Hot and Sticky

t's 95 degrees outside, and so of course my swamp cooler picked today to stop working. Well, wait...I'm lying. It works...the motor comes on, the fan blows...but the pump isn't working. So instead of nice, cool air flowing into the house, hot, dry Nevada air blasted through the house with glee.

I called the plumber, and he actually remembered me. He asked if I could wait until Monday. As I choked on my tongue, he said "Well, wait...it is pretty hot outside. We'll send someone over today." He took down my address and phone number, then said "Hang in there; we have a couple of people ahead of you."

That was four hours ago. I have not yet received a call, and the house is an oven (just call me Biscuit, butter me and eat me!). The cats are panting, and much too hot to bug one another. Big Chief does yell at me occasionally, though, asking me where that nice, cool air went to.

An hour ago, the regularly scheduled afternoon breeze started up, so I opened all the windows. However, unlike many afternoons, this time the breeze decided it was too tired to flow for long, and died down.

So here I am, hot, sticky and shiny, waiting for the phone to ring with the good news that the plumber is on the way. I'm glued to my chair, but not because I'm entertained. Because my pants are wet with sweat.

Aren't I attractive?

I could have...

Today I went walking with a friend. We normally walk at Rancho San Rafael, but decided to try Idylwild Park for a change of pace.

As I was driving to meet her, I thought again about how I haven't bumped into my old boss from Acme Consulting Company. And after I had that thought, another thought pushed itself to the surface: "Piepa, you've been thinking about this on and off for a week...you are about to bump into her. Somewhere. Some place. Get ready."

The next thing I knew, a great song came on the radio and I completely forgot to get ready to bump into her.

I parked, and soon after my friend pulled up. I wanted to go eastward, but she felt west was better, so off we went. About a half mile into the walk, I saw two women approaching us, and one of them looked really familiar.

Oh no. It couldn't be...could it? But it was. Thankfully, the path was really narrow, so I just continued my conversation with my friend as I moved to the right to get behind her so the ladies could pass on the left. I didn't look...just kept walking and talking.

I could feel her eyes on me, but she didn't say anything and in seconds we were out of eye sight of one another. When there was a lapse in the conversation about 10 minutes later, I told my friend about my feeling, and how I was pretty sure that was my old boss I passed. I said I didn't want to look too closely, but was pretty sure it was her.

We walked and walked and finally came to a turning around point. We headed east this time, and kept talking. Soon, though, I saw two ladies approaching us again, and I thought "Oh gawd...they turned around too..." This time the path was wider, so even though I kept my eyes on my friend during our conversation, I didn't have to move over.

My friend said "She was staring at you! It must have been her." I said "Ye gads...she is one person I had hoped never to bump into."

I could have said "Hi." I could have at least acknowledged that I knew her in a past life. But I didn't.

Strangely, I don't even feel badly about it...I just feel thankful that when it did happen, I was with a friend.

Ass Backwards

You know you're having a bad day when you go to the ladies room and discover that your underwear is on inside out...and has been all day long.

My Favorite Time of Year

It's August 1st, and tonight is the official pre-start of my favorite event in Reno: Hot August Nights. For many it's Artown, which goes on during the whole month of July. Now, I want to like Artown, I really do. I like to think of myself as an artsy person. But this year, just as last, I have plans to take full advantage of Artown, and I end up not having gone to one event.

That won't be true of Hot August Nights.

I love old cars. I suppose I get that from my dad, who was a mechanic. But just not a mechanic...he could see a car and know whether or not it was a 48 or 49 model. He knew the nuances and changes in cars through each incarnation. Probably not any more; most cars these days look the same, which I HATE. I despise how modern cars are so uniform in look and color and lack originality.

Tonight, though, I'll drive my rather ordinary looking car with vanity plates down to The Summit for the Show and Shine. I can't wait! I can't explain why, but I love the old cars. I have since I was a teen, and even though I don't know a Model T from a Cadillac, I am pulled to these events every year.

So, if you're in Reno and see a lone woman walking around admiring the cars with a look of lust on her face, that's me. Feel free to say hi, because you won't see me at an event again until next August!

A Night of Rest?

