Here's How I Waste My Time

Now, let me just say that it's possible I've wasted an hour trying to make that button, when there are perfectly reliable button-makers online, that would make my button for free with very little hassle, and it's also extremely possible that I only looked at one possible button-making-thingy and deemed it highly unusable, due to many factors which I will list right now:

1. I have three, not two, portions of text to color seperately in said button.

2. I had no idea which colors to use in the buttons without opening my gorgeous header picture in Photoshop.

3. As long as I'm in Photoshop, how hard could it be to make my own button? With three colors?

4. The button-maker-thingy I found was not wide enough (only 80 pixels) to accomidate my long and cumbersome "title", which apparently does much better at a width of 100 pixels.

When I start doing something, I completely disregard how hard it happens to be, in favor of cursing unladylike at the screen and banging my head upon several walls and keyboards until I get it if not right, then somewhat closer to right than it should be (especially in this case, considering my complete lack of knowlege in Photoshop).

So, without further ado, I pronounce this button:



Mine.

You may use it on your own blog/website. I will tell you how to, because I assume that most of you, like myself, have no room in your heads to accomidate html. If you wish to place it in your sidebar, this is the code to use:

[a href="http://sunnystributeblog.blogspot.com/"]
[img alt="Sunshine and Lollipops" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/
3871/475/1600/button.psd.jpg" /][/a]

(Of course replacing all ['s with the appropriate symbols, which I can't seem to post without it all going wonky on me. Does anyone know how to post code in a way that it will show up? I forget how.)

So, no pressure (I totally understand not breaking up a theme you've got going on your site), but even if you don't put it up, do you like it?

Long Lost Relatives

"Oh, my. I'm so pleased you could make it, Aunt Beatrice. It really means so much to us that you were able to get here in time for the wedding... Which side of the family are you from?.. Right, right, it's hard to remember now. Remember, it's tomorrow, on the beach. Do try and make it. If you can't, though, that's OK with us, at least you had time to meet us for a picture... No, really, I understand, they don't let you out much. Well then, just one picture for the family..."



"And cousin Myrtle! We never expected to find you here! It's so amazing, you run into family in the least likely of places. Have you seen Aunt Beatrice? She's just around the corner from you.. you really should go see her sometime. Oh, yes, I know, sometimes it's just so hard to get out of the house. Oh well, a picture then?"

I Never Thought I'd See the Day

I'm not sure who's noticed and who hasn't, but I seem to be adding more websites to my blog on a fairly regular basis.. regularly enough that even those of you who have noticed are probably too busy to check them out on a regular basis, so I wanted to give you a head's up about this one: Monkey's Deep Thoughts. Not only is it hillarious, it's where I found this image:



and anyone who doesn't find that hillarious can bite me.

This morning, I would have told you that my day would consist of eating with my Mom and Grandma, followed by shopping in Green Bay and then Bingo. It just so happens that I'm in the middle of my day while I write this, so I can fill you in on a few more details about the eating portion of the day.

Let me start out by saying that long, long ago, in a galaxy far, far away, I was once a server, and I do know how difficult it is, and how poorly you're compensated at times, and I empathize with waitresses. Let me also say, however, that I only waitressed for a few weeks, and already I'd learned of certain behaviors that definitely cut into my cash flowage. For instance: not bringing customers water when they order coffee without them asking; hovering around them when they're obviously not ready to order yet; watching them empty their coffee cups and yet not bringing refills promptly; forgetting to ask for the toast they ordered, and then acting very put out when they requested it for the second time.

I'd go through it all again, though, just to hear Grandma (very much not one to speak up when something bothers her) say to the waitress when she finally came by to refill our coffee, "Oooh! You remembered!"

Driving home to see your family? $76.00

Lunch for three at the local diner? $27.00

Hearing your grandmother make snarky comments? Priceless.

You Know What's Wierd?

