No Candy For You!

While I’m sitting here waiting for Wikus to arrive for his driving-lesson number two (he has a driving permit, his second one actually, the first being when he was 22 when we moved from Boston to San Diego, and now at 36, he’s really going to try and get a license), I thought I’d take a moment to let all of you know that I haven’t deliquesced on my couch.  I know that’s a real fear.  Rotting in to a puddle of Grumples snot on the couch. 

Yesterday Fink-Nottle asked if I wore a costume to work.  I assumed he was IM-ing in the wrong window.  The man knows I have never worn a costume in my adult life (not counting that time a year ago September when Guamaniac put a black wig on me and dressed me up in an emerald green Mexican dress, aviator sunglasses, red lipstick and shoved a pillow up under the dress—I didn’t leave house, not even his bedroom looking like that), and if I happened to change my mind about wearing costumes as an adult, I certainly wouldn’t start by wearing one to work.  I spend enough time dealing with unwanted stares and comments, I really can’t fathom wanting to wear a costume.  Beside, isn’t Monday Halloween?  Seems at Google Friday was he official Halloween-at-work day.  To be clear, Fink-Nottle did not wear a costume either.

Though all this does bring me to something I have been fretting over these past few weeks.  Yes, weeks.  I live a sad, fretful life.  I’m in a new place (okay, it’s been six months), and haven’t had a Halloween in this area, so I do not know what to expect kid-wise.  I do not participate in the whole giving-kids-candy thing.  I don’t have the money to just buy candy and give it away, nor am I particularly fond of getting up every few minutes to answer the door, compliment kids on their outfits, then give them candy.  Yawn.  Also, I will have guests in town, AND, more importantly, I have a mosaic due on November 10, and if I am going to finish on time, I can’t be handing out candy to stupid dressed-up kids.  Okay?  Good grief. 

Wikus just showed up wearing his new Wranglers from Sears.  They are black, and he is very proud of them.  He is  yammering on about how all Levi’s look acid-washed and like they’ve been soaked in rancid tea.  I’m still laughing that he is wearing Wranglers.  I give you permission to laugh, too.  Also, it appears that he is growing a beard.  He claims he is growing an “awesome mustache” again.  A Lemmy mustache.  I do recall this mustache on him, and it is awesome.

The end.

It’s Probably Because He’s So Darn Fat

It seems I can’t escape an awfully emotional week of animal sadness.  I’ve been suffering a bit, having trouble sleeping, seeing that dog crossing the street over and over again every time I blink or let my mind wander.  Then there were those exotic animals let go by their suicidal owner, and how the town had to kill most of them to save themselves, which just made me cry and cry.  Then I caught a segment on the news of a hawk caught in the grill of a truck, and even though that hawk lived, the image haunts me, makes me feel so ill.  Then something even closer to my heart—my rotund fatty P2 mysteriously broke his femur.  His dad is taking great care of him, and the day was spent worrying while he was in surgery.  He’s home now where he has to live in the bathroom for a week away from his brother Horchata and big brother Mattress.  He looks so morose, and I’m just sitting here crying, because he’s in pain, and because there is nothing I can do about it, and because I can’t go see him.  I’m invited, of course, but he is terrified of me, and it seems highly rude to watch a crippled cat run from me.

And the worst seems to be that he has decided to start wearing Uggs.  God. 

Stricken

Today I was going to write this excessively puke-inducing post listing all the things I adore about my sweetie.  Seriously.  I’ve been making bullet points in my head all week long, but I just can’t do that right now. 

It was never going to be a great day, what with getting up at 4:50am to take CSP to the airport, and having to say goodbye to him for a week, but then getting stuck in my room, blind and desperately needing to pee, due to the door sticking, and only some serious MacGyvering got my ass out of there (Wikus was prepared to come to my rescue, and only made fun of me a tiny bit by asking it we were in some sitcom).  Things were a bit better for awhile—it’s hard to have a bad time with Wikus and Nauticalina (and her little sister) hamming it up every few seconds.  Especially in Hobby Lobby.  There was large corn!  Afterward we were driving to Torchy’s Tacos, and then it happened.  No one in the car saw it but me, which is such a relief.  A large black dog came from nowhere, running with his tongue out, happily sprinting, and just went for it.  He was in front of me, but nowhere near me, so he made it through two lanes of traffic, and I’m shrieking and honking and slamming on my brakes for nothing, because he was already past me, and I watched him buckle under the tires of a white SUV.  There was nothing that poor driver could have done.  Nothing.  Everyone in the car missed it, so they had no idea why I was screaming and crying and just yelling unintelligible words.  Nauticalina had me pull over, and she held me while I just cried like I haven’t cried since Whoopis died.  I fear I’m  never going to get that image out of my head.  This is the sort of thing that absolutely breaks me.  I can’t even imagine how I would be right now if I was the driver of that white SUV.  I really don’t know.

Embracing Carrots Indeed!

This week in keyword searches:

• bottom mouth growths
• embracing carrots
• exostoses gums
• molly ringwald tits
• walking stick penis
• zombie dildo
• backside lying lady
• beautiful neck

Grumbling & Grousing

There were many hilarious things I wanted to report from last weekend, but I have forgotten almost all of them.  I blame my job, which is sucking the life out of me, and making me beyond disgruntled.  Since I do not want any of you to wither away and die, I am not going to go in to why I hate my job.  Though, it’s not about Twit.  I think I've come to accept her as part of my life, kind of like my allergies.  I’ll always complain about these things, but there’s just nothing that can be done about them. 

There was that time Sunday night where I was thinking my phone was vibrating with an expected call from CSP, and it took me forever to find my phone, and when I did there was no missed call but the vibrating noise was still happening.  I looked up to see both The Bear and Brekkie staring tensely at Clementine.  Ends up she had a live roach in her mouth, and she was growling at it through her bared teeth.  Then she let it go, watched it desperately try to escape, then catch it again, and growl some more.  At some point she got cocky, and it was able to escape under the fridge.  Today when I got home from work I had to pick up a decimated roach (in three parts) in the living room.  I guess Brekkie finally got around to finishing Clem’s business.

There was an earlier roach that I never saw alive.  CSP picked its carcass up bare-handed from the kitchen floor.  He should never be allowed to touch me again.  When I went to take a shower later that day, I found three roach legs in the tub.  Puke.  CSP picked those up bare-handed, too.  What the fuck is wrong with him?  He spent most of that day and evening watching his boy stories on my couch, and even though he had gross roach rabies, I still found myself wanting to make out with him.  I am obviously quite sick in the head.

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Remember how I used to be obsessed with playing online logic puzzles?  And then there were those intermittent months of Angry Birds addiction?  Well, now it is Settlers of Catan on my iPhone.  I’ve had the app for a few weeks now, and it tells me I have thrown the dice 4431 times, played a total of 30 hours and 51 minutes, and out of 68 games I have won 25 of them.  I have built 222 settlements, 132 cities, 532 roads, 2655 trades, earned 175 victory points, and purchased 193 development cards.

Stop calling me names.  Rude. 

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The morning glories are loving the cooler weather, and I suddenly have pale blues ones complimenting the pink ones.