I was so looking forward to last night. It was my first night "in" in quite awhile. I had all kinds of plans...watch a few episodes of Big Love (from Netflix). Make a nice dinner. Catch up on some reading. Play with my new tarot cards. But of course, none of that came to fruition.

For one, I'm still getting used to my new hours. At my previous place of employment, I had flexible hours. However, at my new job it's strictly 8-5. So, after work I found myself with a "must do" errand, and by the time I found what I was looking for, and got home, it was after 6 p.m.

That nice dinner? Oh, I still made it...but it took so long to make that I actually had dinner while I was making it. So, after the dish was done baking, I slapped some aluminum foil on it and stuck it in the refrigerator for...tonight? No time. Tomorrow? Won't be home. Breakfast on Saturday? Perhaps.

When dinner was finished cooking, I sat down to watch Big Love. But wait...I couldn't relax. There was too much cat hair and too many cat toys around for it to be relaxing. So, I cleared all the toys off the floor, grabbed the vacuum and went at it.

Thirty minutes later, I thought I could finally relax. But then I remembered the reason for my errand: buying an answering machine so my phone wouldn't ring and ring and ring and ring when I wasn't able to answer it. So, I sat down and set the thing up. Thirty minutes later I thought it might be time to finally relax...

Of course I was wrong. One of the cats threw up, so I had to get off the couch to clean that up. By then, it was 9 p.m. and I was exhausted. I made sure the cats had food, water, and then I went off to bed.

I had hoped I would pass out...unfortunately, I got up three separate times last night. But that's another story for another time...

Guess I'll have to wait until next Wednesday to have another night of relaxation. Maybe next then I'll really be able to rest.

I Must Be Evil

About two weeks ago, I met a bunch of local bloggers from the singles site I belong to. I had a great time with everyone who showed up. However, I will admit that there were two guys to whom I found myself slightly attracted to. One was clearly in like with someone else at the event, and the other guy put me into the friend category.

Well, today I found out that the bloom is already off the new romance and this guy is back on the market. The minute I heard, I felt something move in my pants. Huh? What are my nether regions thinking? After all, this guy was going out with a kind of friend of mine.

Okay, so we're not close. And we only met each other once. But we have talked in the chat room and we do comment on each other's blogs, so it seems like we're friends. However, for all intents and purposes and of course, we are friends.

But are we the kind of friends who must honor the Girlfriend Law? Would it be okay for me to get involved with this guy? Or only my pants? Or neither?

I have no idea what the honorable thing to do is. I only know that my pants are kind of happy right now.

Roses and Wine

On Friday night, I received a dozen red roses. I know what you're thinking: "Piepa has someone on the hook." Well...I don't. But, since I'm an equal opportunity receiver, I'll take flowers from just about anyone who's willing to give them to me.

Unfortunately for me, my cats love roses so I had to bring them to work. And, once they were on my desk I had to field a bevy of questions ("Who are they from?") and also smile politely whenever someone said "Oh, you must have been a good girl this weekend." News flash: I'm always a good girl except when out on a date. Or driving a car.

I digress...

Flowers on my desk always cheer me up. Always. So much so that some weeks I'll forgo a grocery item or two so I can buy flowers instead. This week started out rather brutally, as I'm still in training and on Monday I had trouble "getting it" as they say. I hung in there as long as possible, and even though the flowers helped to take the edge off, I knew I needed wine that night to really relax me.

The good news: I was supposed to meet a bunch of my ex co-workers for free drinks at GSR. As soon as the whistle blew at 5 p.m., I was out like a light and headed for GSR. I kept thinking about how good it would be to sit down with old friends, talk about work, catch up on their lives, and drink free wine.

When I got to the 20 500 East Bar, I took a quick walk around and did not see any of my friends. Figuring I was the first one there, I saddled up to the bar to get my free drink. I think the bartender really hates giving out freebies, because he made me wait. And wait. And wait. I finally got my wine and snagged a table.

And waited some more. And some more. And some more.

Finally, I dialed up the co-workers for whom I had numbers. Lany: no answer. Carmen: no answer. Christine...wait, she wasn't going anyway, so I didn't call. Played my portable Yahtzee game. Still no friends. Had I been stood up?