1. Getting into the first fight you've ever had with your best friend. After almost 10 years of no fights whatsoever.

2. Trying to fix your parent's computer, and realizing there are things on said computer which wouldn't be very appropriate for your parents to find after being at college with your brother for a few years. Very Inappropriate Things. [Wink wink nudge nudge you don't want to know.]

You know what absolutely blogs* my mind?

1. The fact that I am able to fight with my best friend and make up. I've spent all that time in my life agreeing with people I love out of some insane paranoia that as soon as we fight, it will all fall apart. That's not the case. I can argue with people without it being the end of that relationship. My head knew that before, but it's nice to have proof - the argument was inevitable and the crying was embarassing, but we understand each other more now. And there was bound to be one night of maudlin drinking, the odds were in favor for it. I really can't tell you how happy I am to have Lisa in my life. She means so much to me.

2. Having a relationship with my brother that is so comfortable I can call him and leave a message on his phone, detailing the things I've come across on the computer that would give my dad another stroke were he able to use a computer without already having a stroke, and offer to burn those things onto a disk if possible, so he doesn't have to lose them completely. He called me back to say, "I don't care what you see, I don't care what you do, Get Those Off Of There. THANK YOU." He means so much to me.

*That's a typo. But I kept it.

Dude, Where's My Husband?

I'm such a whiney cow.

But I haven't talked to him in 36 hours, and I'm a little eensy bit worried. Although if anything happened, he'd call. Although if anything happened, Cam would call. Although I'm not sure Cam knows how to get my number. And if something did happen (knock on wood), I'm pretty paranoid by now (given her track record) that if someone called to tell me Bruce was [something bad], she might not even tell me, instead hoping I'd fucking forget to ask about it, and she could avoid the subject forever. Shit. Really should call home and ask. Maybe Bruce called and told my mom he wants a divorce.

Or maybe he's paralyzed!

Dear God,
It's me, Sarah. Please don't play a sick joke on me for saying that.
Love, Sarah

Is Anybody Out There?

I'm in Shawano. Having a blast. Was at a bar all yesterday, and had not a single beer. Apparently, drinking 3 beers and a flute of wine (like I did on Saturday night) really does me in nowadays. How incredibly embarassing. Was too hungover for more drinking yesterday. Instead, I watched as Todd (Lisa's beau - I call him that because I know it'd make her gag. And we all know how I feel about gagging>) drank and then got all cute and sappy about my husband.

Sarah: Bruce ..(something something something, can't shut up about how much I love Bruce, I'm so freaking sappy).

Todd: (Huge Sigh).. Yeah, I really miss that guy.

Lisa also told me that Todd has been really cute about him - worrying that he had so much fun playing pool and wants to do it again but doesn't want to "come on too strong". Also, what if he can't ever find him online ever again? So sad. Bruce, you'll have to make sure he can find you, somehow.

I'm writing this because at five in the morning, Todd and Lisa went to bed from the couch, and I woke up and got a case of the melancholies. I miss Bruce, and haven't been able to get ahold of him yet. (I hope you had a good weekend!) I also got some really really sad news, and I had to start crying about it for a while.

Here's my Kitty. His names are Kitty and Otis.

He's got two names because my father is the namer of the pets in my parents' household, and it took him almost a week to come up with Otis. (You know, from Milo and Otis, wherein Otis was the pug. My dad is hillarious. Skinterruption: I always thought that movie was a little "off", and I'm guessing that it's because it was japanese, I just noticed that. Interesting.) Anyway, in the interim week at our house, we were calling him Kitty, and it stuck. We're not really those boring people who don't have anything creative to do with naming, honest. My dad was just slow. Kitty responded to both names. Here is his Senior Portrait. (Taken when he was but a wee lad.)

This is the man who loved Bruce before I did. I say man, perhaps I should say eunich. In any case, if he could hear I was on the phone with B, he'd run from any corner of the house to snuggle up to the phone with me - sometimes to the point of making it impossible for me to either talk or listen - and purrrrrr.

