Driving south on I-35 this morning I was surrounded by at least 10 motorcycles, and groaning to have to be on the road this weekend. Stupid ROT Rally. It is really one of the more unpleasant events that happen annually in Austin. A gazillion motorcycle enthusiasts descend on Austin with their Harleys, leather pants and even leathery gal pals. Normally I am in hiding when the ROT Rally rides in to town, but I had to be out this morning to take ET to the vet (today may have been his last force-feeding!). So, there I am, minding my own business, talking to ET and day dreaming a bit, and I see a knot of motorcycles spreading across all three lanes right in front of me, and the very last bike with a woman on the back with her fucking g-string riding at least 5" above the top of her jeans. I had nothing to burn my eyes out with, and ET refused to peck them out as a favor since he refuses to eat meat, and will not lowers his vegetarian standards even in an emergency.
On my way home, I passed a Denny's with at least 75 bikes in the parking lot. I don't think that Denny's can even hold that many patrons, much less a dried-out plus-one in neon string bikinis and cut-off denim shorts for all of them. I have had the misfortune of being in a room with that many Harley enthusiasts and have never been more skeeved out at the blatant sexism. These guys have no problem being as crass as possible with their eyes and hands. Ugh. And to have that over your hash browns, scrambled eggs and bacon? I don't think so.
Mattress is lazing on top of the couch with a paw planted solidly on my head. He has to own me at all times. He is very paranoid that the other animals will try to claim me as their own. The adult cats have been viciously attacking each other since last night. Those little sausages must really be changing the dynamics around here. I had to get The Boy out of bed this morning to help me break up an angry fur-flighing ball of fury. It seems I am unable to actually physically restrain three cats--luckily the kittens weren't a part of that threesome knot of fun. ET is in the backyard eating grass and pooing. Best day ever for him.
Last night The Boy and I went to a party to celebrate our friend's hard-earned good fortune. She has landed a great teaching job, and we are ever so proud of her. While there, I made a trip in to the closed-off room to visit the bunbun and cats. The Boy and Glady soon joined me (because I am so awesome and no one can be out of my presence for more than a minute). We had a lovely chat sitting on the floor, and Gladys and I discovered that we both have a dirty, shameful love of The Cutting Edge. It is probably best not to ask us why, and just sit back and admire us for our openess and honesty. We have agreed to hang out soon with her and her comic-genius husband. I'm pretty sure they just want to come over and meet the cats, but the story in my head is that they like me, too. (Sounds like I need to have a Crucial Conversation with myself! Brace yourself, I may run with this joke for far too long.)
While at the party last night I heard this horribly-funny-yet-extremely-sad story, and I wish I could tell you all about it, but it isn't mine to share. It does involve an erect penis and a public bathroom. That's all I can say. Between that image and the g-string on some overweight biker babe, should have me set for the next 24 hours on ick. It is my hope that you feel the same, because I may be hard pressed to come up with more. Unless the thought of The Boy going to an Iron Maiden show tonight works for you. That falls more in to a "lame" category than "ick," but that is just me.
Nap time!
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