought was a very pissed off catbird (which sounds very similar to a kitten in distress). I decided to follow the sound just in case it was a kitten, and was lead to my white trash neighbor's front yard, close to the (busy) street. I was soon being stampeded by a *TINY* disheveled orange kitten - who was absolutely covered in fleas. When I brought him indoors, Mr. Hubby (then Mr. Boyfriend) grinned from ear to ear "looks like we've got 3 cats now!".

    I picked up my sister from the gym, and handed her a small McDonald's bag.
    "Ooooohhh - cheeseburger?" she giggled.
    "Nope - be careful with this, it's quite a treat"

    My sister and I spent the rest of the evening at a vet clinic, making sure the kitten wouldn't be exposing my other cats to anything horrible. Because he purred non-stop, his first vet chart lists his name as "Happy". We had to startle/amaze him with a running faucet in order to make him stop purring long enough for the vet to listen to his heart and lungs.

    For some reason, for the first week or so, I could not accept that such a desperate purring bundle of bones was meant for me. "No, we'll get him fixed up and find him a home". Perhaps part of my brain registered that this little kitten might not survive; he was a 10 ounce, emaciated, carnival of parasites. He squeaked rather than meowed, had to be bottle fed for two weeks before he figured how to eat solid food, and had to be bathed nearly every day for a month because he was too small and weak for conventional anti-flea treatment. Bathing him was terrifying in the beginning - it was necessary to completely dunk him, because all the fleas would run to the top of his head. Zach would sneeze and cough the water out then begin shaking, even in our (unairconditioned) 90F house. So I would blot excess water off of his bony frame with dishtowels, and then shove him in my shirt until he fell asleep from exhaustion.

    One evening, tiny Zach was having a wailing fit so I put a dish of formula next to him; he looked up at me and kept on wailing. I picked him up to inspect him for injuries, and he began purring like a freight-train. I realized I had been suckered, and realized that he was meant to be part of my life - my little beam of sunshine.

    To be continued: my white trash neighbors ask for "their" cat back.



    Friday, Aug. 18, 2006 - 9:37 a.m.

    yes, terribly exciting: meet my pets (part 2)

    My lunch hour yesterday was quite eventful. Guess who spent two hours up a tree, beyond ladder’s reach, wailing as if the apocalypse were neigh?

    Ultimately, he leapt/fell into some huge Rose of Sharon bushes and sustained no injury. *KnockOnWood*

    (The cats are only allowed outside with supervision, Mr. Hubby had accidentally left a door unlatched when he watered the vegetable garden before going to work).

    Other than the freaking out over being treed by a large Golden Retriever bit, Michael is quite the badass. In my own little universe, I compare him to Samuel L. Jackson. *blush*

    When I stole/adopted him, he was a neurotic one-year-old called “Mike D.” (after the Beastie Boy). I had a month long cat-sitting gig with him and decided it would be easiest to just keep him at my tiny apartment with my cat Zachary. By the time his Mike’s “dad” returned, Zach, Mike, and I had quite a love triangle going. Luckily, Mr. Hubby (who was Mr. Boyfriend at the time) had been raising a pair of kittens dumped in his yard, and was happy to give them to Mike’s “dad” in exchange.

    Mikey Likes:

  • Italian food
  • stalking moths
  • secondhand cigarette smoke
  • finding and chewing holes in my underclothes
  • gracefully leaping from the floor to the top of the fridge
  • sneaking up on the dog, smacking her, then running away

    Mikey Dislikes:

  • children
  • most strangers
  • being denied access to Italian food
  • when no one has smoked in the garage for weeks, he paws at the garage doorknob and wails (he became a nicotine addict at his previous owners’ house)



    Thursday, Aug. 17, 2006 - 9:17 a.m.

    Enlighten me!

    Alice asked me an interesting question yesterday:

    What's with the cops beating the poor babe up? Have I
    missed something??

    I suspect that the picture of Elvis being whipped is from one of his early movies.
    (Scroll down for the pic) If you know anything, please enlighten us!

    I enjoy posting Elvis sightings for my and Nikki's entertainment, but I wouldn't feel right labeling myself as a "fan". I certainly *like* his music, own a "Blue Hawaii" vinyl record that's in decent shape, and have a beat up Warhol-ish print of Elvis hanging in my closet . . . but that's where my relationship with "The King" tapers off.

    I've run into interesting blips of information as I search for worthy pics of Elvis, and the more I get to know, the more I wonder what he would have turned out like if he hadn't been run ragged by his managers, and hadn't become hooked on speed.

    It has been _6_days_ since Suki last needed "car ride, go to vet?" and I'm feeling very hopeful that we won't have to return in the near future. All parasites are dead or dying, and she's immunized for damn near everything under the sun.

    In fact, Suki is back to running laps around her dog run (and the house), demanding tug games, and blissfully taunting her cat-friend Lydia. Happy Chaos!



    Wednesday, Aug. 16, 2006 - 8:43 a.m.

    a bad day to be Elvis

    TODAY is the 29th anniversary of Elvis Presley's death; as you probably know, he died from a combination of heart disease and drug abuse at his Graceland mansion in Memphis, TN.

    I don't know if this picture is legit or not - it's a bit creepy!
    In any case, Rest In Peace, Mr. Presley.

    . . . . . . . .

    On to less morbid Elvis sighting:

    The folks at What Really Happened give a little background to this picture posted below. I'll warn you that my source isn't the most academic looking website ever, I'd categorize it as "entertaining dystopia on the web".

    And because Elvis is looking a bit worn out and fugly in that photo, I'm reposting my favorite hottie-bo-bottie photo of Elvis.


    Visit again next Wednesday when I take a short diversion from ELVIS WEDNESDAY, and present my newest idea/goober conspiracy theory: I've got photographic evidence that Frank Zappa may be alive and well - and playing trombone in a clown band!!



    Monday, Aug. 14, 2006 - 9:03 a.m.

    what all the fuss has been about

    I've been pouting all summer about my dog being ill, and haven't shown you what she looks like. I hope this makes everything absolutely clear.

    A special thank you to my sister for the fantastic photo.

    When healthy, Suki weighs about 13 pounds, and is the size of a very large housecat. She is 16 months old and knows "sit", "stay", "come", "down", "leave it", "wait", "uppie" (hop up on lap), and "sharkie" (crawl/swim across carpet or bed making huffy/snarly sounds, followed by light nipping). I'm currently working on getting her to show her cute underbite on command, I haven't figured out what word she responds to best: "teeth", "smile", or "cheese".

    Some of her favorite words are "Daddy", "Cookie", "vet", "car ride", "walk outside", and "Gwen".

    And to further prove my lack of sanity points, I'll introduce you to the rest of my pets later this week.



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