I guess that Kitty had an intestinal blockage a while ago. My daddy took him into the vet, and when he came back he was very sad and told my mom not to even ask about it. I guess it was pretty bad. I couldn't ask any more questions about it because my mom was getting upset. I think if she had it her way, I'd just forget about my beloved pets altogether, and that way she could just never tell me. She actually looked a little pissed off that I asked where he was.

Of course, I feel like the most horrible person in the world because after Augie died, I talked to my mom on the phone and it was the first time in his life that I didn't ask how he was doing - and then she didn't tell me for weeks. And now, this. And I didn't ask where he was when I stopped in at home before going to the fucking bar. (God, Sarah, what's wrong with you? How selfish can you be? Fuck.) I just assumed he was sleeping somewhere. Why, why why why why why?

My beautiful Kitty. He was technically Robby's, but if you know me, you know I threw my weight around when he was picking him out. My sweet, sweet Kitty. You were so so so stupid, and I loved you so much. I'm sorry you had to go, and I'm sorrier that my family is so chickenshit that I didn't hear about it until much after the fact, I couldn't even give you the thoughts and mourning you deserved so much. I couldn't write about it and let the world (well, you five, anyway) see how beautiful you were, and tell them how you were the best cat a girl who wasn't that fond of cats could ever hope for.

Now my parents are sitting at home, my dad's in the bedroom upstairs, and there's no pet there to keep them company. People will tell me, "At least they have each other." Those are people who don't understand. If you feel the urge to say that to me, please don't - you're comparing a person to an animal, and that's just not right. In most cases, animals are MUCH better companions than people. There's nothing acceptable about implying that an animal would be worse company than my mom or dad. They need a third party in the house, and I want to look in the paper tomorrow and drag home the first free kitten I see, just so I know they're not sitting around in that house with nothing but each other. They only just got used to having no kids. What are they going to do? But I can't go and pick them out a pet, it's wrong and they'd be mad at me. "We'll do it on our own time, when we're ready." I hate it. I can't stand the idea of anyone I love not having someone around who loves them completely without conditions. My poor parents.

I'm going to stop writing now, I'm bawling, and I don't want to wake up my hosts. Would that be the creepiest way to wake up ever? To the sound of sobbing coming from the glowing silhoutte at your computer screen? I'm guessing it might be.

I'm feeling a little better now, I just had to get up and get that off my chest. I was finally smart enough to check my email, and the best husband in the world had written to me - it made me feel so much better. I feel bad because I haven't been able to get ahold of him, but now I'm feeling a little bit better.

It's a good thing that I can't sleep as well without him around, but it also sucks at six in the morning in a strange new place.

I miss you, Kitty/Otis. You'll always be remembered, and always thought of with love.

A New Listing Under "Reading"

Check it out, it's a great book.

Also, tomorrow I am driving for 12 hours straight, then napping, then embarking on my spiritual journey of booze. If I'm postless tomorrow, it's because I'm in the car. If I'm postless at any point during the next week + 1/2, it's because I'm too drunk to see the keyboard.

I jest, I jest. My time will be spent on endeavors other than drinking. We shall also be knitting.

I better get going, I've got a lot of sleeping to do. I have to catch up before my drunk-athon.

People I have to drink with:
1. Lisa
2. Todd
3. Sammy
4. Mike
5. Mom
6. Robby
7. Misty
8. Grady

Stuff My Husband Says:

"I was watching The Weather Channel today, and man, are they going nuts. They should change their slogan to, "We Live For This Shit!"

I think I'll keep him.

In other news, for those of you who didn't guess it by yesterday's post, I'm freaking PMSing. But, like I said last month, Jesus save the person who tells me I am before I figure it out for myself. Or after.

