Did I mention that I'm going to Fayetteville this weekend? There are a few margaritas with my name on them, and some boys that need to get schooled in Texas Hold'em. God help them if I'm holding a 2 and a 5. Give me my money!!!!

The problem with dumpster cats...

Sometimes, you have to teach dumpster cats not to get up on the counters. Sometimes, you can throw a dumpster cat off of the counter while yelling "NO, BAD DUMPSTER CAT!!!" at the top of your lungs and it does nothing. Buuuuut, just once, if a dumpster cat goes to jump up on the counter and accidentally gets the towel under the dish rack and pulls the whole shebang down on top of his head, he will lose all desire to get up on the counter ever again. Of course, at 4:30 in the morning, when you're picking up glass shards from a wine glass and (gasp!) the Superstar mug your sister made for you (I still cry a little bit b/c it's not in the cabinet) it doesn't seem like such a good lesson.

The dumpster cat has discovered his love for the Zoomie toy. He plays with it for hours on end.

Then he needs to take a nap.

The dumpster cat let me clip his toenails tonight. I rubbed his belly, he laid on his back, and didn't even put up a fight. In fact, I think he wanted me to file them a little. The cat might be metrosexual.

Since he's not shuffling off to Buffalo, any takers?

Welcome to the farm!! Things are slightly off kilter here. It explains a lot about me.

My Poppy. He hobbled right up to the table to cut the turkey. No stinkin' walker will slow this guy down! Pooh King was, of course, on guard just in case the old man took a fall. Not that he was going to be able to help The Oldest One, but he was going to make sure that turkey didn't go to waste. What a considerate dog.
They both took a moment to pose, then it was back to the turkey work! There they are. The holiday trifecta. L to R: Gram (the self-proclaimed Ancient One), my Pop (the Oldest One), and Ma King (the Old One). We all like to help Dad by telling him what to do. He appreciates it. No, really, he does.

When you leave the farm, the self-appointed departure committee sees you off. If you know the rules, you do a victory lap around the driveway loop blowing the horn and yelling whoooo-hoooo! It's just to make sure the departure committee knows how much fun you had.

Oh my god. Go here and look. It made me laugh too!

We love pie

My old man. He loves him some pie. When you tell him there's no pie left, he makes a face like this. It's kind of like the nanosecond before the Hulk starts turning green and tearing his shirt off.

The true story is there were two pies... one cherry and one apple-cranberry. With two pies and 3 people, we never ran out of pie. I gave it a valiant effort, though. Both pies were delicious. I should know. I ate a lot of pie last weekend!
This is how the Big Guy looks when he's happily resting with a piece of pie in his hand. It makes his new hip feel better to have pie.
Pie makes us all happy.

I made it! It was a long drive (thanks to a backup on I-85) but the sky was blue, and the iPod full of good tunes, so all in all it was an easy drive.

Upon arriving in Farmville, I headed to Wally-world to pick up some groceries (sad but true, WalMart has about the best selection of stuff in town). Tomorrow is Metal Head's birthday, so we're having a potluck. She doesn't try new things. Seriously. Nothing new passes the girl's lips. So she made a list of acceptable foods for the potluck... mashed potatoes, chicken, mac & cheese, white cake with white frosting... I signed up for Pepsi and Mountain Dew. Now, Mom gave me a great recipe for a salad over the weekend, so I'm making that too. Not that Metal Head will try it, but everyone else will. I dutifully took my list to WalMart and picked up all the essential ingredients for the salad. Got home and realized I didn't get the soda. I guess I'll be hitting the store again tomorrow before noon.

An important lesson learned today? A) I should make lists... one would have kept me from leaving my coat at home, and I wouldn't have forgotten the soda, and B) I can run on the fankle! My groceries were loaded on the conveyer belt when I realized that my wallet was still in the car. Shock and horror! So I run out and grab it. Do you get it people? I ran! Since running is dangerous, I'm amazed I wasn't hit by a car or something. Of course, the poor guy behind me is left staring at my empty basket, purse still in it (what was he going to steal? It's not like there was a wallet there), and promising the cashier lady that I said I'd be back. Come to think of it, though, that would be a good WalMart prank... load up the conveyer and run.

Add it to the list.

Pics and stories from the feast will be posted tomorrow!

I have not died of a tryptophan overdose. I have attempted to eat an entire turkey, a bowl of mashed potatoes bigger than my head, 6 pounds of stuffing, a vat of gravy, and two pies. Got to take one for the team. More tomorrow night when I'm back to my abode and have loaded pictures. Aaaahhh, Thanksgiving. I heart this holiday.

