So, Tuesday was MetalHead's birthday, and since I'm cool and love birthdays, I made her a marble cake with peanut butter chocolate frosting. Made it with my own two hands, I did. On my way back from fighting the good fight, I swung by my apartment and picked up the cake (made fresh that morning, I forgot to say). I also had to drop into CVS to pick up a card and a gift bag. Good thing fightin' the law didn't take longer.

I literally ran into CVS, grabbed a "You're 30, life is practically over" style card, a gift bag, and some tissue paper in which to tuck MetalHead's gift. Mission accomplished in less than 3 minutes. I got up to the counter, and I met Bernice. My life would never be the same.

First off, there were two women behind the counter. We'll be calling them Sophie and Bernice. Sophie is a mid-50's Jewish-ethnic-looking white lady. Bernice is late-70's black lady with a voice Tyler Perry would be proud of. Really, imagine every stereotypical voice in "The Nutty Professor" and you can practically hear Bernice.

Sophie says something about how she needs to leave in a few minutes to have a cat-scan of her sinuses, and the following scene plays out.

B: A what?!?! A cat scan of your cat? Who does a cat scan of a cat?
S: No, Bernice, a cat scan of my sinuses to figure out why I can't breathe right.
B: Well, let me tell you what happened to me! I went to the doctor last week for my annual and pap smear...
(I look at Sophie, she looks at me. I can't believe this woman just said pap smear at the top of her lungs in CVS.)
B: And I got ready, you know, cleaned all my stuff up... (During this, Bernice is squatted down, demonstrating how she cleaned her stuff up for the doctor... It wasn't pretty people. I can't even describe the look on Sophie's face.) So I got in there and got all ready. You know, I have to lay all funny up in the stirrups 'cause my legs don't bend like that anymore. Then the doctor comes in and tells me he can't do my pap smear because my blood pressure's too high. So there I am, legs all up in the air (again, trying to demonstrate) and he says even though he's not going to look in the front, he needs to take a peep in the back!!!!

I could no longer contain myself. With change in hand, I ran for the door. Bernice wasn't done with the story yet, and I'm pretty sure Sophie's jaw had not elevated from the floor since she heard the word pap smear. There was a man hiding two rows back trying to wait the story out before he had to hand Bernice money... what, with her demonstrating cleaning her "stuff" up and all.

I want to paint my bathroom floor like this, then invite M@ and a big bag of weed over. I bet I could laugh for hours.

I know, I know. None of you, VJ especially, think it was worth my time to go to court. Let me tell you, folks, it was.

First off, my ticket went from $400+ with points to $126 with no points on my license. My insurance rate won't change now. The speed zone on the ticket was wrong, and Trooper Witt had to say so. It was great. But really? I'm almost a little sorry I didn't do anything else along with speeding. I mean, I saw a 16 year old get a court-appointed attorney to defend him against the charges of a) wreckless driving, b) driving with a suspended license, c) possession of marijuana, and d) carrying a concealed weapon. I mean, really, I was the only person who was JUST speeding. They should have given me a medal and let me walk. But I'm happy with not going to traffic school. I'm schmuck enough, I don't need to sit in a room with a lot more.

So I wrote my check, set the cruise control, and did the speed limit all the way home. I dropped into CVS to pick up a card and wrapping paper for MetalHead's birthday and heard/saw a story that has to be saved for tomorrow. You should prepare yourselves... it has to do with a 70-something black lady and a gynecologist. I almost died. Seriously.

9:30 am, Tuesday, November 27, 2007. Me, a judge, a court of law.

Bring it.

Pie has a home!

Since Plan A didn't work out, I've resorted to Plan B. What is Plan B? Well, pimping kittens, of course, while I try to find another place to take them.

So, last night I'm walking into the building and my next door neighbor says something about wanting pussy. I yelled "SOLD!" and threw a kitten at him.

Just kidding. My next door neighbor is a very nice man and doesn't have any pets. He said he'd been thinking quite a bit lately about getting a cat, as that would provide him with some company and suit his lifestyle. He walked into the apartment, I opened the kitten door, and all the kittens just stared. (Note I said stared, not ran away and hid... Progress!) Then Pie walked right up to him, crawled onto his knee and started licking his hand. "I think he picks me," says neighbor guy. Ummm, yep.

So, Pie's name will now be Pi, and (when possible) written with the mathematical symbol. Pretty creative I say. And he's going to live right next door, so I can still check in on him.