Love,
Sunny

Dear Husband:

Man, I bet you're looking forward to getting me out of your freaking hair for a few days. Not that I'm not stunning and otherwise useful, but sheesh. All this freaking out stuff is for the birds. And I mean Birds as in Women. You can go get yourself freaked out with Lisa for a week, and leave me the freak alone. I'm sure something similar is going through your head right now. During these last two weeks, I'm sure you've gotten your fill of the wife who has to freak out about something before her day can be started. I know it must be annoying. Especially when I freak out about the time, or when I freak my way into taking a shower first (even though you go in 1/2 hour earlier than I do) or when I run around like a crazy lady. That's gotta suck. Let me just say, I know how much I've sucked.

These past two weeks have been rough on me, I'm sure you can see it. Working full-time is never fun at a job you're only half-hearted about. It makes it less fun when you're habituated to working 3 days a week, four hours per day and you get slung into the full-on-drudgery of it all. I know you understand, but I'm explaining anyway - yet another thing to look forward to in the blissfull week next. Fewer explainations. It's not that I think you're not smart, husband, it's just that you've perfected the art of pretending to know what someone is talking about, even when you're clueless. It's very endearing - somehow I think my explaining everything just in case you didn't get it (Stop yelling, I don't do it in public! And it's only sometimes! I'm exaggerating!) is less endearing, eh?

Oh, baby. I'm going to miss you so much.

He Could Have Said, "Good Morning, Sister o'Mine!" but Nooooooo.

I had to throw Linus out of the room night before last for biting my gorgeous skin all the freaking time. Although this time there was a little more to it.

Early on in the night, I noticed that Linus was cuddled into a ball in between Bruce and I, under the covers. I pet him a little bit, rolled onto my other side, and fell asleep. Only to be awaken a few hours later by a screeching yowl - I guess Linuses don't really like being laid on. Ooops. My bad. Then, half-asleep, I started worrying that I'd paralyzed him (this is turning into a disturbing fear trend, don't you think?), so I poked and prodded him until I'd seen him move all his limbs - at which point he was so incredibly disgusted with me for not only rolling over on top of him, but also making sure he couldn't slip right back into sleep, that he decided the best punishment would be to chew my skin off.

So I kicked him out.

In other news, this IM was waiting for me when I got up this morning:

Robby: 'your gay brother (me) is singing it's raining men wednesday for a karaoke competition'

For those of you not aware, Robby is my only brother. I like how he qualifies which gay brother it is that is singing in the competition.

And hey! Good luck gay brother (you)!

These Are the Oils of Olay

One of the clearest memories I have of my Grandparents' house is of their bathroom. I used to could spend hours in there, just plain staring at all their old-people stuff. Stuff I wasn't familiar with at all. (What the heck is feminine powder? Dentures? They also had a torture device hanging by the toothbrushes. Now I think it might have been a WaterPik. At the time, I was sure it was used on eyeballs.)

I remember Oil of Olay. I remember the smell - sweet and soft. I remember the soft most of all, soft as my Grandma's skin. I remember the little dabs she used to put on her finger, the little circles she'd use to rub it in. I remember sitting on the closed toilet-seat lid and swinging my feet, watching in awe as she went through her morning routine. All the while waiting very impatiently to be like her, sophisticated. Grown-up. Smelling nice. Oil of Olay.

They changed the name on me just as I was getting old enough to consider a moisturizer, and I can't make myself loyal to them. It's the same stuff, and yet it's not. They over-marketed themselves, in my mind. Now, instead of thinking about a giant glorious empire where you're Cleopatra (the version I had in my head before Rome the show. The one where she's not a philthy opium-addicted slut with man-hair. Not that she's not gorgeous) with servants running your expensive baths and pouring all sorts of oils and milks and expensive stuff into the bath for you. Come to think of it, there's a scene like that I remember from a movie my Grandma had at her house for us kids, too, now that I think about it.. and an old man saying, "Like sands through the* hour glass, these are the Oils of Olay." Well, maybe he wouldn't say that exactly, but it would be something in that voice.

And now they've gone and ruin it by taking out the "Oil of", and leaving me with Olay, olay. And who wants to schmear that all over their face?

*HFB helped me out with that one.