These are my new pink striped furry socks from my secret santa. I feel quite like a muppet! These socks, a movie, and a glass of cabernet make for a good pre-Thanksgiving night. I'll be going to see the parental unit in the morning. Until then it's wine, movies and laundry. Whoo hoo I'm an exciting girl!
Here's Diego giving me kisses. It is quite possible that he will be going to live in Buffalo with a cast of characters that will keep him company. For now, he is a happy Virginia house cat. Paper Boy pointed out that I could just run an ad in the local paper and not have to worry about taking a cat to western New York. I said, what the hell's the point of that? That's good blog material, people. Great potential for blog-worthy adventures. And no, that is not a goiter on my neck. I repeat, that is not a goiter.
Oz likes him, but isn't quite sure what to do with him. Not big enough to attack like she does the dog, not small enough to bat around like a mouse. Diego takes it all in good humor. Oz typically walks over, bats him right in the head, and walks away. It's as if she's reminding him that she's the lady of the house and he'd do well to remember it. He just looks at her like "What? I'm just here for the food and lovin."

He's sooooooooo not phased by Pooh King. In fact, Pooh worries about the cat constantly. It's because he's new. He worries a little about new things. He's me in a dog suit. No matter where Diego goes, Pooh goes and lays down by him. If the cats try to play, Pooh whines to alert me that there might be trouble afoot.

Happy Thanksgiving, Bloggerville. Safe travels to everyone on the move. Keep an eye out for me and Tough Lucy Dodge. I'll have a cat, a dog, and some fabulous shoes in tow!

So I know there's not really anything funny about burying a cat. Buuuuutttt, you have to remember that I 'm the girl who makes fun of her patients. Please understand the morbid humor in the conversation that follows...

TK as KD (friend who came to bury the dumpster kitten) reaches into the box to get Splat's body out of the secret hiding place: Careful KD, she's heavier than you think... and she's stretched out.

KD: Wow, she is big. That kind of changes the dimensions of the hole I just dug.

(TK is able to stop crying and lets go a little giggle.)

KD as she wraps Splat's body in a burial towel she brought with her: Do you want to see her again?

TK: Is she still dead? Then no.

Not so easy at the time, but now that I look back on it, kind of funny. Like funny-in-the-way-that-makes-others-uncomfortable kind of way.

Interstate cat...

Is he about to shuffle off to Buffalo?

He likes me!

He really, really likes me! Again, I heart the CEO. He has written the Official Serious Totally Objective Absolutely Unauthorized Review of my blog. He's a good egg.

And now, more of the cute, free kitten. He's clearly too uncomfortable in the house. And I don't know if he will ever settle down around the dog. Maybe he'll like it better in Connecticut. Not that there's any pressure. See you soon.

Shhhhhhhhhh...

Anyone feel up to a road trip to Connecticut?

It was too easy...

Mullet hunting at a country music concert. Really, it was way too easy. Here's one from the dance floor. There was so much good people-watching to do (and so much hideous hair) that I didn't bother taking pics of the other 300+ mullets in attendance. The place? Cattle Annie's. KD and I went to see Craig Morgan, who I love. Well, it didn't work out quite the way we planned since he didn't go on until 10pm (instead of 8, like it was listed) thanks to a 1.5 hour performance by the opening band (decent but not great). We only got to see Craig for 1 hour before splitting back to Farmville. Of course, the one guy I danced with was FROM Farmville! Yikes. I'll be avoiding construction sites for a while. The good news? The fankle tolerated 3" heels for the night. Can you feel the fankle love?

This guy used the girl's butt for a beer holder. I swear, during half of the dance he had the bottle resting right along her crack. KD about peed herself.

KD and I had a long conversation about every pot having a lid. Sometimes I see really hideous people being all in love and I think, "What the hell is wrong with me?" I don't know whether to feel good because obviously, the pot found its lid, or to feel horrible because if hideous people can find love, there must be something unfixably wrong with me. The conversation ended with me yelling "I'm a great pot, damnit! Where the hell's my lid!?!?!" I'm very cool. Then we get to the concert and some guy gets on stage and proposes to his girlfriend. One less lid on the market. This is my "WTF!!!" fake smile. (Please note my newly cut and colored hair.)

Sunday morning

I woke up with Diego (dumpster cat) asleep on the small of my back, and Oz (previously a dumpster cat) asleep on my legs. Pooh King, as always, was holding down his side of the bed on his own blanket.

So I got up and fed the cats. Just as I was leashing the dog I saw it. There was someone on my porch. Holy shit. There's a shadow on the other side of my blinds. Scared the crap out of me. I kept tight to the wall and crept over to see what the hell was going on. I mean, nobody would really want to steal the boxes out of my storage closet, would they? Gasp! Maybe they're after my chairs!

I peek out, and it's KD, my friend/bosslady. I walk out with Pooh King and she hands me a piece of paper:

"Friends don't let friends bury dumpster kittens."