After I finished my glass of wine, I decided to go home. The brave part of me wanted to go to the cafe and grab a bite. The lost soul part of me wanted to retreat to the safety of my home. The lost soul won, and home I went.

When I got home, I debated about opening up a bottle of wine. I bought an extraordinary wine from Cost Plus, and was saving it for a special occasion. Wasn't being depressed that my friends stood me up special? While I was debating this in my head, my phone rang.

I heard "Hey girlfriend..." and was instantly warmed by Lany's voice. Turns out I had the night wrong; our get-together isn't until next Monday night. Strangely, I felt instantly better knowing I was a bonehead, as it meant that I wasn't stood up. Or forgotten.

After the phone call the only thing I needed was some chamomile tea. I put the bottle of wine away for a special occasion...

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Well Groomed

I received a rather odd compliment from someone recently. He told me I was rather well groomed.

Now, like most girls I would hope to get compliments like "Gee you're hot" or "hubba hubba, I like your legs." And personally, I prefer compliments about my personality and/or how enjoyable I am to be around. So, being told I am well groomed, while obviously a compliment, has left me feeling completely flummoxed.

I suppose I should stop chewing on that and just enjoy it. Instead, I feel as if I must now work harder to become memorable for something other than my washing ritual and mad ironing skillz.

Claim Jumper Friends

If I've said it once, I've said it way too many times: Claim Jumper is probably my most favorite restaurant EVER. The reasons are varied...the service is almost always top notch, the food is plentiful and good, and I just like being there.

That said, my love of Claim Jumper is well known to those that know me and love me. And even those who don't love me. (But I won't focus on them now...) So, my boss, who won't be at work on my last day, took me to lunch today at Claim Jumper. He also invited Lany (my next-door cube neighbor) along.

These are two of my most favorite people at Acme Cardiac Safety Services. Mike was a great teacher, and really showed me the ropes when I first got to Covance. Lany also taught me a lot about how to succeed at my job. I'll be sad to leave them behind.

We had a nice time at Claim Jumper. We talked about work, people at work, next steps, the grief we felt over the lay off, cars, kittens, children, and the Independence Day. At the end of the meal, my boss insisted on buying me a brownie (something I normally don't indulge in, as Dr. Atkins would slap my hand if he knew what I was eating) to go. Frosted brownies are one of my favorite indulgences, so I was touched that he remembered and got me one.

I have two more days left at work: tomorrow and Monday. Today before I left, I packed some of my items up and as I placed them in a box I found myself tearing up. I wish I could have stayed at Acme. The people there were some of the best I'd ever worked with. I will really miss them (and my paycheck).

Hopefully I'll fit in at QuadNet and make new friends and be as highly esteemed as I am at Acme. I know one thing, though: Acme will always have a place in my heart, even after its doors are closed for good.

Sexy Red Shoes

Unlike most girls, I am not a shoe hound. I don't get excited about shoes, I don't spend much money on shoes, and I prefer flats to heels. Every once in awhile, though, I feel the need to get a little sexy with my footwear. Saturday was one of those days.

I have a few outfits which have been begging me to buy them a pair of red heeled sandals. So, feeling a bit restless and getting tired of hearing my outfits complain, I left the house Saturday afternoon to look for a pair. I only had forty minutes, so I went to my one of my favorite stores hoping I would find what I wanted.

I did.

Almost as soon as I walked in, I saw a pair of 3-inch red heeled strappy sandals. There was only one pair available...and they were a half size too small. I tried them on anyway, and they actually fit.

Wait. This was too good to be true. Not believing that they fit, I started walking up and down the aisle in the shoes, thinking that they would begin to hurt. They did not. A couple of women told me the shoes were sexy and that I should buy them. So I did.

I couldn't wait to wear them. On Monday, I pulled out one of my outfits and showed them the new shoes. My outfit was happy. I got ready for work, and on the way out the door I put on my new shoes. The total effect was marvelous.

But after 9 hours of work wearing those shoes, my feet started to cry. What looked like sexy straps to the average eye were actually small leather torture devices. I couldn't wait to take them off.