Because I Live For Copying My Friends Jessica:

Hippie You are 14% Rational, 100% Extroverted, 28% Brutal, and 42% Arrogant.

You are the Hippie! Characterized by a strong sense of extroversion, irrationality, gentleness, and humility, you no doubt frolic through fields preaching peace and love to all! You are probably either very spiritual or needlessly paranoid about "the man", like most hippies, as a result of your focus on intuition and feelings over cold, brutal logic. You are also very, very social. And like any hippie who would have no qualms about hitchiking across the country just to meet some interesting people, you also love to interact with others, even complete strangers. Because we know most any hippie is peace-loving and humble, it stands to reason that you, as well, are terribly gentle and humble, almost to the point of revulsion. Your carefree attitude of peace and harmony is probably very, very sickening to realists or cynics or anyone who isn't a hippie, to tell the truth. In short, your personality is defective because you are overly emotional, extroverted, gentle, and humble--thus making you an annoying hippie. And you listen to psychadelic rock and smoke a whole lot of pot. Okay, maybe not, but I wouldn't be surprised if you did. To put it less negatively: 1. You are more INTUITIVE than rational. 2. You are more EXTROVERTED than introverted. 3. You are more GENTLE than brutal. 4. You are more HUMBLE than arrogant. Compatibility: Your exact opposite is the Sociopath. Other personalities you would probably get along with are the Hand-Raiser, the Televangelist, and the Robot.

Link: The Personality Defect Test written by saint_gasoline on Ok Cupid, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

Anal? Not I!

In light of a Tertia's recent discussion I thought I'd share a funny story with y'all.

A few months ago* I was talking to my mom on the phone, when I got a sudden urge to "GO!". I went into the office (where Bruce was sitting) and tried to hand him the phone so I could "GO!". He wasn't taking the phone, he was asking too many questions, and by this time I had to "GO! GO! GO!" like a highschool cheerleader on crack, I threw the phone in his lap and said, "TALK TO MY MOM, I HAVE TO POOP!" and ran to the bathroom.

Lisa was fortunate enough to get the same treatment last night. Lucky lucky Lisa.


*I almost prefaced this story with "The other day", because I think anything that happened "The other day" is probably funnier than something that happened "Last Tuesday" or "Six months ago today" because who wants to worry about the timeline? Not I! I want to laugh. Anyway, I almost did that, but then I realized that it would make it seem like I had emergency poop breaks all the fucking time, when it's not true. Just sometimes. Unfortunately, they seem to happen while I'm on the phone. Go figure.

Things Are Looking Up

And also looking a little bit different.

I'm not sure how many of you have slow(er) connections, so if you're on one of those shitty dial-up things, let me know if things aren't up to par. I only say 'shitty' because I was on dial-up for aproximately a millenium, and I understand just how shitty it can be to wait a trillion hours for something to load so I can see how things are supposed to look.

For the rest of you, what do you think? Is it too much? Ok, I know it's not too much, I'm just saying that to get some compliments. So give me some compliments, wouldya?

Also, check out the Meme below. It's not one of those 'answer a million questions' things, but it's pretty awesome. Give it a try - there are some really cool pictures out there.

Photo Meme:

Image Google the town you were born in,

the town you live in now,

your name,

your grandmother's name,

(And again, just for kicks, here's another)

(ok, just one more. This one's my favorite.)

your favorite food,

your favorite drink,

your favorite song,

and your favorite smell.

From: frog

Here You Go, Kiddo

Last weekend, I got a wonderful phone call from a good friend of mine whom I hadn't talked to in months. Mike was Very Drunk, and he wasn't expecting me to answer the phone. Naturally, I let him tell me the message he'd been planning on leaving, to get it out of his brain so we could actually have a conversation. I love good friends who call me 'Kiddo'. I think it's a throwback to some of my favorite people - Mom's cousins - who used to call me 'Kiddo'. You know, back when I actually was a kid.