She brought a shovel, had dug a hole, and was taking my dumpster kitten from her hiding place to be buried. (I can't explain how it's possible for WalMart to be sold out of shovels, but it was, so the kitten burial had to wait until today.)

Crying is a rough way to start the day, but having KD there to help softened the blow. I don't know how to thank the universe for giving me the right people at the right time. But thank you.

I heart the CEO. He sent me this. Because my cat is a ninja.

Free to a good home

One completely adorable, charming, loving male cat. Less than one year old.
Gets along well with other cats. In fact, he doesn't even really care about them. (I know, he's been in my house with my cat... shhhh, don't tell Mom.)
Proof.
His sister was hit and killed on the road last night. (I'm very, very, very sad about this.)
He's all alone now and needs more love. I will pay for his shots and have him neutered. Hell, I'll even deliver him. He's a very good boy.

In the future, I will refrain from naming anything "Splat". It was for the pumpkin colored splat of hair on her head. It turns out, it was a very unfortunate name. Excuse me, I have to go buy a shovel now.

I'm missing my girlfriends tonight. Hope to see you all soon!

I'm taking Baker's suggestion and putting a "Funniest Stuff Ever" section on the side bar. Would you help me? If you've been keeping up, or have perused the archives, would you let me know what you think some of the funnier posts are? The ones that will let people know I'm one of the cool kids when they first check in. Thanks!

The King returns

The Big Guy has returned home! Dad made it through the surgery with flying colors. He ran one quart low on blood (as of last night) and was able to get a refill from his own previously-donated stock at the blood bank. A slight fever threatened to keep him in the hospital a little longer, but he shook it off, rubbed some dirt on it, and was carted home today by d'mama.

Here's the funny (or not so funny, depending on your point of view) conversation I had with the family last night...


ring, ring
Dad: Hello (in a very testy voice)
T: Hi Poppy! How are you doing tonight? Did they hang your blood yet?
Dad: Yep, and I just ripped my IV out trying to answer the phone. (still testy)
T: Uh-oh. You'd better call the nurse right away!
Dad: I already hit the button.
T: Sorry Poppy, I'll call you later. Love you, bye.
Dad: Love you too.

ring, ring
Mom: Hello, honey. (god bless the caller ID on cell phones.)
T: I broke Dad.
Mom: What?
T: I broke Dad.
Mom: I think you need to explain
T: restates story above.
Mom: Oh shit. They had a terrible time getting that IV in. They had to stick him over and over, that's why it took so long to hang his blood. A nurse had to come up from the ER finally to get it done.
T: Crap. I screwed that up.

ring, ring
Dad: Hello (still a little testy)
T: Did they get your blood restarted?
Dad: Yea, I didn't pull the needle out, just unplugged it. But it got blood everywhere so they had to change my whole bed.
T: Sorry about that. Are you doing okay now?
Dad: Yep. I'm watching CSI.
T: Okay, I'll talk to you tomorrow then. Love you, bye. (All who know the Big Guy know not to mess with CSI.)

So today he got to roll home, only to find out that the only Home Health agency that will take his insurance can't start him until after Thanksgiving. WHAAAAA? How was that not set up before he left the hospital? Someone's discharge planner's going to eat it tomorrow. So I'm off to draw and scan some exercises for the Big Guy to do until they figure out what's going to happen.

Thanks to all of you (especially you, CEO) for checking in on him!

Reviewed...

So a while back (more than a month or so) I submitted my blog to be reviewed at Ask and Ye Shall Receive. I did it after Miss Britt had (for her previous site). Figured I could get some feedback from someone who doesn't know me. It's a completely self-serving "ooh, ooh, like me!" desire for feedback. Hopefully positive feed back. (Quick, go read it, then come back.)

So, maybe not so much. I mean, she didn't despise me, but it definitely wasn't love, either. Maybe it would have been better if she hadn't lost a day due to a hangover. Or, maybe she would have torn a new hole in me instead of giving me a flaming finger for having the auto-play thing on my blog. I guess having a standard template isn't all the rage. Whatever. I say, it's my blog and you people read it, so it must be okay. As Amanda pointed out, you have a mute button if you don't like the music. And as I'll point out, there's a big red X up there in the corner if you hate it. Maybe I should just quit pimping myself out.

I think I might need to add a section to the side bar. You see, my daily posts aren't always funny. Not every day in my life is exciting. If someone meanders over here from another site on one of my average days, they might not understand why people keep tuning in. I mean, who didn't like the story of my bro's cell phone? Or when I introduced the new whipping boy? What about when I was locked in the office? And we'll go way back (before most of you were even here) for how the post office stole Christmas. No wonder she didn't love me. She didn't see this stuff. And it's in there, it's quality stuff, it's just not an every day thing.

Hmmmm, maybe I'll try to get reviewed by someone else who will love me more. Or maybe I'll just keep getting my lovin' from all of you. Besides, you're the ones who count. Aaawwww, I think I just made myself throw up a little bit.