When I got home, I couldn't get them off fast enough. As soon as the shoes came off, I noticed my feet were bruised and chafed where the straps were. I soaked my feet in water, while Big Chief played on the edge of the tub.

Today my feet are not so sexy looking and still bear the marks of Monday's all-day torture session. It's been said that beauty hurts, and I have to agree.

It's back to Easy Spirits for me...at least until my feet heel and my outfits start whining at me again.

Californication

Has anyone out there seen this TV show yet? I just saw the first six episodes this weekend, thanks to Netflix. All I can say is "Whew...where's the cold shower?"

I rented it simply because, as a fan of the X-Files, I felt an unexplainable need to see David Duchovny play a part other than Mulder. I had no idea what the show was about...so imagine my surprise when I discovered the show seems to be about sex, sex, and more sex. And not just sex, but sex of many different varieties: The brown kind, the dominance kind, the awkward kind, and the regular kind.

I think somewhere in there the show is kind of about relationships and mid-life crisis, but it's hard to tell amidst all the sex and talk about sex and naked bits.

Still, I did enjoy the first six episodes and eagerly await the next six. After all, if you can't have it, watch it!

Morning Coffee

This morning started out pretty much like any other. The first alarm buzzed and I turned it off. The second alarm went off and I turned it off. A half hour later, Big Chief Many Toes decided to scream into my right ear canal, so I stumbled out of bed and headed for the kitchen, where I proceeded to make my morning cup of coffee.

A few short minutes later, I was curled up on the couch drinking my coffee while watching Big Chief run around the living room chasing all things visible and invisible. In-between sips, I rested the cup on my thigh while I petted my poor little asmathic Schmutzy.

At some point, I heard a noisy, slurping sound. "Gee, one of the cats is really enjoying their water" was my first thought. And then I saw Big Chief climbing up my curtains, and of course Schmutzy was right next to me...and then I realized that the slurping sounded awfully close...I turned to my coffee, and saw Purrscilla's little head bobbing up and down into my cup.

I figured there wasn't any use to stopping her now...so I just let her have a caffeine fix in peace. About five minutes later, a normally shy and skittish Purrscilla was running around the living room, teasing Big Chief, jumping on stray toys, and bouncing off walls. As for me, I tossed the coffee and headed for the shower while Purrscilla continued to run off her caffeine buzz in the living room.

A New Kind of Catnip

Every morning, I grab a plastic bag on my way to the litter pans. I then scoop out the unwanted items from the pans and throw them in the plastic bag. After this is done, I tie the bag closed, place the bag on the floor by the side door, with the intention of taking it outside to the garbage can on my way to work.

This morning my routine didn't vary. I cleaned out the litter pans, put the bag on the floor by the side door, and went into the bathroom to wash my hands. I then packed my lunch, got my stuff together, grabbed my keys and headed for the door.

I bent down to pick up the bag...but the bag wasn't there. Wait. I could have SWORN I cleaned out the litter pans...I run to the office. Yep. Litter plans are waste-free. I look in the office to see if I left the bag in there. Nope. Could I have taken it into the bathroom? Nope.

Hmmm...

Then I remember that I heard a strange rustling when I was washing my hands...almost like the sound of a plastic bag being played with by a cat. Or perhaps a kitten. "Big Chief!" No response. I start looking around for the bag (which you would think would be easy, since I have very little furniture). No bag. I look under the bed. One cat, no bag.

I look behind the washer and dryer. No bag. I look in my closet. No bag. I go back out to the front room and look around. Wait. There's a bulge underneath the slipcover of the couch. I move the slipcover and there it is...the bag of crap.

Big Chief was watching me, and as soon as I grabbed it, he thought it was play time again. He ran towards me just as I was lifting myself and the bag up. He jumped, with 12 front toes aimed at the bag. He missed and landed back on the ground.

I took the bag and did what I should have probably done in the first place: took it immediately outside to the garbage bin.

Now that I realize Big Chief thinks a bag full of crap is as much fun to play with as a catnip toy, I'll have to be more mindful of where I put the bag in the morning, lest it end up wedged in my couch again.