Hooray!

2 minutes of love...

So, I've been calling my upstairs neighbor "2 Minute Man." Why 2 Minute Man? Oh, people, really. It's not that hard. I have been keeping track. At best, that guy's makin' love, makin' love, makin' love for 2 minutes. 'Cause 2 minutes in heaven is better than 1 minute in heaven. It's like jackrabbit sex. It should be outlawed. Amanda pointed out that 2 minutes of jackrabbit sex is probably better than 10 hours of elephant love. She's probably right. I mean, have you heard elephants trumpet? That would keep me up all night.

But I digress. As of today, I will no longer be calling him 2 Minute Man. Why? Not because it's gotten better than 2 minutes, I tell you. No. No, he won't be 2 Minute Man anymore because today I saw him walk around his truck carrying a PISTOL. And when I say pistol, I don't mean his wang, I mean a handgun. Now, the guy's in the military, but I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to just carry your gun around at your apartment complex.

No, the day of 2 Minute Man is gone. Now he's "Saturday Night Special."

My kittens are so cute, and so friendly now, and so ready for new homes. Except the Southside SPCA won't take them because they're still over run with kittens. "Maybe we could help you after Christmas. We can't save every animal in Southside, Virginia."

Um, no, my kittens need homes now.

Happy Turkey Day! Bawk bawk!!!!!!



Also, Hey Peppy Birdlegs to Other Goose! Happy Birthday Mitzi!!!!

The champagne reception starts in 38 minutes, and where am I? I'm belly up on my couch, nursing a very bad head-is-turning-into-chest cold. For only the 3rd time in my working career, yesterday I went home early due to illness. My head was made of concrete, and I could barely stay awake for the amount of medication coursing through my veins.

Today I awoke feeling horrible, but it rapidly improved. Now I don't have concrete in my head, just a lot of congestion and a case of constant sniffling. I have started to cough, and though it is dry, it's painful. I hope by tomorrow I'm able to taste my favorite food holiday. I figure that although I'm feeling better today, nobody wants to sit next to the girl who is sniffling, coughing, and blowing her way through dinner. I am not bringing sexy back.

For tonight, I'm going to lay low. I have a second try at my first date with Al Gore scheduled. Really, I'm going to try, but if we don't hit it off better tonight, we're breaking up. He doesn't have to worry about his return trip, though. Netflix handles the postage.

Super Sucks.

Have I mentioned that the awesome bosslady, KD, resigned last month? I don't blame her, and likely would have done the same if in her shoes. The hospital administration has pretty systematically orchestrated her having no other option by closing doors in her face after having her jump through hoops trying to get through. Anyway, on Thursday we learned that the hospital has hired a 3rd party contract agency to take over the rehab services. Come January 1, if I stay at my current position, I won't be working for the small community not-for-profit job I was recruited to... I'll be working for the man. The money-grubbing corporate man. Or, I can go work for the man somewhere else (I was offered a local job on Wednesday) and make way more money.

We'll see.

And you'll definitely be hearing more on this later.

The kittens are coming along very well. They still hiss on occassion, but all are lovin' the love. Stila is the prettiest (per popular vote) and the most haughty of the group. She's the diva. Today Pie found his motor, and uses it immediately upon being held. Sweetpea and Otis are content to be held, but no purring so far. Oh, and I hope to have trapped 3 more by tomorrow night. They're coming out of the dumpster at the hospital. Don't you judge me. (By the way, CT Amy~ these are most likely Fat Louie's at-least-half-siblings. You really should think about it!)

Anyway, I've been invited to a very fantastic-sounding Thanksgiving dinner on Wednesday. Starts with champagne, ends with pie. Who can beat that?

On Thursday, I've been invited to my favorite boy's family post-Thanksgiving-dinner-leftover-feast-a-thon. I'm totally stoked... and a little neurotic. I mean, really, what do you wear to such an event?

Now, I'm off to have a date with Al Gore, where I'm sure to have mixed feelings about still owning a gas-guzzling V8 after purchasing George Jetson. I'm pretty sure he's judging me.

OTIS! Wait 'till Otis sees us! Otis is gonna loooooooooooove us!!!! (Poorly adapted to writing from the fine major motion picture, Animal House.)

Plus 10 to my jackass brother who called in with his suggestion, seeing as it doesn't do it justice to write it.

Otis it is. And I think he likes it.