Yesterday I didn't post because I was lazy. The day before that, I didn't post because when I got out of bed, I stretched my arms above my head and my neck made a disgusting "CRAAAACKLE" noise, and then I was in horrendous pain and started crying because I couldn't move without it hurting. Super B came running in to my rescue. (actually, just trying to get me not to cry. How heroic.) I managed to lay myself back down on the bed, and in between hysterical sobs, I asked him, "But what if I'm paralyzed!?" My heroic husband thought that was pretty funny. He recommended I take a hot shower, and after that I actually felt ok, so I went to work. Stupid recommendations.

Work has been better these past two days - Someone Special has had them off, and I've been working with the Sane One. Yesterday we were really slow, and spent most of the afternoon looking at pictures of Sex Offenders in our area. Fun, fun! Lo and behold, some of them are actually customers at the pharmacy. We printed out the pictures to show to Somebody Special. You know, because she's got such a hard time finding things that will freak her out. Just a 'heads up' sort of thing. Oh yeah, I get to work with her today. But after today, it'll be three down, two to go, baby.

There was something else.. hmm.. what was the something else..

I started knitting a sock this week! Like most of my knitting projects, it's taken three or four start-overs before I got the hang of it, but I'm really starting to see the value in "frogging" (as in Rip It, Rip It when you rip out your stitches, aren't these knitting people so clever?). After all, should I really continue with the sock that has too many stitches? Who am I going to find to wear that pair, when the ankle's ten inches around and the heel is only one inch? Believe me, it was way off. It hurts me so much to do it, but I know it'd hurt more to continue with a bad project and then be ashamed of it. The newest version of the sock has little mock-cables in the ribbing - and I couldn't find the explanation for them, so I figured it out by just doing them.

Mostly, I'm just happy I have a hobby now.

Oh, the reason I fucked my neck up? Linus has been being a BASTARD this week. I think it's because we're both gone all day long, but he's NOT in the mood to sleep when we go to bed. Instead, he spends the night waiting for my hand to poke out from under the pillow, and gnaws on it until I wake up. This is not acceptable behavior. At first, I thought I could just stick my hand all the way under the pillow with my arm, but having myself all kinked over like that is really what threw my neck out of whack. So last night I threw his sorry ass out of the bedroom and locked him out. And then I spent an hour crying to myself about what a bad person I was because he just missed us and that's why he wanted us to play. But then I fell asleep and had the most glorious sleep I've had all week.

Do you know I've dreamed about blogs twice this week? Inane, stupid dreams.

When I was upset last night, I rolled over to talk to the sleeping Super B:

Super Bruce: Snore, snore snore.

Sunny: Wake up, sweetness, I have concerns over throwing the cat out of the bedroom. Blah blah blah, I was thinking about what a horrible person I am etc, etc, etc. What do you think?

SB: Oh, dumpling head pudding pie, you're so soft, I love you.

S: Thank you, but what do you think about me being despicable?

SB: I think that's great.

S: You'd best be sleeping.

And the Humping Continues!

I would like to draw your attention to this, because apparently it's author is feeling a little pissy that I didn't reply, but I was waiting for the right moment, because it made my week:

"OK, you remember those Tickle Me, Elmo dolls? You haven't lived until you wake up at 3 in the morning, to the sound of a ghostly, muffled giggling sound coming from the dark living room. No, not a band of Elmo thieves, looking to sell our furry friend on e-bay, but Lard Ass and his little pink appendage making friends with the little fucker.

My other cat has an inexplicable and unceasing hatred towards rubber bands and twist ties. She will climb, claw, scoot, whatever physical activity is necessary to get the foul little things, grab them one at a time, and drown them in her water dish."

That from the lovely (although highly ungrateful)HappyFunBall. And if you must know, Happy, I ran into the living room after reading that and almost pissed my pants telling Bruce all about it in that bad-storyteller way he finds so endearing. (HE DOES. BECAUSE I SAY SO.)