Martinis, Old Men and Confessions to the Boss

Much to my delight, GSR is having a special during the month of June at the 20 500 East bar: free drinks, including six different martinis, to ladies on Mon-Thurs nights.

My boss scheduled a ladies night for this past Wednesday. Originally five people RSVP'd, but you know how that goes...one backed out to have sex, another backed out because she couldn't get a babysitter, and then we were left with three (plus boss).

I was the first to arrive, and was surprised to see the bar was almost full. Thanks to local advertising, the word finally got out and the bar was overrun with women. I found a table that would seat all of us, and grabbed it. A waitress came over and took my order.

Next to arrive was my boss, and next my cube neighbor. No one else showed up. My boss ordered appetizers, and we all ordered martinis (me, one more, everyone else their first!).
Martinis seem to have a way of loosening lips. Before I knew it, my boss was telling us a funny drinking story about my cube-mate's boss. I spilled some of my own secrets, and then my boss spilled another one. By the time my boss and I had downed three martinis, the party was underway.

As soon as the free drinks hour ended, the cocktail waitresses literally disappeared. We hung out, as a "band" was setting up. (Said band consisted of one guy and many synthetic instruments.) We decided to see this guy perform, so we stayed.

The guy was actually pretty good. He started out with some swing music, and people got up on the dance floor and danced. By people, I mean senior citizens. After the second dance, a senior citizen approached our table and asked if one of us "ladies" would care to dance. We all said no, but my no was different. I said "Thanks, but I don't know how to swing." Wrong response, because he said he could teach me. Next thing I knew, Grandpa had grabbed my hand and pulled me to the dance floor.

I will admit, he was a good teacher. We danced the length of two songs, then he led me back to my table and grabbed my boss and dragged her to the dance floor. (Gramps was pretty strong.) She did a much better job than I did, but I guess that's why she gets paid the big bucks.

Strangely, the music man decided to transition from swing to Pink Floyd. The dance floor was totally empty...for about two minutes. Then an old couple courageously hit the dance floor and waltzed to Pink Floyd. It was mesmerizing to watch. (Well, keep in mind mesmerization was easy after a few martinis.)

After the Pink Floyd debacle, the performer decided it was time to get us all back on the dance floor. He asked for requests. I shouted "Disco!" while the rest of the crowd shouted "Country!" He pointed at me, laughed and said "Disco?" Then he played the opening bars of Play That Funky Music to tease me, then launched into some old Merle Haggerd song. DAMN HIM. The good news is that for the rest of the night he flirted with me, but I think only because I was the only one in the crowd to actually put money into his tip jar.

After exchanging several winks and teases for disco music, the AV system crapped out. Even a squad of four geeky AV guys (one was replete in full outback regalia... from khaki shorts to floppy hat) could not put it together again. That was our cue to leave.

Even though it was now ten p.m., my boss insisted on treating me to dinner at Fin Fish. Hey, who am I to deny the boss this great pleasure in watching me eat? So off to Fin Fish we went. I ordered the crab "cakes" (actually, it ended up being only one cake; apparently the menu had a typo), and she had tuna tartare. She offered to buy me a glass of wine, and I know this is so unlike me but I declined. I mean, it was now about 10:30, and if I had any hope of getting home in one piece the last thing I needed to do was down another glass of alcohol so close to the time I needed to get in my car and find my way home.

I couldn't believe how easy it was to talk to her...alone. It's usually pretty easy to talk and joke with the boss when everyone else is around, but when it's mano-a-mano it can be a bit intimidating.

When all was said and done, I finally got home around 11:30 p.m. Way too late, because I had a job interview the next day and a skills test to take. But that's a story for another day...

Real Girls Eat Meat

PETA is on the rampage again, this time slamming poor little Jessica Simpson for wearing a T-shirt with the saying "Real Girls Eat Meat" emblazoned on the front. I have to admit, I've never been a big fan of little Jess...that is, until today. Now I say "Rock on, blondie!"

Ya see, real girls do eat meat. I should know. I'm a real girl and yes, I eat meat. Pretty much every day. And you know, none of that sissy ground turkey for me. Nope. Hot dogs (Hebrew National, of course!), hamburgers, steak, and dare I say it, salami are consistently on my daily menus.

