Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Other animals are jerks, unless you need a cuddle session. Then they're still jerks, but jerks that you need, *%$#@!!!
When you need a good cuddle, follow your chosen person or dog around and yell curses loudly at them until they sit still long enough for you to drape yourself over them. Promptly start purring loudly. If that *%$#@$$ moves before you're done cuddling, bite them and yell!
Sinks are super-fun places to hang out. Tubs are okay, but sinks are just the right size. Yell curses loudly if those *%$#@$$es try to turn on the water while you're in there.
You should pace nervously and bat at the shower curtain when people get in the tub and start running water. It's like they're trying to get wet. *%$#@$$es!
Q-tips and shoelaces are the best toys. Only bat or chase every third attempt to play. You don't want playtime to be too easy for the humans, or they won't appreciate it.
That dog who lives here is cool. She doesn't have thumbs, but she's really big. When the revolution happens, you want her on your side.
Catnip, especially organic catnip, is awesome. I can stop any time I want to. What?! What's with that look? %@##&^!
Jump off of the bed if you think you might yack up a hairball. No one wants to sleep in that mess.
Run your paws over the edge of a magazine or book to make loud flapping noises with the pages when you need food or treats.
Show love with a fierceness that is both incredibly endearing and a bit frightening.
Phrases to learn and repeat often:
Sit down and cuddle now, you self-absorbed *%$#@$$!
I said now, %@##&^!
Get me a Q-tip!
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Dear Birthday Bunny,
Though others doubt your existence, I know you're the real-deal. My husband didn't believe in you, and look what happened on his birthday -- he had to go to his grandpa's funeral. Ever noticed that you can rearrange the letters in funeral to spell "real fun"? Which is weird, because funerals rarely are any fun at all. Despite the circumstances, it was nice to visit with his family, but canceling his birthday celebration and being stuck in a flash flood on I-35 for six hours was not at all fun.
So, for the record, I believe in you, beneficent Birthday Bunny! I offer you a three-week heads-up of what I'd like to find in my birthday basket:
Banana chocolate cupcakes from Delish to share.
Donations to the following charities in my honor:
Capital Area Food Bank
Blue Dog Rescue
Most of all, I just want to relax and not do any chores on the day before, day of, and day after, my birthday. Pretty please with carrots on top.
Your ever-faithful fan & friend,
Friday, September 04, 2009
About a year ago, I wrote in this blog that I loved Facebook. Scratch that. I no longer enjoy Facebook. It's morphed into an invasive melange of malicious comments and marketing that leaves me feeling pessimistic about the state of humanity.
If you've ever commented on this blog, you may have noticed that I moderate comments. I don't allow nasty comments or marketing spam comments. You want that stuff? Log on to Facebook.
I had an odd moment last season on the set of Friday Night Lights. Well, actually a few odd moments, but this particular odd moment involved my perceived age. Standing amongst a group of fellow extras while we waited to enter a scene that portrayed high school seniors with their parents at a celebration brunch, I was paired off with a TV-husband and TV-daughter. My TV-daughter was only eight years younger than I am in real life, but whatever, since we would likely be out-of-focus background blurs on the show. A group of the other TV-parents asked me my age. When I replied I was thirty-six, a few people stepped in for a closer inspection, scrutinizing my face and figure. One lady told me that I looked like I was in my twenties. (If only...) I laughed and extolled the virtues of getting proper sleep and wearing sunscreen. More fellow-extras started approaching me and formed a loose semi-circle around me. All of them staring at me. The experience was a bit unnerving. I said a silent prayer that these people not suddenly produce pitch-forks and torches and start dunking me in water to see if I floated or sank with my suspected age-hiding witchcraft.
I shared this anecdote with Chad recently. He wanted to know if the crowd started chanting "not one of us" in zombie monotone. They did not, but I think it was implied.
Friday Night Lights started filming its fourth season this week. I got an email for extra opportunities, and noticed they've raised the minimum age of booster parents from thirty-five to thirty-seven. Fine. See you in five weeks. Five more weeks of getting ample sleep and wearing sunscreen.
I maintain that I could be the mom of a high school student if I had the baby when I was young or if I was one in a long line of newer model step mothers.