"So, like, remember that one post.. the one I just did.. my last post? About Linus and how he's always humping things and shit? That one? Yeah? [Increase prodding exponentially until acknowlegement occurs. When it does, continue on in same style, but with visable relief.] "Oh, good. Well, you know how I was talking about the Fuzzy Slipper and the socks? Well, HappyFunBall replied, talking about her cat? And she said, [Make air quotes.]"This one time? I woke up and I heard this spooky-ass giggling coming from the dark living room, and when I walked in there, Lard Ass was wrestling around with Tickle Me Elmo and his little pink dong."[Make air quotes again. Know that you're way off, quote-wise, but understand that Husband won't remember the difference.]"

I was planning to use another story to illustrate my bad-storytelling style, but I think this one will do - also, it draws the attention that someone's cat humping Tickle Me Elmos deserves. Well, all the attention I can give it, anyway. And fuck, that's a good fucking story.

Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you. When I told Bruce about Lard Ass's romance with the doll, he laughed even harder than I did, and when he could breathe again, he reminded me, "Isn't that the one that used to shake?" Lard Ass has some good taste, my friends. That I can say for sure. He's way more classy than Sock Man.

Wish Me Luck

Wow, you guys are awesome. I don't know what it is I've been doing for the past couple of weeks, but I need to keep doing it. Is it the cat thing? Am I popular because I'm turning into a cat lady? Just asking, because I'm pretty sure I could live with that. What I mean to say is, "Please, please please don't stop commenting." Thank you.

I've got to go to work today, and for the next two weeks, full-time. I'm filling in for Bonnie, who is on vacation. Unfortunately, half of the time I'm working these two weeks, I'll be working with Someone Special. Someone special stresses me out, and I need some deep breaths and perhaps (if you're not too busy) some calming thoughts sent my way. That'd be great.

Aim for southwest Missouri.

All Cat, All the Time

Ok, I know I'm turning into That Blogger. The one who writes about her pweshuss kitty-witty every five minutes. But some of this stuff is just priceless, and the other stuff I've been wondering about for Way Too Long.

Anyone else have a cat that likes to hump socks? And when the socks are available, they will bring them to you and ask you questions about how to make sweet, sweet love to the socks, until all of the socks are in the middle of the floor and he's gotten tired of them and gone in search of a Fuzzy Slipper? No? Let's leave that alone then.

What about Fuzzy Slippers? Fuzzy Slipper is Linus's favorite sex toy of all time. When he finds it, we know he's got it because he spends the next hour walking around with it in his mouth, asking us how to fuck it. My version of the question looks a little like this: "prrrr-HOW?" Repeat. Over and over again. Since he's now New and Improved, Less Testicle!, I've been letting him cart it around for longer than I used to. Seems to give him some peace.

Funny side-note: Bruce used to think he was really really pissed off at Fuzzy Slipper. He noted the arguments and the scratching and the biting, until I pointed out that cat sex is pretty angry and violent. Then he said, "Oh, yeah." Then he noticed the Little Pink Dong making an appearance and took away Fuzzy Slipper, swatting him a few times with it. But he was definitely not making a second-grader "Ewwww!" face while he did that. Nope.

There's also the matter of the single particle of food that Linus seems to require in his water dish at all times. I can't figure out if it's there by accident or on purpose, but when I have to empty and refill his water dish every time I look at it because of the floating, swollen kernel of Kitten Chow^TM (most disgusting floaty ever), I tend to think it's on purpose. And that got me thinking to myself, "Self," thinks I. [pause for small polite laughter] "Self, do you think that perhaps it might be for flavoring?" And I thought about it a little bit more. Cats have a pretty limited range of food choices, and normally only one food is considered a "meal". So who's to say that if Linus was a person, he wouldn't be one of those people who like a little sprig of mint, or a slice of lemon in their water? Is it his fault that he's limited to Kitten Chow^TM? Nope. So I'm letting him keep it.

Long story short, I'm not changing his water 1,000 times a day anymore.