So grab a bottle of wine and a chunk of salami...I'll gladly meet you and show you how a real girl eats her meat!

The Pleasure of My Own Bed

I spearhead a group here in Reno made up of magical ladies over "a certain age." Last night we met at Rancho San Rafael park for a picnic and a walk around the labyrinth.

The weather was perfect. We spread out our blankets underneath the trees, placed all our food offerings in the center, and before eating, one of the ladies read to us a passage from the book "Simple Abundance" about Midsummer.

It was an enjoyable evening, but we felt incomplete in a sense as one of our members who had RSVP'd did not show up. We knew she had planned on joining us after her plane arrived, so at first we just thought she was late...then we realized she probably had jet lag and decided against a night out with friends.

We were half right...today I was greeted with an email from Marilen stating that she had come down with an awful cold, so was not able to make our get together last night. Then she said "So, I'm going to take a bath, put on some PJ's and take great pleasure in my own bed."

Ahhh...that sentence really hit home with me. There is nothing I like better than the pleasure of my own bed (and, of course pajamas and a bath!). Women's magazine after women's magazine constantly states the importance of making one's bedroom a haven. And even though my house is under furnished and still needs work, I have made every effort to make my bedroom a place I enjoy being. It's the only room in my house that is fully furnished.

I spent some extra money on a quality bed. I added luxurious sheets and down pillows, and a comforter that's both comfortable and beautiful. I keep the room picked up and clean. It's my haven.

I love the time I spend in my bed. Oh sure, you can insert all your own lurid reasons here as to why I love the pleasure of my own, but the truth is I love it simply because it is my own. It feels safe, it feels comfortable, and it feels welcoming.

It's one pleasure I wouldn't give away for anything in the world.

young@heart

Last week, a friend from work and I went to the Riverside to see young@heart. The movie is a documentary that takes place during a 7-week period in the lives of several of the members of the Young at Heart Chorus in New England.

The movie is both hilarious and touching.

While the chorus has many members, the documentary focused on just a few. I think I would have liked to have gotten to "know" more of the members, but I understand that focusing on only a few would translate into a tighter story.

After the movie, my friend and I went to Ultra Divine Lounge for a drink and some food. Normally we spend time after a movie catching up with one another. Not this time. Nope, this time we could only talk about the movie.

It was one of the most inspiring movies I've seen in ages. I loved watching these very senior senior citizens perform. But not only that, I loved seeing the vibrancy and joy they had in their later years. I also loved the openness in which they embraced songs that were new to them, like "Fix You" by Coldplay and "I want to be sedated" by the Ramones.

I hope that I'm still singing when I'm 83. And I hope that when you plug in your hearing aid, you can hear me. I'm sure I'll sound wonderful.

Too Good for TV

Yesterday, Adam Carolla had Larry Miller on his radio show (again...kind of getting tired of the dude, but whatev). I tuned in when they were in the middle of playing some sort of "pick between the two evils" game. The idea was this: Larry was to take a long road trip, and was to pick a passenger from two offered. Adam would outline these two fake people's personalities, and Larry had to pick one and give his reason why he picked that person over the other.

One of the choices was a guy who thought Face Off was the best movie ever or a guy who proclaimed loudly and proudly that he didn't own a TV. Larry picked the Face Off guy. His reason: at least he knew this guy liked something. He added that he never really trusted people who said they didn't own a TV and/or hadn't watched TV in ages. And this is where Adam Carolla then inserted his own wildly hilarious rant about the people who don't watch TV.

One of the things he said was you can't trust 'em. They're lying. Because, as you begin to peel the layers, you find that the person who says they don't watch TV do watch it. Supposedly occasionally. "Oh, I watch the news, and sometimes PBS. Oh and I like to watch the playoffs..." and, and, and... Before you know it, it turns out that the person actually does watch TV.

As for the person who doesn't own a TV, well probe enough and often times you'll find that person watches stuff online.

