And I’ll retract my claws. Long day, and I have to get up in a couple of hours and do it again.
(So why am I posting instead of snoring?)
Sorry to further derail the thread on this, but now that I’m emotionally invested, I hate to think that there’s a real picture of the prospective cat but only a generic Bernese Mountain Dog picture.
This is the real Bernie, in memoriam.
My eyes are moist.
Oh, Wolf. He a perfect beauty. Love it.
I accidently discovered the cat toes/popcorn thing at the shelter where I volunteer. I go in a few times a month and help with grooming and cleaning. One cat kept putting his paw on my face as I brushed out his matted hair. It smelled like popcorn. Now I test all kitty toes when I can. I’m weird that way. Can’t touch a door knob in a public place but smelling cat toes, I’m all in.
I have to say that the expression on Bernie’s face is “I AM your Best Friend Forever and I love you with all of my great big heart.”
The generic one says “I will never place a single expectation on you.” I can’t find anything wrong with that per se, but the expression on Bernie’s face feels more authentic.
No, no. Cats have Frito-feet. Cat toes smell like Fritos.
Binturongs smell like popcorn. Are you sure they’re actual cats, not bearcats Beck?
I thought dog toes smelled like Fritos.
Maybe it’s the corn guys. Popcorn is corn. Fritos are corn chips. It’s all corn.
Hey, that’s some real science, right there.
And y’all thought I was crazy. Smell those toe-sies.
After twenty years, I have decided that I will no longer patronize the Dunkin’ Donuts in my area.
They are owned by one owner, and that owner cares about everything except for the customer and that attitude trickles down to all of his restaurants.
I’m not sure what I found more upsetting…
The fact that on multiple occasions the workers had a lackadaisical attitude toward my efforts to prevent accidentally giving my wife caffeinated coffee–it was a slip-up at a Dunkin’ Donuts that sent her to the hospital last time.
–or–
The fact that the managers say unpleasant sexist things to my (adult) daughter whenever she is there even if she has children with her.
Since the problem is the owner and management, I cannot change them, but I can change my own habits!
You can also alert Dunkin’ Donuts about what’s happening at an outfit bearing their name.
I suppose so, but I never kept any record of any of these things–all events that in individuality would fly under the radar, but show a pattern when considered in totality.
This is, after all, New Jersey, and residents are expected to have a somewhat thicker skin.
Any complaint letter I wrote would lack in specifics and very likely wouldn’t change a thing. They would probably send me a kind letter and some coupons for DD.
Dog feet smell like Fritoes. Or Freeze-toes. Cat feets smell like nothing. At least Ursala Kitteh’s feets smell like nothing.
My dumb ( diagnosed) little Yorkie won’t come in the house. I walked her and Beagle this morning. And she balked at going in. So I unhooked her leash and went in the house. I can see her on the deck. Just sitting and looking stupidly at nothing. I went out a couple of times and picked her up and brought her in. And she whined at the door til I opened it. She walked right back to the same spot and sat and stared. WTH? She’s still out there. It’s almost time for another walk. I wonder what she’ll do?
Why are smart people so unable to follow simple directions? I mean, really simple. Like, “do not reply to this message, reply to xxxx@whatever dot com, not to this message.” There is a link right there.
Or, there is this message board that has a job posting and it says “reply by private message” and under it is a long string of replies that are obviously not private messages. If they are looking for someone who can follow directions I guess that’s one way to rule them out.
This has caused me much grief today and in the past. I would say about 50% of the people can’t follow directions, or refuse to because they know so much better. Well, I hope their windows fall down.
I ran the school spelling bee last fall. We asked for parent volunteers, but I told them to please not sign up for the classroom their own child was in, but some other class. The night before the event, I thought, “Oh, I’d better go check the list and make sure no one accidentally signed up for the wrong classroom.” Out of 24 parent volunteers, guess how many had signed up for the room they had a kid in? 12. 50%. I couldn’t believe it. People just don’t read.
It’s official. I got the call yesterday, they’re calling it a total due to suspension an steering damage. Nice. I’ll be getting more than I expected for it but it’s not enough to buy a new Mustang.
I’ve been maintaining fairly well - I had one letting off of steam that scared the shit out of my cat, but for the most part I’ve been calm. That is bothering me because in addition to the car I can currently identify approximately zero things that are going right in my life and I’m afraid I’m headed for a meltdown of epic proportions if I can’t get something going that makes some sort of difference.
Sorry for the darkness, but I need to slowly vent this shit.
Yesterday I received an email requesting a meter read on a copier that’s in a different building. I forwarded it to someone over there and asked if they were close to the machine. Her response? “Yes.”
That caused me to tear my hair and froth at the mouth for a little while, and then I was able to respond, “Will you perform the meter reading please?” She emailed back, “How?”
That pretty much destroyed my attitude towards people for the whole day. Now, I’m no goddamn genius myself, but I know how to TRY.