Dude! I think there was just an earthquake here. Or not. I’m alone and I wouldn’t want to declare an earthquake without corroboration.
Yesterday was no school and I spent it asleep so my kitties’ thoughts were "zzzzzzzzzzzz’ practically all day. Tansy must sleep on my lap region and Violet must sleep next to my right hand ribs. Must must must. “Accept no substitutes” say my kitties when it comes to sleeping positions.
My beta fish is really old and while he doesn’t sleep with us, he may soon sleep with the fishes. You can tell the years are wearing on him because I have to cheer him on as he wobbles up to the top of the bowl to get his food. His thoughts are probably along the lines of “Damn whippersnapper, always leaving my food at the surface of the water. I remember when kids respected their elders and brought the food right to you. Both ways, uphill!”
Ha! Non-drowsy is just short hand for 'covers up the sleepyness with jitters".
Lookit! All my paragraphs have “quotes”. Well, almost. Now to go to the store and buy one of those giant peanut butter hearts and nibble off all the chocolate then eat the peanut butter and then feel a little sick and swear not to ever do that again until next time.
It’s been a long day and I’m tired. I have to stop by Wal-mart on the way home and I sure don’t want to do it. I am fighting the impulse to swing in to Suncoast instead and pick up some manga and Pocky, but if I do that, I won’t have any deodorant tomorrow. Not a good thing.
I made the chicken parmesan this weekend, and it came out really well. I didn’t get the crock pot mac-and-cheese made, because certain persons had eaten the turkey ham for breakfast (they were home Thurs. and Fri. of last week). Maybe I’ll get to it this week.
My kitchen floor is almond-colored tile. It not only is impossible to keep clean, everything I try to wash it with leaves a film.
I don’t bead or quilt or anything like that. I knit, a little. I do draw and paint watercolors, but haven’t had the time in a long time. I read, but that’s less a hobby than a compulsion. That leaves you guys and the anime. Kinda hard to convince people that one is not a nerd with hobbies like that!
I am not wearing anything too sexy today, just a mid-calf skirt with a slit up the side to mid-thigh. But I’m wearing black tights under it, so it kind of kills the effect. I am wearing a black bra, if that helps.
Rue, are you my FIL? That’s how he eats cake! Actually, I figured out what I should have done - I should have put some oil in the batter. And more peaches - sweetie wanted more peaches. So, next time…
So I ate the peanut butter cup heart. Two of them, because I could only find the little ones. Oooooo, you might want to step back a little, just sayin’.
My kitchen floor is a color block painting I did and turned into a floor cloth. Under the fabulous artwork is craptastic linoleum. And because I missed out on all the flirting and fashion last week, I will mention that what I wore today caused two guys to bump into each other because they were busy lookin’ at me. I think it may have been the boots, but still, I’ll take credit. So there, I’m not the dog’s dinner.
But dinner will be beef bourgioniongne made in my crock pot. If that doesn’t work, it’s back to lusting after that bazillion dollar Le Creuset dutch oven. Should I buy it in orange, red, or yellow? All those colors match my kitchen this month.
Still I resist Pocky. It’s not just tubular KitKats, is it? Cause KitKats are blicky. Also, chocolate or yogurt covered pretzels are what they serve in hell. Gimmee circus peanuts, peeps, and licorice. Yes they’re disgusting, but that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t eat them.
No, FCM. Not oil. Butter. And maybe heavy cream, too.
I don’t have a sewing room, but when I lived at home my bedroom was seriously dangerous. Beads and needles and wire and fabric scraps with pins. Plus stacks of books everywhere, and rickety-looking candles. It was great.
I’m jealous of both twickster and FairyChatMom, because they got to meet each other. Fun things like that should be able to happen without me being included! Someone oughta have gotten me a plane ticket!
I just got back from grocery shopping, and pants-shopping for Driving Husband. Quasi-Daughter thinks that since he’s volunteering at a local high school he ought to have some pants that aren’t black army pants. He won’t shop alone, and Quasi-Daughter refuses to shop with him, so she gave me very specific style instructions and sent us off together.
They had bright mauve corduroy flares in the shop.
Is it fashionable to look like the Easter Bunny attacked?
Mr. Lissar is off at work. He feels miserable- tired and groggy. I hope he doesn’t infect everyone else. Err, Shibb, thanks for the remedy. Driving Husband has some very similar mixed drinks. He’s keen on ice cream, vodka, and creme de cacao together. With Irish Cream. We’ve never tried adding Dayquil.
Rue, I am distraught, as is my daughter and my Filipina amah. (My wife couldn’t give a toss, but that’s another story.)
Yesterday evening I returned home exhausted from another day at the office to discover that one of my baby hamsters was dead. There were no visible signs of a struggle, and he was the largest of the three in his litter.
After an autopsy I was still at a loss as to how the poor thing had died, on the twelfth day of his short life, usually an occasion for celebration, as it’s the day when the eyes open and they may freely roam their cage and drink from the water bottle.
Minutes later, I discovered the cause. His parents were running side by side on the plastic wheel, which doubled as his nest. He had been spun to death.
Please let him know that I beg his forgiveness for not blocking off the wheel, and for allowing his life to be snuffed out at such a tragically young age. Let him know that I chucked him into the communal bin wrapped in a ParknShop bag not because I didn’t care but because I cared too much. My grief prevented me from giving him a proper burial.
Please tell me that he forgives me. I cannot tolerate the thought of another incubus-plagued night.
Roger, the hamster wasn’t dead. It was doing an Astral Projection. Roaming the Universe without it’s physical form. Discovering the Secrets of Life. Traveling to the Great Beyond and back. Sneaking into the girls’ locker room at the high school. Stuff like that.
Well, it wasn’t dead until the “autopsy”. (It wasn’t even an “autopsy”, it was a “necropsy”. A hamster autopsy would have to be performed by another hamster. No one in their right mind would give a hamster a scalpel, so it was a necropsy. But I’ll cut you some slack on the whole thing. Just last night I was watching House. It’s a show about a doctor with a bum leg and a bad attitude who saves a patient a week. He gave a cat an “autopsy”. “No!” I cried! “It’s not an ‘autopsy’, it’s a ‘necropsy’! You’re a doctor, you should know better!” But this is the same show that said nuns live in a “seminary”.)
If you hear a faint squeaking at night coming closer and closer, unstoppable and vengeful, it’s the Zombie Hamster coming to exact its revenge. There’s nothing I can do, you’ll need a Rodent Exorcist. Which is kinda funny (in a cold, heartless way) because you claim the little bugger was offed in a Rodent Exerciser.
It’s sleeting. Someone forgot to adjust the weather to ‘Spring’. Or maybe this is Spring. What a hopeless and depressing thought.
I am still skeeved out by the incubus (or incubi) roger has plaguing him. Get 'em out of here before they make a mess and ruin all of LifeOnWry’s tidying! I only tidy my desk about once a year, and even though I did it recently, there’re still eyepins, beads, and spools of thread all over it. My cats like the beads. They can knock them off the desk and then chase them around.
Mr. Lissar just helpfully pointed out that my bra was too small. Yes, I replied, I know it’s too small, but someone didn’t wash all the ones that do fit, when he did the laundry. So there.
Was that lingere-ish enough? I hope so. And I think I’ll make cherry bread pudding tonight. Yum.
It’s almost summer here (near 80 F again today), come south, oh beautiful one!
You’re outgrowing your old bras? How does that happen? And if you ever need another husband that only checks for “bra fit” I’m sure you can get a passle of volunteers here.