I agree with Adam Carolla: I do not trust people who deny they watch TV. They normally have this holier-than-thou attitude to begin with. The noises they make indicate that TV is of the devil. It's a time waster. It promotes violence. It (fill in the blank with the latest scourge to scour the earth). They then eventually turn the conversation back over to themselves. Since there is no TV in their life, they are more productive. Happier. Their minds are not polluted. They are free thinkers and out-of-the-box problem solvers. In other words, they are better than the rest of us who do watch TV.

Good for them.

I, too, was without a TV for approximately 6 years. I was in the Army, and there just wasn't time for TV. Not really. But I had no problem admitting that I missed it. Oh sure, my evenings were filled up easily. GI parties. Uniform pressings. Boot shinings. Letters to my parents (yes, the old fashioned way, using pen on paper). But sure, I missed my TV.

After several years without having a TV, one night I received a knock on my barrack's door. I opened it to find a guy I had only recently met holding a TV. He said "I cannot believe you don't have a TV! Here, take mine. I use my roommate's - his is in color!" He handed me his precious TV, and I don't believe I've been without one since.

I'm sure it is a time waster. But you know, some times I Iike to waste time (another not so popular past time that I am admitting to). After a day of listening to whining co-workers, finding a buttload of bills in my mailbox, and passing by 17 gas stations proudly displaying gas for $4.17 a gallon, I need to veg out. To waste some time.

Only, I don't actually think of it as time wasted. I think of it as time spent with some of my favorite Losties. Or finding out what Allison Dubois is dreaming about now. Or maybe I'm watching a story that was ripped from the headlines, and seeing how these particular detectives solve it. Or laughing at Jim's latest prank on Dwight.

Yes, some may look at it as the scourge of the earth. I look at it as entertainment, ghetto style.

It's Tuesday...Do You Know Where My Bed Is?

I. Need. Sleep.

I haven't slept in three nights straight. As soon as I turn out the light, Big Chief Many Toes thinks it's time to play. He pounces on the bed. He chases his tail. He jumps on my stomach. He meows at nothing, then jumps in the air and falls off the bed. Because the floor is not such a fun place to be, he climbs back up on the bed and jumps on my feet. When he's tired of jumping, he starts combing my hair, because he thinks I'm hiding a nipple in my head.

After awhile, I think "Enough already," so I pick him up, put him outside of the bedroom, and close the door. Good idea in theory. In practice it does not work. Why? Because then he sits outside my bedroom door and cries and cries and cries. I feel sorry for him, and open the door and of course he's like "Yay! I get to jump on the bed some more!"

I'm subsisting on coffee and thirty minute naps. I don't know how much longer I can take it!

It is fun, though, to have a kitten in the house (fun, that is, when he's not climbing up my beautiful curtains or hanging by a claw from my brand new quilt). I love listening to him purr, and watching him check things out. And of course, I really love kissing his little toes...all 24 of them.

I may not be getting any sleep, but life indeed is good.

Big Chief Many Toes

I did it. I got a new kitty.

Yeah, well, those who know me know I probably would not be able to say "no" when I went to go see the kitty. And I forget who said this, but yes, I suspect this was a backyard breeder. The good news is that these people did take good care of the cats and kittens... the vet and vet assistant both commented that the kitten was obviously well taken care of.

But I digress...I met the kitten on Friday afternoon, fell in love with his many toes, got the lady to sign a contract guaranteeing that my money would be refunded if the cat had FIV (she wouldn't agree to signing anything else but that, so I took what I could get). Then kitty and I made haste to the vet's office, where he obtained a clean bill of health and many kisses from strangers. Apparently, I am not the only person in the world who wanted to kiss his little toes.

The vet also stated that he's rare in the fact that he also has bones in his many toes. She said often times polydactyl kittens have an extra pad or an extra claw, but not the attached bones...however my little kitty does.

He is acclimatizing well to his new surroundings. My other two cats are scared of him... about time. They both terrorized my other cats when they came into the household. However, this little kitten is leaving them both alone, yet they are still frightened of him. Sissies.

Now that I have a new cat, I realize I probably won't be getting a dog. I'm a little sad about that...but I still dog sit occasionally, so it's not like my life is dogless.

Why look at the time...I must leave now to go kiss toes. It's my hourly duty!