Drill press jewelry

Today, a patient told me she makes jewelry.

T: Whaaaa? Jewelry? I love jewelry. Tell me more.

Patient: Well, I collect the tabs from cans. Like cans of soda, beer, whatever.

T: Wow, that must be interesting. What kinds of things do you make?

Patient: Belts, earrings, bracelets... things like that. Yesterday I got a drill press.

T: Really? How does a drill press fit into jewelry making? (especially since soda tabs already have holes in them.)

Patient: I just needed one.

T: Okay.

Hot Hot Hot - Buster Poindexter

The theme song for Jamaica!!!

I can't look pretty in Jamaica

"WHY ISN'T THE AIR ON? PUUUUUUUUSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHH THE BUUUUUUUUTTOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNN!!!!!"

That was the most frequently uttered statement during our time in Jamaica. That button on the right? That's THE button. The button to the air conditioner. A paltry little air conditioner. An air conditioner that can BARELY blow cool air, none the less condition an entire room. But that's all we had. And it was hooked into a circuit that was only complete with the door closed. So, if we opened the door, the circuit was broken, and the air turned off. Read as, there is no way to run the air conditioning while we're gone. So every time we come out of the 90+ degree 90% humidity Jamaican fire pit (aka, outside) there was basically a girl on girl wrestling match to hit that freakin' button and lay in the spot the air blew on.

That's Kathy, demonstrating how to hit the button. Kathy was also the one that always asked "Why isn't the air on?" as soon as she walked in the door. I, being Captain Obvious and all, would start to explain it. But really, all we did was immediately run to the wall and hit the button again.

Staci, lying in the cool spot... which, by the way, is also under the ceiling fan.

Our room... Staci and Kathy were on the big bed, and I took the twin. Every night I offered to switch since Staci is a light sleeper, and Kathy wanted to spoon or kick her, depending on her mood. Thank god they never took me up on it.

We decided, in the end, that it took something big (our friend's wedding) to get us to Jamaica... and that it will take something bigger to get us back to the sweaty, hot, sticky, humid, godforsaken island where white girls can't look pretty.

It was rather like living on an episode of Lost, with the button-pushing and all.

Coming soon...

Coming soon to a blog near you...



The story of "PUSH THE BUTTON!!!!!" and how I really feel about Jamaica. (Pssstttt... if you absolutely love Jamaica, you might need to skip this one to maintain our friendship.)

I thought I was gonna win...

So my friend/bosslady, Katie, and I went to a psychic festival yesterday. I had my tarot cards read. Very interesting stuff... it seems that travel is BLOCKING my independence. WHHHAAAA? But I digress. At one of the booths was a massage therapist. And I thought she had a mullet.

Really, I hadn't seen anything this good since the Five Counties Fair.

Exhibit A:

Then, I went around back to get a second shot, and realized it was not a mullet at all. This lady has reins (like from a horse's bridle) growing out the back of her head. A reverse mohawked-mullet type thing.
Exhibit B:

Then we sent young Hannah climbing like a spider monkey up the rockwall at Dick's Sporting Goods. That girl is tough!!!

A little victory shot!

My favorite scene of the day? This jackass on a motorcycle who did the "Ride the bumper" game for many miles, passed us, then slowed down. When we passed him, Katie realized he had a Hot Wheels helmet on. Minus 50 for being a jackass on a crotch rocket. Plus 100 for the Hot Wheels helmet. He just barely squeeked out of that one.

Happy Birthday, Poppy!!!!

Everybody wave "hi" to the Big Guy, and sing a verse of "Hey, Pe-pe Birdlegs!" And if you don't know "Hey, Pe-pe Birdlegs" then you haven't known me too long. Or at least not at your last birthday. Then, if you would, keep him in your thoughts on Monday when he goes to get that creaky right hip replaced. He'll be back on the John Deere in no time, I'm sure!

Happy Birthday Pop.

Hop on Pop.

That's a book by Dr. Seuss.

I betcha didn't know that.

Who spent the day in the sun? I did! I did!
The restaurant at the Rock House.

Interesting

What American accent do you have? Your Result: The Inland North You may think you speak "Standard English straight out of the dictionary" but when you step away from the Great Lakes you get asked annoying questions like "Are you from Wisconsin?" or "Are you from Chicago?" Chances are you call carbonated drinks "pop."
The Midland
The Northeast
The South
Philadelphia
North Central
The West
Boston
What American accent do you have? Take More Quizzes

Rain storm over Montego Bay

Who knew they made Red Stripe Light?

Finally at the Rock House pool!

I was a giant sweatball b/c the bus driver left my bag at a different hotel, so I couldn't get out of my khakis. Yikes! Little did I know, I would never stop sweating, regardless of what I wore.