Any of these behaviors sound familiar?

Financially Screwed

Last week, we were waiting for a check from B's (former) employer, and I happened to check our bank account online for the SHOCK OF MY SHORT SWEET LIFE. Here we'd overdrawn, and our sweet sweet bank was charging us overdraft fees every 30 minutes since we'd overdrawn. Ok, so that wasn't it exactly, but it sure fucking felt like it. We ended up with over $480 dollars in fines in three days. Unacceptable, bank. Unacceptable.

Bruce, being the more emotionally stable one in this relationship, went to have a chit-chat with the banky. They agreed that the most reasonable thing to do was to take off half of our charges, and re-put-them-into our account. (can't think of the word, sorry, too early). Within the margins of acceptability, I thought. Plus, they gave us five sweet dollars for our troubles. Sweet is the word of the day. Use it in a sentance!

So poor poor me, when I checked the bank account on Tuesday, little did I know I was to face a balance of three measley dollars. Sure, we'd paid the rent and the car payment and (way more than we usually pay of the) utility bill, but we should have had three, maybe four hundred dollars left over. Of course, I shot onto autopilot, assuming it was all my fault and waiting for the D-word from Bruce. I'm so paranoid.

Because after I looked at the statement, I noticed that when B went in there last week, they only deposited the five dollars. Not the two hundred and thirty they said they were going to. Bruce went in yesterday and explained it to them, and not only is the money in the account today, but guess what?

You guessed it. We got another sweet five dollars out of the deal.

And I only had two heart attacks and a stroke in the process. Yay!

I'm So Getting a Tee-Shirt

Now that's an innovative charity. Although I'm pretty sure I had the idea first.

Dear Linus*,

Today you are eleven months and five days old, and Good God this past year has been amusing. I'm talking about your insistance that under the covers is where you like to sleep. I'm talking about your constant hijinks and how when you get spooked, you get better air than Michael Jordan. It's also been a year of love.



I never knew how much I could love a cat. I always liked cats before, that much is true. But my heart has always been in dogs. I've always been more of a dog-person than a cat-person, and I've always been proud of that. The more I'm around you, however, that seems to be reversing.



I always knew cats were evil, mind-controlling beasts, and now I'm succumbing myself. I'd like to see anyone not be charmed when you try your damnedest to fit into each and every paper bag you discover. No matter how small that bag may be. How could anyone not love a cat whose favorite toy of all time has always been a sombrero? When there are a million siesta jokes to make about it? Come on. No one could resist loving you.



When we got you, you were a tiny mewling ball of fur. As your Uncle Cam likes to mention, your head was about 3 times the size of your body. We got you out in the country, at 6 weeks old. There were 3 kittens there, and I was almost convinced that they wouldn't be the kittens for us, because your dad and I had discussed what color of cat we wanted, his only demand being "No black cats" and mine being "No white cats". And then we saw you and your brother and sister, and I just melted. Your mom, she's such a sucker. I knelt down on the ground to be closer to you guys, and you weren't afraid of me at all. You crawled right up onto my leg and went to sleep. That's when I knew you were the one for us. Any animal that can sleep that fast and that uncomfortably is made for this household.



Not only did you crawl your way onto my leg and into my heart, that night you pooped in the bed. And you did it on Daddy's side of the bed. I had found the perfect animal, snuggly and cute and big-headed, and also you poop on Daddy's side of the bed. I thought I would die suppressing my laughter and pride. I never thought I could love anything that much. And then, the next night, you pooped in the bed, twice. Both on Daddy's side.



And we decided to keep you.

Love,
Mama

*Format completely stolen from dooce and her newsletters.. but then, if you haven't read those, what rock have you been under? Really?

Earlier, I Was Feeling Down

But things seemed to have picked up in my head, so hopefully, we can get this ball back to rollin'.

Starting tomorrow, as this day is pretty much shot.

Tired + Sleep = Happy Bruce For Work Environment

That's the equation we need to keep in mind.