Okay, I have 3 out of 4 kittens named. Go down here (or two posts back, whichever) to see them. Sweetpea, Pie, Stila, and... I need a name for the tiger boy. He's the hissiest of the babies, but once I pick him up he just melts. I think maybe he needs an old man name, you know, crunchy on the outside but full of marshmallowy goodness on the inside.

As for the others...
Sweetpea: Such a sweet face, and truly the most mellow of the babies. She's a sweetie!
Pie: Once again, a little crusty around the edges, but sweet-sweet goodness on the inside.
Stila: Looks like she has gray eyeliner around her eyes. She's a little bit of a diva, but loves to be snuggled... just don't tell anyone.

So help me out. Name the wild tiger boy.

Strangely, having 4 kittens isn't making my life less busy. I know, shocking.

Fluffy was released into the wild this morning after making it perfectly clear that, in fact, she did not appreciate her hysterectomy and vaccinations. Since the weather was good today and she seemed to be perfectly capable of defending herself, I decided to decrease the stress on both of us and set her free. I'm pretty sure she gave me the finger as she ran into the woods.

The kittens? O.M.G. They are too freakin' cute. I have them in the XL crate with toys, a bed, a blanket, and a litter box. Holy cow can 4 kittens fill a litter box fast! I'm cleaning that bad-boy twice a day. The crate is in the 2nd bathroom now with the exhaust fan running. And that's a necessity. I have some waterless bath cloths to clean them with tonight ('cause let's be serious, I'm not throwing half-wild kittens into the water!) to try to cut down on the storm-drain/dumpster smell. I've been handling them several times a day, hugging and kissing them and calling them George, and they're slowly improving. After a $112 Fluffy vet bill, though, I've developed a new plan for the kittens. I'm going to get them completely handleable, then take them to a no-kill shelter. I'll pay whatever "surrender" fee is involved, but I can't drop $500 in kittens to worry myself sick over getting them homes, and probably bite the cost of their shots and sterilization. But it will be a no-kill shelter, and they are so damn cute they won't have a problem being adopted by Christmas.

In related news, Pooh King made a routine visit to the vet to have his thyroid levels drawn. He has gained back the weight he lost after his meds were increased in Nebraska. So, a big, fat chunk of change later, my dog's groceries and meds cost almost as much as mine. Son of a gun! But, since he has to live forever, I guess I'll just get another job... or at least I won't be traveling for a vacation any time soon!

Okay, now, off to fold the laundry that's been clean-but-not-folded-and-put-away for 3 days. I sucketh.

9:45 update: The kittens now smell of relaxing lavendar, and my clothes still aren't folded. Don't you judge me.

The be-be's...

Newly named! On the left is Sweetpea, peeking from behind the pole is Pie, on the right is Stila, and in front, king of the hiss-n-spit, is the only one without a name. Help me out, people!


Fluffy's going to get spayed in the morning... She seems to be totally okay with it, and is okay with being in a pen next to her babies tonight. Now I have to take out her food and water so Doc Wilson can work his magic at 8am. Two of the four kittens are definitely handleable, and I suppose the other two will be soon. Fluffy will spend a few days in the kennel in the apartment before being set free on Saturday (most likely). This way she can live a happy feral life without having 25 million (or more) feral kittens. I'm pimping the kittens (at work) like they're crack-rocks, and I think already I have the potential of a few takers. I don't know how cats are wired, but in less than 24 hours, ALL of them are 100% litter box trained. It's amazing, really.

While I haven't had pictures of Fat Louie recently (ahem, Amy!), word on the street is that he's living happily amongst the CT Norton clan. He gets dressed up in doll clothes and pushed around in a carriage, and likes to go outside with his dog-brother, Murphy. He's living happily ever after!

Oh, and it's Hey Peppy Birdlegs time for my Poppy.

Now, everyone sing with me...

Crazy cat lady

The crazy cat lady rides again. Seriously. If you thought Fat Louie was the end of the cycle, you really don't know me.

Today I acquired one feral mama cat and her 4 kittens (about 8 weeks old). The first kitten was caught bare-handed... well, sweater-handed anyway. 2nd kitten was taken with the trap I purchased from the Tractor Supply Store after kitten #1. A "medium" dog training crate makes for a good pen for 2 kittens. When I got back from dinner with Bob (my Sunday evening ritual, even when Dianne's out of town) the mama, "Fluffy", was in the trap, and some kindly neighbor had managed to shove the other 2 kittens in with her. There's no way that all 3 had gotten into the trap (a rabbit trap, by the way) without a little help. It was a really tight squeeze! And it was a tight squeeze into that dog crate.

Sooooooo, another trip to Wally World later, I am the owner of an XL dog crate, a small litter pan, and a big bag of Kitten Chow. Pooh King has looked at me like I'm a total wacko, and Oz is shaking her head in disbelief.

Fluffy and the gang seem to be settling in. Fluffy's still very unsettled, but has calmed down a good bit. 2 of the kittens (ironically, the 2 that were shoved into the trap with mama) seem to be quite touchable, and 2 hiss and jump every time I get too close. My plan is to have Fluffy spayed and release her back to her feral lifestyle. I know she is very unlikely to be a domestic cat, so it's best that she at least not continue overpopulating the cat world. The kittens are adorable and should be easily "homed"... I'd say rehomed, but they were living in a storm drain, which I don't really consider a home.

Anyway, pictures to come. Until then, any takers?

Yes, yes, moppets, you've been very patient. Very patient indeed.

And now, here's the rest of the story...

When I was in FarmVegas before, I had this great patient who spent several months with us rehabing his shoulder. We'll be calling him JJ. Anyway, he's a bit older than my parents, so he had a bit of a "dad" influence to him... always giving me advice, telling me to be careful, etc. Before I left, JJ mentioned that he had a friend that he would like to set me up with. I politely declined with the excuse that I was inevitably leaving the area and wasn't very interested in starting something just before I left. I also politely declined to mention that I wasn't very interested in a man in his mid 50's. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but 2+ decades is a big spread. So, no match-making was done.

After I left for NE, JJ emailed me his good luck wishes. After I decided to come back to FarmVegas, he reminded me he wanted to set me up with someone. I wrote back and told him not to get the cart ahead of the horse. The awesome former-bosslady, KD, told JJ that she didn't think I was a "set-up" kind of girl. Apparently, this all fell on deaf ears.

I had donated some $$ to the Habitat for Humanity house that was being built in Farmville, and JJ is very involved with that group. He invited me over to see the finished product last week, and to meet some of the volunteers and the family who was getting the house.

I showed up, and lo and behold, there was JJ and one volunteer. A male volunteer. In his mid 50's. And not a Robert Redford 50's. The guy's more like a mid 50's Santa Claus with more pepper than salt in the beard. And bad teeth. (Bless his heart, he's never heard of a dentist.) I was given a brief tour of the house, after which JJ says "Okay, I've got to run" and splits, leaving me with his buddy.

Akward.

Buddy-boy comes over to look at my new car and starts chatting me up. "JJ knows I'm not seeing anyone, and he just kept talking about how great you are. I think he's trying to set us up." Um, yeah, he's a rocket-scientist, too. I'm trying to get in the car and drive away asap. "Maybe I can get your number at the Dedication Ceremony on Sunday." Ummm, probably not... especially since there was no way in hell I was going at that point. I got in George Jetson and got the hell out of there. I was not above running over Buddy-boy if necessary.

Thankfully, Dianne provided me with the perfect excuse to not go on Sunday, since it was a perfect day for riding horses. Good ol' Jimbo the Fat Boy. He's really all the excuse a girl needs!

And if by "Tuesday", you thought I meant "Wednesday", you were right. You win a prize. And the prize is this video, which, ironically, is about Wednesday.

Go watch this. Seriously.

In continuing the great apartment decorating drama, I've ordered some prints from Brian Neely. They're so yummy. I strongly recommend you go check out his work (or just go buy some at his online shop). For the living room I've ordered 3 prints from his Silk Road collection to put above the big red plate. I am connected to Brian in a rather Ferris Beuller-ish kind of way. He's the husband of the sister of my best bud Peggy's husband. Did you all follow that?

Now, Diva Eva mentioned that I hadn't posted any dating horror stories lately. Granted, I have been busy playing volleyball and yoga-ing in addition to all of my efforts at settling in, and on top of working about 46 hours per week. Not to worry, though, I'm sitting on a good one. Seriously. Hang in there until Tuesday and you'll hear the most recent tale of hijinx and hilarity.

Don't forget that the clocks went back an hour last night!!!!

You certainly don't want to look silly being the person who shows up to, say, church, work, or a breakfast date an hour early!